Three minutes until buzzer. Three minutes until that cup is mine.

New York versus Las Vegas. Viktor Demoskev is back on the ice for this final, championship game. He’s played well, though the fire has gone out from the hate between him and Georg since the incident in Los Angeles.

We are tied one-one. This is a big game, and while everyone is fired up, no one has gotten past the defensive lines tonight. The goalies have been on fire, diving for saves, keeping access to the goals limited. They are the game MVP’s for sure. But I have another MVP title in mind.

I need to score another goal and win this championship.

A high sticking penalty is called on a New York player and seconds later, a cross-checking penalty that puts us into a sizable Power Play.

This is it.

I look up at the owner’s box and see Holly up there, jumping and cheering. I grin and get my head back in the game, taking a pass from Georg and practically flying down the ice. The goalie looks ready for me to slam it at him, but I don’t. I do a quick pass to rookie Mikhail over on the other side and before the goalie even realizes I don’t have the puck, Mikhail wings it right in behind his back.

The crowd goes nuts. Georg looks shocked that I let that goal go to a rookie, but I feel good about it. He was in the right place at the right time and that is how you play the game.

We set up to finish out the last minute, which goes by without another score, but in the end, I don’t care. We won.

Georg and I are selected to “hoist the cup,” so we shoulder it and skate around the rink as the crowd cheers. I can see the management and media team freaking out up in the box. Max Terry might even be ugly crying. I can’t wait to celebrate with my girl.

We do our usual shower-first-media-second routine, but this time, the whole team is invited in. We all line up, and of course they put Chalamet and me in front of the mics.

A reporter yells out, “Did you engineer that breakaway and fake?”

I shake my head. “Not really. We’ve played extremely well as a team all season. We have a good sense of space and of how each other’s minds work. Those goalies were on fire this game and I knew I wasn’t getting a straight shot, no matter how fast I skated. Not tied up and with only minutes left, he wasn’t letting a thing through.”

“Mikhail was perfectly placed, though,” another reporter comments.

“He was,” I say. “I felt him there and knew it was right. We needed a goal and it didn’t matter who got it.”

“That’s what good leaders do. That’s why I’m thrilled to leave this team in this guy’s hands,” Chalamet says. “He’s going to be an amazing captain next year!”

The reporters focus on David for a few questions, asking him about his own goal early in the game, and about his retirement plans. Then, out of the blue, a reporter says, “The league has just announced the series MVP. It’s Evan Kazmeirowicz.”

The room erupts with the snap of cameras and the hype of my team, who all cheer and try to reach over to ruffle my hair or slap me on the back.

We finish press and I take a call from Scott, who informs me that Max has offered a huge bonus based on our conversation earlier in the year.

“So, MVP, what’s your off-season look like?”

“Holly and I are heading to Colorado,” I tell him. “Going to kayak and hike. Maybe get into some other trouble.” Images of making love to Holly out in the wild dance through my head.

“I know I was a bit of skeptic earlier this season,” Scott says. “I really am happy for you both. Maybe she is your lucky charm.”

She absolutely is.

As I hang up, my phone buzzes.

There’s tons of press inside. I can’t imagine who’s hanging around outside, but it’s good, actually. I have one more thing I need to do in order to make this a perfect end to a perfect season.

The guys and I all wander out to the parking lot, bro-hugging and hand-shaking. Max Terry comes out, and our coaching staff. We all take pictures with the cup before it is whisked off into an armored car to be engraved and then delivered for us to display over the summer.

My white Lambo is parked right where I left it and I’m the first to crane my neck as the door opens. Holly, in a sleek, black dress, steps out of the driver’s seat. As she approaches on very high and very sexy heels, the press catch sight of her and start snapping pictures.

She gives me a sexy smile and I decide now is the time. I drop to one knee in front of press and management and teammates. I pull out the ring I bought months ago.

Holly starts crying immediately, her hand over her mouth and her shoulders shaking.

“Holly Laurent, you have changed my life. I’m a better player, a better teammate, and a better person because of you. I’m a much better man, and I want to keep getting better, but only with you at my side. Will you be my wife?”

“Yes,” she sobs happily. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

I stand up and slip the ring on her finger before kissing her thoroughly. I hear a million camera clicks but it doesn’t bother me a bit. I have my girl in my arms and she just agreed to marry me. Holly extends her hand and examines the ring intently. I watch her eyes fill with fresh tears and it feels like we are walking on air.

Her friend Pam must have been in the passenger side of the vehicle, because she comes from out of nowhere, demanding to see the ring. She deems it “stunning” and gives us both sloppy kisses of congratulation to our cheeks. Georg is next, and it takes a bit of time for Holly and me to make our way to the car and away from the chaos of the parking lot.

We had planned to go out dancing to celebrate, but I think we both feel like there are other, more important things to do.

Our catering server pops open a bottle of champagne as we make eyes at each other over a candlelit dinner in my suite.

We toast to the beginning of forever.

I stare at my future wife and enjoy the show as she blushes for me. I think about all the ways I want to love her. I wonder what’s going through her mind right now.

After our dinner, that was dripping with enough sexual innuendo to make our poor server nearly keel over from embarrassment, I tip her handsomely to go away.

I turn on some music, Keane’s, Somewhere Only We Know plays softly as I pull my fiancée into my arms. We dance as the lights of the Strip shimmer against the panoramic view through the wall of windows.

“I can’t believe how much I love you,” Holly says. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I remind her. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

I slip the dress off her shoulders and bare her golden skin, kissing her shoulder blades as she tips her head back, her long hair like a dark waterfall down her back. That dress, as pretty as it is, looks better on the floor as I gaze at the long lines of her toned body. Her calves are shapely in those high-heeled shoes, and I lobby for those to be the only thing she leaves on tonight.

I kiss along each bared inch of her skin. I caress the soft skin of her tight ass. I lick and kiss at her sweet pussy through her soaked, silky knickers.

All in all, I worship this woman. So much so, that I ditch her knickers and pick her up, placing her atop the now cleared dining table. I know where I’ll be taking my dessert from tonight—the sweetness between her legs.

“You’re a goddess,” I say, my beard and lips and tongue coated in her juices. She’s boneless from the orgasm I just gave her. I love her this way.

I carry her to my bed and take my time entering her. When I do, I’m looking deeply into her eyes as I fill her up. We are truly one body together. I see a single tear fall from the corner of her eye and onto the pillow.

I make love to this amazing, beautiful woman I never expected to find.

But am so grateful I did.