Chapter 39 #2
As the ball lands straight into Tyrell’s hands, every Thunderbolts fan in the stadium, including me, holds their breath.
And as Tyrell goes down with the ball firmly tucked in his arm, we scream and jump around in ecstasy.
It’s a much-needed first down—one that keeps us in the hunt for that coveted, go-ahead touchdown, baby . . .
I look at the game clock again.
There’s, oh God, less than a minute left in the entire game.
“Time out, San Francisco!” a referee booms into his mic, at which point everyone in my immediate vicinity looks at each other like they’re on the cusp of a collective barf-o-rama.
My eyes lock with Ava’s a few seats down. She’s huddled up with Roman’s dad and Luca’s supposedly evil twin, Levi, who’s actually a sweetheart once you get to know him, and all of them look like I feel: like they could pass out at any moment from stress.
When I catch Ava’s eye, I shoot her a look that says, “He’s got this,” which she returns.
From there, I turn to look at Maverick at the back of the box.
He’s not looking my way, though, so I can’t catch his eye.
He’s far too engaged in conversation with his beloved mommy, Vanessa, to look around the box.
Dare I say it, Vanessa’s become my friend over the course of this football season.
I see her often, since she enjoys bringing Maverick to home games, and Roman’s all for it.
Plus, we all joined forces to celebrate Maverick’s fifth birthday, too.
And sometimes, Roman and I stay and chat for a bit when we return Maverick to Vanessa’s house after our allotted time with him.
Is Vanessa one of my best friends? No. Not even close. But I have to hand it to the woman, she’s made a real effort, and I’ve reciprocated. The result is, we’ve formed a friendly, genuine bond that makes co-parenting Maverick a true joy.
Luca bats my shoulder, jolting me from gazing at Maverick and Vanessa behind me. “Focus,” Luca commands. “Roman needs your good juju the most, Riri.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. I find Roman on the sideline and consciously send him good thoughts—good juju—as he confers with his coaches during the time-out.
Roman’s got his helmet on at the moment, so I can’t see his face.
But, even so, I can perfectly picture the game face he’s wearing.
Furrowed brow. Laser-sharp eyes. Tight mouth.
If I know Roman, he’d rather die than leave this game as the loser, again, for the fourth fucking time.
The time-out ends.
All players on both sides line up again.
“Here we go,” Luca says, taking my left hand as Harper simultaneously grabs my right.
Once he’s in position and everyone is lined up, Roman looks to his left, as always, and then to his right, making sure everyone is precisely in place and ready on his side of the ball.
He licks the fingers on his throwing hand, as usual.
But before he shoves his hands up his center’s ass crack, like he always does before the snap, Roman first mimes putting on his magic blinders.
This time, without looking up at me. This time, without making it a cute thing between us. Well, that’s a first.
With his imaginary, magic blinders in place—this time, only for himself—Roman slides his hands into position and shouts a string of gibberish signals to his teammates. And two seconds later, Roman’s got the ball firmly in his large hands and he’s scanning the field for an open target.
Before Roman gets the ball off, however, a Knight breaks through the O-line and barrels toward him at full speed, prompting Roman to scramble to avoid decimation.
I scream at the top of my lungs as Roman takes off running to avoid a tackle and then continues running well after he should have slid to the ground, as most quarterbacks would do in the same situation to avoid getting tackled and possibly injured.
Oh my God. He’s not looking to get rid of the ball any longer! He’s clearly intending to reach the end zone himself!
The entire stadium stands and screams in unison, some in support of Roman, others in support of the Knights running after him to take him down.
Three defenders close in on Roman. Based on their trajectory, he’s not going to make it. He’s going to go down a few yards short.
Oh my God. Without warning, Roman hurtles himself into the air and well over a leaping, flying, careening defender’s body. And a second later, Roman comes down like a ton of bricks in the end zone. He did it. He scored the go-ahead touchdown, all by himself.
The nearest referee shoots both arms into the sky, signaling a touchdown, and Roman bounces up from the ground and starts celebrating like a madman with a cluster of elated teammates.
Their celebration is short-lived, however, because the point after needs to be kicked.
Which it is. Successfully. But with six seconds left on the game clock.
Unfortunately, that’s enough time for the Knights to throw a Hail Mary pass, take the lead again, and squeak out a win.
Shit. Why’d I let myself think that? Jinx, be gone. Jinx, be gone.
“Fucking commercial breaks,” Luca mutters. He wipes his brow. “I really think I might barf this time.”
“Then go stand next to Levi,” I say, swatting him. “I don’t want your barf on me when I go down there to congratulate Roman on his first Super Bowl win.”
Luca claps his hands together. “Okay. I needed that, sis. I’m back. He’s got this.”
“Atta boy. No bad juju.”
“No bad juju. I’m back.”
Ava leans forward in her seat to shout at Luca and me.
“We all need to send whammies to that motherfucker as a family.” She’s talking about the Knights’ stupendous quarterback.
And I’m not surprised at all by her word choice, by the way.
Whenever we’re at a football game, Ava Maguire turns into a swearing, violent sailor.
The transformation was shocking to me at first, though highly amusing, but I’m used to it by now.
In fact, elegant Ava’s propensity for foul language at games is one of the many things I adore about her.
“You especially, Iris,” Ava adds, wagging a finger at me. “Make those whammies extra good ones.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I raise my arm toward Vanessa and Maverick in the back, signaling to them. And when I finally catch their attention, they join everyone else in Roman’s box in our common mission of wiggling our fingers and sending whammies to the Knights’ quarterback.
My eyes drift to Roman again. He’s pacing on the sideline like an angry bear at the zoo—one being teased with a steak. My man did everything in his power to secure victory tonight, but now, his fate is totally out of his hands.
