Like I give a shit. Other than me, the only person whose opinion holds sway over my actions is Finley. And Coach Pomroy.
I thrust a hand through my hair and flash a silly expression his way. “How does this look? Good enough to be commemorated for all eternity?”
Jennings laughs, but he’s also tugging me toward our seats to stop me from making too much of an ass of myself. “Explain to me again how you managed to make someone like Finley fall in love with you.”
I flick an invisible speck of dust off my shoulder. “Why? Need tips?”
“Fuck off, man,” he replies. “I want to make sure she hasn’t been brainwashed into this relationship.”
“No need. She loves me as-is, dude.”
“It’s a fucking miracle,” Jennings mutters under his breath.
“Tell me about it.”
“Zachary Briggs, don’t ever forget you're a catch,” Gemma says in an exaggerated mom voice.
Matt scoffs. “No, he’s lucky my sister gives this jackass the time of day.”
“Hey!” I say, playing into his act.
Matt quickly came around about our relationship when he learned I was willing to miss practice and get healthy scratched for a game to support her. His support has only increased as he’s witnessed our relationship grow this past year.
I hope it’ll make it easier for him to accept that Finley and I plan to move in together in the not-too-distant future. I mean, after she says yes, of course. After signing my $8.5 million, eight-year contract, I decided to buy a house I could turn into a home, one I want Finley to move into when she graduates college. Buying the right house will affect us both, so I’ve been putting it off until Finley’s part of the equation. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.
Finley finishes the meet on bars, dazzling us with the ease with which she swings and flips and jumps between the low and high bars. UPC wins the meet handily, hopefully the first of many this season. By the time I maneuver my way to the gym floor to meet her, she’s talking to a middle-aged female correspondent from the ACC network. Her lips break into a broad smile when she spots me.
The reporter’s eyes widen with recognition. “Well, we have another sports star in our midst, Mr. Zach Briggs of the Palmer City Wolves professional hockey team. Come join us, won’t you?”
I wave awkwardly to the correspondent but focus my gaze on Finley, seeking silent permission to join the interview. This moment isn’t about me, and I don’t want it to be. I also don’t want to be rude.
Finley lifts one arm, beckoning me to her side. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that.”
I pause to glance down at my T-shirt which readsFinley Harris’s Boyfriendin bright red font so no one will struggle to see it. “What? It’s the title I’m most proud of. I want everyone to know it.”
“Aw, how sweet are you two?” the correspondent coos. “Tell me—”
I hold up the hand not wrapped around Finley’s shoulders. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, and I know I’m crashing the party. High-flyer, were you in the middle of saying something?”
She flashes me a grateful smile, transferring more of her weight to me. “I was talking about my journey back to gymnastics, and how the key to keeping healthy was finding a psychiatrist who was invested in helping me determine the right medication and lifestyle choices. Like so many people, I was resistant at first, but I’m glad I had people in my life looking out for me when I wasn’t in a place to do it myself.”
I press a kiss to the top of her head, so proud of my girl for sharing her authentic self with the world.
“Your story is inspiring to many of us chasing dreams,” the correspondent says. “You shouldn’t give up. You can defy the odds.”
“Exactly, but sometimes not by yourself. It’s okay to ask for help. It doesn’t make you weak.” Finley grins, and her pink cheeks puff out adorably. “Okay, now I can answer your questions about us. What do you want to know?”
The correspondent straightens, her posture relaxing after Finley opens the door to personal questions. “Can you tell us how y’all met?”
Finley laughs airily, shifting her wide-eyed stare to me. “Can I tell this one?”
I gesture toward the camera with my free arm. “Go right ahead. You’re a better storyteller than me.”
Her head tilts. “A moreefficientstoryteller. You’re more fun.” Finley sucks in a breath. “Zach and I met at my brother’s wedding.”
“Your brother, Matt Harris, captain of the Palmer City Wolves?”
“That’s right,” Finley sings.
