18. Chapter 18
Darius
If she wants an amusement park, she's getting an amusement park.
I'm driving Claire toward Galveston as the sun drops behind the skyline, and the closer we get to the water, the harder my pulse kicks. I haven't been this nervous since my first playoff game. Back then I was performing for seventy thousand people.
Tonight I'm performing for one.
"You're quiet," Claire says from the passenger seat. She's in a fitted white dress that's been wrecking my concentration since I picked her up. "You're never quiet. It's making me nervous."
"Good. We can be nervous together."
"Darius. Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
She huffs and looks out the window, but she's smiling. I catch it in the glass.
The pier comes into view right as the lights flicker on. The whole thing, end to end, glowing against the dark water. Closed to the public. Rented for the night. The Ferris wheel turns slow and empty like it's been waiting for us.
Claire goes still.
"Darius."
"Yeah."
"That's Pleasure Pier."
"It is."
"It's empty."
"It's ours."
She steps out of the car before I get my door open, and the wind off the Gulf catches her dress and her hair at the same time. Her hand comes up over her mouth. Behind her, two figures break from the entrance gate, already screaming.
Hannah. And Katie Collins, the Stallions' social media consultant, phone already up and recording.
"Oh my GOD," Hannah yells. "You're glowing! You're literally glowing right now!"
Claire spins to me. "You called my sister?"
"Katie called your sister. I just paid for the pier."
Malik and Jordan are leaning against the railing by the ticket booth, arms crossed, pretending they came for moral support.
Jordan's already got powdered sugar on his shirt — someone opened the funnel cake stand before I even parked.
Malik chest-bumps him the second Claire looks their way, because Malik cannot help himself.
They came because Katie said the photos need to look public and joyful, and nothing says joyful like three hundred pounds of lineman covered in powdered sugar.
Jaylen is against the far railing, arms crossed, already watching me. He drove forty-five minutes and didn't text me he was coming. When I catch his eye he just shakes his head, smiling like an idiot. The guy is loyal as fuck. I exhale, damn glad he showed up.
Ricky is already up on the boardwalk. Skinny guy, backwards cap, camera rig strapped to his chest like body armor.
He shoots all my charity events and half the team's content, and he moves like he's allergic to standing still.
He's talking to his drone like it's a teammate, low and focused, the small red light blinking against the dark as it lifts off overhead.
He's ready. They're all ready. And suddenly the weight of what I'm about to do hits me square in the ribs.
Claire turns back to me with a huge grin on her face.
"Come on, Pastor's Daughter," I say, and hold out my hand. "Let me show you a good time."
***
Claire bumps my shoulder as we step up to the basketball booth, and the spark that shoots through me is ridiculous for a man my size. I grab the first ball before I forget what I'm doing.
"New rule," I say. "Every shot I make, you owe me a kiss."
She scoffs. "You wish."
"You scared?" I ask, raising a brow.
She rolls her eyes — loudly — but when I sink the shot, she still leans in and kisses my cheek.
Hannah shrieks like we just clinched a playoff spot.
By the second shot I've angled closer and the kiss lands at the corner of my mouth.
By the third it's full contact and she's laughing too hard to pretend she's embarrassed.
By the fourth she stops pretending she's above it at all.
The drone catches every second of it, swooping overhead as she grabs my shirt and kisses me again, louder this time, like she's daring the whole pier to watch.
At the prize counter the kid working the booth hands over an oversized pink flamingo that's nearly as tall as Claire. She takes one look at it and loses it completely, laughing until she has to lean into my side to stay upright. I put my arm around her and keep it there.
Katie snaps a picture, already muttering to herself as she types.
Claire laughs. "Only you would tag Ariana Madix."
"Please," Katie says, flicking her hair. "My grandma's hairdresser did Shawn Mendes's aunt's highlights. I'm connected."
Her thumbs fly across her screen. "Caption: What's better than Love Island? A real love island right here at home."
Ninety seconds later she makes a sound like she's been electrocuted.
"Lola Hart reposted it. Twelve million followers. I need to sit down."
Claire's cheeks are flushed pink. Good. The photos will look perfect.
***
We move down the boardwalk, lights strung overhead, the ocean black and restless beside us. Claire's still got the flamingo tucked under her arm like she won it on purpose. I'm not rushing. For once, I don't want to rush anything.
We're passing the haunted house when something inside lunges at her.
