chapter 28

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Boston Blades are your Stanley Cup Champions!” The arena erupted as the final seconds ticked away, confirming what the scoreboard already proclaimed: Boston 3, Chicago 1 in Game 6 of the championship finals. Emma maintained professional composure in the owner’s box, exchanging handshakes with league officials even as her heart raced with triumph. One year. It had taken exactly one year from her public introduction as team owner to this moment of ultimate victory. The journey had tested every facet of her character—her leadership, her resilience, her ability to balance professional demands with personal priorities. “Your grandfather would be bursting with pride,” Walter murmured beside her, emotion evident in the assistant’s usually stoic demeanor. Emma squeezed his arm in acknowledgment. Franklin wasn’t physically present, having watched from his hospital bed where he was recovering from his second cardiac procedure in three months. But his strategic influence permeated the championship team he’d helped build before passing day-to-day control to his granddaughter. “Ms. Mitchell?” A league official approached respectfully. “They’re ready for you on the ice for the presentation.” Emma nodded, gathering herself for the most public moment of her career. As she made her way toward the elevator, her phone vibrated with an incoming video call—Franklin, of course, unable to contain himself despite doctor’s orders to remain calm. “We did it, Grandpa,” she answered, joy evident in her voice. “You did it,” Franklin corrected, his hospital room visible behind him. “Your team. Your leadership.” “Our legacy,” Emma insisted. “I’m heading down for the cup presentation now.” “Go make history, Emmy,” Franklin’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “First female owner to lift the cup. Show them how a Mitchell celebrates.” The elevator doors opened to the arena’s ground level, where Alek waited in his perfectly tailored suit, pride evident in his expression. “Ready?” he asked as she ended the call with her grandfather. “Born ready,” Emma replied, straightening her shoulders. Together, they walked through the corridor toward the ice, maintaining professional distance despite the impulse to hold hands during this momentous occasion. Their relationship remained private though not secret—respected within the organization but kept separate from business operations. As they reached the tunnel exit, the roar of the crowd intensified, sensing the impending ceremony. Players embraced on the ice, some in tears, others shouting in triumph. Emma paused briefly at the threshold, absorbing the magnitude of the moment. “Your moment, Emma,” Alek murmured. “You’ve earned this.” She stepped onto the ice, careful in her dress shoes despite the carpet runners laid down for the ceremony. The crowd’s reaction was immediate—cheers intensifying as the scoreboard displayed her image alongside the words “MITCHELL MAKES HISTORY.” The presentation proceeded with traditional formality—league commissioner offering congratulations, team captain accepting the trophy with reverent hands, players taking turns lifting the cup overhead while families and fans celebrated. Emma watched with quiet satisfaction, recognizing how each strategic decision over the past year had contributed to this achievement. When the captain finally skated toward her, cup extended, Emma felt the weight of history alongside the literal weight of the trophy. As she raised it overhead, photographers capturing the historic moment, she allowed herself a rare public display of emotion—pure joy radiating from her face. The team encircled her in celebration, respectful but inclusive, acknowledging her role in their success. In that moment, Emma knew she had transcended every limitation others had tried to place on her—woman in a male-dominated industry, executive with questioned qualifications, owner leading through personal challenges. She had become simply Emma Mitchell, championship team owner. No qualifiers needed. Hours later, the formal celebration concluded, Emma found herself sitting alone in her office, championship hat askew on her head, heels discarded under her desk. The building had gradually quieted as players departed for private celebrations, staff completed post-game responsibilities, and the cleaning crew began the overnight transformation from championship venue to ordinary arena. A soft knock preceded Alek’s entrance. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves but otherwise maintained his professional appearance despite the evening’s festivities. “I thought I might find you here,” he said, taking in her contemplative posture. “Processing?” “Savoring,” Emma corrected. “It’s been quite a year.” “Understatement of the century.” Alek settled into the chair across from her desk. “Championship, MBA, restructured leadership after your grandfather’s procedures—any one would be significant accomplishment.” “Don’t forget navigating a public relationship with my CEO.” Emma smiled. “That’s been possibly the greatest challenge of all.” “Has it?” Alek’s expression turned serious. “Truly?” Emma considered the question. “Not the relationship itself. That’s been the easiest part of my life. Just the public aspects—the considerations, the optics, the constant awareness of how others might interpret innocent interactions.” “Well,” Alek said, reaching into his jacket pocket, “perhaps it’s time to simplify at least one aspect of our complicated