Epilogue
NOVEMBER
HUGO
The final whistle blows, a two-one loss to Seattle marking the end of our run in the playoffs.
Yes, it’s disappointing, and the guys will be gutted. But hey, we made it to the goddamn playoffs this year, and without any drama, and both those things are pretty damn fucking good.
This way of thinking would never have occurred to me just over a year ago when I came to the Commoners. Back then, all I would have seen is that we’d lost. I’d have been furious…and possibly punched an inanimate object. And never in a million years would I have thought I’d be as okay with losing a match as I am today.
The players look up at the crowd and give our fans a round of applause before trotting toward me, heading for the tunnel to get showered and then to drown their sorrows.
I stick out my arm to stop them. “Hold on, lads.”
I gaze up to the owners’ box where Leo, Miller, Chase, and Prince Oliver are standing alongside Wilcox and the Oldies. I talked Chase into inviting Joyce, Mona, and Winston up there for the game because that’s right where I want them today.
“What’s up?” Bakari asks. Today is the first full ninety minutes he’s played since his horrific injury. It’s been a slow process getting him back up to a whole game, but he’s now completely recovered.
“Yeah,” Schumann says, downcast. “I really want to leave.”
“I need you guys here for a second,” I tell them.
Ramon rolls his eyes. I pat him on the back. “I mean, like, I really need you here with me. You’ll see. Please, just wait here one minute.”
I trot off toward our stadium sideline announcer and point at the microphone he’s holding. “Can I borrow this for a minute?”
“Sure,” he says. “We’re finished with the announcements. There’s nothing else to say.”
“That’s what you think.” I wink at him as I take it from his hand.
Now I need to get this damn thing turned back on. I jog to the middle of the pitch to try to get the attention of the guys up in the audio booth.
They have their backs to me. Of course they do. Why would they be looking down here when the game is over and we just lost?
I jump up and down and wave in the hope one of them might just catch me in their peripheral vision .
They don’t.
I’m just an idiot jumping up and down and waving my arms in the middle of an empty football field.
But it does attract the attention of the camera guys who’re still roving around, trying to get closeups of our guys’ sad faces and the winners’ celebrations.
And then, there I am, on the jumbotron.
Jesus.
Not exactly what I planned, but I need this goddamn microphone turned on. And if me jumping around like an idiot on a screen bigger than the back end of a bus gets the attention of someone with their fingers on the controls, so be it.
One of the audio techs finally turns to look over his shoulder. Yes, come on, mate. I’m virtually doing star jumps now, and that’ll do my bad knee no good at all.
Some of the supporters are mimicking me, and star jumps are breaking out in the stands as if it’s some sort of quirky new Commoners celebration.
Not that there’s anything here to celebrate—not yet, anyway.
The audio guy who’s seen me nudges the dude next to him, who also turns around.
I wave the mike in the air and point at it. Surely they’ll understand what that means.
The second guy reaches down, then gives me a thumbs-up.
I tap the top of the mike, and the noise emerges from the PA system.
Halle-fucking-lujah. Excellent.
Or, actually, is it?
This seemed like a good idea when I came up with it. But now I’m standing in the middle of the field with a live microphone in my hand in front of an emptying stadium, our players—who are all somewhere on the spectrum between sad and pissed off—our owners, my girlfriend, and three old-timers who are partial to a nightcap.
But all eyes are on me, so I guess there’s no real way to back out of this now with any degree of dignity.
I’ve spent all my adult life standing on a football pitch being watched by thousands of people—millions with the TV audiences for big games—and I thought they were all life or death moments. But not one of them was as important as this one.
Okay then.
Here I go.
“Hello, everyone.” When my voice bounces around the stadium, all movement in the stands stops as fans making their way out turn to see what’s going on.
“This hasn’t been the best day for the Commoners,” I tell them. “But we played a good game, and I could not be more proud of our guys.”
A round of appreciative, rather than joyful, applause emanates from our fans’ section of the stadium.
