Wheeler (Seattle Sharks 8)

Pepper walked out on the carpet-covered ice with the customary fan appreciation basket.

“Tonight’s basket will be presented by number seventeen, Lukas Vestergaard!”

Another roar from the crowd.

Don’t puke.

Public rejection is okay.

You’ll get through it.

You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t try.

But what if she—

A pair of pink converse filled my vision. Fuck, I knew those shoes, those feet. Those legs.

I followed the line of her body, raising my eyes.

I knew those eyes.

Her hair was up, her skin a flawless peach, and her eyes shining emeralds worthy of any crown. And fuck me if she didn’t look as nervous as I felt.

She looked so beautiful that my heart ached. It physically hurt to look at her, to be this close to her and not hold her. Couldn’t she feel that? The way my soul called out to hers?

Pepper shifted the basket and handed me the microphone on the down low.

It was green.

On.

The entire world would hear this. Or at least anyone who was tuned into a presason game.

Her forehead puckered in confusion as I gripped the mic. We were now off the regularly written programming.

I stripped off my glove and almost sighed in relief that it was still there.

Then Faith stole the microphone.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

Her hand shook as she held the mic to her chest and then turned back toward the family box. Had she figured out what I’d planned? Was she shutting me down before I could even get the words out?

Wait...was she wearing my jersey?

My heart thundered, pounding out a beat that had nothing do with nerves, and everything to do with...anticipation.

She was wearing my name on her back.

My number.

I couldn’t have been happier if she’d tattooed my name on her ass.

“Lukas,” she said into the mic, turning back to me.

I blinked. “Yes, Faith?”

Holy shit the mic picked that right up.

“I know life can throw us curveballs.” She cringed. “Wrong sport.”

The crowd laughed.

“Right,” she started again. “I know life can hit us out of nowhere and take us places we didn’t dream of going.”

My brow furrowed in confusion, but I couldn’t look away from her. God, I was so thirsty for the sight of her. Parched.

“And it was like that for me. You were a dream. Something pretty to look at but untouchable. I never expected you to fall for me.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered, looking down at her. The skates made me tower over her petite frame.

“Shush and let me finish,” she chastised.

I blinked as the crowd laughed.

“I know this isn’t traditional, but nothing about us has been.” She sucked in a breath and dropped to one knee.

My muscles froze. My brain stopped working. Time ceased to exist.

“Lukas Vestergaard, I love you,” she said, her voice struggling through the tears forming in her eyes.

“Are you proposing?” I blurted out.

Horror flashed through her eyes. “Um. I was getting there…”

“No,” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

The arena fell silent. All eighteen thousand fans in attendance didn’t so much as breathe.

Faith’s lip trembled, and I snatched the microphone back.

“Get up,” I ordered.

She stumbled to her feet.

“You can’t propose to me—”

“Lukas, please, I’m so sorry—”

“Because I’m proposing to you! And I can’t do that if you’re already down there on a knee!” I exclaimed.

My voice echoed throughout the arena. The mic had picked it all up.

The fans went wild. My brain registered that fact somewhere in the back of my mind, but I was too wrapped up in Faith to notice much more.

I held out my hand, and she took it. “I had a plan!”

“Well, so did I!” she countered.

“I got on a plane and brought your mom!” I pointed to the front row by the bench, where Eric and Faith’s parents waved, her mom already crying.

“Well, I brought your mom and your grandmother! From Sweden! It took an entire week to plan and get them here!” She threw out her hand to the other side of the rink where—no shit—Mom stood with Mormor. “They came the longest distance! I win! I get to propose!”

“No, I do! You’re the one who needs to see how much I love you!”

“Well, you’re the one who needs to see that I can fight for you just as hard as you fight for me!”

“But I’m the one trying to get you back!”

“But I’m the one who screwed up in the first place!”

“Well…” I fumbled for the words. “Well, it’s my game!”

“It’s preseason!” She put her fists on her hips and stared me down.

Fuck this.

I dropped to a knee right on the ice, my second home, because Faith was my first.

I heard a roar, but couldn't tell if it was the crowd or the blood rushing through my ears.

Her lips parted as I held up my pinky and then slipped the diamond ring off. It was a three-carat princess cut diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds. It was fit for my queen.

“Well, I have a ring,” I said softly.

She covered her mouth with her hands as tears streamed down her face.

“Faith—”

“Yes!” she shouted and jumped.

I barely caught her, losing the mic in the process. Luckily Pepper had some pretty stellar reflexes and caught it.

My arms were too full of Faith.

Her lips found mine, and I crushed her to me. Everything righted in my world with her kiss. The taste of her flooded my senses and I cupped the back of her head, then kissed her deep and hard, uncaring that our audience was PG and I wanted NC-17.

When the roar of the crowd finally cut through the haze of my thoughts, I pulled back and slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just like we did.

Then I kissed her again because I could. Because I would every single day of my life.

“So, what just happened? Did anyone actually propose?” Gentry asked, having skated up behind us.

I scooped Faith up into my arms, hooking one arm around her back while the other supported her knees. “Eh, did we get around to that?” I whispered in her ear.

She nodded, tucking her face into my neck as if she just realized we were standing there in front of eighteen thousand people and a televised audience.

“Why don’t you give us a label, Älskling?” I purred in her ear.