lives.” Emma’s breath caught as he withdrew a small velvet box—unmistakable in its significance. “Alek...” “I’ve been carrying this since your graduation,” he said, turning the box in his hands rather than opening it immediately. “Waiting for the right moment. First your grandfather’s health required attention. Then the conference finals demanded focus. Then championship preparations took priority.” “We’ve been a bit busy,” Emma acknowledged, heart racing despite her outward composure. “We have.” Alek met her eyes directly. “But tonight, watching you raise that trophy—the culmination of everything you’ve fought for professionally—I realized there will always be another priority, another challenge, another reason to wait.” “Unless we decide otherwise,” Emma finished his thought. “Exactly.” Alek rose from his chair, coming around the desk to kneel beside her. “Emma Mitchell, I have loved you through professional crises, personal challenges, academic pursuits, and championship celebrations. I want to love you through whatever comes next—as your partner, your support, your equal.” He opened the box, revealing a stunning emerald-cut diamond on a platinum band—elegant, distinctive, nothing like the flashy solitaire Jack had given her years earlier. “Will you marry me?” Alek asked, his usual confidence giving way to vulnerability. “Not because it’s practical or expected or convenient, but because I cannot imagine building a life without you at its center?” Emma touched his face, overwhelmed by the simple perfection of this moment—private, sincere, entirely theirs despite the public triumph preceding it. “Yes,” she said, certainty filling her voice. “Absolutely yes.” The ring slid perfectly onto her finger, catching the light as Alek rose to kiss her—a seal on promises they’d been building toward since that first snowstorm trapped them together in his office. When they finally separated, Emma glanced at her phone. “I should call Grandpa. He’s probably still awake waiting for news.” “About the proposal or the championship?” Alek asked with a smile. “Both, knowing him.” As expected, Franklin answered immediately despite the late hour. “About time you called! Walter’s been texting updates, but I want to hear everything from you.” “Actually, Grandpa, I have news beyond the championship.” Emma held up her hand so the ring was visible on the video call. “Alek and I are engaged.” Franklin’s whoop of delight was so loud a nurse appeared in his hospital room doorway, concern evident until she noted his happy expression. “Finally!” Franklin exclaimed. “I was beginning to think Volkov had lost his nerve.” “Just waiting for the perfect moment, sir,” Alek replied, leaning into frame beside Emma. “Well, this calls for celebration.” Franklin reached for something off-camera, producing a small crystal glass of amber liquid. “Don’t tell the doctors.” “Grandpa! You’re not supposed to—” “One sip of thirty-year-old scotch won’t kill me,” Franklin interrupted with characteristic stubbornness. “Some occasions demand proper acknowledgment.” Emma couldn’t argue with his logic, despite her concern. This night represented everything they had worked toward—professional triumph, personal happiness, family legacy secured. After promising to visit Franklin first thing tomorrow with full details, Emma ended the call and leaned back in her chair, admiring her ring in the dim office light. “Happy?” Alek asked, perching on her desk. “Completely.” Emma stood, stepping into his embrace. “Though we should probably wait until the championship excitement dies down before announcing this publicly. One major headline at a time.” “Always the strategic thinker.” Alek kissed her forehead. “I’ve made a dinner reservation at my cabin this weekend. Proper celebration, just us.” “Your thinking room,” Emma recalled their conversation months earlier. “Where you make your most important decisions.” “Exactly.” As they prepared to leave the arena, championship arena now quiet in post-celebration exhaustion, Emma paused at her office doorway. So much had changed since she’d first claimed this space—from hesitant new owner hiding behind her maiden name to championship-winning MBA graduate confidently leading one of the league’s premier franchises. “What are you thinking?” Alek asked, noting her contemplative expression. “That some penalty boxes lead to unexpected victories,” Emma replied, taking his hand as they walked toward the exit. “If Jack hadn’t thrown those divorce papers at me, I might never have found the courage to reclaim my name, my ambitions, my true self.” “Perhaps we should send him a thank-you note,” Alek suggested with dry humor. “Or a wedding invitation,” Emma countered. “He and Veronica seem happy in Seattle. Might be the ultimate demonstration that everything worked out as it should.” “Always taking the high road.” Alek squeezed her hand. “Just one of the countless reasons I love you.” Outside, Boston’s summer night welcomed them with gentle warmth, the city still buzzing with championship celebrations. Emma breathed deeply, savoring the culmination of her journey from Jack Reynolds’ supportive wife to Emma Mitchell, championship team owner and soon-to-be wife of a man who saw her as nothing less than his equal. Some victories weren’t measured in championship trophies but in personal growth, wounds healed, and futures reclaimed. Emma had achieved both kinds tonight—raising the cup professionally while embracing the love she truly deserved personally. No penalty box could contain her now.