Page 31

Chapter Thirty-One

I t was a tough loss. And it may have been the game of my life.

We have two games left, but they’re basically meaningless. Bryce will probably get a lot of time, though—and we’ll still want a bowl bid of some sort—but at this point, it’s about looking toward our future. The extra cash for the school is nice, and it’s a boost for the players going into next year.

Those of us kicking around the draft, though? It’s not worth getting hurt for the Cotton Candy Oreo Cheese Puff Bowl.

I’m anxious to get out of this press conference. I’ve never been a fan of them, but now that I have my mother’s ring in my pocket and a plan in my heart, sitting through questions about whether I’ll be at the combine or not feel empty and pointless.

I won’t announce anything here, that’s for sure. I’ll want to think through the messaging because while I plan to postpone the draft for a year, I’m not pulling myself off the table entirely. I’ll get in some workouts and spend the year bulking up and gaining speed. Maybe I’ll gain some more smarts while I’m at it. I’ve been thinking a lot about grad school. I feel as though my education has been on cruise control, and I regret that. I’d like to learn something and get good at it, maybe even teach. I still want to run a business one day or maybe take over parts of the Johnson Ranch business that rescues horses for therapy. Honestly, it’s been nice letting my mind wonder at the possibilities. I took football off the table mentally, and it’s made space for so much more.

But before I do any of that, I need to get down on one knee in front of Peyton and ask her to marry me. I’m still a little anxious about her answer, even though I know her heart will want to say yes. It’s her head I need to convince.

Believing me has never been something she’s shied away from. I’ll simply have to remind her of that.

Naturally, Kelly Brooks from Athletico is the first to ask me about the draft. I know he’ll push even after I answer, but I stick to my plan.

“I’m not thinking about that. We have two games left to play. I want to help position this team for the future. I intend on being there for Hampton and showing him what I can. That’s as far as it goes for me right now.”

I glance to my right, meeting Bryce’s eyes. He knows my plan to sit out a year, and while he’s not thrilled at the prospect of entering the draft with me, there’s a little piece of him that’s also fired up because of the competition. Who knows, maybe our rivalry will push me to be better next year as well.

“Okay, so is Hampton getting the start next week?” Kelly presses. What a pain in the ass this guy is!

“As we’ve said before, these are questions you’ll have to ask Coach Byers when it’s his turn,” Bryce answers, repeating the same words I used a few questions ago. “Neither of us is dumb enough to speak for him.”

I shoot Bryce a lopsided smirk, then roll my wrist over to check the time on my watch. I want to get to Peyton’s house before the sun goes down, but that window is narrowing.

“Go on,” Bryce says, covering his mic and leaning into me.

“You sure?” I whisper.

“Yeah, I’ll just answer for you the same way I do for Coach. And then maybe they can haul my dad in here for more questions since he’s eager to talk.” We both laugh while the press members lean in, attempting to eavesdrop.

“I’m sorry, y’all, but I have somewhere I need to be. Thanks for understanding.”

I push my chair back amid the flashes from still cameras and a few shouted questions that I’ve either answered or dodged already, and after a short lecture from our media manager, I slip out to the back parking lot and hop in my truck.

I make it about five miles before my phone rings with a call from Peyton. I smile, laughing silently as I answer with a voice command.

“Yes?”

I know she watched the press conference. They all did. It was part of the deal that everything went along as normal. The only wild card in the situation was Buck, but Rose promised she’d keep his mouth shut until after I proposed.

I asked Reed for his permission after I snuck the ring out of Peyton’s sock drawer. As terrifying as facing the Ohio State defensive line is, it’s nothing compared to asking Reed Johnson for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

He had his reservations at first, like his daughter’s worries that I’m giving up on my own dreams—being impulsive or desperate. But I have an answer for everything, and I know what I want—I want my life with her. I want to be the one she leans on for the hard road ahead. And I would hate myself for missing a minute of it.

Peyton’s uncle helped me parse out my options, having spent years as Reed’s agent. He knows the game well, even the seedy part behind the scenes where negotiations and trades get ugly. He kept Reed out of a lot of bad contracts, and when I do go pro, I want him in my corner. After looking at his projections, I was pleasantly surprised. By holding out a year, my draft number improves, assuming I perform well at next year’s combine. I’ll get an automatic bid for deferring. And Jason will make sure that promise sticks.

“You want to enlighten me on where exactly it is you have to be, in the middle of a damn press conference?” She’s only a little serious. Mostly, she’s sassy.

“Yeah, well, it’s somewhere important,” I say, stringing her along.

Her sigh comes through my speakers, and I laugh.

“I hear you,” she chides.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you do. You hear everything.”

“That’s not true,” she says, but quickly backpaddles. “Besides, you’re bad at sneaking up on people. And you do snore a little. And whose toes crack that much when they walk around at night.”

“Wow, you’re getting it all off your chest,” I muse. Man, is she going to feel bad when my knee pops as I drop down to propose. I’m sure she’ll hear it.

I toy with her for a few more minutes, until I can tell she’s genuinely getting irritated, and then I tell her to wait for me outside with Otis.

“I already took a shower. I don’t want to get dirty,” she argues.

“Well, you’ll have to take another one. I’ll help you.”

“ Hmm , I’m not sure you deserve to. But fine. I’ll meet you outside.”

She ends the call, and my heart races with what comes next. I’m really doing this. And I’ve let everyone in on it. My football brothers are going to have to settle for Tasha’s video, as are Peyton’s out-of-town grandparents and her Uncle Mike. But as for having an audience, I feel like I really stacked the bleachers, so to speak. If she says no, at least a dozen people are going to witness it. My mom. My dad’s old fire captain. Tasha, Jason, Sarah, Reed and Nolan. Buck’s reaction is the one I am bracing for most, no matter which way this goes. That man’s wit knows no bounds, and when it comes to taking his fellow man down a peg, he’s rapid-fire fast.

