Page 134 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

But maybe I misheard. I shift my feet, and my skates scrape over the ice.

I don’t think I have any hearing difficulties, and I certainly don’t think I’m prone to schizophrenic auditory illusions... But did Finn say what I thought he said? Or is my mind concocting what it wants to hear because it is simply too painful for me to hear anything else?

I stare at him, trying to understand. He is algebra and geometry, trigonometry and calculus.

“Noah?” Panic fills his eyes.

I stare at him. Am I supposed to speak?

“I love you, Noah,” he says, his voice trembling. “Maybe from the moment I first saw you. I was drawn to you at once. I didn’t think I would ever be making a speech like this in front of so many people, but I mean every word. You are my everything, and I don’t want to have a life where you’re not by your side.”

I continue to stare.

He clears his throat, and does an awkward little chuckle, “of course if you say no, I will honor that. And not be creepy. And not insist you’re at my side or anything.” He squeezes his eyes shut as if bracing for a meteor to smash onto him.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Finn

This is not going well. If this were going well, Noah would have said yes, and we would be kissing and planning our happily ever after.

But instead, Noah is staring at me as if he’s not sure if I’m insane or he’s insane.

“I love everything about you,” I say desperately, because I’m not going to give up without giving this my best effort. “I love your laugh.” I bite my lip. “You’re not laughing now of course, but um, I like it when it happens. Which is normally often.”

I glance at the arena, conscious of everyone listening to me. People point phones at us, and thousands of rectangles are directed at me. God, how many of them have given better proposals? A lot of them, I bet. Lots of married men here. Lots of married women too.

I suck in a deep breath of air, but the air is cold in my chest. The microphone is cold too, but when I shift position, it screeches. I quickly right it. “I, um, love that we have things in common and enjoy the same things.”

This is not Shakespeare, and my mind searches for all the words I want to say, everything that Noah means to me.

“I don’t want to spend another day without you,” I say finally.

He stares at me, I hope with bewilderment. Or is he trying to figure out how to say no? Should I leave? Give up?

I think about Coach’s recollection about that guy in the restaurant who proposed to his girlfriend, and she said no.

Sometimes people say no.

Was this all in my head? Is Noah puzzled because this was never ever supposed to be forever? My mouth dries further, and I resist the urge to throw the mic on the ice and sprint to the exit and use all my savings to retire to somewhere that doesn’t show hockey on TV.

I square my shoulders and jut out my chin. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Noah blinks, and pink floods his cheeks.

“You do?” Noah breathes, and his eyes are so hopeful they make my chest ache with pain.

Relief surges against me, washing away all my doubt, all my fears, and I’m no longer on the verge of tottering. He wants this. I’m certain.

“Yes, baby. I do.” My voice no longer trembles, and I smile when I say my next words. “I love you. I want us to remain married. I want us to live happily ever after.”

He narrows the distance between us, and the sound of his skates brushing closer and closer to me is the sweetest sound in the world.

“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me,” Noah says. “I thought you’d moved on.”

“No way. Never.”

“But you wanted—” His lower lip trembles.