The camera pans in on him, and it’s his face up there on the big screen. Just as beautiful. Sharply etched cheekbones, perfect features, stunning blue eyes. But there’s so much warmth in them. A depth of emotion he usually hides from everyone. Including himself.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “I’ve been dealing with anxiety since I was thirteen. Sometimes it feels like drowning in shallow water. Sometimes it’s just a hum in the back of my brain I can’t turn off. It almost wrecked my chances of even a college hockey career when a panic attack sent me flying off the ice during a crucial game. So I didn’t think I could do it. I didn’t think I would ever be able to make a career if I couldn’t trust myself not to buckle under the pressure.”
The crowd remains still other than the odd rustle while he gathers his thoughts. “The last few years weren’t too bad. It was low level. Always lurking under the surface, but never quite pulling me under. But then this year it got bad. Really bad. I could feel each day taking me closer to an ending. The end of the thing I’ve always loved most. Until now.” His eyes flick to me again, and my chest tightens.
He lifts his hand up, rubbing it over the hat instead of his hair. “So I started seeing someone. A therapist. For the first time. Because someone, I won’t name names, called me out for never doing the emotional work. For not looking after my mental health.”
I blink. My eyes burn.
He smiles faintly. “And that someone made me believe I could do it. That maybe I deserved to want things, even if they scared me.”
You can feel the crowd leaning in. Invested.
He glances at the mic, then back at me. “But I broke a promise to her. I let her down. Because I was afraid. And it wrecked me.”
The words are sharper now. Clearer. Gaining momentum.
A breeze picks up across the ice. I wrap my arms around myself and stay rooted to the spot as he lowers his voice.
“So this is me. Screwing up. Owning it and trying again.” The mic trembles just slightly in his hand.
“I’m not perfect. And I’m definitely not easy. I walk around in a custom suit with perfect hair, and a practiced smile. But underneath, I’m a ball of anxiety and fear. But I know what I want now. I know who I want.”
The breath I’m holding turns sharp.
“And it’s you, Luna.”
My heart trips.
“I love you,” he says. “In a way I never thought possible. I love you like I need to be better because you exist. And because being around you makes the noise quieter. I’m willing to face all my darkest demons, so I can be a better man for you. So I can be worthy of you. Because you deserve someone who can be honest, and open, and there for you when you need him. Someone who shows up for you every day, not just when it’s convenient.”
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be asking for this. I wanted to make this event happen because it’s important. Because it’s going to help so many people and animals. That’s what I told your friends and myself. But I’m going to put it out there anyway. Because I have to.” He tilts his head up, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I don’t need a second chance. You don’t owe me one. But I want one anyway, and I hope it’s not too late. I’m here if you want it.”
For a second, no one moves.
The music fades. The lights hum. A kid nearby yells for his dog like nothing life-changing just happened on the ice.
But my body? My heart? They’re already moving. I step onto the ice without thinking. I’m not wearing skates, and I don’t have a plan. But adrenaline is racing through me, sending my heart into overdrive as I move toward him. Beau’s wide eyes stare at me like I might disappear if he blinks.
He lowers the mic slowly as I make my way toward him. I hear murmurs. The crowd is starting to get restless. Rustles andwhispers are amplified in the open space. But it’s all background static. The only sound that matters is the pounding in my chest.
And the voice in my head tells me to keep moving even when my limbs feel like rubber and my hands are tingling.
When I reach him, he opens his mouth, probably to say something overly formal and completely Beau, but I don’t give him the chance.
I grab the collar of his jersey and kiss him. Right there on center ice.
In front of our teams, our friends, and every curious stranger and livestream viewer who’s been watching our lives unfold in 15-second clips.
His hands come up like muscle memory, one cradling my jaw, the other fisting in the back of my coat. He kisses me back like he’s afraid I’ll break. Then harder, as if he realizes I don’t need him to be soft. I need him to be real.
And this? This is the most real thing I’ve ever felt.
Someone in the crowd whistles. A chant starts. I don’t know who begins it. JJ, probably, but it’s loud and full of laughter and chaos. Just like us.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his. “I’m still mad,” I whisper.
