Page 75 of Game Face

She ends the call, and my heart races with what comes next. I’m really doing this. And I’ve let everyone in on it. My football brothers are going to have to settle for Tasha’s video, as are Peyton’s out-of-town grandparents and her Uncle Mike. But asfor having an audience, I feel like I really stacked the bleachers, so to speak. If she says no, at least a dozen people are going to witness it. My mom. My dad’s old fire captain. Tasha, Jason, Sarah, Reed and Nolan. Buck’s reaction is the one I am bracing for most, no matter which way this goes. That man’s wit knows no bounds, and when it comes to taking his fellow man down a peg, he’s rapid-fire fast.

I’m starting to sweat, so I pull my hoodie off as I exit the highway and make my way toward the Johnson home. It’s fifty-five degrees outside, which for Arizona is basically freezing, but my chest is burning up. I think I might be scared.

I pull into the driveway, having passed my mom’s SUV and Tasha’s car parked off the side of the road by the main gates. I’m not sure where everyone is hiding, but I know they can all see. And as Reed mentioned again when I was planning all this, he has cameras everywhere.

I get out of my truck and pat my pocket, feeling for the ring. I’ve probably worn the diamond’s edges dull at this point. The thing has become a worry stone of sorts.

I drop my hands in my joggers and embrace the chill in the air. Peyton is walking in slow circles with Otis out in the arena, a slight fog of dust from his foot-stomping glowing with the yellow lights. The sun is almost down, and I curse Kelly Brooks under my breath for asking too many questions. I hope Tasha will be able to film enough in the dim light.

Glancing around as I make my way into the arena, I drop the suspicious look when Peyton spots me. She halts Otis and puts a hand on her hip. I stop to take in the sight, wanting to remember her just like this—a movement that she said she worked on just so she could deal with me. Well, woman? You may as well pull it out now because if this goes as planned, you’re going to have to deal with me for a long time.

“This is not an important place you had to be, Wyatt Stone. It’s a dirt farm. And you’ve been here before. Now, fess up. What is that all about?”

I glance to my right, figuring her family is probably tucked away in the barn by now, looking through windows and cracks in the door. I shake my head, then close the distance between us so I can kiss her, partly to shut her up, but mostly becausemy God, do I love this woman.

Before she has a chance to catch her breath—and somehow ruin this—I drop to my knee and fish the ring from my pocket.

“Peyton Johnson, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what’s important to me. It was sort of your mandate when you grounded me to our apartment, so that bit is your fault,” I say, mentally working out the meaning behind her frozen, wide-eyed expression.

“I know you found this,” I say, holding the ring up and smirking.

Her head tilts slowly and her lips part, but dare I say, there’s a smile in there somewhere.

“It was Tasha’s fault,” she finally utters, and I drop my head with laughter, hoping her friend caught that on video.

“Okay. That doesn’t really matter. I want you to know I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than you probably think. And when you made that speech about me chasing my dreams and focusing on my future, you were leaving something major out of the conversation.”

Her brow furrows.

“You.”

She sucks in her bottom lip, and my pulse finally settles. I think she might just say yes.

“I know you have a long journey ahead, but Peyt? I want to be on that journey with you. I want to hold your hand at every doctor’s appointment, to work in the garage with yourgrandfathers on the next great gizmo they come up with to help in your recovery, and to clap louder than anyone when you cross goal after goal off your list. That, Peyton Johnson, is my dream.Youare my dream.”

“Wyatt, you can’t possibly fly back and forth when you?—”

She shakes her head and tears up. I shake my head, stopping her before she goes down that road.

“I’m not giving up on football, so don’t think that. I’m simply putting it off for a year. I’d rather spend that year growing with you, becoming a better human, letting you inspire me, holding you accountable, and letting you get angry at me when you need someone to blame. I want that more than I want some draft dream that might send me to Oklahoma, or Jacksonville, or Buffalo.”

“They won’t take you in Buffalo. They’re kind of set,” she teases, her mouth tipping up on the right.

I roll my eyes and get to my feet, taking her left hand in mine while her right holds on to Otis. I can’t think of a better witness.

“The game may have picked me, but I pick you. You’re my everything. My beginning, middle, and end. All the things in between. Marry me.”

I hold my breath, about ninety percent sure she’s going to say yes but a small sliver worried she’ll give in to her doubts.

“You promise you won’t give up on the game?”

I nod my head and let it fall against hers, closing my eyes as I let my fragile smile spread.

“Baby, that game gave me you. I can’t imagine what else it’s got in store. And if you write it on your list, then I won’t be able to cross it off without you knowing. So yeah, I promise. Marry me, Peyton Johnson. Make my dreams come true.”

She shifts, her lips brushing against mine, and I feel them morph into a tight grin just before her head nods.

“Yes, Wyatt Stone. I will marry you.”

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