Page 91 of Play the Last Track
“How dangerous of you both.” I smile.
Flynn leans down and nips at my ear. “Behave or I won’t wait until after the ring ceremony to ruin your nice new dress.”
Scott groans. Flynn’s whisper obviously wasn’t so quiet after all. I readjust my sunglasses and glance at him. “Payback.”
“Anyway,” Flynn interrupts before I settle into a verbal sparring match with Scott. “We were talking and, if you can swing it, we thought we should head back to Italy again. Get the same villa. Make it a summer thing. Maybe every year.”
I smile at the hope in his voice. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned Italy to me again, or proposed another holiday with the two of them. He loves living so close to Scott. They see each other daily, training at the gym, going running. I know he’s getting nervous about camp and pre-season, and Scott going back when he won’t be.
They’ve always had football in common. It’s been the foundation of their friendship for so long, I think he’s worried now that he can’t play, he might get left behind.
“Oh, that’s a great idea,” Ivy says, looking between the boys.
“I agree. Making it a yearly thing would be fun, too. I loved it there.”
I look up at Flynn, still standing over me with his arms resting on the top of the cart. He smiles brightly, his eyes full of excitement. He’ll be over the moon about Ivy, excited for Scott, and just like me, he’ll be itching to spoil the new addition.
I think about what Doug told me, about having friends to do life with, how it makes a difference.
My brother is so much younger than me. My parents are retired and enjoying their hard work. They’re thinking about traveling for a few months when Sammy graduates, getting out to see the world. Flynn’s parents are the same as always, supportive but uninterested in being involved.
Scott and Ivy have become family. They’re the ones we celebrate the wins with, who are next to us through the hard times. The milestones seem bigger and brighter, getting to cross them off with them by our sides.
I’ll never tell him this, but thank god for Scott and the day he decided to gamble on me giving Ivy a coaster with his number scribbled on the back.
Epilogue
Katie
Three years later
“Fuck,fuck,fuck.”Ichew on my lip, my fingers tapping on the benchtop as I stare at the white sticks laid out in front of me. There are six of them. Two boxes worth. All with two dark blue lines. Clear as day. Can’t miss them.
I’m pregnant.
Holy fuck.
My eyes glance at the clock hanging on the wall across the room, and I wince. It’s almost six and Flynn will be walking through the front door any minute. He took some time off after his career with the Broncos ended. He wanted to make sure the next step was the right one, so he stepped back from football, tried his hand at a few things. He even tried bartending, which he lasted a day doing before promptly telling me the magic he thought was in bartending was actually in his watching me do it. Of course, he swears up until this day it has nothing to do with the fact he was shit at it.
By Christmas that year though, he was getting itchy. Restless.
So, when Boston Metropolitan University called and asked if he wanted to join them as their new head coach for the springseason, Flynn knew it was the right decision. I must say, the man was meant to coach. He was a great player, but he sees the game, understands its players, like no one I’ve ever seen before. Even Jeff commends him for his achievements in the short time he’s been there. They’re getting closer and closer to a bowl game.
Flynn also just loves it. Deep down, I think there is a part of him that is grateful the injury happened. It all worked out. He took the time off he wanted, and we traveled a little. Spent a few months jetting off whenever we felt the urge, since he wasn’t tied to a training schedule or games. He found his peace, and then the job at the university dropped in front of him, and he stepped up like it was always meant to be. I have never been prouder than the moment he won his first game with those kids. They’d been on a bad streak, he turned them around, and now he’s well and truly building a championship team.
I’m still at the bar. I laugh and joke about how much work it is but secretly, I love it. I love the hustle and bustle, I love the ever-changing challenge it poses. We now have open mic nights and it’s been a hit. One of the country singers who played a few weeks at the bar over the summer just got signed by Mr. Suit himself, Mark Madison. And on Friday nights, with a regular crowd, I get up on the makeshift stage and get to perform. I never wanted to be a singer, not one that traveled and toured and had to push album after album out. I just wanted to love singing and have a place to do that while having fun. Now I do, even if it is only at the bar that my family owns.
Sammy graduated from high school and went to play football for Texas State. He’s a quarterback, and he’s a damn good one. I actually think Flynn is a little upset that he didn’t pick BMU to play at. I fly out with my parents whenever we can to see Sammyplay, and whenever he’s home and comes round, he and Flynn are in the backyard, passing a ball back and forth while rambling about different stats. It’s sweet.
Our lives haven’t really changed all that much. We still live close to Scott and Ivy, and their cheeky little boy, Matty. We still holiday in Italy every summer together. The boys still play golf, and they’re still terrible at it.
I glance down at my left hand. I’mstilljust a girlfriend.
I thought a year, eighteen months max, would be the time it would take for Flynn to crack and propose. In fact, I was so confident that he would that I was waiting for it by our first Christmas together. It never happened. Then, our anniversary passed. My birthday. Another summer holiday in Italy.
At every event over the last three years, I have been holding my breath for the moment he decided to get on one knee and give me a damn ring.
I know what I said. I know I told him that I just wanted to be us. But I meant for like, a few months. Not years.