While I’m watching him, Roman unexpectedly looks up toward the box.
His helmet is off now, so I can see his face.
He’s drenched in sweat and scowling, looking equal parts exhausted and pissed off.
But even in this state, the second our eyes meet, he blows me a kiss and motions like his heart is beating out of his chest. I blow him a kiss and shoot him a thumbs-up, letting him know he’s got this, that I’ve got unwavering faith in him and the Thunderbolts’ destiny, and he nods his appreciation before looking away with his chest heaving and sweat trickling down his forehead.
The commercial break ends, and the ball is kicked off uneventfully. Everyone lines up, this time with the Knights on offense and Roman watching helplessly from the sideline.
The Knights’ center snaps the ball to his talented quarterback, who drops back and scans the field for a miracle.
Surely, he’s looking for Marco, his favorite target.
But it’s not meant to be. The quarterback gets pummeled to the ground before releasing the ball, sending the ball skating across the turf before a Thunderbolt pounces on it and hangs on for dear life.
A referee confirms the Thunderbolts have recovered the fumble . . . and the clock runs out . . . which means the good guys, with Roman Maguire as their fearless leader, have now officially won the game!
The next few minutes are a blur of happy tears, screams, and hugs. If I weren’t hanging on to Luca’s arm through most of it, I’d surely pass out onto the sticky, beer-covered floor.
“Come on, Iris,” Roman’s father, Edward, says, grabbing my hand. “Time to go to Roman on the field.”
I check to make sure Vanessa’s got Maverick. When we talked earlier about a possible victory tonight, Roman said he didn’t want Maverick coming onto the field in front of all the cameras and people, and we all agreed that was for the best.
My eyes meet with Vanessa’s and she quickly signals she’s got Maverick firmly in hand, so I take Edward’s offered arm and let him pull me, along with the rest of the family and Cameron, toward a cadre of waiting security guards.
Insanity.
Breathtaking chaos.
That’s what greets us when we make it onto the field.
There’s confetti all over the ground and floating in the air. Loud, celebratory music blaring. Swarms of camera operators and reporters jockeying for position. People, people, people, everywhere.
Not surprisingly, a throng of reporters, cameras, and booms presently surround Roman and Coach Hardy as they exchange tearful words about twenty yards from where my group has come to a stop. Surely, those reporters are beaming out every emotional word between the pair to the world in real time.
When the short exchange between Roman and his beloved coach ends, Roman moves on to hugging Marco, who’s been waiting nearby for his moment.
Marco looks defeated and exhausted in this moment, but even so, he manages a wide, tearful smile for his cousin before enthusiastically embracing him.
If Marco was going to lose to anyone, I’m sure he’s glad it was his beloved Romie.
A tearful Nicola offers a quick peck to Roman’s cheek, but soon, Roman locks eyes with our group and heads toward us as that pack of reporters moves in lockstep with him.
Before Roman reaches us, he turns to the nearest camera and shoves three upside-down fingers into its lens. Apparently, Roman wants his son to know his daddy is thinking about him, even now, in this one-of-a-kind moment.
Finally, Roman makes it through the throngs of people to reach our group, at which point he energetically hugs both of his parents, followed by Levi and Cameron.
When he gets to Luca, I can’t help noticing Luca covertly handing Roman something.
Something that fit neatly inside Roman’s palm.
What was that? Did I imagine that? I can’t fathom what it could have been.
My thoughts are interrupted when Roman takes me into his arms. Suddenly, I forget all about whatever that possible handoff might have been. “You did it!” I shout into Roman’s ear so he can hear me above the pandemonium. “I’m so proud of you, baby!”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Roman replies, squeezing me tight.
“I love you so much.” He kisses me deeply, and as he does, the world melts away.
When Roman finally releases me, I’m expecting him to kiss my cheek and jog off to his next destination.
But to my shock, he takes both my hands, kneels before me, and holds up a ring box displaying a massive, dazzling whopper of a diamond ring nestled in black velvet.
“Oh my God!” I blurt, as the cameras surrounding us squeeze in to capture the moment.
“Iris Eugenie Benedetto,” Roman says with tears in his eyes and a tremble in his deep voice. “You’re my lucky charm. My best friend. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, as my wife. Iris, will you marry me?”
I barely get out my shrieking yes, thanks to the sob involuntarily hurtling out of my throat. But thankfully, Roman understands me well enough. With a whoop, he slides the massive rock onto my finger, rises, and takes me into his arms, crushing my sobbing frame against his chest.
When I open my eyes, there’s a camera that’s squeezed in so shockingly close, I feel like I’m going to pass out from claustrophobia. “Roman,” I gasp out, clinging to his jersey for dear life. “Tell that guy to back up.”
I don’t need to ask him twice.
In a flash, Roman grabs that intrusive camera’s massive lens with both of his large hands and guides it back.
But he doesn’t push the offending camera as far back as I’m expecting.
Instead, once it’s out of my personal space, he thrusts his sweaty face into its lens and bellows, “Do you see that gorgeous woman—that perfect ten over there? She’s my fiancée now.
My future wife. So, anyone who’s got anything negative to say about her better come say it directly to my face—or better yet, don’t say anything at all. ”
Swoon.
His nostrils flaring, Roman holds up my ringed hand to the camera. “My future wife,” he repeats. When he lowers my hand, he kisses me again, this time so passionately, my body goes slack in his arms, like I’ve been electrocuted. Holy shit.
Surely, Roman’s proposal and that sexy little speech into the camera will spread like wildfire on the internet, far more so than my stupid runaway bride video that already feels like ancient history.
At least, I genuinely hope that’s the case, because hot damn: Roman proposing to me and telling the world to shut the fuck up about his future wife is one viral video I’ll be absolutely thrilled to star in.