Page 2 of Shopping for a Highlander’s Elopement (Shopping for a Highlander #3)

Chapter One

Hamish

I didn't know my bollocks could quiver. Aye, maybe from sex, but not from fear.

Fear of what, you ask?

Proposing to Amy.

Asking her to be my wife.

Being with the same woman for the rest of my life.

Tasting one flavor of ice cream for the rest of my life.

Like wearing the same set of clothes for eternity.

Drinking one kind of whisky forever.

You get the picture.

I don't have a problem with the one-woman part. Once you've visited enough countries, you know which one is best for you and you settle in. After you’ve tasted all the good whisky, you know which brand you prefer.

That's how it feels with Amy. She's mine and I'm hers and that's that.

Being with her feels natural. Purposeful. Peaceful yet passionate, and my heart is settled and true.

My bollocks are shaking for no good reason.

Performing in front of a crowd is in my blood, too, so what the hell’s wrong with me?

"Hamish," my manager says, hand on my shoulder, the squeeze a welcome distraction from my racing brain.

And those quivering balls.

"Aye, Jody. How are ye?"

"I'm not the one proposing to my girl in front of forty thousand fans. I should be asking you that question." He frowns a bit, hand still on me. "Are you shaking?"

"Parts o’ me are." Big vibrations come from big equipment.

"Hopefully not your heart."

I press my palm to it. "God, no. Ma heart knows what it wants, and it wants Amy."

"I think you've got her forever. She's mad for you," he assures me with a wink.

We've been together for a year and a half now, and while some people might wait longer, I can't. My career is strong, endorsements secured, I’m playing better than ever on the pitch, and it's time.

Time for a wife. A home. Wee bairns.

A real life.

So why does my sac feel like a vibration plate?

"We're good, Jody." I give him a smile.

He frowns deeper. "You look a bit sick."

"I'm fine."

"You have the ring?"

I pat my sock. It shakes, too. "I do."

"You say that at the wedding, not the proposal," he jokes.

My hands go cold.

“Hamish, you look green.”

“I feel like I swallowed a frog.”

“I’ve never seen you this nervous. Good God, man, you announced you loved her in front of a packed stadium!”

“I’m nae nervous 'bout lovin' her.”

“Then what is it?”

It was one thing to announce to the world at a football match that I loved her, and to apologize for being such a numpty back when we first got together. I love the roar of the crowd and the energy from so many people smiling on us made me feel bigger. More whole. More alive.

So why don't I feel that now?

“Dinna ken.”

"Still a surprise for her? You kept it secret so far?"

"Aye, easy enough. And no one’s told 'er mum, but that woman is as cagey as they come. She'll figure it out."

"Your future mother-in-law." He shudders. Why does everyone react that way when the topic of Amy’s mum comes up?

"Marie's nae so bad."

"If you say so. Did that whole Wedding Protectors thing ever get sorted out?" Jody's my business manager, not my life manager. As my career took off, he stepped in to negotiate more and better deals, but he drew a firm boundary around my personal affairs. It happened suddenly.

The day he met Marie.

I groan. Can't help it. "Ah, God, Jody. Both mothers called that place once they found out we booked them.

Mum called sae many times she should just burrow a tunnel under the Atlantic and be done wi' it, then Marie told them nae to listen to a word out o' Mum’s mouth.

She's a myna bird, saying naught but Farmington, Farmington, Farmington . "

"Wow."

"I dinna ken what's so special about Wedding Protectors. They're wedding planners, aye? A dime a dozen. I only put down a deposit wi' them because ye told me to."

"Best money you'll spend on the wedding, Hamish." He's dead serious. "They're the best in the industry. And they're not wedding planners. They're boutique wedding protectors . High-end."

“Are they wedding SEALs?” I ask, half joking.

“No. Women in heels and pearls, but with minds that work in ways you couldn’t fathom. I mean, elite. These people know their shit.” He names some of the biggest sports figures worldwide. "All of them got nice, private ceremonies because Wedding Protectors kept it all under wraps."

"What's 'private' mean?" I snort. "Havena had a shred o' privacy since ma career exploded."

"That's precisely why you hire people like Wedding Protectors. Imagine no paparazzi. No jersey chasers. No screaming crowds. No wedding crashers taking videos for TikTok or to sell to the tabloids. Just you, Amy, and your families and friends, having the time of your life."

"Impossible. Nae one can guarantee that."

"Wedding Protectors can."

"Do they manage the mothers?" I am beginning to see the appeal of this company. "Is there a premium level where that's included? If so, write the cheque. Now."

