Pucking Wild: Epilogue

My alarm goes off and I groan, rolling to my side. It’s too fucking early. But it’s game day, and I have to get up. I snatch for my phone, determined to silence it before it wakes Tess.

As soon as my fingers wrap around it, I go still. That’s not my alarm sound. It’s music. Like a ringtone. I pull my head out from under my pillow, blinking in the semidarkness as I check the screen. It’s my phone, and it’s definitely an alarm, but it’s playing the chorus of ‘Marry Me’ by Jason Derulo.

Gasping, I shut it off and roll over, totally expecting to see Tess sitting up in the bed like a no-sleep gremlin, holding out a ring box. But she’s not there. Her side of the bed is empty.

I drag a tired hand over my face as I sit up.

She’s been hinting pretty strong these last few months that she was ready to propose. She’s been making a game of it, twisting me up just to wind me back down. I’ve about reached my fucking limit. I’ve assured her I’m happy either way. We’re a year into this thing, and there’s no end in sight. I am so in love with that woman, it’s not even funny. Tess is mine.

But a promise is a promise. I’m not proposing. Ever. If she wants me, she knows where to find me.

I set my phone down and swing my legs off the side of the bed. The moment my feet touch the floor, I’m wide fucking awake. There’s a trail of red rose petals starting under my feet and leading across the bedroom, disappearing down the hall.

“Tess, you better be out there,” I shout, tiptoeing through the rose petals.

They go down the stairs and around the corner into the kitchen where—

I stop, eyes wide, looking around as I take in a garden’s worth of red roses. “Oh…fucking hell.”

Vases cover every surface of the kitchen—the counters, the stove, the island. There are more stacked on the dining table. Only one little spot remains cleared away at the end of the table. Tess has prepared my usual game day breakfast bowl of steel cut oats with fresh berries. I just have to add the hot water.

“Tess!” I shout, listening for sounds of her somewhere in the house. She’s probably hiding around the corner, snickering into her hand. “Tess!”

But the house is dead quiet.

I huff, turning back to my breakfast. There’s a red envelope resting next to my bowl. I snatch it up. She drew a heart on the front with a letter R inside it. I pull out the card and as soon as I open it, the chorus of Taylor Swift’s “All of the Girls You Loved Before” starts playing.

Damn it. She knows that’s my favorite Swift song. I call it my ‘Tess Song.’ On a dare, I even sang it to her during karaoke night a few months ago.

I drop the card and pull my phone out of my pajama pants pocket. I call her, one hand on my hip, glaring at my breakfast. The phone rings and rings as the musical card continues to play.

She doesn’t answer.

“Fuck!” I shout at literally no one. “I am marrying you so fucking hard! Don’t even test me!”

Thirty minutes later, Jake and Caleb drag me out of the house for our game day morning beach walk. I tried to tell them what was happening, but Jake wasn’t having it. He’s almost as bad as Mars when it comes to game day rituals.

We stop by the coffee shop on the way. Colby, my favorite barista, passes me my grande iced tea. She’s got the perfect tattoo-to-piercing ratio to know you’re always going to get a quality product.

“Here you go, Ryan,” she chimes. “And hey, guys, good luck tonight!”

“Thanks, Colby Like the Cheese,” Jake teases, taking his coffee from her. It’s their little joke. That’s how she introduced herself on her first day here. Now it’s all he calls her.

I lead the way outside where Sanford is waiting with the dog. Jake hands his husband his coffee, and then we all make our way over to the beach.

“So, she’s dodging your calls?” says Jake, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah.”

“But she left you a garden of roses and singing cards and phone alarms?”

“Yeah,” I say again.

“Dude, you’re so getting proposed to tonight,” Sanford teases.

I pause, stupid smile on my face. “What? Oh god, do you really think so?”

Sanny just shrugs, flipping his aviators down onto his face. “Well, she’s already home, so she’s gotta go big. What’s bigger than seeing ‘Will you marry me?’ in the flashing lights of the jumbotron?”

“Dude, the guys are gonna lose it,” Jake laughs. “You will never, ever live this down.”

I smirk, glancing from him to Sanford. “I have that stupid beach puppy look on my face, don’t I?”

