I took a deep breath and risked looking directly into his eyes. Chris offered me a half smile.
“I won’t always get it right, Hazel,” he said softly. “While I’ve worked hard to be a man worthy of you, there’s going to be times when I screw up, become frustrated or angry. What then? Will you close yourself off? Push me away again?”
I shook my head. “I can’t guarantee that’ll never happen, but I can guarantee you that I’ll try. I’ve realized that playing it safe and protecting myself, shying away from the hard and uncomfortable, just means that I’ve cut myself off from the bad and the good, and if I’m ever going to get the most out of life, I have to invite it all in. Without risk, there’s no reward. Something I learned from you.”
“That so?” A hopeful lilt had entered his voice. It was encouragement enough for me to take another step, closing the distance between us.
I nodded. “You stand up for your beliefs, put your heart on the line, and go after what you desire—and coax me to do the same. You asked me what I’d want for myself if only I’d let myself have it. I want adventure and fun and to live life out loud. I want you.” I hooked a finger under the hem of his jersey, yearning to feel connected to him even if only through mesh fabric, and to my shock, he didn’t move away but instead bent toward me. My breath hitched. “I love you, Chris, despite your horrible singing and infatuation with Disney tunes and questionable dog-biscuit-eating tendencies. I love all of you.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when he lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and kissed me in that way that made me feel fearless yet balanced. And I knew with bone-deep conviction that this was right. Chris was home and freedom, passion and purpose, the missing piece in my life.
I heard cameras clicking. Someone whistled, others clapped, and another person shouted for us to “get a room.” I didn’t care about any of it.
Chris broke away, loosening his grip on me, and my body slid down his until my boots connected with the grass. He threaded his fingers in my hair and leaned back, his gaze raking over me, more thoroughly than before, and this time when a fluttering sensation ignited in my stomach, it wasn’t from nerves.
“I can’t decide if you’re trying to torment or reward me here, Grant. The uniform is hot—and something I’ve envisioned you wearing on multiple occasions—but at a toy drive for kids? Where I can’t do anything about it?” Chris brushed a callused thumb along my cheekbone, looking at me with such intensity that it sent shivers dancing along my spine.
“Now that you mention it,” I said, clutching his jersey tighter, “I happen to know where my uncle keeps the spare keys to the stadium locker rooms . . .”
“Oh, you’re going to be all kinds of trouble now, aren’t you?” he said with a smirk.
I shrugged. “Your influence, your fault.”
Chris laughed. “Damn, I love you, Hazel Grant.”
A slow, sweet ache spread through me at those words. Before I could respond, he kissed me again.
“Can we finally ditch the crowd and go somewhere private?” I murmured against his lips, then pulled away and glanced down when something small but determined barreled into my leg.
Rutabaga pawed at my shin, ears flipped back, tongue lolling out, and leash trailing behind him. Chris knelt down to pet him. “We’re going to have to work on your manners, little guy, before you meet Olive and she puts you in your place.”
Penny darted over. “Sorry, you two, Rutabaga ran off before I could catch him,” she gasped, out of breath. “Apparently your beast demands attention, Hazel.”
“Rutabaga’s not the only one who’s in need of Hazel’s attention,” Chris said, picking up the leash and slipping an arm around my waist. “As a matter of fact, she was just about to show me some of her cheerleading moves. High kicks and splits, specifically.” He winked at me, sliding his palm along my hip and lower, pausing above the curve of my butt.
Then Chris pressed his lips to my temple and whispered in my ear once again that he loved me. A vow of good things to come—an unknown but exciting journey ahead.
EPILOGUE
Chris
Six Months Later
A hundred smiling, exhausted young faces stared at me from a huddle on the fifty-yard line. Helmet indentations marked their foreheads, and dirt and grass stained their purple, orange, and black jerseys. The evening sunlight glinted off the metal bleachers flanking the large gated grass field where an abandoned Walmart warehouse had once sat, the stands crammed with friends and family members of the kids sitting before me.
