Chapter 21
ZACH
Zach stepped onto the Stallions' field, the turf spongy under his boots, and Anna's wedding dress tucked away in a garment bag and slung over his shoulder.
The weight of it was grounding—something he was doing for family, sure.
But really, it was more like a talisman from the night everything with Piper had shifted.
But those were thoughts for another time because tonight was all about Wild Sacks. The air at the stadium was electric, even without tens of thousands of fans.
The field, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass, was all about his company. Every road led… here.
He'd spent most of the day at the field finishing prep work, but once that was finished, he hurried to finish Anna's gown. Which, for the record, was more of a pain than he'd ever expected. But it was done. Complete. And ready for his sister.
Piper spun toward him, clipboard in hand, headset slightly askew, her ponytail swinging like it called plays. Her eyes locked on his and, God, that gleam unraveled him. It wasn't just a glance. It was a full-system diagnostic run by someone who already had his password.
Someone who could anticipate his next move.
Someone who saw he was cutting it close, clocked the garment bag and understood without a word of explanation, and held a spark of welcome that made the entire buzzing, brilliantly lit field fade into a muted, unimportant backdrop.
He ran a hand through his hair. The gesture felt inadequate. "I saved the hardest stitching for last, and it was a total nightmare."
"Is everything okay?" she eyed the dress bag, assessing it as a liability that might need tossed.
"It is now." He held up his hands as proof, the ghost of a needle prick on his thumb still throbbing. "I've spent the last hour with a needle and thread because the machine kept puckering the silk. Noah assured me he had everything under control here, but it looks like that's you. Not him."
"Everyone's been working together. But we're glad you're here." She leaned forward and squeezed his arm.
"We?" he asked.
"We meaning me. I'm glad you're here." Her voice was lower now, just for him, a quiet confession in the middle of a hundred other conversations.
She'd been staying over a heck of a lot more often, and he'd even stayed at her apartment a few times, learning the quirks of her coffeemaker and the exact spot on the couch that she called her "command center."
Being together just seemed… right.
Natural, like breathing.
Ever since the night he'd agreed to fix the dress, they'd been nearly inseparable. They stole moments between Wild Sacks deadlines and wedding checklists. It had become the new rhythm of his life. A steady beat beneath the noise he hadn't realized wasn’t there before.
It was raw, and it was fun.
Sex that left them breathless and bantering, like their first smoothie date but with way less clothes and infinitely more at stake. It was learning the map of her skin and the cadence of her sleep-soaked voice in the morning.
And the way she looked at him right then? There on the field? Part surprise and part pure excitement? It made him want to drop the dress, dip her low, and kiss her on the spot, right in front of the players, the puppies, and the entire production crew.
"What are the odds this pre-taped shoot won't turn into a puppy riot?" Zach asked, stepping closer, his voice full of amusement.
"I don't play odds," she shot back, her grin pure mischief as she tapped her clipboard with a pen. "I go with certainty."
"And the certainty is…?"
"That it absolutely will turn into a puppy riot," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And it's going to be glorious, viral, and Tess will turn it into gold for Wild Sacks and the Stallions."
"You're taming this circus like it's your day job," he said, gesturing to the… well, everything.
"It is my day job," Piper said, scribbling on her clipboard without looking down.
"Tess wants viral gold, but since puppies don't follow scripts, I'm hoping they're good with adlibbing.
Our star quarterback, on the other hand…
" She trailed off, giving a pointed look toward the center of the field where Drake was being delightfully mauled by a whole pile of mutts.
"I'll take that." Piper took the dress. "And put it in the changing tent for safe keeping."
"No dogs allowed in the changing tent?"
"I mean, no actual canines I have to worry about marking it by lifting their leg," she said with a laugh as she backed away with the gown in hand.
Around him, the field buzzed, players' abs lit by stadium lights, rocking Wild Sacks briefs in various bold colors, clutching wiggling rescue puppies.
A massive lineman was cooing in a surprisingly high-pitched voice at a chihuahua mix that fit in his palm, while a lightning-fast receiver was patiently trying to teach a beagle-mix to run a perfect post-route, his commands punctuated by yips and a wildly wagging tail
It was a beautiful, ridiculous potential disaster or potential future for him in the making.
Yeah, it was going to be the big break he needed.
Babushka, Peggy, and their friend Etta were on puppy duty near the kennels. They'd brought a few friends along, all floral prints and orthopedic sneakers galore.
Everyone whispered together like they were plotting a touchdown or a world takeover.
Zach could just make out Etta's declaration: "The little one with the spots has the soul of a dancer. He needs a sequin."
Tess paced by the 50-yard line, phone pressed to her ear, her voice sharp with vision. "Viral, people. I want tears. I want joy. Get the shots."
Zach scanned the sidelines, and a familiar jolt of warmth and slight panic hit him square in the chest. Anna, Mom, Heather, and Sadie lounged on sideline chairs, out of the fray but present enough to watch, sipping from stadium cups. There was no way they were gonna miss this.
At least that's what Mom said when she announced they'd all be there for support. What that really meant was 'forensic analysis of Zach's new relationship,' but he loved them for it, anyway.
What he hadn't expected was his dad tagging along, too.
Dad wasn't sitting off to the side with the others. No, he was standing near the edge of the field, arms crossed, with a funny smile on his face.
