Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bowen
One year, one month later…
I pushed open the door of Scrimmage’s and held it wide for Parker to enter. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat, and my stomach was a tangled knot of nerves. I tried to swallow the anxiety and instead focus on the woman beside me, the woman who had turned my world upside down in the best possible way.
Parker stepped inside and glanced around with a playful smile. “You’re taking me to dinner at Scrimmage’s for my birthday?” she asked, her laughter light and infectious. “Don’t you get enough of this place during the season?”
I grunted in response, a sound that made her laugh even more. This place meant more to me than just a bar. Scrimmage’s was where it had all started for us—the place where she’d first spilled a drink on me, where we’d shared awkward conversations, and where she’d finally agreed to go out on our first date.
And maybe—just maybe—Scrimmage’s was about to become the backdrop for an even more significant moment in our lives.
I placed my hand gently on the small of her back and guided her through the familiar interior of the bar. The feel of her warmth against my skin steadied me. A sign on the door to the patio read, “Private Party.” Her brows furrowed in confusion, and she turned to me with a questioning look. “What’s this?”
We entered the back area to a chorus of “Surprise!” and “Happy birthday!” from the party of two dozen people. Friends from the team, fellow teachers from Parker’s high school, and special guests were in attendance.
Parker froze, her hand flying to her heart as she took in the scene before her. She stumbled a bit and slowly shook her head as she realized what was happening.
Hope, Emily, and I had set up the patio. Bunches of balloons bobbed in the warm summer breeze, their ribbons twisting in the air. A big birthday banner hung above us, and streamers stretched across the rafters, adding some color to the place. In the middle was a table covered in a white tablecloth and filled with cupcakes in three different flavors. Off to the side, another table was piled high with gifts wrapped in all colors.
A stage and karaoke machine sat in the corner, lit by spotlights. Waiting. My fingertips tingled with nerves, and I cleared my throat.
Parker’s eyes widened as she scanned the crowd. “Mom? Dad!” she gasped, disbelief and joy warring on her face. Her parents, Parker, and I had mended fences over the past year. Brevos had been as good as his word, supporting Parker in her decisions. She rushed toward them, stubbing her toe along the way. But the minor mishap didn’t slow her down. She enveloped them in tight hugs, holding on as if she hadn’t seen them in years.
In reality, we’d seen them at Easter, when they’d visited us at our new house. Not just a house—a home. We had bought the four-bedroom place at the end of the previous summer, just before the madness of training camp began. It was our sanctuary, a home where we could be ourselves without the prying eyes of the media, though the attention had died down. Missy, our cat, had thrived there, growing into the affectionate lap kitty I never knew I needed.
After greeting her mom and dad, Parker’s eyes lit up as she spotted my mother standing a few steps away, and a warm smile spread across her face. A delighted laugh escaped her lips, and she moved toward my mom with open arms. The two of them embraced tightly, like long-lost friends reunited after years apart, their connection palpable. It was more than just a hug—it was an expression of the closeness they had built over the past year, a bond that had grown stronger with each FaceTime call, each shared story about their days in marketing and at school. And, of course, they laughingly commiserated about me.
With one final hug, Parker broke away to make the rounds of the other guests. I watched her with a mixture of admiration and love. She was the social butterfly, the one who made everyone feel special, even if she had just seen them days before. Her laughter, her bright smile, it all came so naturally to her. I was still awkward in social situations, still learning how to navigate the world of small talk. But with Parker by my side, I was getting better. She had smoothed out my rough edges, teaching me how to open up and let people in.
Parker flitted around the room, even though we had seen most of the guests within the past few weeks. Every so often, she would return to me where I stood with my buddies, wrapping her arms around my waist or pressing a quick kiss to my lips. Each time, she would look up at me with shining eyes, her gratitude and happiness clear in every word she spoke. “Thank you,” she said softly but full of emotion. “This is awesome.”
Laughter and chatter filled the evening, and the party was in full swing when Chase clapped me on my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “Are you ready?” he asked in a low, conspiratorial tone.
