Chapter 32 Maverick
Maverick
Will you marry me?
I’ve never been more nervous in my fucking life. And I’ve played in front of seventy thousand people, with cameras shoved in my face, knowing one wrong move could cost us the game—and my contract.
But this is different.
Obviously.
Annabelle.
And she hasn’t said anything yet.
She’s just staring at me, all wide eyed and teary, like she can’t decide whether to faint or throttle me for doing this in front of witnesses.
God, she’s beautiful.
Her hands are trembling, her chest rising and falling like she just ran a marathon in those heels, and all I want to do is take her face in my hands and promise her I’m not going anywhere.
“I meant it,” I say, now down on one knee.
“This isn’t some panic proposal because of the baby.
I’d be doing this if you weren’t pregnant.
I’d be doing it if we met in a grocery store aisle, because I think you’re incredible and funny and smart and I know that the more time we spend together—you’re going to be my best friend. ”
She lets out a sound—half laugh, half sob—and then she nods. A quick, jerky, desperate little nod.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes.”
Relief barrels through me so hard I nearly fall over, but I catch myself and surge to my feet, arms already wrapping around her as she throws hers around my neck.
I kiss her. I don’t care that we have an audience. I kiss her like this is the last chance I’ll ever get, like the sun will never rise again if I don’t.
Someone whistles. Someone claps. Lucy says something that sounds suspiciously like “Finally,” and Harris grunts in agreement.
I don’t explain what strings I had to pull to get marriage license paperwork here without going to city hall. Lots of name-dropping and tickets to a few football games, but the woman from the clerk’s office is standing in the corner, grinning like a fool.
Annabelle notices her. “Who is that?”
“County clerk.”
She blinks up at me. “You invited the county clerk?”
I grin. “I told you—I’m thorough.” Not leaving anything to chance.
Her eyes flick over to the woman standing off to the side with a manila envelope and a smile. “Is this seriously happening right now?”
“Only if you’re saying yes,” I murmur.
“I’m saying yes,” she says. Louder this time.
Our friends and family applaud as I guide her toward the spot where we’re going to say our vows, by the courtyard’s gorgeous concrete fountain.
Lucy steps forward and hands her a small bouquet, kissing her on the cheek.
Pastor Dan lifts his hands to quiet the laughter and applause, and Annabelle and I turn to face him, hands still locked like if one of us lets go, the moment might vanish.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, glancing at the small crowd of friends now gathered in a semicircle.
“We are gathered here tonight, at this very expensive resort I could never afford—so thank you to the happy couple for my stay”—everyone laughs at that—“to witness the union of two beautiful people who drunkenly crashed a wedding, were married by me, and decided, ‘You know what? Let’s run it back, but legally this time, with paperwork and everything.’”
Laughter ripples through the group. Annabelle snorts and covers her mouth.
“Usually,” Pastor Dan goes on. “People vow to love each other for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health. But these two already did the hard part backward. They got hitched without knowing one another, survived living together in the hot Arizona sun—with zero planning—and now they’re choosing each other again, hopefully with fewer tequila shots. ”
Harris coughs loudly. “No promises!”
“Before we get to the paperwork and the kiss that seals you for eternity, the bride’s best friend has a few words for the happy couple.”
Lucy steps forward in her strappy heels, already tearing up. She fans her face with the paper in her hands. “Ugh! I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. And then I remembered who I am, so I’m wearing waterproof mascara.”
Annabelle giggles and dabs under her eyes.
Lucy takes a deep breath before quietly saying, “I knew this day would come, but never in my wildest dreams would I have thought it would be like this.” She exhales, holding that paper in front of her, staring down at it.
“I had all these things prepared that I wanted to say, but nothing . . .” Her lip trembles. “I love you so much.”
Lucy straightens the slightly crumpled page, doing her best to keep it together.
“Annabelle, I’ve seen you cry over a really good grilled cheese, but I’ve never known you to be as into anyone as you’re into him.” She looks at me. “And I mean that as the highest compliment—because I’ve never seen you so brave. So fully, terrifyingly, wonderfully in it.
“Harris and I love you both so much, and despite the circumstances—or because of them—we now get to enjoy the fact that our two best friends are getting married and are going to be in our lives forever.”
Lucy waves the paper like a white flag. “That’s all. I love you both. Now somebody pass me a tissue before my fake eyelashes end up on my chin.”
Pastor Dan chuckles and clears his throat.
“Thank you, Lucy. I think we’re all crying now—on the inside, at least.” He looks at me, then at Annabelle.