I’m starting to sweat, so I pull my hoodie off as I exit the highway and make my way toward the Johnson home. It’s fifty-five degrees outside, which for Arizona is basically freezing, but my chest is burning up. I think I might be scared.

I pull into the driveway, having passed my mom’s SUV and Tasha’s car parked off the side of the road by the main gates. I’m not sure where everyone is hiding, but I know they can all see. And as Reed mentioned again when I was planning all this, he has cameras everywhere.

I get out of my truck and pat my pocket, feeling for the ring. I’ve probably worn the diamond’s edges dull at this point. The thing has become a worry stone of sorts.

I drop my hands in my joggers and embrace the chill in the air. Peyton is walking in slow circles with Otis out in the arena, a slight fog of dust from his foot-stomping glowing with the yellow lights. The sun is almost down, and I curse Kelly Brooks under my breath for asking too many questions. I hope Tasha will be able to film enough in the dim light.

Glancing around as I make my way into the arena, I drop the suspicious look when Peyton spots me. She halts Otis and puts a hand on her hip. I stop to take in the sight, wanting to remember her just like this—a movement that she said she worked on just so she could deal with me. Well, woman? You may as well pull it out now because if this goes as planned, you’re going to have to deal with me for a long time.

“This is not an important place you had to be, Wyatt Stone. It’s a dirt farm. And you’ve been here before. Now, fess up. What is that all about?”

I glance to my right, figuring her family is probably tucked away in the barn by now, looking through windows and cracks in the door. I shake my head, then close the distance between us so I can kiss her, partly to shut her up, but mostly because my God, do I love this woman.

Before she has a chance to catch her breath—and somehow ruin this—I drop to my knee and fish the ring from my pocket.

“Peyton Johnson, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what’s important to me. It was sort of your mandate when you grounded me to our apartment, so that bit is your fault,” I say, mentally working out the meaning behind her frozen, wide-eyed expression.

“I know you found this,” I say, holding the ring up and smirking.

Her head tilts slowly and her lips part, but dare I say, there’s a smile in there somewhere.

“It was Tasha’s fault,” she finally utters, and I drop my head with laughter, hoping her friend caught that on video.

“Okay. That doesn’t really matter. I want you to know I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than you probably think. And when you made that speech about me chasing my dreams and focusing on my future, you were leaving something major out of the conversation.”

Her brow furrows.

“You.”

She sucks in her bottom lip, and my pulse finally settles. I think she might just say yes.

“I know you have a long journey ahead, but Peyt? I want to be on that journey with you. I want to hold your hand at every doctor’s appointment, to work in the garage with your grandfathers on the next great gizmo they come up with to help in your recovery, and to clap louder than anyone when you cross goal after goal off your list. That, Peyton Johnson, is my dream. You are my dream.”

“Wyatt, you can’t possibly fly back and forth when you?—”

She shakes her head and tears up. I shake my head, stopping her before she goes down that road.

“I’m not giving up on football, so don’t think that. I’m simply putting it off for a year. I’d rather spend that year growing with you, becoming a better human, letting you inspire me, holding you accountable, and letting you get angry at me when you need someone to blame. I want that more than I want some draft dream that might send me to Oklahoma, or Jacksonville, or Buffalo.”

“They won’t take you in Buffalo. They’re kind of set,” she teases, her mouth tipping up on the right.

I roll my eyes and get to my feet, taking her left hand in mine while her right holds on to Otis. I can’t think of a better witness.

“The game may have picked me, but I pick you. You’re my everything. My beginning, middle, and end. All the things in between. Marry me.”

I hold my breath, about ninety percent sure she’s going to say yes but a small sliver worried she’ll give in to her doubts.

“You promise you won’t give up on the game?”

I nod my head and let it fall against hers, closing my eyes as I let my fragile smile spread.

“Baby, that game gave me you. I can’t imagine what else it’s got in store. And if you write it on your list, then I won’t be able to cross it off without you knowing. So yeah, I promise. Marry me, Peyton Johnson. Make my dreams come true.”

She shifts, her lips brushing against mine, and I feel them morph into a tight grin just before her head nods.

“Yes, Wyatt Stone. I will marry you.”

I slide the ring on her finger, relieved that it still fits after all these months. I figured out her size through lots of sleuthing.

I cup her face, not wanting just yet to break our small bubble and announce her answer to the hiding family and friends. She lets go of her hold on Otis and relies on me, her hands moving to my biceps as I widen my stance to help her feel steady.

“One request,” she says, leaning back enough to look me in the eyes.

“Anything,” I say.

“We don’t set a date until I can walk down that aisle.”

I can see the fire in her eyes with those words, and I nod immediately.

“You pick it, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make sure you get everything you want that day.” Apparently, I’ll be lining up multiple horses and carriages.

“Then yes, Wyatt Stone. I will let you marry me.” Her mouth puckers with her smug grin, and I press my lips against hers, loving every bit of who she is.

“She said yes!” I shout finally, backing away and turning toward the barn as the doors fly open and everyone spills out.

“Seriously?” Peyton says, covering her face while I hold her up against my side.

“You honestly think I would be allowed to do any of this without inviting them?” I point out.

She waggles her head, but then her eyes flash wide, and she covers her mouth.

“Yeah, Tasha probably heard you throw her under the bus,” I say.

And as her friend marches toward us through the thick arena dirt, her face all twisted with disgust as mud chunks cake to her fancy boots, Peyton and I bite our lips and brace ourselves for the storm that is Tasha. After all, what’s one more tornado on our walk through the impossible?