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fifty
GRIFFIN
The press room is full to bursting.
“What are you going to tell them when they ask about the name change?” Bash asks me under his breath so none of the reporters can hear.
I shrug. “I’m gonna tell them the truth.”
“You’re going to tell them you and Mira are married?
Is she cool with that?” My friend’s dark brows dip and furrow.
He’s been nothing but supportive, letting me stay with him, listening to me talk about Mira every second of the day, and doing his best to help me come up with ways to win my wife back.
When I told him I was going to change the name on the back of my jersey to hers, he worried it could backfire spectacularly.
All along, Mira has been the one who wanted to keep our marriage a secret, and if I made such a public gesture—one that would be real damn hard to misconstrue—I could make her feel backed into a corner in a big way and undo all the progress I’ve made.
I told him he wasn’t wrong, but once the idea popped into my head, there was no ignoring it.
“I’m going to tell them the truth.”
Bash’s smile is grim. “I hope this works.”
“Me too, man. Me too.” If it doesn’t? If he’s right and this backfires? Well, fuck, I don’t know what I’ll do. But as the last of the Rogues players and staff take their seats behind the microphones at the long table and the noise in the room grows, I don’t have time to dwell on my worry.
These sharks can scent fear and weakness, so I won’t show them any.
“Good evening, everyone,” our coach, Mike Fry, says in his honeyed tenor.
The room quiets, all eyes focusing on him.
“Thanks for coming. We’re going to make this brief tonight because these guys have played their asses off, and I know they’re looking forward to celebrating their win with family and friends. ”
A murmur of agreement fills the room.
“Now, who wants to start us off?”
Ten hands shoot up in the air, and Coach Fry points to a middle-aged man with jet black hair. He asks Coach how he feels about the win, how we could improve in game two, and if there are any lessons we’d take away from tonight’s matchup going into the rest of the series.
The next few questions are more of the same, and I zone out as the coaching staff and Maddox field them like the pros they are. Then Coach calls on a young reporter for an online publication, and the guy’s attention snaps to me.
“Griffin, you had an interesting modification to your uniform tonight. Can you tell us what made you change the name on your jersey to Graves?”
My heart does a little flip. Here we go. “Well, it’s no secret that Madds here is my best friend. We’ve often called ourselves brothers.”
Chuckles flood the room, especially when Maddox rolls his eyes and shakes his head beside me.
The young reporter grins. “So you just thought it would be fun to use his name?”
I shrug, not answering.
“Were you trying to confuse St. Louis?” another reporter asks. “Was it all some weird mind game?”
That makes me laugh. “That would be a pretty elaborate mind game.”
“It would,” the young guy says, cutting back in. “And I doubt the league would be okay with something like that. So why don’t you tell us the real reason behind the change?”
This is it. I’m about to put it all out there, and if Mira rejects me, the whole fuckin’ world will know. I should be terrified, but all I feel is a deep, unshakeable peace.
“The real reason?” I offer the kid a genuine smile. “It’s something I should have done months ago. D’you know that almost eighty percent of women in the U.S. take their husband’s last name when they get married? Eighty percent.” I shake my head, still smiling, as the reporters begin to murmur.
“I guess if the woman has a weird last name, and she wants to change it to something cooler, I can understand. But we treat it like a given that she should have to give up her identity for her husband’s.
What if she doesn’t want to change it? I mean, let’s be real, man.
We still have some archaic views on shit in this country, and I personally think women get the short end of the stick way too often. ”
“What exactly are you saying?” the reporter asks, one brow cocked.
“I’m saying that society views a name change as a sign of ownership, and we can deny that until we’re all blue in the face, but it’s true, whether we like it or not.
The thing is, I’d never try to own my wife.
” A slow grin curves my lips. “But she sure as shit owns me. What better way to show her, and the rest of the world, that I’m proud as hell to be hers than by taking her last name? ”
Thick silence blankets the room for one beat, then two, then the whole place erupts into shouts and blinding light as reporters yell over one another and cameras flash.
