"I..." He laughed, sharp and surprised. "You’re impossible."
"You love me anyway."
"I really do." His expression turned serious, vulnerable in a way that still made my chest tight. Then he dropped to one knee on the ice.
My heart stopped.
"Theo Callahan." His voice shook slightly but his eyes were steady. "You made me brave when I’d forgotten how. You loved me when I was too scared to love myself. You make every day feel like winning the championship. I don't have the ring with me because I’m an idiot who didn't expect you to call me out..."
"I’m good at face-offs," I said, my throat tight.
"...but I love you more than I thought I was capable of loving anyone. Will you marry me?"
"Yes." I pulled him to his feet, kissing him hard. "Yes, obviously yes, you ridiculous man."
He laughed against my mouth, bright and free. His arms came around me like he was afraid I’d disappear. "I was going to do this properly. Dinner reservation, the actual ring—"
"This is better." I cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "This is us. The rink where everything started. Just us and the ice and the truth."
"The truth," he repeated softly. "I like that."
We stood there for a long moment, just breathing together, the rink silent except for our combined exhales fogging in the cold air. Then Luca skated backward, pulling me with him toward center ice. That wicked smile I loved played at his mouth.
"So," he said. "My fiancé."
"Your fiancé," I agreed. The word felt right. Perfect. "Take me home, Cap."
"Here first."
And then he was kissing me again, skating us in a slow circle, the ice beneath us solid and sure. His hands slid under my jacket, mapping skin he’d memorized, touching me like I was something precious.
We shed layers slowly—jackets and shirts hitting the ice, skates abandoned at center ice. The cold bit at bare skin but Luca’s body was furnace-hot against mine, his mouth trailing fire down my throat as I worked his belt open.
"Someone could see," I managed, even as my head fell back.
"Don't care." His teeth grazed my collarbone. "I want you here. Where it started."
We made love at center ice—the territorial heart of our home rink. Our bodies fit together perfectly, every touch familiar and new all at once. Luca moved over me with a controlled intensity that shattered into desperate need. His mask was completely gone, his face open and vulnerable and so beautiful it hurt.
When we finally collapsed together, breathing hard, my back cold against the ice and Luca’s weight warm on top of me, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.
"I love you," Luca said against my neck. "God, I love you."
"Love you too." I carded my fingers through his hair. "Even though you proposed without the ring."
"I’ll make it up to you."
"I know."
We eventually dressed and drove home, hands linked across the center console, the city passing in streaks of light. In our apartment—our home—we showered together and fell into bed tangled and exhausted and perfectly content.
"When should we tell people?" I asked, half-asleep with Luca’s arm heavy across my waist.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Or next week. Whenever you want."
"Your parents..." I stopped. Luca’s mother had been tentatively supportive in the months since his coming out, texting occasionally, trying. His father was still blocked. Still silent. A wound that wouldn't fully heal.
"Your mom should know."