They both nod.

“Yeah, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Sanny says.

“You’re embarrassing us,” Jake corrects.

I don’t even care. I flip my sunglasses down, too, taking a sip of my iced tea.

Sanford and the dog lead the way down to the beach, and we take it slow, just strolling along the surf in our bare feet. It’s barely a half-mile between our houses, so Tess and I walk down most mornings, meeting the Prices at the coffee shop on the way.

Then we all pound the sand back in the direction of our house. The Prices drop us off, the guys usually steal some fruit, and then they make their way home. Everyone gets to walk “the circle” as we call it.

The beach is busy for a Saturday morning in February, but the weather has been so great this week. It’s sunny and clear, with a good surf. Lots of people are out riding the waves. We pass a small group of women doing yoga and a young couple making out on their tie-dyed beach blanket.

Poseidon zigs and zags all around, chasing the ball we take turns throwing for him. I think I’ve just about convinced Tess to let us get a dog.

“Oh, shit,” Sanny laughs.

I pause, tennis ball in hand, Poseidon dancing at my feet. “What?”

He’s standing in the surf, water lapping his bare feet, looking up in the sky.

“No way,” Jake cries, one hand over his eyes. “Dude, that is so fucking cool. Marry her or I will.”

“You’re already married, asshole,” Caleb says.

“Technicality,” Jake says with a distracted wave of his hand. “Besides, you’ve never given me a message in skywriting before.”

Heart racing, I shade my eyes with my hand, peering up into the sky. One of those little red prop planes is flying past, right along the coastline, trailing a big white banner behind it. “Oh my god. What does it say?”

“It says ‘Marry me, Ryan,’” Sanny replies.

I slow turn to face them, my smile fading to a frown. “You two are in on all of this, aren’t you?”

“No,” Sanny says as Jake laughs and says, “Duh.”

Sanford elbows him and they bicker as I look back up at the plane. The words on the banner are in big, bold black letters, but with the fluttering, it’s sorta hard for me to read. Just in case, Tess made sure the guys would be here to read it with me.

I smile. My girl thinks of everything.

In the past year, I’ve come out to the team about my dyslexia. They were super cool about it. Not that I expected any different. I’ve never felt so at home with a team like I do with the Rays. They’re my brothers, my family.

The only real hurdle was Poppy. She cried and told me I was brave and then I had to talk her down for three whole days because she wanted me to do a big literacy campaign with the local public schools. It’s not a never, I assured her. Just a no for now.

I may be a tough guy out on the ice, but my dyslexia is still a vulnerability I don’t like sharing. The guys all get it. Tess definitely gets it. Maybe some day I’ll put my face on a dyslexia poster. But for now, I’ll stick with the stupid billboard out by the airport.

Jake watches me with a big grin. “Dude, this is fucking romantic. Please tell me you’re saying yes.”

Oh, I’m saying yes. It’s been a long road for both of us to feel truly ready, but I’m marrying the fuck out of that woman.

I just have to find her first.

I get back to the house, and Tess’s car is still gone. I don’t even have to go in to know she’s not home. She’s not nearly finished torturing me today, I just know it. But if this night doesn’t end in a proposal, she’s gonna be sleeping in a tent on the porch.

I mean, I’ll sleep in it too, because I’m not leaving my woman out in the wild where animals could get her. But I have to prove a point, so tent camping it is.

God, I am a whipped fucking asshole.

I smirk, letting myself into the house. I’ve only got about forty-five minutes before I have to leave for the arena. I hurry through my routines, passing my kitchen full of roses. I shower, shave, and do some stretches while I have a snack.

Meanwhile, Tess maintains total radio silence.

I slip into my suit and head down to the laundry room where I keep my gear bag. I retrofitted a shower and hang-up area for all my stuff. It keeps it from stinking up the rest of our stuff in the main closets.

I grab my backpack, ready to stuff my workout gear, a change of underwear, and some fresh socks inside. I pull the zipper and my eyes immediately narrow. There’s something tucked into the front pocket. I widen the zipper and tug out a blue file folder. Flipping it open, I peer down at a legal-looking document. It’s an application of some kind, with spots for your name, address, and phone number. It’s been filled out in blue pen. My heart thrums as I work through the first few lines.