“Holy shit,” Bash mutters on my left.
“She’s going to kill you,” Maddox grumbles on my right.
She might. It was a gamble, putting it all out there like this. But Mira is worth every risk. Whatever the consequences are, I’ll deal with them.
“Are you telling us that you married your captain’s sister?” a female reporter shouts over the din.
“Sounds that way, doesn’t it?” I reply, chuckling.
The woman laughs. “But there haven’t been any reports of you two being together, let alone married.”
I run a hand through my hair, not sure how much I should say, but knowing I’ll have to say something. “Our story is long, and it didn’t have the most traditional start. But it’s still our story, and unless I get the go-ahead from her to share more, that’s all I’m going to say.”
My answer doesn’t appease the circling sharks now that there’s blood in the water, and the next five questions are all about my personal life.
Coach tries to redirect them to the game the Quarterfinals, and the impressive effort my teammates and I put in, but everyone is more interested in trying to figure out how Mira and I ended up together.
“All right, all right.” Coach makes a settle down motion with his palms. “I think we’ve about hit our time limit tonight. Let’s take one more question. Does anyone else have something new to ask?”
Hands shoot up all over the room and reporters clamor to be chosen, but above the din, a clear, familiar voice rings out louder than the rest.
“I have a question.”
Coach grins at the dark-haired woman as she steps forward, the number 16 glittering on her jacket in clear and yellow gems. Reporters part around her, cameras flash, and people call out to her for comments.
It’s chaos, but it doesn’t touch me. The moment my eyes lock on her fathomless green irises, everything else fades away.
It may as well be me and Mira alone in this room. Nothing and no one else matters.
“Go ahead, miss.”
“My question is for Griffin,” Mira says, a soft, secret smile on her face that makes my heart race.
“And what question might that be, Mrs. Graves?” I return her smile.
Reporters look at each other, sharing wide-eyed stares. But I’m only looking at her.
“Well, I was wondering if you’d marry me.
For real this time. With a white dress and a tux and invitations.
With our families and friends there instead of Dolly Parton.
” Those pretty lips of hers twitch into the most bewitching smile.
“Though I suppose we could still invite her and Elvis, if you really want to.”
Tears make my vision waver as I laugh at that and push out of my seat. Mira takes a few more steps toward me, and it’s clear I’m not the only one trying not to cry.
“What do you say? Will you marry me?”
The whole room holds its breath.
I smile wider than I ever thought possible.
“Thought you’d never ask, sunshine.”
Then I vault over the table like I’m taking to the ice, close the distance between us, wrap my wife up in my arms, and spin her around right there in the middle of a sea of reporters.
I notice Isla and Lexi beaming and jumping up and down in the corner of the room, my teammates and closest friends cheering, and the flashes that come so fast and often that they look like strobe lights.
But mostly, I notice the way Mira’s tears spill down her cheeks, the way her hair tickles my neck, and the cherry flavor of her lip gloss as I take her mouth in a kiss that will no doubt be plastered all over the internet within minutes.
“I thought you needed time,” I whisper against her lips.
Soulful green eyes pierce my heart as she whispers her reply.
“A wise man once told me that love isn’t about perfection, and I realized he was right.
That you don’t need me to be perfect, you just need me to be present.
To love you to the best of my ability. A few more weeks or months won’t change that, and I really, really hate being apart from you. ”
“Fuck, baby, I hate it, too. So much.” I press my forehead against hers before stealing another kiss.
“Come home? We can figure the rest out later.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods. “More sure than I’ve ever been. I love you.”
The deep-seated part of me that’s always waiting to be rejected unclenches and sighs. She’s here. She’s choosing me. Claiming me. Publicly. And it hasn’t even been six months.
“I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”
Mira grins. “I think I have a pretty good idea after tonight.”
“Baby, this is just the beginning.”
Sweeping her into my arms, we ignore the shouts and chaos around us as I carry my wife, bridal style, out of the room. We have a win to celebrate. And a wedding to plan.
Table of Contents
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- Page 58 (Reading here)
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