“Fantastic job on the scrimmages today. You all really stepped it up and implemented the skills and fundamentals we’ve practiced,” I told the group, wiping the sweat off my forehead with a towel. It was sweltering for June in Denver, and the absence of a breeze didn’t help. “It’s been a privilege instructing each of you these past few weeks, and I hope you’ll join me and the other coaches next year.”
Logan’s remarks about retirement and me becoming a sad, middle-aged asshole had not only resonated but sparked an idea. Growing up, football had provided me with direction and discipline, a sense that I was a part of something bigger than myself. And I wanted to carry that forward, instill my innate love of the game and that feeling of purpose and fellowship in those who might not otherwise be given the chance.
Thus the Lalonde Immersive Football Experience, or LIFE, as Hazel had suggested, had been born, complete with a phoenix emerging from the ashes as its logo. LIFE is a nonprofit organization I’d founded right after the New Year to grant inner-city kids the opportunity to participate in a youth football league that taught the values of teamwork, fair play, dedication, and self-respect, while also promoting community involvement.
The league itself wouldn’t be off the ground until next summer. I’d secured decent funding from donors—Under Armour had agreed to sponsor uniforms, gear, and equipment to outfit six teams, and Kent McDougall had pledged to handle transportation for the kids to the various fields on game days, but the details and kinks were still being smoothed out. In the meantime, with the assistance of an amazing crew of staff and volunteers, I’d organized a football camp to create future interest and buzz.
And now we were at the completion of it.
As if on cue, Tony, Ben, and Logan entered the field through the far gate, signaling they were set up for the festivities to begin. The Face to Face interview had been the ultimate turning point for the guys—and the Blizzards front office and fans—to accept that I was wholly committed to the team and had encouraged them to lend their support to my organization. While last season had been a disastrous roller coaster, I’d spent the off-season studying film, building strength in the weight room, running agility and speed drills, and executing new formations with Ben so that come September, the Blizzards would be in the best position to reclaim our Super Bowl title.
“All right, in honor of your hard work and determination,” I continued my speech, “how about a little celebration? Bounce houses, Slip ’N Slides, water guns, and buckets of water balloons are waiting for you in the open grassy area next to the field, and there’s an ice-cream truck in the parking lot.” The huddle started to break apart, but I raised a hand. “One last thing. I hope you all don’t mind, but I invited some of my teammates to the party, and I believe they brought some autographed merchandise along with them.”
A hundred heads whipped around in the direction I’d pointed. For a moment, a hush settled over the group, then yelling and clapping erupted, everyone springing to their feet and racing toward Tony, Ben, and Logan. The visitors rushed from their seats in the bleachers, cameras out and ready.
As I watched the scene, pride and accomplishment flooded through me. There was still a long way to go before LIFE was considered a success, but I was confident that with perseverance the moment would arrive, that this organization would change lives the way it had already changed mine.
Slender arms suddenly wrapped around my waist. I startled a
nd peered over my shoulder at Hazel grinning up at me, chin pressed against my spine, freckles dotting her nose, beautiful as ever.
“Well, I’ll be damned . . .” I trailed off.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, loosening her grip so I could spin to face her.
I swept the hair off her neck. My gaze locked on the faint red scratches below her ear from where my stubble had grazed her skin—a result of my attempt, and failure, to persuade her to stay in bed with me a little longer this morning.
Hazel had sold her bungalow over Memorial Day weekend and moved into my mansion in Cherry Creek shortly after. While I knew she wasn’t totally comfortable with the size of the place, I appreciated her willingness to give it a try even if we didn’t stay there permanently.
“I didn’t expect to see you until later.” I smiled. “Why aren’t you at the meeting?”