“Now I want to invite the bride and groom to say a few words to each other. Annabelle, I know you didn’t have time to prepare, but you’re welcome to speak from the heart or wing it entirely. We listen, we don’t judge.”
I can practically see her soul leave her body for a brief second as she panics, so I jump in first.
“Okay, I’ll go before she leaps into the fountain.” I turn to face her and instantly regret how watery my eyes feel. I suck in a breath. “Hi.”
Our friends laugh.
“Look,” I begin. “I could stand here and quote poetry or Shakespeare or have googled the perfect wedding speech, because the truth is, I’m not great with words. I’m better with actions, and I think the first act of showing you how much I care was not kicking you out of the cottage on Star Lake.”
More laughter. “The second I saw you sleeping in that hammock and heard you snoring, I was smitten.”
“I was not snoring!”
She actually was, and the look on her face makes teasing her worth it.
“You’re smart. You’re stubborn. You talk with your hands and somehow never finish a full cup of coffee,” I go on.
“Every time I think I’ve seen the best of you, you do something else that makes me fall harder.
You take up space, Annabelle, in my heart, in my life, in my freaking bathroom with your billion hair products—and I wouldn’t change any of it. ”
Her eyes are watery now, and mine are too.
“I want all of it. The chaos, the mornings you’re grumpy, the weird pregnancy cravings, the moments when you doubt everything—because I’ll be there for every single one. As your husband. Your best friend. And your backup. We’ll figure it out together. With the help of our friends and family.”
Our friends are all nodding along. And now it’s her turn to say something.
Annabelle takes a breath. Then another. And finally lifts her chin with that familiar stubborn tilt I’ve grown to love.
“When we woke up after our crashing the actual wedding—thanks, Pastor Dan,” she says, “I had two thoughts. One: Who drinks that much? And two: What have I done?”
Another wave of laughter ripples through the crowd.
“And somehow, the way you held my hand like it was no big deal and it wasn’t the dumbest thing we’ve done—like we were already a ‘we’—I realized this might be the best mistake of our lives.”
She pauses, then corrects herself. “No. Not a mistake. A surprise. A reckless, drink-fueled surprise that turned into the safest, most solid thing I’ve ever had.” She blushes, ducking her head. I blink furiously.
I’m not crying—you are!
“I love you, Maverick,” she says, voice trembling. “I love that you’re patient when I’m panicked. You said you’d be my backup, and I want to be that for you too. I want to be your partner.” She steps even closer, squeezing my hands. “I’m your backup. Your safe place. Your teammate.”
Laughter bubbles from the small crowd, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“I’ll be there for the big things and the little ones too. Like your ice pack after a game. Or pretending to be mad when you don’t change the roll of toilet paper.”
Her chin wobbles as her voice softens. “I don’t know what’s coming next, but I know one thing—I want all of it. With you.”
I’m openly crying now.
A sniffle escapes someone in the room—Lucy or maybe Harris—and I swear the whole courtyard is one sob away from breaking down.
Pastor Dan clears his throat, voice thick with emotion as he flips through his very official-looking notes . . . that were written on the back of an airplane safety brochure.
“Ugh,” he says, sniffling. “That was beautiful.” Inhale. Exhale. Dan spreads his arms wide. “Do you, Callum Brody McBride, take . . .” He checks his notes. “Annabelle Farris Franklin to be your wedded wife?”
There’s a massive lump in my throat when I say, “I do.”
“And do you, Annabelle Farris Franklin, take Callum Brody McBride to be your wedded hubby?”
She nods, whispering, “I do.”
“Then by the powers vested in me by the great state of absolutely nowhere—and with the blessings of your very enthusiastic and emotional friends”—he grins at Harris, who gives a dramatic bow—“I pronounce you husband and wife. For real this time. With paperwork.”
He pauses for effect, lifting an eyebrow. “You may seal the deal with a kiss and make it official.”
I don’t wait.
The second Pastor Dan gives me the green light, I’ve got my hands on her face and my mouth on hers. She tastes like tears and lip gloss and every dream I never let myself have until now.
When we finally come up for air, she’s got a smile so big I’m not sure how her face can contain it, and hell if I’m not matching it. My chest feels like it’s about to burst wide open.
Pastor Dan clears his throat, wiping at his eyes with what looks suspiciously like a napkin from the bar. “Okay, someone hand me the contracts before I ruin what’s left of my dignity and never get invited to another wedding again.”
The county clerk steps up, handing me a folder and a pen that looks way too expensive for something that’s about to be scribbled on by a guy with sweaty palms. It almost slips through my fingers.
This is it.
We’re married.
Legally, officially, permanently.
“I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine.”