Chapter 26-Daniela
The final whistle blows, and the stadium erupts.
The Rovers just took the win, but more than that?
Hudson earned his nickname tonight.
“Wow! They sure call him Tank for a reason!” Finley shouts, clapping and whistling next to me.
“Damn right they do,” I reply proudly.
I mean, the man obliterated the field tonight.
Bone-crunching hits.
Tactical brilliance.
Unshakable focus.
And every time he got up from a tackle, his eyes found me.
And yeah, I’ve got footage for days. I’ll be cutting reels through the New Year.
Which works out, considering Hudson just casually informed me before the match even started that we’re spending the holidays in New Zealand with his family—after a stop in Jersey City to see mine.
Like it’s already decided. Like we’re already a we.
God help me, I nod.
Of course I nod.
Because who would say no to this?
To him?
He finds me before I can even step off the sidelines, still riding the adrenaline high, still covered in sweat and dirt and pure joy.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing, like I’m his, and kisses me like he’s starving.
And maybe he is.
Or maybe I am.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
My hands are in his hair.
And the world blurs around us—noise, cameras, confetti, teammates, fans—none of it matters.
It’s him.
It’s us.
When he finally pulls back, his breath hot against my mouth, his forehead rests on mine.
“Still think I only want you ‘cause we got snowed in?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
I laugh, choking on emotion.
“No. I don’t think that anymore.”
“Good.”
His lips twitch. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“I’m in,” I whisper. “All the way.”
I might’ve doubted myself once.
Might’ve questioned whether this was real.
But I won’t do that again.
Because Tank won’t let me.
And God, I love him for that.
A couple of weeks later, we land at Newark International Airport and take a rental to my folks’ place.
Jersey City smells like roasted chestnuts, fresh bagels, and exhaust fumes—and God, I missed it.
We’re barely in the door of my parents’ townhouse before my mother is smothering Hudson in a hug like she birthed him herself.
“Oh my God, you’re even bigger in person,” she squeals, cupping his cheeks. “Dani, honey, this man’s a linebacker!”
“He’s a rugby player, Ma,” I mutter.
My dad’s watching from the archway, arms folded across his I-used-to-be-a-cop chest, doing his best impression of intimidating father.
He’s failing, mostly because he keeps cutting his eyes to me and then to Hudson like he already knows what’s coming.
Because he does. I told him. Sort of.
Not the moving in together part, obviously. But he knows I’m going away with this man.
I’m just starting to peel off my coat when Hudson steps forward.
Like, full-on steps into my dad’s space.
Calm. Confident. Shoulders squared, hands relaxed at his sides.
Respectful, but firm.
“Mr. McNally,” he says in that deep, gravelly voice that turns my knees to Jello, “I’d like your permission to marry your daughter.”
What?
I choke.
Audibly.
“Excuse me?” I say, turning so fast my purse nearly smacks a family photo off the wall. “I’m right here, you know. You didn’t even ask me yet!”
Hudson grins, cocky and sweet all at once, without looking away from my dad.
“I know, Sweetheart. But I will.”
My mother lets out a dramatic gasp worthy of a soap opera.
My dad just blinks. Once. Then his face goes all serious.
“She’s my only daughter,” he says slowly.
“I know,” Hudson replies. “And I swear on everything I am, I’ll protect her. Respect her. Support her. Love her—with everything I’ve got.”
My dad nods.
Then he adds, just for shits and giggles, “Just remember she’s got three uncles and four cousins within a ten-block radius. All cops. You mess up, they’ll find you. And bury you, son.”
“Duly noted,” Hudson says with a smirk.
I just stand there, heart racing, trying to process the fact that this man—the same man who calls me Sweetheart in a voice that could melt steel—just asked my dad if he could marry me before even asking me.
And I can’t stop smiling.
I should be mad.
I should say something snarky.
But instead, I walk up to him, tug him down by the collar of his Henley, and kiss him stupid.
When I pull back, breathless, I murmur, “Just so we’re clear, I will say yes.”
His grin is pure fire. “Good to know.”