Not his usual polite, reserved smile.
It took a beat for Zach to realize his dad wasn't watching the football players or the spectacle; he was staring right at him. And Zach was suddenly ten years old again, holding up a blue-ribbon science project, waiting for this exact look and getting a simple, "Good work, son."
The approval had always been a ghost. Now, here it was, solid and real across a football field, and Zach had no idea what to do with it.
Drake, front and center, adjusted his Flagship Black briefs, smirking like he'd thrown a game-winner. He handed a golden retriever puppy to a production assistant with the casual air of a guy who played the field even in his underwear.
"Zach." Tess spotted him, her PR grin blazing as she strode over. "Perfect. We're taping Drake's interview first, talking about community, adoption, and the unparalleled support of your briefs."
"Bold," Zach said, catching Piper's gaze. Their new secret language, a silent commentary on the absurdity of it all that made him feel like they were the only two people in on the joke. "Hope you've got a leash for this madness."
Piper snorted, scribbling again. "Spit, prayers, and a spreadsheet. The holy trinity of event production. Tess wants Oscars; I'm aiming for no lawsuits."
As if on cue, a terrier-mix—the "new beginnings" pick for the rookie—bolted from the pen, trailing a Wild Sacks bandana like a cape.
Etta dove for him, her sequined jacket gleaming under the lights, yelling, "Get back here, you tiny terror! You have not been emotionally prepared for fame!"
The crew howled with laughter, but Piper, without missing a beat, moved with fluid grace, snagging the pup mid-stride and scooping him into her arms. The terrier immediately started licking her chin, his rebellion totally forgotten.
Yeah, Zach understood how that went. He'd been there, too.
He pulled a spare bandana from his pocket, and handed it to her, their fingers brushing with a slight jolt. Just like every other time. A simple touch that felt like a lit fuse.
"Nice grab," he said, his voice a little lower than he intended. "Linebacker material?"
"Not a chance," she quipped, her eyes sparking hotter than the lights. She expertly re-tied the bandana around the puppy's neck before handing him off to a grateful assistant.
Tess clapped her hands, pulling everyone's attention. "Focus, people. We are losing the light. Drake's intro, then players. Let's go. Let's go."
Cameras rolled.
Drake stepped up, all QB charm and chiseled jaw. "Denver Stallions, meet Wild Sacks, the underwear keeping us sharp on and off the field. Because every champion needs a great support system."
He flexed, a lab mix licking his face, and while the pups didn't follow scripts, that was a well-timed, photogenic slurp.
Zach's jaw tightened as Babushka, ignoring all protocols, shoved a tray of steaming pierogies under a camera tech's nose, grumbling in Russian about young people not eating enough. The fragrant scent of fried dough, potato, and spices wafted their direction.
"What's in those, Babushka?" Piper called, her eyes narrowing as every puppy nose in the vicinity suddenly pointed in one direction, sniffing the air with frantic intensity.
Before Babushka could answer, a bulldog with the build of a tiny tank took a running start, leaped the pen with the athleticism of a seasoned hurdler, snatched a pierogi mid-air, and bolted for the end zone, dough crumbling in his wake.
One of the linemen, a giant of a man named Gus, dove for him, but the bulldog executed a perfect turn. Gus missed entirely and skidded twenty feet on the turf in his briefs, a human slip-n-slide.
Peggy cackled, thumping her cane on the ground. "Those skimpy shorts ain't hiding much, big fella!"
Zach and Piper shared a what now glance.
Piper didn't flinch. She raised her voice, calm and authoritative. "Noah? Grab the leashes from the sideline, now! You—" she pointed at a tech—"move the main pen to the 20-yard line, away from the food. Babushka, no more pierogies."
Babushka huffed, muttering something about the importance of carbohydrates for athletic performance, but complied.
"You're scary good at this," Zach said to Piper, half-teasing, wholly in awe.
"Terrifyingly efficient," she flashed a grin as the puppies were secured once more, the bulldog burping happily in Gus's arms.
Zach steadied a wobbly tripod, knocked askew by the bulldog's great escape.
Taping resumed, smoother this time. Drake nailed his lines, players posed with their now-leashed puppies, and the whole thing subsided into a marketable, heartwarming charm.
Etta winked at the tight end, who blushed to the tips of his ears.
The director finally called wrap, and cheers erupted. Babushka and her crew high-fived, Peggy waving a bandana like a victory flag.
From the sidelines, Anna's group clapped. And Mom stood next to Dad. She looked at Zach, then at Piper, and then mouthed the word, "Proud."
His dad just nodded, a small, unusual smile back on his face. Not just about the business, but about everything. The approval was whole.
Tess was already on her phone, confirming adoption links would be embedded in the video, set to drop tomorrow. The marketing machine was humming.
As the field cleared out, Zach and Piper lingered by the empty puppy pen, her hand finding its way into his. The stadium lights began to lower, one by one, like a cue for their private afterparty. Zach squeezed her fingers.
"You—" he said, turning to her in the growing quiet. "—continue to be terrifyingly efficient."
"You should see me with a broken printer, it's a bloodbath," she quipped.
"How do you do it? How do you constantly make madness feel like magic?'
Piper leaned in, her forehead against his. "I don't," she whispered, their breaths mingling. "The madness is just madness. The magic part… that happens when you show up."