Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“Thanks,” I say.
Randy and Hugo walk down the carpet and step to the side, standing with the rest of the team. Jerry escorts Devon, decked out in black leggings, Ugg boots, and one of my team sweaters, to the end of the red carpet and smiles at her, quietly murmuring in her ear. She looks at me, her face red, confusion etched into her features. The arena is nearly silent as the crowd watches intently, no doubt as confused as Devon is at this point.
The house lights are extinguished, plunging the crowd into darkness and leaving the ice aglow. A spotlight in the rafters turns on and is trained on Devon. Even from where I’m standing, I can see just how red her face is and laugh to myself. I raise the mic with one hand and beckon her forward with the other. “Devon Kirkpatrick, please come out to center ice.”
She remains at the other end of the carpet, shaking her head and laughing, her face practically neon red at this point. The crowd, growing restless, starts to cheer and clap, urging Devon forward. Jerry is laughing and puts his hand on the small of her back and leads her forward, walking with her to where I'm standing. Once he gets her out there, I smile at him as he walks over and stands beside Randy and Hugo.
Devon is trembling, her face uncertain.
I look around the arena and even in the darkness, can see the packed arena writhing like a living being. Raising my hand, I give them all a wave then raise the microphone again.
“Okay, settle down,” I call out and the crowd does. “The first thing I want to say is, on behalf of the team and the organization, thank you all for supporting us this year. We weathered some storms, but you all had our backs and we appreciate that. This run we’re about to embark upon isn’t possible without you all, so thank you!”
As the team starts banging their sticks on the ice, showing their appreciation, the crowd erupts. The energy inside crackles around us like electricity, making the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. It’s almost tangible. As the crowd settles down again, I take Devon’s hand and give her a wink. Her face is still red, and she looks almost petrified. She’s not a girl who enjoys the spotlight.
“Secondly, I know a lot of people out there have wondered what sparked my rejuvenation this season,” I say. “It wasn’t PEDs like some choose to believe. It was this woman right here. She is my fountain of youth. Her love and support have made me feel like a rookie all over again. She’s wonderful, guys. Amazing. She’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met before in my life.”
Holding Devon’s hand, I raise her arm as the crowd erupts in cheers and applause. Devon covers her face with her hand, laughing to herself, her face so red, I’m starting to worry that it will never fade back into that creamy, milky complexion I’ve come to know and love.
“What are you doing, Dawson?” she whispers.
I raise the mic again, and though I’m addressing the crowd, my gaze is locked onto hers. “Devon made me think about my life. She made me realize there is more to life than just hockey,” I say, my comment met with some good-natured boos. “She’s refueled my passion for life and the game. So, if there is anybody to credit with me playing like a kid again this season, you should credit Devon. She’s truly made me feel young again.”
Devon looks at me with a smile on her face and rests her hand over her heart, touched by my comments. I lean forward and give her a peck on the cheek, touching off another roar of the crowd, which makes her laugh awkwardly. I hold my hand up, quieting the crowd again. Once they’re silent, I raise the mic.
“And that’s why, I’ve come to realize that I don’t want to walk through the rest of this life without having her by my side.”
Devon’s eyes widen as she quickly figures out what this is all about. Our team’s mascot, a giant lion in a team sweater, skates up to us holding a red satin pillow with a small, dark box. Anders skates over and grabs the mic from me but holds it close to my mouth. Devon clamps her hands over her mouth, her eyes so wide I fear they’re going to just pop out right there and fall onto the ice. Laughing to myself, I take the box, get down on my knee, and open it.
“Devon Kirkpatrick, will you make me feel like the luckiest man on this planet for the rest of the years I have left?” I ask. “Will you marry me?”