Epilogue
LANEY
SIX MONTHS LATER
Burton and I have been together for the last six months, and this is my first not-cardboard box lacrosse game. I can watch a lot of action, but I’ve had to get up out of my seat a couple of times when Burton got hit. He was right. This is more violent than field lacrosse.
I better not tell Grandpa about these games, or he’d never want to leave.
“Come on, Court! Score it!” I yell, knowing he can’t hear me through his helmet and through the glass of the field. It helps me feel better, though, and at least he can see me in the stands.
It took Court a few hours after the coupon book moment for him to tell me about his parents.
I’ve never been so mad at people I haven’t met in my life.
The temptation to look them up and give them a piece of my mind was strong, but instead, I enjoyed a tour of some of the historical sites along the National Mall with an expert tour guide.
Well, not really expert at the facts, but that’s what all the signs are for, right?
There aren’t a lot of fans at this game, but the guy next to me looks like he thinks my nervous actions are humorous.
I turn my attention back to the game, my stomach tightening as Court takes the ball and drives it in, lasering it past the goalie. The buzzer sounds and the game is over.
“Are you a fan of number eighteen?” the man asks me.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I say, picking up my coat. Winter came early this year and I feel like I’m always cold. Except in here. It’s like they don’t mind paying the heating bill.
He smiles and nods. “I figured. He’s a workhorse.” There’s a long, awkward pause before he says, “I’m sorry. My name is Blaine Sturgeon. Will you have him call me when he gets out? I’d love to chat with him about a few things.”
I reach out to take the small card from him, recognizing the Warrior logo at the bottom. I’ve gotten to know a lot more about the lacrosse brands than I ever thought I would.
Nodding, I say, “Sure. He’s usually the last one out, unfortunately.”
He laughs, slapping his knee a couple of times. It’s contagious, and I laugh with him.
“It’s nice to meet you, um—”
“Laney. Laney Zelinski.”
Blaine nods. “Great to meet you, Laney. Take care of him and have him give me a call.”
It takes another twenty minutes for Court to emerge from the locker room, but at least he’s freshly showered.
“You did great,” I say, grinning at him. “Although, I will say there’s a sad lack of cardboard here.”
He rolls his eyes and then grins at me. “That last goal felt so good.”
“So, no retiring anytime soon?”
Court pauses. “Do you think I should?”
Shaking my head, I say, “No. I would love to watch you play even after we have kids.”
Is that too much? We’ve talked about the future and what we want it to look like.
His face softens, and I love this expression. He’s not vulnerable often, but when he is, it makes me love him even more.
“I like that idea. I actually have something I wanted to ask you—”
“The answer is already yes!” I say, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him down for a light kiss.
He chuckles and says, “I haven’t even asked it yet.”
I shrug. “Well, if it concerns you and me, then I’m in.”
Lowering his voice, he says, “So, you’ll marry me?”
I bite my bottom lip and nod.
“Do you care if we do a better proposal when we get to the farm in a bit? The bargain I struck with your grandpa was that they get to see it.”
Pulling him in, I give him a long, slow kiss. This man is worth every hoop we’ve had to jump through as a couple.
“Get a room, you two,” one of Court’s teammates says on their way out.
I turn and reach out to hold Court’s hand. “We should probably go now, then. I’ll be getting texts from Grammie anytime about how we’re already late.”
“What’s that in your hand?” Court asks, glancing down at the business card.
I hold it up so he can read the writing. “Some guy named Blaine was watching the game. He said something about calling him?”
“Actually, I stuck around for a bit,” Blaine says, walking over to us. “I wanted to extend an offer to you to be one of our spokespeople for Warrior products. What do you think?”
Court goes rigid next to me, and I know it’s not from anger but complete surprise. “You want to sponsor me? Are you sure?”
“I’ve wanted to since that dinner with Billy Thornton, to be honest. I had to do some shuffling and wait until the new fiscal year for our company to get it to work, but we want you to be one of our top guys, Courtney Burton.”
A thrill runs through me. The man I love and admire so much has put in the time and more work than I ever imagined to get to this point. And now he’s being rewarded for it.
“What do you say, Court?” I say, nudging him with my elbow when he doesn’t respond.
“Well, uh, yeah. That would be awesome.”
Blaine claps his hands together. “Great. Well, I’ll let you enjoy your night, and we’ll be in contact with more details and the contract agreement. Sound good?”
Court nods, like he’s in a trance. “Sounds very good.”
Blaine waves and heads out the door.
“Can you believe that?” I say, turning to Court with my jaw practically on the floor.
He shakes his head, watching the exit as if Blaine will come back in and take back the offer.
“You deserve it, Court.”
“I can’t believe it’s real. But it wouldn’t have been possible without you.” He pulls me in for a hug, burying his face in my neck.
“I’m pretty sure it was all you,” I say, holding him tightly. “I’ve just been there to watch the show.”
He shifts back so I can see his face. His eyes are glassy, as if he’s trying to hold back tears. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“You’ll have to call Connie,” I say.
“I will. After dinner tonight.”
My phone pings with a text, and I still hold onto Court while I dig it out of my pocket.
Food is getting cold. I hope you’re close.
“Grammie’s worried that we’re late. We should probably head out so we can tell them the good news.”
“What good news?” Court asks with a smile.
“Something about you getting sponsored by a major brand.” I lean in to give him a quick peck on the lips and then start walking out of the building.
“What about the other thing?”
I look at him and blink. “What other thing?” I grin at him, so he knows that I know what he’s talking about.
Nodding, he says, “Right. That other thing.”
He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together like he’s afraid I might disappear before he can say it properly.
“I just want to make sure you know,” he says, quieter now, “that I mean it. All of it. The asking you here. The big version. The in-front-of-your-grandparents version. The get-down-on-one-knee-without-tripping version.”
My grin softens.
“I figured,” I say.
He squeezes my hand. “Good. Because I’m not crossing that line halfway.”
And neither am I.