“But the proceedings aren’t quite over yet,” I tell anyone who’s sticking around to listen.
Heads turn to look at each other, accompanied by a mild ooo sound. And in the owners’ box there’s some shrugging as they presumably each establish that none of the others knows what the hell is going on, and probably wonder whether I’ve lost my mind and/or if I’m about to get us all into a lot of trouble.
“I just want to tell you all something.”
Some people in the crowd sit back down.
“After what happened at the end-of-season dinner last year, you all know that I’m crazy about our general manager.”
There are some awww s and a couple wolf whistles. And Wilcox’s face drops into her hands.
I know exactly what she’s thinking— Not again, please don’t do it again . Well, hold on to your sky blue and orange hat, sweetheart.
“Yesterday we picked up the keys to our first home together.” More awww s and a smattering of applause. “Took us a few months to agree on a house because, apparently, having a room big enough for a giant screen isn’t necessarily the only important quality in a home.”
Laughter, excellent.
Now Wilcox has her arms folded and is staring right at me. But Leo has unfolded his, seemingly accepting I’m not about to do anything too bad.
“We move in next week. And I could not be happier. Not only has this remarkable, smart, talented, and incredibly beautiful woman”—more wolf whistles—“transformed this club, she’s transformed me too.”
More of the crowd are sitting again, including the Oldies, who must think they’re in for a long one.
“If you thought this club was in trouble a couple years ago, you should have seen me . I promise you, I needed a lot more work.
“Everything else I have to say this evening is for her, but I want you all to hear it too. Because it’s important. It’s important that any of you who’s disappointed in yourself, who’s not the person you want to be, hears that it’s possible to turn that around. All you need is a Wilcox.”
I turn and look directly up at her. Her hands are on her hips.
On one side of her, the Oldies lean forward in their seats, rapt. On the other side, Chase sits down and stretches his arms across the backs of both seats beside him. Leo shoves his hands into his pockets and stares down at me, Miller leans against the wall and takes a drink of his beer, and Prince Oliver grabs Wilcox from behind to give her a squeeze.
“You’re cringing, aren’t you? I know you are.” She gives me a nod emphatic enough for me to see from this distance. “But if I didn’t do it like this, I wouldn’t be the person you know I am, would I? I mean, you shack up with a cocky loudmouth, you know what you’re getting into, right?” I shrug at the crowd, prompting more whistles, laughter, and applause.
“Come on, Wilcox, get down here.” I make an exaggerated beckoning motion, but she shakes her head slowly from side to side. “Oh, come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”
Shit, is that her dad behind her? A man in a trench coat just appeared between Leo and Miller.
Fuck, it is.
Why didn’t I know he was coming today? Well, bollocks to it, I can’t stop now.
“Come on.” I point at the grass in front of me. “Please?”
The fans erupt in a chant of “Wil-cox,” clap clap clap . “Wil-cox,” clap clap clap . “Wil-cox,” clap clap clap .
Joyce gets to her feet and whispers something in Wilcox’s ear, then gives her a peck on the cheek.
Wilcox hugs her, then turns and disappears into the back of the box.
The crowd bursts into cheers.
“Hey, gang,” I tell them. “She might not be on her way down. She might be on her way home. To burn all my stuff. Or to just drive far, far, away. ”
The laughter dies down and there’s silence.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to fill it. It just hangs in the air. Between me and several thousand people.
The only sounds are coughs and shuffling in the crowd and the thumping of my heart. My palm is slick against the microphone, so I change hands and wipe the dampness on my pants.
Then, a figure appears at the far end of the dark tunnel. Thank fuck. My chest expands with a giant breath of relief.
As she slowly comes into view, the crowd starts up again.
“Wil-cox,” clap clap clap . “Wil-cox,” clap clap clap . “Wil-cox,” clap clap clap .
The players, who’re gathered at the entrance to the tunnel, join in and cheer her onto the field.
