Page 87 of Second Quarter Comeback
His parents’ voices in the kitchen pull me back toreality. I glance over to see Mathieu and John toasting with champagne while nibbling on appetizers. Lucian is sprawled on the couch, arguing with Leif over who deserves more credit for the win. Meanwhile, Greyson stands by the window, nursing a drink and looking unusually relaxed.
Mathieu spots me from across the room and raises his glass in my direction. “Camille, you’ve done wonders for our boy. Don’t let him forget it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I try to laugh it off. “I don’t think I’ve done anything.”
John turns from the kitchen with a warm smile. “He’s happy, and that’s everything.”
“My fathers are right,” Killion says, his voice steady and serious for once, drawing my attention back to him. His hands leave my waist, but only so he can take one of mine in his, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in that soft, deliberate way that always makes my heart race.
The room around us seems to fade, the buzz of conversation dimming as he sinks to one knee right there in the middle of the living room.
“Killion,” I whisper, my breath catching.
“Camille,” he begins, his gaze locked on mine, unflinching and so full of love that I think I might actually combust. “You’ve been my biggest supporter, my biggest challenge, and the reason I wake up every day wanting to be better. I don’t just want you in my life—I need you. Forever.”
He pulls a small box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a stunning ring that catches the light just right, sparkling like it’s as smug about this moment as he is.
“Marry me, baby. Be my partner, my teammate, my reason for every win from here on out.”
The world tilts, and I realize the room has gone completely silent. All eyes are on us, but I don’t care.
“Yes,” I blurt out, the word tumbling out before I’ve even had a chance to think it through. Not that I need to—this has always been the easiest decision of my life.
His grin spreads wide as he slips the ring onto my finger, standing to pull me into his arms. “You just made me the luckiest man alive.”
“And you’re stuck with me now,” I tease, my voice breathless but light. “Hope you’re ready.”
“Oh, I’ve been ready,” he says, leaning in to kiss me like we’re the only two people in the room. And for the moment, that’s exactly how it feels.
Epilogue
Killion
The movingtruck pulls away from the curb, leaving behind a towering pile of boxes—and one very triumphant Camille. She stands on the front steps of the brownstone with her hands on her hips, her red hair catching the late afternoon sun. She’s got the kind of smile that says,I just conquered the world, and yes, you’re welcome.
“You’re staring,” she says, not even bothering to look at me, her voice light and teasing.
“I’m admiring,” I counter, leaning casually against the railing of our new front steps. “There’s a difference.”
She turns to me, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. “Well, Mr. Admirer, are you going to stand there looking pretty, or are you going to help me unpack?”
I smirk, pushing off the railing and closing the space between us in a few easy strides. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her close and drop a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll do whatever you want, Dr. Ashby.”
Her grin softens, and for a moment, we just stand there on the steps of our new home, the world around us a gentle hum of distant car horns and chirping birds.
The brownstone is everything Camille wanted—historic charm, a tree-lined street, and just enough space to feel like home. It’s also everything I didn’t know I wanted until now. We’ve been engaged for a year, and I’ve love every second of it. Our wedding’s in June, though her parents are still warming up to the idea of me being their son-in-law. Let’s just say, I don’t see us spending the holidays together anytime soon.
“Think they’ll like it?” she asks, tilting her head toward the front door.
“They’ll love it,” I say, glancing over at the two fluffy cats peering out the room window assigned to them, like disapproving royalty. Ben and Silus—ournew cat—have made it abundantly clear they’re only tolerating me because Camille’s around. But I’m patient. One day, I’ll be more than just the guy who fills their food bowls.
Inside, the brownstone smells like fresh paint and possibility. The hardwood floors gleam in the sunlight streaming through the big bay windows, and the built-in bookshelves Camille fell in love with are ready to be packed with her favorite titles.
The kitchen is a dream—stainless steel, marble countertops, and more counter space than I know what to do with. She walks me through each room, rattling off what’s missing and what we’ll unpack first. The guest room, the office, the cozy nook by the window where she’s determined to put a reading chair.
“And this,” she says, stopping in front of a door on the second floor, “is my favorite part.”
She pushes it open, revealing a bright, airy space transformed into her personal sanctuary. Calming greens and soft whites cover the room, with a yoga mat in one corner, shelves stocked with candles, books, and framed photos.