He nods. "I think they’re already invoicing you for that after what happened last week. Next tier up."

"Marie and her damn Farmington wedding obsession. And Mum insists we marry in Scotland. Neither will budge. What a mess."

"Welcome to blending families. Nothing happens without conflict. This is just the beginning."

"Whatever happened to running off ta Gretna Green and starting out fresh?”

“What’s Gretna Green?”

“Where ye run off and get married fast? Like a Vegas weddin’? Do it quick and get ta the honeymoon?”

“Ah.”

“I dinna want all the fanfare."

"Your life is fanfare."

“Ma life feels out o’ control.”

“That’s because you’re in love.”

“Tha’s nae what ye used ta say, Jody. Ye used ta tell me ma todger was a chaos sausage.”

“It was, until you met Amy. She’s the sausage whisperer.”

Something in that sentence doesn’t sit quite right with me, and from the cringing look he gives me, it’s the same for him.

“Anyhow, your todger is off the market. And if life feels messy because of your mother and your future mother-in-law, you have Amy by your side. The two of you can figure out anything as long as you’re together.”

“Yer just happy ta have someone else ta clean up ma messes.”

“Amy is a godsend.”

“Aye, in more ways than one.”

“Then why are you so nervous?” He’s asking me the same question again and just like the last time, I have no answer.

“Mebbe because this isna right.” Hope warms my chest. That’s it. That’s why.

Because my instincts are telling me something’s off.

On the pitch, instincts are everything.

In love, they’re more than everything.

They’re what makes love love .

You can’t think your way into love. Can’t analyze it. Can’t create a strategy. Can’t form a plan and execute it to perfection, accomplishing a goal and attaining victory.

Love isn’t a football game.

It’s a feeling .

A feeling that uses instinct as a tool.

I’m smarter than this. When everything felt off, I should have known that it was off for a reason.

“Jody,” I say softly, “I canna do this.”

“Of course you can. You just have the jitters. Amy’s a wonderful woman and–”

“I dinna mean the proposin’ part. That’s fine. I can do that. I mean doin’ it on the pitch.”

His turn to go green.

“You want to cancel the proposal?”

“Aye. Nae. No’ the proposin’. The doin’ it in public part. I love Amy wi’ all ma body and soul.” I frown. “She’d hate to hear me say it that way. Soul and body.” I wink at Jody. “But it’s really the other way around. Ma body knows more than ma mind.”

“I don’t need to hear every thought that pops into your head, Hamish.”

“I only tell ye the important ones.”

“Like not wanting the big spectacle we arranged for you?”

“I’m tellin’ ye now, aren’t I?”

“We have extra cameramen here for this. Your parents and siblings are in the crowd. Declan and Andrew McCormick are here. We doubled the security.”

“Is this about money? I can pay for all that.”

“It’s not–well, yes, some of it is about the money. But it’s more about publicity and planning. A lot of people put forth a huge effort to make today special for you and Amy.”

“And forty thousand of ma closest fans.”

He closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. “A better time to realize this would have been weeks ago. Not a huge US exhibition game.”

“Ma instincts told me then that this was right. Now ma gut says something else. It all feels off.”

“Your gut.”

I pat my flat stomach. “It’s gotten me this far in life. Good gut.”

He's right. I know how much work all the coaches, teammates, stadium staff and administrators, sponsors–hell, even the car park attendants–have put into helping me today. I don't have cold feet, and I love Amy to the moon and back, but something feels wrong.

As Amy says, hinky .

I can't explain it. If I had words for it, I'd use them. It's a feeling, and those don't always line up nice and neat in words that make sense.

Jody pulls out a roll of antacids, gives me a nasty look, and crunches on one. Hard.

“You’d think you’d give me some credit, as your manager, for getting you where you are in life.”

“Ye take some of what I earn, Jody. That’s as much credit as ye get.”

He swallows, then presses two fingers against the spot between his eyes.

“Forty thousand people are out there, all looking to feel good.” Fresh from a week’s holiday in Gibraltar, he's tan and smiling, though that's fading by the minute, replaced by a frown that makes his forehead crease like my Uncle James' tuxedo shirt.

“I thought they were here to watch us play.”

“No.”

“Nae? It’s a football pitch, Jody. No’ a massage parlor.”

“Sports fans pay big bucks to come to games because they want to feel good. It’s why people go to live concerts.

It’s easier to sit on your butt on the couch, getting tortilla chip crumbs all over your stomach, with your cat and dog curled up around you, than it is to shell out a half a week’s pay, get stuck in two hours of traffic each way, and haul ass here to watch you kick a ball on grass.