Hazel was supposed to be at Rescue Granted entertaining the loan officers from the bank, providing them with an updated tour, sharing the current state of her finances, and discussing plans for expansion—something she desperately needed but hadn’t been able to pursue until now, thanks to all the positive press and influx of monetary contributions and supplies the shelter had received from my Petsville USA collaboration, the Hunks for Mutts calendar sales, and the donations received during the Denver Day of Giving event this past March.
“The meeting’s already over,” she said. “And besides, did you honestly think Penny and I would miss the final day of camp and our opportunity to witness you and Tony flail around on a Slip ’N Slide?”
I laughed. “Did the loan officers grant you approval?”
Her smile grew bigger, and her eyes brightened, the color shifting from green with flecks of gold to emerald. “Once I bribed them with dog biscuits.”
Hazel was joking, but her treats had become so popular in the canine community she’d begun baking extra batches on the weekends and had started selling them at the shelter for pet owners to purchase. She often sold out in less than a day.
“But yeah, the bank agreed to underwrite the expansion,” she continued. “The lead officer is going to draw up the paperwork.”
“In that case, since you’re no longer preoccupied, maybe I can finish what you wouldn’t allow me to start earlier . . .” I slipped a hand beneath her tank top, flattening my palm on the curve of her back, and tugged her against me, skimming my nose along her jaw before capturing her mouth in a kiss.
Hazel gasped, fingers sliding up my athletic shirt and digging into my chest as her body momentarily melted into mine, but then she pulled away and said, “Not the appropriate venue, Lalonde. We should probably join the others anyway. I can only imagine the trouble Penny and Tony are causing with the kids.”
Tony and Penny claimed their relationship wasn’t serious, but with as much time as they spent together, no one believed it.
“Where are the pups?” I asked, noticing the leashes spilling out from her shorts pockets.
“Tormenting each other as usual,” she said, waving to the goal post behind me.
I turned, chuckling at the sight of Olive chasing Rutabaga around a pile of discarded helmets in the end zone. Rutabaga had morphed into a full-fledged ninety-pound beast, and yet Olive dominated the household. I whistled, and Rutabaga charged straight over to us, Olive darting to catch up. Everything was a perpetual competition with Olive, and she hated coming in last. Much like her owner—but that’s why Olive was my wingwoman.
Hazel hooked on their leashes, and we walked to the open area that was due to be converted to a football field, the fun and games well under way. “I’m gonna let Rose and Evelyn babysit the dogs for a bit. Be right back.” She jogged over to our mothers, who were chatting on lawn chairs near the bounce houses, an umbrella propped between them.
My mother had insisted on inviting Hazel and Evelyn over for a family dinner a few months ago—at least Gwen had cooked, since my mother couldn’t even boil potatoes—and the two of them had hit it off right away. Now they were near inseparable, my mother taking Evelyn to Junior League events and charity functions and on ladies spa dates. I thought it was strange, our mothers hanging out like high school best friends, but both Hazel and Kent McDougall felt the social activities were good for Evelyn, so who was I to argue?
In fact, this whole celebration had been our mothers’ idea. They’d even persuaded Gwen—who had donated all the lunches, snacks, and beverages for the duration of the camp—to prepare kid-friendly dishes for the party, even though my twin loathed things like hot dogs and macaroni salad and baked beans.
Through the crowd, I spotted Gwen hovering over the charcoal grill, flipping burgers and laying slices of cheddar cheese atop each one. She’d won the James Beard Best Chef Award this past May for her menu at Quince and was now more in demand than ever, so I was touched she’d closed the restaurant today to volunteer here instead. Logan stood at the table beside her, mixing a giant bowl of coleslaw, no doubt the only task my anal-retentive sister had trusted him to complete without screwing up. Stonestreet was one hell of a broadcaster, a damn good friend, the perfect match for Gwen, but a crappy cook.
