Because I’m a fucking Super Bowl champ.
Holy fuck.
Holy fucking—
Someone shoves a victory baseball cap on my head. Matt, one of our PR people, fists my jersey and starts tugging me toward a half circle of cameras already surrounding Cam.
But then there’s a break in the sea of players, coaches, and media, and I find her. Siena, with a wild bun on top of her head, scrambling over the barrier at the foot of the stands.
A neon-vested security guard rushes her the second her sneakers meet the turf, but it’s too late for him. My little trespasser has locked eyes on me, smiling so fucking big, and the poor man doesn’t stand a chance. She bodychecks him out of her way like he’s made of nothing, and charges toward me.
“Brooks, we need you for interviews.”
I pry Matt’s hand off me. “Find me later.”
My girl is flushed, wild-eyed, mouthing “oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” but the second she jumps into my arms and winds her legs around my waist it turns intoI love you, I love you, I love youin my ear.
“I’m so fucking proud of you—”
My mouth crushes hers, cutting off the rest of her praise, because I know she is. She tells me she’s proud of me about fifty times a day, gushes freely about every little thing I do. Makes me feel like I’m Bob the fucking Builder when I so much as replace a burnt-out light bulb at the new house. Like Evel Knievel whenever I dip a toe into the ocean out back, like I’m performing some kind of wild, death-defying stunt.
I’ve been on top of the world since the morning I loaded her suitcases into my car, and she hasn’t let me stray off that peak once.
I’m stupid happy even just watching her at the kitchen table,ironing out the final logistics for the business she’ll launch this spring. Because she’ll be living her dream. Running charters on theShip Happens, the teal-hulled sailboat bringing her dad’s legacy to the Pacific Ocean, while the shop lives on back home under her family friends’ ownership.
When she pulls away, Siena’s got tears streaking down her face. “Brooks, I’m so happy for you. I can’t stop shaking, I’m so happy. I’ve peaked. This is it. Nothing gets better than this.”
Wanna bet?
With a surge of adrenaline rivaling the one that carried me into the end zone, I start to lower her to the ground. But she winds her legs tighter in protest.
“Baby, I need to put you down for a second.”
“No, you don’t. Just go about your celebrating like this. You won’t even notice I’m here.” She mimes locking her mouth and throwing away a key.
I shake my head at her, chuckling at the innocent look she’s giving me. The crowd around us swells as the other families finally make it onto the field, in a more sanctioned manner than hers.
“Nothing’s ever just a straight line with you, is it?”
She mimes unlocking her mouth. “Straight lines are boring.”
“They really are.” I hike her up in my arms. “Take out the necklace.” Her eyebrows pull together and I tuck my chin down, indicating my chest. “The anchor necklace. Fish it out.”
The shimmering anchor surfaces from under my jersey, alongside a different kind of sparkle. I’m all laughter as Siena’s eyes go as wide as I’ve ever seen them, staring down at the ring.
“Brooks Attwood.”
“Siena hopefully soon-to-be Attwood. I love you so damn—”
“Oh myGod, yes. Is that even a question?”
“I haven’t even asked—”
Siena shoves the ring on her finger, chain and all, and cuts off anyhope of getting a single other word out when she crashes our mouths together. Kissing me stupid, right here, in the middle of this chaotic football field. Covered in confetti, in a mosh pit of people, cameras clicking around us.
The whole thing is so her. Nothing like how I rehearsed it.
And everything I’ve ever needed.