Her lips press into a tight line, eyes narrowing, but she just gives a curt nod and steps aside.
I shoulder past her without breaking stride, the door banging open against the wall. The locker room smells like sweat, detergent, and the faint tang of turf. I change quickly, lacing my cleats tight, and step out onto the field. Reporters are already crowding the rail, voices cutting through the morning air.
“Maverick! Any comment on the gala incident?”
“Are you and your wife really?—”
I block them out, eyes forward, jaw locked.
Practice begins immediately. The sound of the ball hitting my hands, the thud of cleats on turf, the slap of shoulder pads during controlled hits, all of it keeps my head busy.
Halfway through, Coach pulls me aside. His voice is calm but firm. “Georgia Blackhawks. This game’s important, your ass be ready.”
I wipe my forearm across my forehead. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
But as I jog back into formation, my mind’s alreadyracing ahead — Georgia means her ring’s almost ready, and I’ve booked the aquarium.
Everything’s falling into place.
If I can just hold it together until then.
Coach blows his whistle, practice wrapping up for the day. My jersey’s clinging to me, heavy with sweat, and my calves ache in a way that’s going to make me regret stairs later.
I peel off my pads and toss them into my cubby when my phone buzzes against the bench.
Amelia
I missed you this morning. Try not to hurt yourself at practice Beach later today?
I can’t stop smiling. It’s stupid how her text can make me feel this way. She has no idea, or maybe she does, how much she’s shifted my entire world.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, grinning at my screen.
I start gathering my shit, shoving my cleats into my duffel when my phone lights up again, a call this time.
“Yeah?” I answer, tucking it between my ear and shoulder while I zip my bag.
“Maverick Hayes?” The voice on the other end is deep, steady. “Joe Larson. Larson’s Jewelers.”
I freeze mid-motion, knuckles tightening on the zipper pull.
“What’s up?”
Your order is ready. Emerald cut, four carats, silver band, no halo, no pave, just as you requested. It’s in the safe waiting for you. Congratulations.
For a moment, all I can hear is the faint hum of the phone line and the background noise of showers running inthe locker room.
“I’ll be there this afternoon,” I say.
“Take your time. It’s not going anywhere.”
We hang up, and I remain standing there, phone in hand, gazing into space.
My thoughts drift to her reaction when she sees it. To the aquarium, where I plan to tell her I don’t want this to be fake anymore.
Not for another day.
Not ever.