I patted my pocket, and a fresh wave of nerves washed over me. “No,” I admitted, tight with anxiety.
Chase laughed, the sound easy and full of the confidence I didn’t feel. “You’ll do fine. Now’s a good time, before we attack those cupcakes.”
I broke away from my friends, my heart in my throat. How was I going to sing around this lump? I’d practiced but hadn’t counted on being so nervous. Where was the rock-solid steadiness I felt during a game? The path to the stage seemed to stretch out before me, every step heavier than the last.
I reached the stage; my legs were unsteady as I climbed the two steps. The surrounding conversations dimmed to murmurs as people realized something was about to happen.
I could feel dozens of eyes on me, the weight of their attention pressing down, but the only gaze I cared about was Parker’s. When I glanced her way, I saw the curiosity and surprise etched on her face. She knew me well enough to understand that I wasn’t the kind of guy who enjoyed standing in front of a crowd, not unless I was wearing skates and holding a stick. But here I was, fumbling with the controls of the karaoke machine, my fingers clumsy with nerves.
And then the opening banjo notes of “Love Story” played, and everything seemed to slow down. Parker’s eyes widened in recognition, and she weaved through the crowd and moved to the foot of the stage.
I grabbed the mic, feeling its cool metal against my palm, and took a deep breath. When I started singing, my voice came out a bit rough, my baritone not exactly suited for Taylor Swift, but I pushed through. The song wasn’t about perfect pitch or hitting every note just right; it was about heart, about meaning every word because they were meant for her—for us. I poured everything I had into the lyrics, keeping my eyes locked on Parker the entire time.
As I reached the part I’d been waiting for, my heart pounded, and my voice wobbled. This was it. At the right moment in the lyrics, I kneeled on one knee and pulled a ring out of my pocket. The three-carat oval diamond winked in the spotlights; the white-gold pavé diamond band gleamed.
“Marry me, Parker,” I sang, followed by the lines about loving her, talking to her dad, and picking out a white dress. “Baby, just say, ‘Yes,’” I crooned.
The music faded, the cheers and chatter of the party died down, and all I could hear was the deafening thump of my heart.
“Would you rather…celebrate your birthday or marry me?” I asked.
My eyes stayed fixed on Parker’s face, searching for any sign, any hint of what she was thinking. Gasps from our friends barely registered—I was too focused on the woman in front of me, the tears welling in her wide eyes.
I held my breath, waiting, the suspense nearly unbearable. What if I had misread everything? What if this was too much, too soon? The fear clawed at my chest, threatening to suffocate me.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Parker’s face broke into a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with tears. She started nodding, and before I could even process it, she was laughing and crying all at once, the sound a beautiful mix of joy and relief. “I’d rather marry you,” she said with certainty.
The patio erupted in applause and cheers, the noise washing over me like a wave, but all I could see was Parker. The tension in my chest released in a rush of breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The relief was so intense it was almost dizzying. I let the mic drop from my hand, the clatter just background noise as I stepped down, my eyes never leaving hers.
I slipped the ring onto her finger, my hands sure and unfaltering. When the diamond settled into place, I pulled her into my arms, holding her close as if I’d never let her go. The party, the guests, even her parents and my mom—it all disappeared. It was just us, two people bound by a love that had grown deeper and stronger with every passing day.
I kissed her, long and deep, pouring every ounce of love and passion I had into that kiss. Nothing could intrude on this perfect moment.
“Get a room!” Beck yelled, breaking through the haze.
Well, maybe Beck could. We broke apart, both of us grinning like idiots.
“We intend to!” I shot back, followed by laughter.
On cue, Emily and Hope moved quickly to take down the Happy Birthday banner and replace it with one that read Congratulations in sparkling gold letters. Livi appeared with trays of flutes of champagne, her eyes twinkling as she handed them out to the guests. The celebration had shifted gears.
Parker crooked an eyebrow. “How many people were in on this?”
I grunted. “A few. I really did talk to your dad. He gave us his blessing.”
“Not that we needed it.”
“No, but it was nice to have.” I shrugged. “But this is our love story. And baby, you said, ‘Yes.’”