A Special Win
The ring burns a hole in my locker.
I've checked on it three times in the last hour. A simple platinum band with a single diamond. Elegant and understated, exactly like Ivy. It's tucked inside my equipment bag, wrapped in the velvet box Patricia's jeweler friend helped me pick out two weeks ago.
Tonight. I'm doing this tonight.
If we win.
No. When we win.
"Dec, you good?" Jake appears beside me, already in his pads. His warm brown eyes are sharp, assessing. "You've been staring at that bag like it's going to explode."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying." He sits on the bench, lowering his voice. "What's going on?"
I glance around the locker room. Tyler and Connor are arguing about pregame rituals. Misha sits in his corner, silent and focused like always. Coach Petrov is in his office, probably reviewing footage for the hundredth time.
"I'm proposing," I say quietly. "After the game. On the ice."
Jake's eyebrows shoot up. Then a grin spreads across his face.
"About time."
I swallow. "You think she'll say yes?"
"Are you serious right now?" He claps my shoulder. "That woman testified in front of the entire hockey world to defend you. She chose you over job offers from Stanford and MIT. Of course she'll say yes."
"What if I mess it up?"
"Then you mess it up. But you won't." His expression turns serious. "Focus on the game first. Win this thing. Then go get your girl."
He's right. It’s game five, series tied 2-2. Everything is on the line.
We lose tonight, our season is essentially over. We win, we advance to the conference finals for the first time in franchise history.
The pressure should be crushing.
Instead, I feel clear. Focused. Ready.
Because Ivy will be watching from the stands, wearing my jersey with "HAWTHORNE" across the back. Because Riley and Rowan are here. Because Ivy’s parents approved us when Iasked. Because Marcus gave me his blessing last week after I asked him for it. Actually asked him, like some nervous kid.
"You hurt her again, I'll end you," he'd said. "But yeah. You have my blessing."
Coming from Marcus, that's basically a tearful speech of approval.
Coach Petrov storms into the locker room, whistle around his neck. The room falls silent immediately.
"Alright, listen up." His accent thickens with intensity, his eyes scanning each player. "Tonight, we make history. Tonight, we show everyone what this team is made of. You make no mistakes. No hesitation. You play like your lives depend on it because your legacy does. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach!" we shout in unison.
"Hawthorne." He points at me. "You're centering the first line. Morrison, you're captain. Keep them focused. Volkov, I need you sharp in net. Chen, Hayes; no stupid penalties."
"Hey!" Connor protests.
"Did I stutter?"
