Come Around

There was 3:23 left in the third period. The Penguins were leading by a score of 2-1. They were playing pretty safe, and they seemed pretty strong. Before long I jolted out of my seat when Detroit hit the crossbar at 2:15 of the third. Another stoppage in play came at 1:17.
At 32.0 seconds Osgood left the crease and skated to the bench for the extra attacker.
16.1 seconds, another stop. Marc-Andre Fleury looked especially determined and strong as ever. 6.5 seconds left. The faceoff was in Pittsburgh's end. Detroit won it and got it back to Rafalski. I was standing up with the rest of the crowd, anticipating the end of the game, hoping that my team would be tearing their gloves and helmets off in celebration at the end of all this. Rafalski shot it; Fleury made the save and the rebound went straight to Nik Lidstrom. My heart was going a mile a minute. Flower had to make this save. I would love him for all of eternity if he made this save.
Lidstrom shot it. Fleury dove across the crease and pushed the puck away. The last second passed by, the buzzer sounded. I screamed, I cried, I celebrated all in one wave as I watched my boys race to the boards and crowd around the net. They hugged, hooted and hollered while the men in red sat on their bench and covered their heads in disappointment. I watched a number 11 in white look my way and gesture for me to head down to the ice with the media and other wives and girlfriends. I eagerly bolted from my seat and scrambled through the crowd to find the entrance to the ice.
Jordan was dripping with sweat and Gatorade when I finally reached him. His eyes showed a joy I had rarely ever seen before, his smile stretched to fit the entire width of his face. He worked hard for nine months, appearing in 104 games and won the right to hoist the most coveted trophy in all sports. He certainly had a good reason to be overjoyed, as he was now.
After passing through the handshake line Jordan finally got his turn to skate with the Cup. Here he was, fulfilling the dream that he had envisioned way before I even knew him, when he saw his older brothers take to the ice with their father. His first steps on the ice got him hooked, as it happened with most other young Canadian boys. He would pretend he was Wayne Gretzky on his backyard rink raising his hands over his head, acting as if he was taking his first skate with the Cup. Now he didn't want his time to end. He wanted to live in this moment forever. But when he passed the cup on to Tyler Kennedy, he remembered that there were other things he had to get to.
The media crowded around Jordan, asking him to share his feelings about this night, and whether or not his team could do it again in the near future.
He hastily answered their questions before scurrying to center ice and taking a spot next to his captain for the team picture. I looked on, watching him in his glorious state, surrounded by his all-too excited teammates.
A few snapshots later Jordan approached me to pick me up and carry me to the dressing room to finish off the rest of the celebration. Setting me down, he quickly stripped out of his jersey and threw on his championship t-shirt, and swapped the jersey for something in his equipment bag. I congratulated Sidney Crosby, who passed by while I waited for Jordan. Bottles of champagne were exploding all around us. Jordan pushed through the crowd and engulfed me in a monstrous hug. He let his lips trail through my hair and eventually find their way to my own mouth. He kissed me momentarily before pulling away and squeezing my hands. The room suddenly quieted down and Jordan grew extremely red. Then he began to talk:
"I know I really haven't been here for you in the past two months, but I hope this makes up for it. I spent these past months training and trying to make this night a successful one, and I don't think it could get any better until you agree to one thing." With that, he knelt down on one knee as everyone "awe-d" and I covered my mouth in surprise. Jordan was beaming as he proceeded:
"Regan Ann Caldwell, I love you with all my heart and I have never stopped. You are beautiful - hell, more than beautiful in my eyes, and so worth going through what I had to go through for today." At this point tears were freely streaming down my face. Jordan continued, becoming a little weepy himself.
"I never stopped working to make this night perfect, even though I may have let you down in some ways. I'm terribly sorry if I made you think that we were going downhill. I was nervous because I wanted to make this perfect for you, and I thought there wasn't a better time than right now for this. Every day I imagine what the rest of my life would be like with you, and let me tell you, it looks like a pretty wonderful life. I love you so much and I want to be able to wake up to you every morning, hold you in my arms whenever I want to, be welcomed by you when I return from a road trip or just coming back from a morning at the rink; everything. So Regan, would you do me the honor of being my bride?" As he finished speaking he pulled out a small box and presented me with the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen; like one I had imagined my dream guy would give me when I was a little girl. Every corner twinkled like the stars and gave off every color of the spectrum. Needless to say, it was gorgeous.
I jumped on top of Jordan who seemed worried at the slight delay from my admiration of the ring and pressed my lips fiercly on his. We toppled backwards on the ground as his teammates and their families cheered around us. Jordan broke apart from me just long enough to slip the ring out of the box and onto my finger before his lips attacked mine again.
"I love you, Jordan Staal."
"I love you too, future Mrs. Jordan Staal." Jordan smiled sweetly down at me as the celebration continued in the Penguins locker room. I sat between his legs, leaning my back against his chest and resting my head by his neck. Jordan began to entwine his fingers in mine and comb through my hair with his other hand.
"Regan Ann Staal," he said. My heart skipped a beat at the sound of what would soon be my new name.
"I love it already," I whispered to Jordan.
The Stanley Cup was won tonight, a love was recaptured, and neither Jordan or I could have asked for anything more than that. He definitely made up for those times we lost together; as much as I would like them back, I get to spend the rest of my life with the man I love. Who wouldn't want that?
I turned my head around and kissed Jordan again. He smiled, taking my hand to admire my ring, and whispered another "I love you."
I love you too, Jordan Staal.