41. The Trophy
41
The Trophy
Rose
M uch like during the regular season, the River Foxes are dominant, and as I sit here in Anton’s box at the Super Bowl, I can’t help but marvel at how far I’ve come—we’ve come. From our time in Mobile to sitting in the nosebleeds in Green Bay, watching him without his knowledge. I glance down at my jersey. It’s not the one Anton gave me in the post-op room at the hospital two months ago, but the sentiment is the same. I’m wearing his name, and my guy is leading his team to a Super Bowl victory.
There’s only two minutes left in the game. We have the ball, and we’re up by two touchdowns. It’s not officially in the bag, but it feels pretty much like it’s in the bag. Poppy, Mack, Noli, and Collin are with me in the box, along with Duke, who flew back from Penwick so he could be here for Anton.
The two have kept in close contact since everything went down with Queen Della. They put out a joint statement to the Penwickian people, explaining the circumstances. Duke stepped up sooner than anticipated. He and Anton have worked out a plan where Anton can still work on behalf of his charities and the causes he’s passionate about in Penwick, but behind the scenes. He won’t be an acting prince, but he’ll maintain his ties to his cousin and his countrymen. It’s the best of both worlds for him, and Duke has been nothing but gracious in working it out. I really like the guy, and I’m grateful Anton has him. It’s hard to feel the betrayal of a family member. I know that well.
We’ve both got baggage where our parents are concerned, but we’re working through it. My dad, to his credit, helped in getting charges brought to the queen after she had Charles shoot me. There was no way Anton was letting his mother get away with that. She’s currently being held in a high-security prison in Penwick, where she was extradited. Both she and Charles will stand trial there for regicide and then here in the US for attempted murder. It’ll be a long road to justice, but we’ll walk it together, Anton and me. Or he’ll walk it. I’ll hobble.
My leg is healing nicely, according to my team of doctors and physical therapists. It’s nearly killed me having to modify my workout regimen, but I’m channeling all my pent-up energy into doing exactly what my PT tells me to hopefully expedite the healing process. Poppy and Noli have been slightly smothering in their care for me, but I can’t blame them. I secretly love them for it, even if I sometimes want to strangle them.
Anton has been a huge cheerleader, coming to my appointments when his schedule allows and listening to me grumble through my exercises. He wasn’t kidding when he said the River Foxes’ facilities would be made available to me. I’ve been having therapy there once a week, and his teammates keep me cackling with their antics before Anton shoos them away and leaves me breathless with his kisses.
I should be mostly back on my feet in time to take over Mood Reader this summer and give Mia a nice, relaxing maternity leave.
In the meantime, she’s insisting I rest and not worry about working. But I’m going stir-crazy at home. I’ve been coming into the book store to be around people during the day. When we’re quiet, I write my book. I’m getting close to finishing the first draft. Anton surprised me at Christmas with two tickets to South Carolina, where he’s taking me for a writing retreat in a couple months. Ten whole days to work on my story and have him all to myself? Dream. Come. True .
I stare down at the field where he’s under center. He calls out the play and hands the ball off to TJ, who pushes the pile forward enough to get a first down.
“That does it.” Collin claps next to me. “The River Foxes are Super Bowl Champs!”
Poppy and Noli whistle, and I throw my hands over my head and scream.
“Let’s get you downstairs.” Mack offers me his arm. I can walk, but it doesn’t feel great yet. Poppy, Noli, Collin, and Duke follow us out into the hallway and toward the elevator. We ride down to turf level and arrive with enough time to watch from the end zone as Anton takes a knee to end the game.
Confetti rains down from the ceiling. Everyone is screaming and hugging. Ned has his cell phone out. He’s got a massive grin on his face, and he’s spinning around in circles, capturing the moment. He spots me and waves, a giddy open-mouthed smile on his face. He’s become one of my new best friends, ever since I sent him the article on Anton. After I recovered from my surgery, we ended up working together to edit and revise it, and then Ned sent it to his contacts in the sports world. With Anton’s sign-off, we used my feature piece to explain how his role in Penwick was changing and what his hopes are for the future. The article went semi-viral, mostly because Anton is in high demand, but also because Ned insisted we include my role in saving him from Charles’s bullet and a bit about our love story too. Readers gobbled it up, and while the attention makes me slightly uncomfortable, I also think it’s really cool that my name is in the byline of the story about Anton’s life and future. If I ever decide to take my fiction writing public, I’ll already have some writing credits.
I grin at the scene in front of me, imagining exactly how I’d describe it in a manuscript. There’s a pile-up of players in the center of the field as River Foxes teammates embrace and shake hands with the team from Denver, who stuck with us in the first half and played well, but in the end were no match for our offense.
My chest is so full of pride I feel like my rib cage could crack open.
I stand gingerly, careful not to do anything to my leg that could set me back. My crew has formed a protective circle around me so no one accidentally jostles me.
Poppy is on her tiptoes. “I don’t see Anton.”
“I think he’s on the far side of the field.” Noli points into the mass of oversized men.
“It’s alright.” I smile. “He’ll find me.”
The TV network people bustle by as the stage where they’ll do the awards ceremony is being erected in our end zone. I spot Erin Thomas holding a clipboard and microphone.
I recognize the River Foxes’ GM from my initial meeting. That feels like a lifetime ago. The circumstances surrounding it weren’t ideal, but I wouldn’t change a thing. It led me back to Anton, and there’s nowhere else I want to be than with him, right here. Right now.
The crowd of players, their families, coaches, and reporters surge toward us, but then, in what feels like slow motion, the people part, and there’s Anton. He’s across the field, probably still fifty yards away, but his gaze is completely focused on me. He takes off jogging in our direction.
I’ve got a huge, goofy grin on my face, and Anton does too.
People are reaching out like they’re hoping to pat him on the back and trying to talk to him as he makes his way over, but he ignores them and continues running to me.
“Incoming,” Poppy squeals, but I barely register it.
He slows down only enough to scoop me into his arms without hurting me, and he spins me around in a circle, burying his head in the crook of my neck. I can’t do the old wrap-the-legs-around-your-man’s-waist trick, what with a gunshot wound and all, so my legs hang straight down, dangling off the ground as I savor Anton’s embrace.
“You did it!” I lean back and look into his eyes. “You’re incredible. I’m so proud of you.”
“Wouldn’t be here without you.” He places a featherlight kiss on my lips. “How’s the leg? Stiff?”
“It’s perfect. I feel like I could run a mile on adrenaline alone. I can’t imagine how you feel!”
He shifts so he’s cradling me like a little baby. “Pretty darn good at the moment.”
“You can put me down.” I’m saying the words even as I’m nuzzling in. “You’ve got team stuff to do.”
“Nope.” He hugs me to him, and my heart warms. “Be prepared to have a very attentive boyfriend now that it’s the off season.”
“Sounds good to me.” I peek over his shoulder, where he’s still holding me off the ground. “Where’s the Lombardi Trophy? I’ve always wanted to see that thing up close. It looks so shiny on TV.”
He holds me closer and gazes into my eyes. “It’s right here as far as I’m concerned.”
I suck in a breath and laugh, because how is this my life?
Here we are. A prince and a spy. Or rather, an ex-prince and an ex-spy.
Somehow, we fit together perfectly.
This is the stuff they write books about.