Track 2 You Belong with Me
TAYLOR
“Again with this shit, Wolff?” My coach rubbed his temple as he stood in front of my locker. “Can you kindly explain to me the purpose behind your new pregame ritual?”
“No.” I smiled. “But good to know you haven’t given up on this question for years.”
“For your next contract, tell your agent that we’ll be limiting your time in the locker room before the pre-game warmups.”
I gave him a blank stare.
“I’m being serious.” He put on his headset and stepped back. “We’re leaving the tunnel in five minutes, and it would be nice if you weren’t on a thirty-second delay like you usually are.”
“Okay, Coach.” I nodded; I was beginning to think his pre-game ritual was attempting to argue with me.
I waited for him to walk away, waited until all my teammates had made their way to the tunnel, and then I pulled out the ring box I’d been stashing for what felt like forever.
Flipping the top open, I stared at the five-carat diamond set in a sparkling platinum band. It felt heavy in my hand — the kind of heavy that came with certainty. Pulling it out, I checked on the latest change I’d asked the jeweler to make.
Engraved on the inside of the band, the words I’ll take care of you forever gleamed under the light. On the prongs that held the main diamond, tiny engraved pen icons with our names shone together.
Finally perfect. No notes.
I’d been meaning to ask her to be mine — for life — for months, but I wanted to make sure everything was right.
Between her publishing schedule, my games, and us trying to squeeze as many free hours together as possible, the only moment that felt right was tonight.
Right after this game.
Correction: right after we won this game. (I refused to let us lose with a life-changing moment on the line.)
“Whose house?”
“Our house?”
“Whose fucking house?”
My teammates’ pre-game chants snapped me out of my thoughts. I stashed the ring away and grabbed my helmet, heading to the hall.
Joining them, I ran onto the field for warm-ups, the stadium filling in waves — crowd noise rolling down the seats, lights heating up the turf, the scent of cut grass mixing with crisp night air. Cameras were already tracking our movements.
Like always, I scanned the crowd for Audrey, finding her sitting dead center in the owner’s box.
Her eyes met mine and she smiled, blowing me a kiss.
I blew one back, but her cousin intercepted it and pointed to her ring finger.
“How much longer?” she mouthed. “Hurry up!”
Laughing, I sent another kiss Audrey’s way — one she actually caught — and let myself stare for a moment longer. I needed to see her face before anything else tonight.
Before she came back into my life, I was debating retiring before my career even took off — before she made me see that it wasn’t the game I’d fallen out of love with; it was the lack of purpose behind it. The “what’s it all for?” that I now had with her.
And hopefully tonight, when I got down on one knee, she’d promise to give me that forever.
I rolled my shoulders, stretched my fingers, and took the first few warm-up throws.
Before I knew it, it was the final minute of the fourth quarter — the score 35–10 in our favor — and I was rushing to the locker room before the game was over.
I’d changed my mind on “tonight.”
I don’t want to wait another second…