Either way, Stephanie is going to be an excellent mom and I can’t wait to see what kind of terribly attractive human being she’s going to pop out. I think I’ll have to fly back to San Francisco just for that.
I’m also in constant contact with my all of my brothers. In fact, I’m far closer with them than I ever was before and I think that wherever my mother is hanging out with my father that they’re probably happy that we’ve all finally found each other.
The people beside us start chanting something in favor of Edinburgh as the teams come together in the field. We watch as the scrum takes place, Edinburgh pushing Munster back until Thierry gets the ball at the back of the players and quickly tosses it under to another guy who then tosses it to Lachlan who is waiting in the wings.
Lachlan makes a run for it, the ball under his arm, even though the other team has players going for him, watching his every move. They’re always on him like a hawk.
But they never have his speed.
Watching him run is as impressive to me now as the first time I ever saw him on the field. He moves with such passion that you can’t help but compare him to a wild stallion or a feral bull, galloping toward freedom, moving like he was born to move.
I hold my breath as goes. So does everyone.
A player goes to tackle but Lachlan makes a move to sidestep before changing his mind and then plows through them. The guy goes down and Lachlan keeps running, legs and arms pumping, carrying him along so fast you think he’s going to break the sound barrier. He’s a hot blur of ink and muscle.
Someone else moves in front, blocking him, but Lachlan only bounces off and keeps going. He punts the ball down the field, side steps someone else, then keeps running until he meets up with the ball again.
By now we’re all screaming, on our feet, waving everything we can wave because he’s feet from making a try and winning the game.
And Lachlan just picks up that ball like it was always there waiting for him and runs across the line, making a dramatic dive onto the grass and sliding on his stomach. I know that was just for show but the crowd fucking loves it.
I fucking love it.
It’s rare to see him showboat so I know he’s got to be feeling good right now.
So am I. I’m screaming my head off, jumping up and down with Amara.
Lachlan gets to his feet, tossing the ball on the ground, smiling so big that happy fucking tears are winding down my face. The rest of his team runs out to hug him, jumping around, celebrating their win during the first game of the season.
He’s so getting laid tonight.
But then he does something funny. He runs away from his mates, away from the opposing team who is ready to shake hands, and heads toward the camera men on the sidelines. His coach Alan follows him, quickly passing something off into Lachlan’s hands before he runs back to the team. Lachlan then talks to one of the camera men until a reporter comes over, seeing an opportunity for an interview.
Lachlan smiles at her, whispers something in her ear.
He takes the microphone.
Suddenly the giant screens in the stadium fill with the sight of Lachlan’s handsome face. He smiles broadly at the screen, something that makes him look so much younger, softer, dare I say goofy. He brings the microphone to his lips and speaks into it but no sound comes out.
He tries again but nothing. His lips are moving, he’s smiling, his eyes crinkling joyfully, but that’s all we in the stands can know.
“What is he doing?” I ask Amara.
She shakes her head. “I haven’t a bloody clue.”
Finally he waves at someone and they come out with a clipboard and a pen. He takes the pen, is about to write something down, and then he pauses and looks up at me. Right at me in the stands.
I can feel Amara’s eyes on me too, as well as the people below us as they all crane their necks to look at what the hell Lachlan McGregor, savior of the game, is staring at.
It’s me.
Always me for him.
Always him for me.
Our eyes are locked together.
Then he writes something down.
He looks back at me while he displays the paper and clipboard in front of the camera. I know that the screens are showing a message because people are gasping, but I can’t take my eyes off of him. His gaze always holds me, as strong as his hands.
“Kayla,” Amara whispers, grabbing my arm. “Oh my god.”
I finally look at the screens. At the shot of the paper Lachlan is holding, still smiling, albeit a bit nervously now. It’s shaking.
It reads: Kayla Moore will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?
Signed: Lachlan McGregor.
Then the clipboard drops away, the camera focus on the grass.
My head swivels back to him but he’s gone, running forward, across the field.
Up the stairs.
Down the row.
Stopping right in front of me.
I’m still sitting down. I haven’t moved. I haven’t really formed one coherent thought.
I honestly can’t figure out what’s going on. Is this really my Lachlan, my reserved, subdued Lachlan? Am I caught in the middle of a play or something?
He gets down on one knee so that he’s at my level. His damp hair clings to his sweaty brow, his eyes clear green, piercing through me.
“What are you doing?’ I ask him, so stunned.
He holds out one of his hands and held between his fingers is a ring. A gorgeous, beautiful emerald and silver ring.
“Oh my god,” I think I say, maybe I just breathe it.
“I thought it would be some grand romantic gesture,” he says. “But it didn’t really work out that way. Technical difficulties.” He has a way of staring at me that makes the rest of the world disappear, like I have blinders on. I’m hanging onto his every word, tunnel vision of his face. “They say you should always do something that scares you, pushes your comfort zone. You did that a lot with me. Every time you came here to Scotland, you gave up the life you knew behind. You were brave. You took a risk. Many risks. Now, I know the surest thing I could ever do is ask you to marry me. Because I know I’m supposed to be with you and you know you’re supposed to be with me. I knew it from the moment I asked you here, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. But now I do. Now I know. And so I’m doing this like this, because it’s bloody frightening.”
His eyes dart from side to the side, at all the people, all his fans, that are listening to his every word and watching us like a television program. “I mean, I don’t know any of these people. But I do know that I want them all to know just how much I love you. That if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for Kayla Moore, I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be the man I am today. A better man. And yes, a man that’s terrified that you might just say no in front of the entire world. But that’s the risk I’m willing to take for the chance that you may say yes.” He swallows hard, his eyes measuring me. “Will you marry me?”
“Are you serious?” I whisper, still feeling like this is some kind of dream, like someone is going to pull the rug out from under me and I’ll fall flat on my face, humiliated. But I guess he has to be feeling the same way too. Every moment that the ring, shining beautifully, is held out there in his hand, waiting for my finger, is a moment that he dies a little inside.
What the fuck am I even waiting for?
As if there was ever anything to think about.
“Yes,” I tell him gleefully.
It hits me once, twice.
Oh my god, he’s asked me to marry him.
Oh my god, I’m going to marry my lover, my best friend, the man of my dreams.
“Yes!” I say louder now, smiling so wide it hurts. “Yes, I will marry you Lachlan. I love you. I love you.”
He grins at me with some much joy it takes my breath away. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I tell him, shoving my ring finger toward him. “Put the damn ring on it already.”