Page 157 of Lucky Shot

I allow myself the moment—to sink into it, to remember it, to own it—but it’s not complete yet.

“I need to—guys, I need to find her,” I say above the continuing roar of the stadium. I know they can’t hear me, but I say the words anyway as I push my way out of the pile of my teammates.

When I look up, I’m momentarily blinded by the camera flashes directed my way. I stagger toward the sidelines. She was supposed to be around the midfield line, but the stands are a mass of fans that all blur together in their black and red fan gear.

Whit? Where are you?

I put a hand over my eyes to search, to try and find another black and red jersey amid the stands. It feels hopeless, the victory less complete.

“Alexander!” My name is a shout above the fray.

I turn and see her there. Our eyes meet and hers are filled with tears like mine are.

But it’s then that I notice it—the reason I couldn’t see her.

She’s not wearing my team colors. No. I was skimming right over her. She’s wearing blue. A specific blue of an old jersey that I’ve held on to for most of my life. The one that was framed on my wall and saved so I could feel close to him. My dad’s old kit. I can’t see the back of it but know there is H-A-R-D-Y emblazoned across the back.

“The one thing I remember most about my dad was how when he was on the pitch, the pride that owned him when he’d look in the stands and see my mum and me in our Hardy jerseys. It sounds stupid, but he’s out there living his dream, and he’d look over at us like we were the best things that ever happened to him.”

My breath catches in my throat as she’s helped over the barrier and down to the pitch with the other wives and girlfriends.

I’ve never felt prouder in my life. I’ve never felt more complete. I’ve never felt so bloody loved as I do right now.

EPILOGUE TWO

Whitney

“I want that feeling. I want to be able to make someone feel how I felt when he used to look at me. It’s stupid and weird but I fear with my lifestyle, with the attention I’ve brought on myself, that I’ll never get the chance to feel that way or make someone else feel that way.”

Those words stuck with me that night as we played sexy foosball. The night that changed everything for us.

And those words sing in my head right now as Hardy moves toward me. His kit is covered in mud and grass stains. He has a smear of dirt on his cheek, and his hair is soaked in sweat.

But he remembers those words too. I can see it in the awe in his expression and the love in his eyes.

I hold my hands out. “Champions!”

He pulls me against him, gathers me in his arms, and just holds on with his face buried into my neck.

“You did it, Hardy. You finally did it.”

He nods, never lifting his face, pressing his lips to my skin there. “The jersey,” he murmurs.

“I thought it was important that your dad be represented here today too,” I say as he uses the cover of my hair to let go of the emotion overwhelming him.

He takes his time, gathering himself as photographers and media mill in our periphery, waiting for the chance to interview him.

But when he leans back, he doesn’t pay them any attention. Hardy only has eyes for me as he stares and shakes his head in disbelief at the moment and at dreams realized.

I reach out and frame his face. I’ve never felt pride like this before and briefly, I wonder if this is how Patrick felt watching me from the sidelines, proud at having a small part in something so transformative for someone else.

“You did it,” I whisper just above the fray.

He nods. The tears welling in his eyes mean everything to me. “We did it, Whitney. Together.”

I lean forward and press my lips to his. He tastes of salt and Gatorade and of the man I simply can’t get enough of. And believe me, over the past year, I’ve tried. I’m always left wanting more.

“It’s all because of you, Lucky Shot. Because you took a chance and dared to dream with me.”