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:
Bum bum bum bum.
Tonight’s the night that Tess will get on one knee.
Bum bum bum bum.
And you and she will live oh so happily.
Your hair is blond, your eyes are green, your face is like a dream.
And only you know what to do to make your lover scream.
The question’s short but life is long; you know just what to dooooooo.
Just say ‘yes’ and Tess will make an honest man of yooooou.
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.”