And at their heels, Waffles sniffed for fallen scraps. Gwen had taken one glance at the three-legged Westie in the Hunks for Mutts calendar and had fallen in love—Waffles is just like me: a misfit with a sparkling personality that’s usually confused for an attitude, she’d said. That was right after the New Year, and Waffles had been living the good life ever since. And next week, Snowcone, the Maltipoo, after extensive rehabilitation and training, would be joining the fray.
Hazel rejoined me, looping her arm through mine. “So which activity should we tackle first?”
“I vote bounce house. Look at the height Ben’s getting on those flips—” I began, but Tony interrupted me.
“Hey, you two jokers, bring your asses over here and check out these tricks I just learned,” he hollered from the start of the Slip ’N Slide at the top of the hill, stretching his arms and legs like he was about to compete in an Olympic event.
I nudged Hazel’s elbow, gesturing with my chin at where Penny and a group of boys were sneaking up on Tony from behind. “We’ll be right over,” I called back, keeping my voice light so as not to tip him off.
In unison, they all wound up and pelted Tony with water balloons, drenching his already soaked T-shirt and mesh shorts, the fabric dripping and clinging to his huge frame. Tony gave a Tarzan-like roar and ran straight after Penny, while the kids scattered in all directions. Hazel and I laughed.
“So, how about it, slowpoke?” she asked. “In the mood for a race?”
Before I could respond, Hazel sprinted ahead, dodging and weaving my grasp. I quickly caught her, grinning at her sudden yelp, and lifted her body over my shoulder and carried her to the top of the Slip ’N Slide.
“You want to race?” I said, placing Hazel’s feet on the wet grass. “Bet you a mandatory viewing of Jerry Maguire and breakfast in bed that you can’t beat me to the bottom.”
“I thought you had an aversion to losing, but whatever you want, FIGJAM,” she said, toeing off her sneakers. “Ready when you are.”
I loved this push and pull between us. It’d been present from the moment I’d met Hazel and had never let up—I doubted it ever would.
On three, we lunged, sailing headfirst down the slide, water spraying around us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hazel start to zigzag wildly, and she reached out and grabbed my hand before she flew off the plastic.
“Don’t let go of me,” she shouted.
“Never,” I yelled, and I wouldn’t.
Hazel said I was her parachute, her safety net, risk and reward. The person who made her feel brave yet grounded. To me she was a steadying force, a second chance, a fresh start.
It’d taken countless wrong turns and winding roads for me to find the place where I belonged, but in the end, all that mattered was that I’d found it, right here with Hazel. That together we were building something special
and strong. It wouldn’t always be easy, and life might get messy along the way, but it was real and it was ours to fight for and protect.
We’d made a promise to always rescue each other.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I first started my writing journey, I never thought I would be here now, a published author of four books and living my dream. And none of it would be possible without the amazing team of people I have standing in my corner, supporting me, guiding me, and shining light on me when things get dark.
A bottom-of-the-heart thank-you to my editor, Marla Daniels, who has, over the course of four books, become the voice in the back of my head, pushing me to reach further, work harder, and deliver the very best of myself with each book. Thank you for your critical eye and constant encouragement, for asking the hard questions that enrich the story, and for making everything around you brighter.
Huge thanks to Melissa Jeglinski, agent extraordinaire, who believed in me before anyone else—and who has continued to be my behind-the-scenes champion. Thank you for your diligence, listening ear, professionalism, and protection. I couldn’t navigate this crazy publishing world without you.
I am eternally thankful for my amazing critique partner and best friend Elizabeth Dyer, who has meticulously dissected every line of my four novels, offered her critical eye and feedback, and helped me hone my craft and storytelling abilities. I am so grateful for your unwavering support, friendship, and tireless advice.
Thank you to my publicist, Theresa Dooley, for your energy, creativity, and dedication in spreading the word about my novels with passion and attentiveness. And thank you to the entire production team at Pocket Star and Simon & Schuster—interior design, cover design, copyediting, proofreading—for transforming my book into a thing of beauty.
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