“Guess that means we’re internet official now.” Since we’ve been outed, I lean close and ask, “You don’t mind?”
“Troy, did you think I’d come to Wembley with you and expect us to not come out?”
“I just wasn’t certain if you were ready.”
“I am.” She meets my gaze. “If people see that, good.”
I couldn’t answer her verbally even if I tried. My chest feels too full with hope and something much more dangerous—the love I’ve been holding back for so long. Instead, I lean forward and wait to see what she does.
She meets me the rest of the way and brushes her lips against mine. When we pull back, we’re both grinning like we’ve already won when there’s still a second half to go through.
And what a second half it is. Every play sucks the air out of at least half of the stadium. At one point, the Lightning kicker lines up for the game-winning thirty-seven yard field goal attempt. Instinct and lingering memories of being in this exact positionmake me tense. When the ball sails cleanly through the uprights, the relief hits like a physical force.
Once we’re done cheering, there’s mere seconds on the clock. We count down together until the final whistle tears through the air. There’s maybe half a second of silence before Wembley detonates into pure chaos.
The arch above Wembley flares white. Confetti rains like gold dust. Players swarm the field, helmets in the air, shouting and whooping. But there’s only one sound I hear. It’s Maya’s laugh overriding the roar. The sight of her — cheeks flushed, hair loose, eyes bright — hits harder than the noise.
“What a game!” she shouts.
I can’t look away. “That it was.”
She grins, and I can’t help thinking the best part of the win hasn’t fully kicked off yet.
37
BUSTED PLAY: OFFENSIVE MISCOMMUNICATION LEADING TO CHAOS.
As exciting as this has been, I’m ready to drag Troy back to our room. Judging by the look in his eyes, he’s of the same mind. We clasp hands and climb the stairs to reach the club level when we’re stopped by a black-suited security officer wearing an earpiece. “Mr. Walsh? Ma’am? I’m Daryl. The Lightning coach has requested you both join the team in the locker room.”
Troy asks what I’m thinking. “Seriously?”
“The invite came from the coach himself,” Daryl confirms.
I bump Troy’s arm. “Guess we’ve been upgraded from spectators with decent seats.”
He gives me a penetrating look. “You sure you’re up for this?” What he’s leaving unsaid is,Are you up to seeing Bryce?
I shrug. “I have nothing to hide. So long as he doesn’t make a scene, I’ll play nice.”
He deadpans, “We’re doomed.”
“Pretty much,” I chirp, thinking of all the desperate emails Bryce has sent me. “But I’ll still attempt to face him with dignity, which is more than he can say.”
Troy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lead on.”
“You’ll need these,” Daryl hands us two green badges, which we slip over our heads. After we do, we follow him through a side door, down a flight of stairs and suddenly, we’re out on Wembley field.
I stop dead in my tracks. My fingers, clutched in Troy’s, break free.
Realizing we’ve been separated, Troy calls out to Daryl to wait. “What is it, Maya?”
“This…this is just not something I ever expected to be doing. Standing in a place where so many iconic photos have been taken. I mean, England had its first World Cup win here. Queen took the stage here during Live Aid. The Olympics, the NFL’s first game, Taylor Swift.” I rub my arms as chills race through me.
“How about we take one more?” Pulling out his cell, Troy unlocks it and hands it to Daryl. Wrapping his arms around me, he presses his forehead into mine. “I may be ahead of you, but I’m falling for you, Maya Cox.”
Throwing my arms around his waist, I whisper back. “Only you could make me believe in love again, Troy Walsh.”
He squeezes me close. We remain locked together until Daryl clears his throat. “I took five, six, maybe twenty?”