I will never see a more beautiful sight than her slightly worried, slightly what-the-hell-are-you-doing face resolutely fighting a smile as she walks across the turf.
When she stops in front of me, her eyes lock onto mine, sparkling in the floodlights.
She bites into her bottom lip before whispering, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“Could we save that till later?” I whisper back.
Then I put the microphone to my mouth. “Thank you for coming down. Because I have some very important things to say.”
I cough, my throat suddenly constricted, my chest tight. “You know I love you more than anything in the world, more than I ever dreamed it was possible to love someone. And I am the luckiest man alive that you love me back. Not a minute goes by when I don’t feel undeserving of that. ”
There’s another awww from the crowd, and a woman in the front row over Wilcox’s shoulder wipes an eye.
“It’s a shame we lost today. The guys are crushed. But we played well, and I know no one will be more proud of those men over there”—I nod to the team—“than you are.”
She turns to look at them and claps over her head, the crowd following her lead.
When the applause dies down, I take the hand of the woman I can’t comprehend living without.
“And you taught me that winning is never the most important thing. It was a rough lesson, not my natural instinct, but I got it in the end.” She smirks, finally relaxing, giving herself to this surreal situation I’ve put her in, giving herself to me. “Thing is, there is one thing I absolutely have to win.”
I drop to one knee, and before my pants have made contact with the turf, the crowd around us erupts with a volume even louder than when we scored.
She half turns away, eyes closed, face flushed, totally mortified. But there’s a beaming smile spreading across her face.
I give it a few seconds for the cheers to fade before speaking again. “And that’s you.”
Her free hand flies to her chest as she tilts her head to one side, eyes filling up.
“Because if I don’t win you, Wilcox, nothing will ever mean anything.”
I have to swallow past a lump in my throat. It never occurred to me that I might get emotional. “With you, my life means more than I ever imagined it could. Please marry me.”
She sucks in her lips and shakes her head .
Fuck. Is she seriously going to say no?
A tear trickles from one eye and rolls over her pink cheek. “Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot. But please get up.”
She hauls me to my feet, and I wrap my arms around the woman who’s going to be my wife, the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with, build a family with. The woman who’s made me into a man who can be a husband and a father who sets an example to his kids.
I’m so lost in the smell of Wilcox’s hair, the pressure of her lips on mine, that it takes me a second to realize the crowd is chanting “Ring! Ring! Ring!”
“Oh, shit. Yes.” I was so overcome with relief that I forgot about it.
I put my hand into my pocket and pull out the small item that I’d kept checking on throughout the game.
While I place the microphone on the ground and take hold of Wilcox’s hand, one of the cameramen trots over for a close-up.
A tight shot of her hand appears on the jumbotron at the exact moment I slide a black-and-white plastic ring in the shape of a soccer ball onto her finger.
Half the crowd groans. The other half goes wild. Wilcox shrieks with laughter, holds her stomach, and doubles over.
I retrieve the microphone from the ground. “Come on, folks. We all know I’m the last person on earth capable of choosing a ring.”
Wilcox throws her arms around my neck. “This one is perfect,” she says, as I wipe away the tears falling down her face. “For today, anyway.”
I drop my mouth to hers as the whole stadium erupts again in cheers, applause, and love for me, Wilcox, and the Boston Commoners.
DREW
The happiness bubbling inside me has had my whole body tingling since the moment Hugo dropped onto one knee.
After he’d made a spectacle of us both on the field, I pretty much floated back up to the owners’ box. I don’t even recall getting here. The only thing I can remember is the sensation of Hugo’s hand in mine, leading the way.
It’s like the world has taken on a soft-focus haze, with everyone and everything glinting with an otherworldly mystical sparkle. None of it feels real, like I wouldn’t be surprised if rainbows started shooting out of my every orifice.
Yet here I am, with Hugo, and a plastic soccer ball ring on my finger. I had no idea it was possible to feel so full of joy and contentment, so complete, and to be looking forward to the future with such pure, untainted positivity.
