Chapter Thirty
“Sir, I understand security protocol, but this is an emergency!” Marcee couldn’t believe she’d come so far only to be thwarted by a security guard on a power trip. She gave up a job and crossed the freaking Atlantic Ocean, for God’s sake!
“You can’t go any further. Rules are rules, miss.”
Gloria tried a softer, motherly approach as she squeezed her hand. “Gus, I’m his mother. Do you think I would escort a terrorist or crazed fan in here? The girl is in love with my son! Aren’t you a romantic at all?”
Around them, the roar of the crowd was deafening.
Tottenham Stadium was sold out and the stamp of feet and screams reverberated through Marcee’s body, spiking the adrenaline rush already making her hands shake.
Remy’s team played Arsenal, and the rivalry between the two was legendary. It wasn’t helping their cause any.
When his face softened, she was sure Gloria had worked her magic.
“I can’t, Mrs. Lockley.” A strand of brown hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed it back before crossing his arms. “They’d have my arse if I allowed it. Sorry, ladies.”
Marcee’s sigh of frustration was lost in the noise. On the field, the whistle blew, signaling the end of the first half. She was running out of time.
She scanned the two rows of seats separating her from the field.
Gus didn’t look like much of an athlete.
She was certain she could clear the rows before he even made it over the first. God gave her those long legs for a reason, although she doubted it was for breaking the law in pursuit of a man’s affection.
Christ, she was going to spend her night in a London jail cell.
Marcee leapt over the first seat, hand braced on the back as her bare legs flashed under the dazzling lights of the sleek stadium.
Someone dropped their pint, liquid splashing her calves and sticking beneath her sandals as she launched herself over the next.
She thought she heard Gus screaming behind her, but she kept her eyes on the goal.
Just like it was a game, she weaved around her opponents, feet nimble.
Remy’s team was walking off the field, sweating buckets and grabbing towels from the assistants.
She could do this. She would make it.
“Pardon me!” She squeezed between two fans in the front row, their bare chests covered in paint.
“Watch it!” one bellowed, hitting her on the head with a foam finger.
All that was left was the white barricade and railing, then an eight-foot drop down to the field. She really regretted her decision to wear a dress. There was no way to make the jump without flashing her underwear to tens of thousands of people.
Well, she did say she wanted a memorable moment. Alex was going to be mortified.
“Stop her!”
Two security guards shoved their way down the front row to her left, slowed by annoyed fans and drawing attention to the scene.
Below her, Marcee saw Remy, bent over a seat and fumbling for a water bottle tipped on its side.
It was as if the whole world narrowed to him, and the security guards, the fans, and the flashing lights faded into the background.
Her heart swelled at the sight of him in his kit, the fabric clinging to his muscled thighs.
All the insecurity and doubt riddling her since she read his letter was smoothed over by sheer longing.
He was the sun and she was planet Marcee orbiting, drawn to him by an unbreakable force.
She propelled herself over the rails, her stomach dropping for milliseconds before the jarring impact of her feet hitting green turf, and she fell to one knee.
Above her, fans leaned over the railing, watching the scene unfold.
She’d officially reached spectacle level.
There wasn’t a person nearby who wasn’t watching.
The tunnel leading to the locker rooms was to her left, flanked on either side by security guards while the players trudged off the field. Marcee saw the exact moment Gus sent out an alert over the radio, because the pair closest to her looked up in unison.
“As you were, boys!” she shouted gleefully.
She’d probably appreciate their shocked expressions in retrospect, but adrenaline kicked in and she took off running to the benches, their footsteps and screams pounding mere feet behind her. Her knee burned from where it made impact with the turf, probably skinned.
Remy looked up, the water bottle clenched in his fist.
Oh God, she was so close.
His face was so beautiful she pushed herself harder to reach him in time.
Marcee jumped over the bench and flung a water jug behind her as a last-ditch effort to gain a few extra seconds. If she could make it to Remy, everything would be okay.
“Marcee?” Remy called out, his voice high-pitched with shock. His teammates lingered on the field, watching security chase some crazy woman in a bright yellow dress.
She stopped five feet away, chest heaving as she gulped in air. She’d always imagined herself running up and down a professional soccer field, only never like that. Not long ago, it would’ve made her resentful. Instead, she now knew every step she’d taken led to that moment.
To him.
“Remy!” Her voice was breathy, and she wondered if he could even hear her over the noise. Security crashed into her from behind, grabbing her arms.
He blinked once, then twice, purposefully as if waking from a dream. When she didn’t disappear, he lurched forward.
“Wait!” he called out, reaching for her. “You two, stop! Let her go, please.”
The guards’ grip loosened and she ripped free, stepping forward to meet Remy.
“Marcee,” he said, face incredulous. “What are you doing here? How did you get on the field?”
She’d rehearsed what she was going to say a dozen times, but standing in front of him in a damn sundress, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms forever, it all went out the window.
What she had to say came from a place in her heart she didn’t know existed before Remy.
“Remington Lockley.” She cleared her throat, trying to stay calm.
“I never believed I would be capable of receiving love, because deep down, I couldn’t love myself.
So instead, I’ve been sleepwalking through life, afraid to wake up because it would mean I would hurt, like I did when I was a kid.
But you—you woke me up and showed me it was okay to hurt, because that’s how you get to the good stuff. That’s how you fight your way to love.”
His eyes filled with tears, nostrils flaring. The crowd around them had grown, and she thought cameras were filming, but she couldn’t be sure. All she could see were those brown eyes.
“You put me first. I’ve always been second in everything.
Always on the cusp of greatness. You pushed me over the precipice, and finally, I know what it feels like to win.
In the biggest game of my life, I finally won.
” She stepped closer, toe to toe. “I love you, Remy, and that is better than any championship, or trophy, or medal the world has to offer. You have given me everything, and now, I want to do the same for you.”
His smile was the sun and the moon and the entire galaxy, shadowed by a hint of hesitation that tugged down the corners of his lips.
“But at the airport, you didn’t show.”
Her hand found his and she squeezed, never wanting to let go. “I hadn’t read your letter. I’d give anything to go back and change that. The thought of you standing there alone, waiting…”
His gaze lowered to hers, eyes bright with love and unshed tears. “Tell me you’re still mine.” Her voice shook as she forced out the words.
He cupped her face with his palm, his thumb skimming over her skin. “My heart is unequivocally yours.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Lockley, but beggin’ your pardon.” One of the security guards hovered next to them, eyes darting anxiously from Remy to her to the stands. “She can’t be here.”
Remy waved his free hand at him. “It’s fine. She’s with me.”
“Yeah, I’m with him,” she repeated, grinning. I’m with Remington Lockley.
The guard shifted from foot to foot. “Well, see, there’s protocol, sir, and I can’t be lettin’ anyone run onto the field.”
Remy turned around, one hand going possessively to her back. It sent a tingle of desire straight to her toes.
“She isn’t just anyone.” He looked over his shoulder at her and winked. “She’s the woman I love. Any more questions?”
“No, sir. Not one.” The guard backed away, face flushed, until he hit the barricade.
“Bloody hell, kiss her, mate!” a fan yelled from the stands. “Kiss her or I will!”
“Sod off!” Remy yelled back, then grabbed her arms and pulled her against him. Her laugh was cut short as his lips covered hers, as soft and welcoming as she remembered. In fact, it was better.
Under the blinding lights of Tottenham, in front of thousands of people, Marcee scored the biggest goal of her life.
And it felt damn good.