A pop-up skeleton swings out of the dark and Claire grabs my arm with both hands — nails, death grip, the whole thing. I laugh through the rest of it while she whispers threats at me like I personally designed the place. When we step back into the light, she's still holding on.
She doesn't let go. I don't mention it.
We walk a few more steps before she says, quieter, "Hey. Earlier — when I asked about the roller coaster. You hesitated."
I keep walking. The boardwalk glows ahead of us, loud and bright and alive.
"I used to love places like this. Ethan and I practically lived at amusement parks when we were kids. After he died… I couldn't step foot in one. Too many memories."
Claire's hand tightens on my arm.
"But you came tonight," she says.
"I wanted the first time back to be with you."
She doesn't say anything. She just threads her fingers through mine, and the way she holds on tells me she heard all the parts I didn't say out loud.
***
Ricky hangs back while we follow the path along the lazy river, far enough that it stops feeling like a shoot and starts feeling like a night that belongs to us. Claire's hand is already in mine, warm and sure, and I don't bother pretending I'm not holding on just as tightly.
My free hand finds the ring box in my jacket pocket. I press my thumb against the corner of it and feel my pulse kick.
"I'm proud of you," Claire says, looking up at me. "How you've handled all of it. Camille. The summit. Your mom. You could've blown up a dozen times and you didn't."
My face lights up like a damn bulb before I can stop it. I squeeze her hand so she doesn't see how hard that hit.
The quiet settles around us — warm, close, the kind that makes a man think he's braver than he is.
"Can I ask you something?" I say, and it comes out low enough that it sounds like it matters.
She smiles, small and real. "Ask away."
"What's your favorite position?"
She stops walking. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me, Pastor's Daughter."
Her face goes through about six expressions before landing on a scandalized laugh. "Missionary," she says, chin up, daring me to comment.
"Missionary." I laugh. "Really?"
"It's a classic for a reason."
"Okay." I pull her hand up and kiss her knuckles. "I'm gonna show you something new."
"Darius Webb."
"That's a promise, not a threat."
She's shocked. She's also smiling at the boardwalk like she's already curious, and she doesn't take her hand back.
***
Her smile doesn't fade as we walk, and the Ferris wheel waits for us at the end of the pier, lit up like it knows exactly where this night is heading.
I help her into the gondola, and the wheel carries us up slow until the whole Gulf opens beneath us, black water and moonlight all the way out. The pier noise drops away. It's just the creak of the wheel and her shoulder against mine.
Above us, the faint hum of Ricky's drone. I register it and kiss her anyway.
"Claire."
She looks at me.
"I don't want this to be fake anymore." My heart is slamming, but my voice comes out steady. "The way I look at you. The way you make me feel. The way I think about you when you're not in the room. None of that has been fake for a long time, and I'm done pretending it is."
Her eyes shine in the dark. "I'm scared of how real it feels," she whispers.
"Me too. Be scared with me."
I kiss her slow and careful, like a question, and she answers it.
When the gondola comes back down, everyone's gathered at the base of the wheel. Hannah. Katie. Malik and Jordan. Jaylen. Ricky with the camera up. The lights glow behind them like a stage.
I take Claire's hand, step out, and drop to one knee.
She gasps. Her free hand flies to her mouth.
"Claire Wells. You walked into my penthouse with a clipboard and zero patience for my nonsense, and you've been making me a better man ever since." I pull the ring from my jacket. "Marry me."
"Yes," she says, and her voice breaks on it. "Yes."
For a second, nobody moves.
Then it hits.
Hannah is sobbing. Katie is screaming. Malik and Jordan are losing their minds against the railing — Jordan tries to rush Claire for a hug and Malik yanks him back by the collar, "She's engaged, not your teammate."
Claire laughs through her tears, and I swear my chest cracks open.
Jaylen swipes at his eyes like something got in them, muttering, "Man, hell no," but he's smiling too hard for it to land.
Ricky gets the shots from every angle, and the empty pier erupts like it's full.
***
Malik claps me on the back while Claire's still wiping her eyes. "Bro, you are really going ALL OUT for this PR thing, huh?"
And there it is. The reflex loads before my brain can stop it — something about Malik's credit score, his sad little signing bonus, the fact that he couldn't rent a golf cart let alone a pier — easy, familiar, the kind of roast that makes the room laugh and makes me disappear at the same time.
I stop.
Claire goes still beside me, and that's what does it.
I'm not disappearing tonight.
I look at Malik and let the swagger come, but I point it where it belongs.