Chapter Thirty-One Cash
We won the FCS National Championship.
We arrived back on campus to a hero’s welcome with a parade down Main Street, a trip to the Governor’s Mansion, and a massive pep rally when Coach Ellis hung our championship banner in the rafters of the field house. I thought nothing in the world could beat the euphoria of winning that game
Then Saylor invited me to the SCR Mardi Gras party.
Even though I was now an alum, I was still on campus studying for the MCAT and working out for NFL pro day tryouts for the pro scouts, because I wanted to stay close to her for as long as possible.
At the masquerade, I managed to talk her into meeting me outside that upstairs bathroom where our story began.
Like that first night, I pressed her against the wall and kissed the hell out of her. Shortly afterward, we left the party.
I didn’t take her straight to her place though.
Instead, I drove us to the bronze statue of a filmmaker in the yard between the Film building and the now frozen duck pond.
When I dropped to one knee, she gasped, and when I opened the box with the pear-cut diamond flanked by four pink tourmalines, tears glittered in her eyes.
“We’re young, and we don’t have a crystal ball for the future, but the one thing I’m certain of—whatever the future brings—is that the only person I want to face it with is you, Saylor.”
Taking my wrists, she tugged me up to stand in front of her. “Is there a question in there?” The quaver in her words stole some of their sass.
A grin split my face. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” Going up on her toes, she said it again against my lips. “Yes.”
I almost dropped the ring when she pressed her mouth to mine. Several more kisses followed nervous laughter as I rescued the ring and slipped it onto her finger. Only then did I take her back to her place.
Custom dictated that players who were expected to go in the late rounds of the draft should await the news with their families, but SoCal was too far away for Saylor to go with only three weeks until finals and her graduation.
So we hung out at my place with my parents, Taco, and Dalton.
Dally was at his parents’ place in Eastern Montana, hoping to hear his name called as well.
To no one’s surprise, Callahan O’Reilly went in the third round—a high placement for an FCS tight end, but the guy had earned it. ’Han was a beast. Bax and Finn both went late in the fifth round, and I had no doubt Coach Ainsworth was losing his mind about his defensive guys going that high.
Even though I’d come into college as a top prospect, my convoluted route to this day meant I was probably looking at free agency—not a great place for a quarterback, but I’d kind of resigned myself to it. Then in the middle of the sixth round, my phone rang.
“Hello, Cash. What would you think about playing for Denver next season?” came the GM’s voice over the line.
“I think I look pretty good in blue, sir,” I replied.
My grin mirrored his rich laughter in my ear. “We’ll see you at our facilities in the next couple of weeks to sign the contract.”
We spoke for a few more minutes, followed by a quick convo with both the head coach and the quarterbacks coach, and then I hung up.
“Well?” Dad asked, his grin matching mine.
I nodded toward the TV where ESPN was broadcasting the draft. “Watch.”
A minute later Roger Goodell announced, “With the 252nd pick, Denver takes FCS National Champion MVP Cash Donovan at quarterback.”
A whoop filled our living room as Saylor launched herself at me. “Looks like we’re going to be roommates sooner rather than later, Cash,” she said, laughing.
After Olivia Carter put her studio behind Saylor’s senior project, multiple festivals had already picked up her mockumentary.
Saylor was now in contract negotiations to make a series of music videos for Outlaw Whiskey, the local band she’d talked into playing the musicians in her movie.
Olivia would be producing the videos at Heart Dreams Studios—in Denver.
Holding my girl close, I said, “Looks like the future is taking care of itself.”
My dad’s loud throat-clearing ended our celebratory kiss, but while her mouth still hovered over mine, she said, “I love you, Cash Donovan. I love you so much.”
“I love you, Saylor Davis. Always and forever.”
Thanks so much for reading Fourth and Goal.