Chapter 43
Sold-Out Crowd: Phrase used to describe a sold-out stadium for a rugby match.
Translation: Number one fan.
Everly
The moment we step into the Denver Grizzlies stadium, I realize I’ve made a grave error in judgment.
Not because I’m at another rugby match, and I still think rugby is basically like human Jenga.
But because I allowed my entire Fletcher family to come with me. Every single one of them.
But Wolf said they could come! He said he’d told my dad and uncles at poker night they could attend this friendly match . . .
whatever that means . . . and now, here we are.
It begs the question: are there unfriendly matches? Games that are organized with rival teams? Are they all rivals? What will
be friendly about this match as opposed to the others? I already know there will be loads of hugging.
Regardless, my massive family all piles into our two rows of seats.
There’s my dad and Cozy, arguing with Ethan over the mustard he already spilled on his new rugby jersey with the name Reilly scrawled on the back.
There’s Calder, who’s taken it upon himself to double-fist beers, much to Dakota’s dismay.
Luke and Addison are fussing over Baby Levi, who looks absolutely adorable in a little burgundy bucket hat.
My grandma is here too, who showed me after we got through security that she snuck in Fireball shooters in her purse.
What the hell, Grandma? Plus, my mom and Kailey are seated right behind me, and then there’s Wyatt, Trista, and Stevie.
Stevie is on my bad side because she is fiercely competing with me as Wolf’s number one fan, and I hate to lose. I’ll let
her claim him as her Nana. But that Irish bad boy is mine forever, even if he doesn’t know it fully yet.
“Everly!” Dad shouts over the crowd as we squeeze into our seats. “Which one’s Wolf again?”
“The big one,” I yell back.
“They’re all big!” Cozy calls from the other end of the row, clutching a foam finger. God, the merch sales from the Fletcher family alone
are going to be paying Wolf’s salary.
I point toward the field. “Number eight. Dark hair. The one who looks like he wants to fight someone.”
“I like him better carrying alpacas, but I guess rugby balls work,” Trista says with a laugh.
I smile as Wolf pauses his warm-ups long enough to look up into the stands, finally. I swear he’s been avoiding looking up
here, letting his worry that none of us would show up take control of him. His lips part in shock when he spots the sheer
volume of us packed in here for him. I lift my hands and mouth, “Told you so.”
I see emotion sweep over his face as he presses his hand to his chest and sighs before refocusing on his warm-ups.
I can’t help but beam with pride. He was a nervous wreck this morning at my new Denver apartment. I forced him to talk to
me before he left to go get ready for his match, and I’m so glad to show him that I was right all along.
“I’m not nervous about the match. I’m confident there,” he says, his eyes swimming with worry as he holds me in his arms at
my front door.
“Then what is it that has you all twitchy?” I ask, running my fingers through his hair.
I watch his Adam’s apple move up and down his neck. “I’ve never had a group of people in the stands to watch me. Part of me
wonders if they won’t show up. It’s ridiculous. I don’t need them there, but—”
“Now you want them.” I smile softly, knowing just how connected he became to my family this past summer. “It’s okay to want
that, Conri.”
“I don’t want to get my hopes up,” he scoffs.
“Hey.” I grab his face and force him to look at me. “We’re done being afraid, right? Facing our fears. The Fletchers will
show. I’d bet my life on it.”
He licks his lush lips. “You’re really lucky, love.”
“We’re lucky,” I say, my lips turning down. “They love you just as much as they love me, you know.”
“Steve does, at least,” Wolf says with a laugh, referencing my clingy little cousin.
“And your parents care too . . . in their own way.”
“I know.” He exhales and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, he looks lighter and brighter, as if he used
sheer willpower to change his mood. “I really love you, you know that?”
“Back at you, Wolfy.”
He squeezes my ass, lifting me up off my feet as he growls into my neck. “Go take care of our dragon. I’ll see you after the
match.”
“Score a goal for me.”
He stops dead in his tracks, all smiles gone. “Love . . . it’s a try, not a goal. We’ve been over this.”
“Oh, that’s right.” I bite my lip coyly. “I might need another rugby lesson tonight.”
“I could give you one right now if you want. I have the time.”
“Scrum at me, bad boy.”
With a growl, he tackles me, throwing me over his shoulder as he hauls me back to my bedroom, where we create our very own ten-minute sin bin.
The whistle blows, and the match kicks off, and even though Wolf gave me a solid lesson between the sheets this morning, I
still wish Cliona were here to explain what’s happening. Luckily, Addison seems to know a thing or two and is helping answer
everyone’s incessant questions about what’s going on. I don’t think everyone is appreciating the thighs like they should be
because, in my humble opinion, that’s the most important part of the match, but whatever, it’s their loss.
By direct orders, I text Cliona updates on his match today every chance I get. She’s also competing with me and Stevie as
Wolf’s number one fan, but as my soulmate, I’ll forgive her.
A few minutes in, Wolf charges down the field, and my entire family leaps to their feet, me included.
My heart races when he gets tackled, jumping out of the pile of thick-thighed men like he didn’t just take a beating.
“Oh my God,” I exclaim as I glance down the row and see my uncle Calder standing on a chair and pumping his fist. “Calder,
get down. Too much.”
“Too much?” Grandma says. “He’s your boyfriend, Everly. You should make sure he knows you’re here! Wave or something.”
“He knows,” I mutter, horrified.
Grandma cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Go, Wolf! We’re all here for you!” Her voice cracks halfway through, but
the sentiment lands.
A few rows down, a group of rugby fans turns around, shooting us judgy looks.
“Is that his mom?” one asks.
“Nope,” I groan, covering my face. “Just his girlfriend’s grandma.”
The kid hits me with a puzzled look, and I can’t say I blame him. This is the definition of “too much.” You wonder where I got it.
My humiliation recedes as the game continues, things getting intense fast. I gasp when Wolf tackles someone and then somehow
emerges with the ball, tearing down the field like he’s running from the cops. My heart jumps into my throat when he dives
into the end zone, scoring his team a try (learned that this morning), and my family goes completely feral, me included now.
We’re all on our feet. Ethan and Calder standing on their seats. Stevie abandoned on the ground. Luke holds his free hand
out in a protective barrier around Levi. Cozy chucks her popcorn in the air as she screams like a banshee. And my mom jumps
up and down, squealing with my grandma.
By the end, when they’ve easily won the game, I’m sweating like I played the match myself.
The team makes their way off the field, but not before Wolf’s eyes find mine again. He makes a circle with his finger and
holds it to his eye, like he’s gazing at me through binoculars. If that’s a nod to his stalking proclivities, then I enthusiastically
approve. I mimic the gesture, and his dirty smirk causes my heart to flutter.
I mouth, “I love you,” and he waves to my entire family, offering an extra special one to Stevie before he takes off to join his team.
I’m so proud of him today. He looked completely in control, communicating effortlessly with teammates, remaining calm, even
during tense moments. Confidence radiates off him, and everyone feeds off it—even his roommate, Fergie.
He’s changed in so many tiny, quiet ways, and yet he’s still that rugby bad boy that followed me around Trinity campus for
years.
God, I’m so glad he red-carded himself back then. Or who knows what would have happened between us. My matchmaking heart likes to think we would have found each other eventually. But even I’m not sure I’m that powerful.
“You okay, Sea Monster?” Cozy asks, leaning over my dad to check on me as I swipe an errant happy tear away.
“I’m very okay,” I reply with a dopey smile. “I’m going to marry that Irish boy someday.”
It’s pretty funny that after all these years of scheming and matchmaking, I’ve finally found the thing I didn’t need to mastermind:
my own love story. Or rather, it found me.