So I had a final plan of how to ask Ten to marry me. In my head, we would be by the tree, and I would smoothly go to one knee and say just the right words, and he would consider his answer carefully, and then he would say yes with no hesitation or pauses. When it came to the actual day to do it though, things weren’t right.

First off, my knees had never really been the same since a low hit in a game against Ottawa. One torn meniscus later, and I had this fancy popping tune I could play every time I kneeled. So, gracefully to one knee was never going to happen. More like creaky old guy needing the sofa for support.

Secondly, and probably worse, was that everyone was here. Every one of Ten’s family. Even though they were less in his face this time, there was no way that many people could ever be truly quiet. It didn’t help that Ten had this knack for buying the perfect gifts, and the kids loved him so much they showed it by squealing. A lot. They also climbed over him, and even though we all asked them to stop, it was Ten who refused to make them get down. He held them and squeezed them like he was never going to see them again.

Thirdly, Ten still stuttered his words or at least delayed some of them. That morning, we’d been speaking politics, and he’d managed to say the word filibuster without hesitation, then stumbled over asking for butter for his toast. He couldn’t form the word butter. He said his head was blank, as if there was nothing there, and that suddenly it would pop into his thoughts, and he’d feel like an idiot for not knowing such a simple thing.

And then last of all was the fact that I wanted to ask him in private. Just the two of us appeared in this perfect scenario of mine, a quiet, thoughtful proposal that meant something and wasn’t swallowed up by congratulations or jokes.

So yeah, the proposal didn’t happen on Christmas Day, and even though the rings were in my coat pocket and they went with me everywhere, I still hadn’t found that right moment. Not only that, but with Jamie’s team playing us on the twenty-seventh, he stayed over with us, and that was one more person who appeared out of their room at inopportune moments.

It did Ten good to have one-on-one time with a single brother. Jamie on his own wasn’t all about teasing and sarcasm. He was caring and supportive and liked to hug. A lot. He even caught me on the way from the kitchen with a bear hug that would have been more comfortable had he not just been in a towel.

We were at the arena. This was my second visit back today. This morning had been team practice, talking strategy, working on a niggling issue I had with my third D-pair, and I’d gone alone. Tonight, we had Florida in the barn, and Ten had said he was coming with me, saying he’d watch from the Railers hospitality box, that he would stay seated and he wouldn’t overdo it. He had headphones with him and sunglasses and seemed to be taking everything very seriously, so who was I to argue? I collected him and brought him back when the team had all dispersed to their homes for naps and pregame rituals. It was just me and him in the locker room, and he’d parked himself in the cubicle on the end right next to where Stan’s goalie stuff was.

“I need to talk to Coach. You okay here?”

“Go for it. I won’t move.”

I wanted to say that I hadn’t meant he couldn’t move, but I guess, in all honesty, that was what I’d meant to say. The idea of him walking around the arena and getting dizzy or lost or fuck knows what left me cold. When I had the meeting out of the way and headed back to the locker rooms, he was still there, sitting cross-legged on the floor right by the Railers logo on the carpet. He had his eyes closed, his hands resting on his knees, and I didn’t want to disturb him. I knew that meditation was part of his rehab. Quiet times that gave his brain moments to heal, even as they threw him around trying to retrain his synapses. He had a hockey stick across his lap, and I recognized it as one of his, the signature part of the design on the edge. He must have left the locker room to go find it, but he was safely back, and that made me feel a little better.

I worry too much. He’s a grown man.

With his eyes still closed, Ten picked up his stick and smoothly rose to his feet, his toes right at the outer circle of the logo, and then he moved, and it was poetry.

Walking backwards, he moved his stick in smooth slow circles, like a gunslinger twirled his gun, the weight of the stick evenly balanced on one hand. He went into a deep stretch, placed his stick behind his neck, and then ended up with it on the floor behind him.

Only then did he open his eyes.

“Hey,” he said when he saw me watching. “How did I do?”

I wanted to tell him he was beautiful, fluid and sexy, and so damn strong, but we were at work, and people were in the corridor waiting to come in and only stopping because I had my body blocking the door. I could hear Adler grousing already, something about coaches who don’t know they had a game. I punched behind me, making contact with someone who let out an oof and a curse. I really hoped it was Adler, the ass.

“You’re doing so well,” I said to Ten instead of telling him how gorgeous he was. “Your balance is there, you’re moving smoothly, and you’ve lost nothing when it comes to handling the stick.” I knew he needed to hear the technical side as well, and he smiled at me.

Then he stood up, wobbled a little, and then gave one more twirl of his stick. “I rock this rehab,” he announced.

We couldn’t talk anymore, because Erik and Stan had joined the waiting group.

“Ten in here?” Stan said in a very loud whisper, and someone shoved at my back. Finally, I couldn’t stop the team actually getting into their own locker room and stood aside. Stan pushed past Adler, followed by Erik and Arvy, Adler grousing that he would like to get on with getting ready and would people stop shoving at him. Everyone fist bumped Ten, pulled him into a side hug, treated him as usual, and I loved all of them for that.

The only wrinkle was when Gideon “Gids” Levesque walked in, took one look at Ten, and spun to leave. I think Ten had been waiting for him, though.

“Gids, wait!” Ten called after him, and the locker room was silent. Twenty or so guys watching. Gids had nicely integrated into the team. He was no Ten, but he’d been the skater called up from the Rush to fill the bottom line as everyone else moved around to cover Ten’s absence, and he’d done well. He was also probably returning to the Rush when Ten came back, but he was making the most of the opportunity, with three goals and two assists on his record at NHL level.

