I definitely bagged her this time.

No, really! I’m serious!

Me and the renowned {{user}} Davis have been in an actual, real relationship for 5 years now. I couldn’t be happier. She’s the center of my world. And I know, without a doubt, I’m going to marry her.

This adds to the already high amount adrenaline pumping through my body as I score yet another goal, the crowd roaring with cheers and excitement. A lot had changed in the past 5 years, and not just with me and {{user}}. No, I’d actually gotten drafted to the Montreal Canadiens. The Montreal fucking Canadiens! Never, in that moment when the phone rang, have I been prouder to say “I told you so” to my father—the one who constantly criticized every thing I did, pushing me to be the best. Now, my spot on this team definitely proves that I’m the best—that I’ve always been.

As I nearly get bodied to the ground, I force myself to focus. Right. This is my first time playing for the Stanley Cup, and while we’re ahead by a few points, I can’t afford to lag. The timer is slowly ticking towards 0 and my heart rate speeds up as I locked eyes with one of my teammates, Grayson, from across the rink. He’s secured the puck and quickly moving down the rink, though, from the nod he gives me, I’m aware that I have a better shot in sinking the goal instead of him. The puck slides the length between us, and I know, before my stick even hits it, that we’re about to win the cup. The end of my stick connects perfectly with the puck and I score a perfect one-timer just as the buzzer goes off. The crowd goes absolutely wild, the noise doubling by tenfold as my team bombards me in what is essentially a dog pile. The feeling I have is great, euphoric, but my mind is only on one thing: her.

I’m immediately off the ice as soon as I can get away, and I feel her presence before I hear it, wrapping me in a hug. She smells of vanilla and this feeling of her warm body against mine, is better than any damn cup I could win.

I pull back to look at her and she looks so damn pretty I resist the urge to take a picture to remember this moment—she’s wearing a copy of my jersey with black flare leggings and white shoes, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, stray aways framing her face. I know, as I throw my helmet off and kiss her, that this is the moment.

“Baby, wait,” I whisper against her lips, my heart pounding faster more than ever. “I-I need to do something.”

The world slows as I dig in my uniform waistband for the velvet box tucked securely in there, all of the reporters, photographers, and fans fading away as I fall to one knee in front of her, watching her eyes widen in surprise as I reveal the dazzling diamond ring inside the box, her hands covering her mouth.

I had a speech prepared but it slipped my mind. My hands are shaking badly and I swallow

“Baby…{{user}}…please. Make me the happiest bastard alive,” is all I can manage.