“Oh my god.” Tears sting my eyes as I trace my finger along the lines, stopping when I see my last name: L-A-N-G-L-E-Y.

Now I’m smiling like a fool. This is a name change application. We talked about doing it a while ago. I had just returned home from an away game and she asked me if she could take my name, even with us not being married.

“Tess Owens is my past,” she said over shared cartons of pad Thai. “I want Tess Langley to be my future…even without the ring.”

Of course, I said yes.

The next day, Doc stopped by with a set of fancy, monogramed towels that had them both laughing for ten minutes straight and ended with them crying and hugging.

That was the last time she mentioned it.

I find the date on the form and my smile spreads. This is dated from over a month ago. These are the copies she already submitted that carry a government seal and signature.

That’s when it hits me. She’s not changing her name. She already changed it. I think she changed it the day after we discussed it. She’s Teresa Langley now.

Yeah, nothing is going to keep me from getting to this game. And Tess better be there, ready to get on one knee.

“What’s up with you?” Sully says, lacing up his skates. “You’re being weird today.”

“Leave him alone,” Jake shouts from across the locker room. “He’s a man in love.”

“We know,” says Walsh on my other side.

“Yeah, but tonight Tess finally makes an honest man out of him,” Jake calls to the room.

Sully looks at me wide-eyed. “Wait, is he serious, Langers? Are you finally joining the Married Men Club?”

“We don’t call it that,” says Jake.

“Oh, but we should,” says J-Lo, stuffing his head inside his jersey. “It’s the most exclusive, most elite club.”

“How do we know Tess is gonna ask you tonight?” Walsh asks, snagging my stick tape.

“We know,” Jake and Sanny say at the same time.

I just roll my eyes, letting the guys tease me as I punch Walsh and steal back my stick tape. I’m halfway down the blade when a very confused looking Teddy comes stumbling in. “Uhh…guys? Is this allowed?” He steps back and four men in sparkly red and white striped suits and straw hats come marching in.

“What the fuck is this?” says Novy, getting to his feet.

But I already know what this is.

“Please, God, no,” I mutter. “Anything but this.”

“Hello,” the tall man with the ginger mustache calls out to the room. “We’re looking for Ryan.”

The whole locker room hoots and hollers as they point me out, because apparently there’s no sense of brotherhood left in this damn sport.

I get to my feet, already in my skates. “Listen, you really don’t need to—”

“You’re Ryan?” Mustache asks.

“Oh, yeah, that’s him,” says Sully. The asshole is way too gleeful about this.

All around the room, the guys are getting their phones out. My gaze flashes to the corner where Doc is leaning against the wall by Mars, her arms folded. Catching my eye, she winks.

Oh, fuck her. She is so dead.

Mustache blows on some little flute thing. “Ready, boys?”

And then I’m knocked to my ass on the bench as the quartet breaks out in boisterous singing and arm-swinging:

The song ends and the locker room erupts. I’m buffeted on all sides as the team rallies around me, cheering and hollering as the quartet tries to make their exit.

“Ohhh, no, you don’t,” Jake cries, grabbing Mustache by the arm.

And that’s how I end up standing half-dressed in the middle of the locker room, a barbershop quartet flanking me on both sides, as the guys and Claribel snap a thousand pictures that will inevitably end up all over social media.

Oh, yeah, I am marrying Tess tonight…if I don’t kill her first.

By the time I get out onto the ice for warm-ups, I’m coiled tighter than a fucking spring. I can’t even focus on my usual routines. Who cares about stretching hip flexors or practicing my puck handling. If Tess isn’t here, I’m burning this barn to the ground.

As I skate around, peering through the plexiglass, I feel a charged energy in the air. The fans are standing. Some are clapping. As I pass along the wall, I notice a lot of yellow. People all up and down the sections are wearing neon yellow T-shirts. A pair of guys sitting right on the ice are both wearing one. They pound the glass as I pass, beers in hand.

I circle back, glaring at them. “What are those shirts?”