Despite the unbridled, floaty bliss, it’s still hard to relax into my dad’s hug. But there are definitely signs of him softening since moving out to Cape Cod full time—today, for example, he showed up out of the blue right before the game, bringing one of Suzanna’s delicious lemon tarts for us. So, even if things are improving by only micro baby steps, they are heading in the right direction, and I’m grateful for that.
The instant we break out of our slightly awkward clinch, he turns to Hugo and gives him a handshake that he’s obviously much more at ease with .
“Take care of her.” He pats my fiancé on the shoulder. “You’ve got a good one there.”
Well, I never. That might be the biggest compliment my dad has ever paid me. Kind of makes me sound like a fish he just caught, but I’ll take it.
Then he walks back to the other side of the owners’ box to resume his conversation with Leo about something earnest.
Hugo looks at me, eyes wide, and mouths wow .
I nod in acknowledgment. “That’s almost as big a shock as you proposing.”
Of course, my father’s words are good to hear. But they’re not something I’m hunting for anymore, not something I crave. If he wants to tell me I’ve done well, that’s great, and I will welcome it, but I’m not wasting another second of my life chasing that approval. I have all the reassurance and love I need in the shape of the handsome, brilliant man resting his hotter-than-hell butt against the back of a chair right in front of me.
When we got back up here after our spectacle on the field, the Fab Four immediately called for an impromptu celebration. Amelia somehow rustled up champagne—and by “champagne,” I mean some room temperature fizzy wine that had been sitting behind cleaning products in a storeroom for God knows how many years before she stumbled on it by accident while looking for a mop the other day.
I guess it’s apt that we’re celebrating with something found in a janitor’s closet, since that’s kind of where Hugo and I found each other in the first place.
There’s a tug on my arm. “Let’s see it then,” Mona says, reaching for my left hand.
“It wouldn’t have been Hugo if he hadn’t gotten me a ring like this, would it?” I wiggle my finger at the Oldies gathered around me.
“I hope you end up with a diamond as big as that.” Joyce taps the soccer ball sitting on my finger.
“Always best to let the woman choose,” Winston says, his words heavy with the weight of experience.
I turn at the touch of a hand on my shoulder. It’s Ramon, the last of the players still here. “Gotta go, boss.”
I pull him into a hug. “Thank you for coming up. I know you must not have felt like it.”
“You deserve every happiness in the world,” he says quietly. “Coach Powers isn’t the only one you’ve made a better person, you know.”
My heart swells at the love that everyone’s shown us today. “Thank you. That means the world.”
“See you Monday.” He gives everyone a wave as he heads out.
“Also a cutie,” Joyce says, peering over the rim of her champagne flute and watching him leave.
“Drew?” My dad’s voice comes from near the door. “I have to hit the road home too,” he says. “Got a longer drive home these days.”
I wander a little closer but remain outside hugging distance. “Now that our season’s over, Hugo and I will definitely come down to Cape Cod for a weekend.” And I totally mean it. “He’s never even seen the place, and I know he’ll love it.”
“Great.” He turns to leave, then stops and looks back over his shoulder. “You know, it would be a beautiful place for a wedding.”
I manage to suppress the gasp that rises in my chest but can’t stop my hand flying to my heart. Warm tingles skitter through me at the knowledge that he wants to open his home to create a gorgeous wedding day for me.
The idea of my father walking me down the aisle on the lawn with the ocean lapping at the beach behind us makes me want to burst into tears right on the spot.
But I keep a grip on myself and nod. “That would be beautiful. Let’s talk about it when we visit.”
He smiles, gives me a little wave, and walks away.
Yup, baby steps.
I skirt around the back of the happy, chatting stragglers and to the front of the box. I need a moment of quiet to breathe and take all this in.
Leaning on the railing, I gaze out at the stadium. It’s empty now, apart from the staff who are clearing up and the grounds crew. I’ll take some bubbly down for them when we’re done here.