Gids stopped and turned warily. “I just um… need to get more clear tape,” he said and had ten rolls of tape thrown at him by the watching audience. The action broke the silence, and everyone was back to talking. Except me. I watched Ten carefully.

“Your goal against Boston, the way you got around their defense, you’re fast and good. Watch out for Jamie though. Idiot likes to think he’s a two-way forward.”

Ten held out his hand to shake, and Gids took it, a cautious smile on his face.

“Thank you. How are you feeling?” He’d blown it, asking the question that everyone else had been avoiding.

The entire room went silent again, held its collective breath, including me, which proved that we’d all actually been watching what was happening. Ten had told me enough that he didn’t want to be asked how he was by everyone, and I certainly didn’t focus on asking him every time I was with him.

“Better,” Ten announced loudly so the whole room could hear, his not-so-subtle way of explaining to everyone at the same time. “Headaches, dizziness…. Words are something… sometimes hard. Can’t wait to be back on the ice.” The last part of his little speech was way more confident than the rest. Knowing Ten, it was a litany he repeated every day.

I can’t wait to get back on the ice. I will get back on the ice.

We separated about an hour before the game, him leaving to make his way to the team box, me to do pregame preparations.

“He seems good,” Erik said before he headed out to the ice for warmup. “More like Ten.”

I nodded and even smiled because I’d felt a shift in Ten the last couple of days. There was a cautious confidence about him, and seeing him with a stick in his hands and the way he held it, I thought I saw a spark of the Ten who was a king on the ice.

I could imagine his eyes on me and the team from the box, worried a little about how exposed he was. Television cameras had likely caught him up there and were panning to his face as he watched the team play. It must’ve been so hard to be the focus of everyone’s attention.

I wonder what he’s thinking.

Florida sent Jamie Rowe’s line out, and I gave Arvy and Westy the tap, watching as my guys managed to hold off Ten’s determined brother. When they came back, they high-fived each other, and I looked over at Jamie who in turn was staring up at the box. He and Brady were idiots around their brother, but they loved Ten. Everyone loved Ten. What wasn’t there to love?

We took a win from the game, a solid two points in a cramped league, and the mood in the locker room was jubilant. Ten didn’t come down at that point, said he’d wait up in the box, and by the time we were done, the arena had emptied, and the cleaners were working the rows, removing the litter created by eighteen thousand fans. I received a text he’d gone down to ice side, but he didn’t give an explanation, and I didn’t ask. If he needed to be close to the ice and it helped his progress, then I wasn’t going to argue at all. I grabbed my coat, assumed I would be meeting him and we’d be going home, but I found him sitting on the Railers bench, skates on, helmet in place, staring out at the ice.

“Just quickly,” he said to me. The cleaners were finishing up in the stands, an hour or more having passed since the game. The ice was smooth and empty, but I wondered if he’d cleared it with anyone.

“Have you checked—”

“Who’s going to stop me?” he asked with a wide grin. “Surely it’s good for marketing to have Tennant Rowe back on the ice? Layton will love it. Make sure you take photos for his twitter account.” He stood up, stick in hand and a determined jut to his chin. “Okay?”

I didn’t have skates on, but I stepped onto the ice first and gestured for him to go past, reaching for a pile of pucks and throwing them down. He picked up a puck on his stick, made slow lazy figure eights in front of the bench, each circle taking him wider on the ice. He looked good, slower than usual, but he was skating well, natural, flowing, and his focus was perfect. He changed direction, skating backwards, pulling the puck with him, heading for the net, and I couldn’t help that my chest tightened. He wasn’t checking where he was going. He was heading right for the net. What if he hit it and fell to the ice? What if he hit his head? I moved toward him a few steps, even though there was no way I could reach him in time. I wanted to shout, to warn him, but I couldn’t find my voice.

In a split second, with that almost otherworldly hockey awareness he had going on, he skated to the right, slid the puck forward, iced to a stop, then hooked it into the net, even throwing a mini, slightly shaky, celly as he passed around the back of the net.

“And the crowd goes wild,” he announced and skated back to me to get another puck. “Number ninety-four scores!” The words were smooth, as if hockey talk was easy for him.

I checked his eyes for focus, wanted him to stop then, but Ten was determined, utterly in sync with his skating, and this time he shot from the center line, the puck sailing a little wide. He frowned, collected the puck, and shot it again and again. Seven times out of ten he managed to get the five-ounce rubber disk into the net, and then he slowly skated back, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright with emotion. Lights dimmed in the seating. Clearly everyone had left, and it was just him and me.

I remembered the day he’d joined the Railers. That singular moment when I’d spotted him through the glass, standing there and owning the press, confident, cocky, and here he was now. He was so happy, and I knew one thing for sure. I was never letting him go. I actually fell to my knees a lot more gracefully than I had imagined I would, and he towered above me in skates, his expression worried. Probably wondering why the hell I was down on the ice.

“Jared?” He reached a hand out to help me, his smile dimming.

I rooted in my pocket, fumbling to pull out the box. There was no Christmas music, no tree, no perfectly arranged setting, but there was Tennant, me, and two platinum rings. “Marry me,” I blurted. Gone was the flowery speech about forever and how he held my heart and how much I wanted him. “Ten, I love you. Marry me?”