Page 153 of Relationship Goals

“Wolfe,” the chant begins in the stands, and I’m so focused on loosening up the tight muscles in my glutes and quads as I jog, that it takes me a moment to realize it’s not the normal cheer.

“Luke,” Gold’s voice jerks me out of my concentration, and I glance up at where he’s abruptly stopped jogging in place beside me.

He’s not looking at me, though—his gaze is fixed on the sideline.

“Look,” he urges.

I follow where his attention’s landed, and what I see there nearly undoes me completely.

My feet stop moving.

That can’t be real. That can’t be what it looks like.

“Wolf…Hunt…Wolf…Hunt,” the crowd chants, and Gold curses under his breath next to me. They’re holding thousands upon thousands of colored cards above their heads, and all put together, they spell outWolfhuntin black and gold.

I’m speechless, and my gaze dips to the woman standing under a balloon arch of black and gold, holding a sign that simply reads:Hi.

The jumbotron in the middle of the field zooms in on her, and she raises one hand in greeting, her beautiful face perfect even magnified on the screen.

The crowd holding the signs flips them over, nearly at once, and I’m in awe at the amount of planning this must have taken.

Now flipped, the signs read:I’m Sorry.

I shake my head, and my feet begin moving again.

Not to warm up, not to the goal, but to Abigail, who’s standing there, trembling and as nervous as I’ve ever seen her, under the gold-and-black balloon arch.

Her sign floats to the ground as I approach, her lower lip trembling.

“Hi,” she says as I approach her. “I’m so sorry, Luke. I was selfish and stupid and I’m so, so sorry.”

I don’t hesitate. I wrap my arms tight around her.

“You aren’t the one who needs to apologize,” I tell her. “I am. And I’m so sorry, Abigail. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Can we start over?” she asks, her pretty green and hazel eyes full of tears as she stares up at me, her elegant hand cupping my cheek.

I consider it, really consider it, turning over the request before shaking my head.

“No,” I grunt.

Her face falls.

“I don’t want to start over,” I tell her. “I want to keep going. There’s nothing about you I don’t like. I want the Abigail who isn’t afraid to be herself, the one I already know.”

“Even Gollum?” she asks, crying, though she’s smiling through her tears.

I catch one on the tip of my finger, lit up with happiness, like a fire’s burning through me just to have her in my arms again.

“Even Gollum,” I manage, grinning like an idiot.

She presses herself into me, and I groan.

“I need to admit something. I don’t really have a Gollum kink,” she whispers.

“I know,” I tell her, laughing. The laugh dies. “I need to admit something, too.”

The breeze whips a lock of her reddish-gold hair across her face, and I smooth it back, my gaze darting between her stunning eyes.