They don’t do it for the game, Hamish. They do it for how it all feels. ”

“Never thought of it that way before. I ken they want ta feel good, aye.”

“Good,” he says, nodding, eyes lighting up. “And why do you think they go to all that bother rather than sit at home and watch the same game or concert on TV?”

“They want ta be happy.”

“And?”

“They want ta be part o’ something bigger than themselves.”

“Now you’re starting to get it.”

“ Pfft . I understand that, Jody! Always have. It’s why we give ‘em a show.”

He rolls his hand in circles, encouraging me to go on. “And?”

“Ye make me feel like I’m back in sixth form, being questioned by ma history teacher. Dinna give me flashbacks.” I shudder. “What’s yer point?”

“My point is, go ahead and propose to Amy in front of the whole goddamned stadium like we planned! You have hundreds of employees who’ve set everything up and who are on standby right now.

They’ve made sure every light is pointed in the right direction, every sound transmission is clear, all security is tight, and your families are in attendance. ”

“I ken ma parents and the pack of wolves they call bairns are here. I’m the one who asked them ta come.” Paid a pretty penny to do it, too. Nine people, with Mum and Da and my siblings, all out there in the crowd.

“We have the kiss cam on all the seats. Reaction shots are going to be fantastic. Advertising rates will skyrocket after this.”

“That’s what you’re whinging about? Money? Ye want to use ma marriage proposal as leverage fer increasing ad rates during football matches?”

“Aye,” he says in a low, greedy voice.

“Dinna do that, Jody. Ye look like a pirate wi’ mange.” I look him over. "A tan pirate, at least. Holiday was good fer ye."

He snorts.

“Speaking o’ money,” I say slowly, “Ma investments. Ye said we’re on track for retirement?”

“From the game? Mostly, but another two years would clinch it. From celebrity endorsements? Hell, no–we’re just getting started. Plus, you’re close to an offer for that sports talk show gig on ESPN.”

“Close. Hah. Ye been sayin’ that fer more than a year.”

“This proposal couldn’t hurt.”

“Now yer twisting the knife, Jody. Ma engagement is no’ a stunt. I love Amy wi’ every piece o’ ma being.”

“I know you do. I’m not trivializing your feelings. But your life is a performance. You know that. It’s how this works. You want fame and the money that comes with it, you have to give the people who put you where you are a show.”

“Sometimes I hate this. I built it, I know. It was all ma choice. But now I’m here and I canna have ma own engagement ta maself. Ta our selves.”

“You could have, but you should have thought of that a few months ago, before you triggered all this.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath. “I’m thirty-four years old.

I love the game. I feel it when I’m out there, the crowds holding their breath, the opponents ready ta strike, our team coming together ta block.

How ma body just knows what ta do next before ma mind can even think of it.

I love the sweat and the dirt and the way one look between me and a forward and we just know.

I even love the sweaty bus rides and the jeering arsewipes from the other side, the post-match soaks and massages and groans, the pub crawls, the press conferences. ”

“But…”

“But I’ve done all that. I love Amy more. I love the life I haven’t lived yet more.”

“The balance tipped.”

“Aye. A good way ta say it.”

“Your investments are sound. You’re supporting a lot of family members. If you walked away today, you could live a modest life and keep supporting them.”

“Good.”

“If you play a few more years, or get the ESPN gig, you’ll have steady income. More investments, fatter wallet.”

“I love a good padded arse.”

Jody laughs. “And the commercials. Endorsements. Appearances–you can make plenty from those. You make people happy, Hamish. You like to make people happy. It’s your brand. Stay on brand and you can do whatever you want.”

“I want ta be with Amy. Marry her. Have kids with her. Get a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Or two. Settle in. Instead o’ being a full-time footie player, I want ta be a full-time husband and da. Can I do this part-time, Jody? I think that’s what I’m asking. Did I do enough all these years ta earn the right to slow down and live ma next life?”

“You went from wanting privacy to being damn philosophical in under five minutes, Hamish. I think that’s a record.”

“It’s all the same thing. Me choosing who I get ta be.”

“I guess it is, but you’ve always chosen who you get to be. You’re the most self-aware athlete I work with.”

“Me? I am? Ye must work wi’ a load o’ numpties if I’m the smartest.”

“I didn’t say smartest. I said, most self-aware.”

“Aye. They’re no’ the same thing. I ken that.” I hold out my hand and we shake in earnest. “Thank ye. I have ma answers.”

“You do? Still proposing today?”

I nod. “Aye.”

Just not quite the way he thinks I am.