“Just the hard core left, then,” Hugo says, arriving by my side and looking over his shoulder where only the Oldies and the Fab Four remain.
“Hey, pull up a seat,” Prince Oliver calls to us while he does the rounds and tops up everyone’s glasses.
Hugo grabs the two nearest chairs for us and turns them around to join the circle with everyone else. “So, what are you guys all up to then?” His question is directed at the Fab Four.
“Just the usual,” Leo says, presumably referring to whatever it is investors do with their billions of dollars when they’re not filming wildly successful TV shows.
“Wading through molasses trying to get this movie I’m producing off the ground.” Chase sniffs his wine, like he’s not quite sure whether to take another sip. “I’ll never understand why these things have to take forever. Hollywood really is a hellhole. ”
“I’ve got fun news.” Oliver fills Mona’s glass, and she dips her head in some kind of weird seated semicurtsy. “One of the big publishers wants to talk to me about writing a book.”
“Oh, that is great,” I tell him, taking the seat next to Hugo. “And the Commoners made a profit this season too,” I add, always worried that he doesn’t have enough to live on since he left the UK and severed his official royal ties.
“What about you?” Hugo asks Miller. “About to tear down some much-loved historic Boston building and replace it with forty floors of glass and concrete?”
“You’re hilarious. Actually, my first priority isn’t here. It’s in Upstate New York.”
“Oh, that’s new, for our ride-or-die Boston man,” Hugo says.
“Just a one off. And it’s…well…it’s embarrassing really.” He looks down into his drink. “Because it’s essentially a revenge deal.”
“Whoa, that doesn’t sound like you, at all,” I say. Miller might be totally business-focused, but he doesn’t have a spiteful bone in his body.
“Only applies to this one particular asshole.” When he lifts his gaze there’s a determination in his expression I’ve never seen before. “This guy ripped off my parents for our house when I was a kid.” Okay, that would do it. “Then tried to end my property development career before I’d even started.”
“Sounds like a total dick who deserves whatever you’re about to throw at him.” Hugo says. “So what’s the plan?”
“I heard he’s desperate to buy this piece of land near where a new rail line’s going to be built to Grand Central. And I’m going over there to outbid him so that, for the first time ever, I get to take something away from him that he wants. Taste of his own medicine and all that.”
“Is it just empty land, like fields or something?” I ask.
“Nope. Got a donkey sanctuary on it. But it’s owned by an old guy. So I’m hoping he’ll be happy with a nice fat check to retire with.”
“You want to build on a donkey sanctuary ?” Joyce pipes up.
“You’re trying to make a bunch of cute animals homeless?” Mona looks at him like he’s suggested he might slaughter them with his bare hands.
“Locals won’t be pleased,” Winston mutters.
“I promise you no donkeys or locals will be harmed in this deal,” Miller says. “And I expect to head over there, offer the owner more money than the other guy, and have it all wrapped up in an afternoon.”
“Whereabouts upstate is it?” Hugo asks.
“A small town called Warm Springs,” Miller says.
“Oh,” Hugo says. “My mate Tom’s cousin lives there now. He married a woman who owns one of those cutesy Main Street shops. Think it’s fruit and veg or something. The only thing I remember is that they met because she led the protest against him opening a grocery store there.”
“Well, I don’t intend to marry any pro-donkey protestors. Anyway.” Miller holds his drink up to the center of the circle. “The only relationship we’re here to talk about is yours. So, congratulations.”
The other three of the Fab Four, the Oldies, Hugo and I all raise our glasses to meet his.
“To love,” Mona sighs.
“To love,” we all echo.
“And donkeys,” Joyce adds.
So, Miller Malone is off to Warm Springs to try to purchase the donkey sanctuary, huh?!
Maybe it’s not only the old guy who owns it…maybe his granddaughter owns it too. And maybe she doesn’t enjoy billionaire big city developers poking around.