“Coming in at six foot two and two hundred twenty pounds, left winger out of Raleigh, number seventeen, Logan Barnes!” My heart leaps as the spotlight reappears, jumping over to illuminate Logan skating out of the tunnel. My grin is enormous, and the guys on the bench all cheer, pouring out to follow Logan as he skates laps, dribbling a puck as he goes. The music switches to Bruno Mars’s “Marry You.” And now, of course, I’m a puddle of tears. After what seems like an almost interminable wait, Logan skates up to me, the guys flanking him on either side. He passes the puck to Van, then drops to
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