“You were the first thing that ever made me understand what it meant to be afraid of wanting something in public,” I say. “And then you became the first thing that taught me how pathetic that fear was.”
Her shoulders shake once.
The medal glints against the rise and fall of her breath.
“I have loved you badly,” I say. “I have loved you silently. I have loved you selfishly. I have loved you in pieces.” My voice roughens. “And I have spent every day since trying to become the kind of man who deserves to love you whole.”
Her face breaks open.
No holding back now.
No polished athlete composure.
No brave chin tilt.
Just Stella.
My girl.
I slide the ring from the box and hold it between us.
“I can’t promise we’ll never make a mess,” I say. “That would be dishonest, and you know I’m finally trying to be better than that.”
That gets the tiniest wet laugh out of her.
I need her smiling while I say this because otherwise I might not get through it.
“But I can promise I will never again make you guess whether I’m yours in daylight. And I can promise that no matter how big your life gets—and baby, it’s gonna keep getting bigger—I will still look for you first in every room.”
She makes this broken, beautiful little sound and shakes her head like I’m already killing her.
Her tears are everywhere now.
Mine probably aren’t far behind.
I look into her eyes and say it clean.
“Marry me.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
Not for one second.
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Cracked open.
Sure.
Then her voice breaks and she laughs through the tears and says it again, stronger.
“Yes.”
I slide the ring onto her left hand.
She stares at it like she can’t quite process the fact that it’s real and on her hand and hers.