They laugh and point. They both have a picture of a smiling Tess silk-screened to their chests.

“Where is she?” I shout.

They both just laugh, making kissing faces at me through the glass. I pass by two more people. One is wearing a neon shirt with my face. The other is a big diamond ring with a question mark. All down the rink, fans are wearing shirts with our faces and diamond rings.

The music changes over the speakers and someone cranks it up louder. My entire body zings alert as the chorus of “Marry You” by Bruno Mars echoes around the frenzied stadium.

Oh god, this is it. It’s fucking happening.

I’m like a figure skater out here, breezing around, searching the crowd for her. The jumbotron is locked on me, following me down the ice. The other guys aren’t even pretending to warm up as the crowd starts chanting “Marry her.”

“Tess!” I shout, knowing she can’t hear me.

“Mar-ry her.”

“Mar-ry her.”

They pound the glass. They do the wave. They blow their stupid plastic horns.

“Tess, I swear to God—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” comes the booming voice of the announcer. “A very special lady has a veeeeery special question to ask one of our Rays.”

I slide to a stop, spraying ice, as I glare up at the jumbotron screen. The camera is on me, zooming in on that hopeful, sappy look on my face. The crowd goes wild, so do my teammates. Then the camera changes, and suddenly she’s there.

Tess.

She’s standing against the glass. Her red hair is half up, half down, curls framing her face. My jersey is on her back and she’s holding up a hot pink glitter sign. The sign is the same as the shirts, with pictures of our faces and an engagement ring. It’s like an emoji math question. It’s her question.

Tess + Ryan = Married

The crowd chants “Mar-ry Her! Mar-ry Her!” and I’m turning in circles looking for her in real time.

“Tess!” I shout, willing her to hear me, to call out and guide me home with the sound of her voice.

I finally spot her three sections down from our bench. The cheers of the crowd crescendo as I race towards her. I slide to a stop at the boards, my stick rattling down. Then I’m throwing my gloved hands up against the glass, just wishing I could make it disappear.

She smiles down at me with tears in her eyes, dropping her sparkly pink sign to the floor. Then she does a little turn, showing me the back of her jersey with a flirty wink. It’s my name and number on her back, but she added something in front of my name.

I sound it out, smiling ear to ear. Her jersey reads Mrs. Langley.

“You are in so much trouble, Teresa Langley,” I shout.

She turns back around, and both her hands go to the glass, pressing in against mine. “So, what do you think?” she calls back. “Shame to waste the name change. Want to make an honest woman of me? Will you marry me, Ryan?”

“Hell, yes,” I say, and the fans around her cheer louder. “I’ll marry you right fucking now. Get out here.”

She shakes her head, beaming at me, nothing but love shining in her eyes. The scared, hopeless Tess from a year ago is gone. Before me stands a fierce lioness, a tower of beauty and strength. And she’s mine. She loves me. She’s choosing me. She’s already chosen.

“Nope,” she says with a teary smile. “After the playoffs. Turks and Caicos. The whole team is coming. Everything’s already planned.”

“We’ll renew our vows in Turks and Caicos,” I reply. “But I am marrying you tonight.”

I knew this was the night, so you better fucking believe I came prepared. Slipping my hand out of my right glove, I tip it over and shake it, letting her engagement ring drop into my palm.

She gasps, eyes wide as I hold it up at her through the glass. It’s a three-carat, round-cut solitaire diamond on a yellow gold band. I bought it the week she moved in with me last year. You know…just in case.

My gaze darts left to where arena security is opening the gate for us. I skate down and she shimmies along the row, people moving out of her way to let her pass. I drop my other glove to the ice and pull her to me with my right hand as soon as she passes the last seat. With my left, I hold up the ring. “If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

She smiles, holding out her left hand. “I’m asking.”

I take her hand, not caring that we’re both trembling as I slip the ring on her finger. Then she wraps her arms around my neck, and I kiss her like she’s the only person I’ll kiss for the rest of my life.

“Marry me, Ryan,” she murmurs against my lips. “I’m asking. Make me the happiest woman in the world.”

“Yes,” I say with my whole soul.

“Marry me.”

“Yes.”

All around us, the crowd goes wild.