Revealing my basket, I pull out a picnic blanket and some snacks. I set it up, all as he watches with a small smile gracing his lips the entire time.
Pulling a bottle of sparkling cider out, I wave my hand à la Vanna White. “Just like our picnic date that you tricked me into.”
Pax booms out a laugh, sitting down next to me. “I had to do something, you were shunning all of my advances. With good reason, I have to say, but still, a guy needed a break.”
I poured us some cider into the plastic champagne flutes I’d brought, and handed him one. “To Ryan.”
He’d brought us together, I owed that little boy so much. We clinked glasses, a bittersweet note filling the air as we drank.
“We owe it all to him.” Pax spoke my thoughts for the millionth time since we’d come back together. “You think he’s up there?”
He pointed to the stars above us, a tapestry of light illuminating the rooftop.
“I know he is. Probably giggling down at us when we kiss and shouting out plays that you need to complete tomorrow. He’ll be sitting right on that fifty-yard line, I believe it.”
“That’s for sure. He knew his football.” Pax ate some of the spread I’d brought for us, never not hungry.
“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” I never really asked him about games, because generally I didn’t know all that much.
He shook his head. “Not really. I always think of the Super Bowl as the one game where I get to have fun.”
I study him, confused. “Fun? Isn’t it like, the most pressure you ever have on you?”
Pax’s hand finds mine, almost like it was an unconscious movement. “Exactly the opposite actually. There is nothing on the line, not really. Sure, the glory of winning, of hoisting that trophy … but, there is nothing after that. This game isn’t one we have to win, at all costs. We aren’t trying to preserve a record or make it into the playoffs. This is just for bragging rights, for victory. It’s the one time that we, at least I think this way, can play for that little boy who fell in love with the game.”
It was poetic, in a way, and I understood it. “So, go out there tomorrow and have fun.”
He smiled. “Exactly. Especially as my last game I’ll ever put pads on for. It seems surreal. I’ve done this for so long. What will I do now?”
I scooted over to him, lying with my back to his front, as we tilted up to look at the stars. “Be a stay at home dad?”
I could feel Pax’s entire body go rigid. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
Just to tease him, I waited a beat, and then burst into laughter. “No, there isn’t. But maybe someday soon there could be.”
He settled down again, playing with my hair in his fingers. “I’d like that a lot. Yeah, stay at home dad. You go out and be the bread winner, Mrs. CEO.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?” I needed to know if my running a business was something he would be comfortable with in the long run.
A lot of men said that they didn’t mind, that they liked a strong woman. But when it really came down to it, I’d heard of and seen many situations where the relationship fell apart because a man couldn’t handle a woman’s success. I know Pax had been supportive and understanding of my demanding schedule thus far, but getting more serious—marriage, raising a family, having a future—that would just mean more time away from him.
“Of course, it doesn’t. I mean that, I think it’s so important the work that you do. And that you’re a boss, in the slang and traditional sense. You inspire me to work harder, what I’ve done is nothing compared to what you’ve built. I’m secure enough to be completely okay with your success.”
I smiled, nuzzling into him. “Good. Now be quiet, I’m trying to stargaze.”
Pax chuckled, but didn’t say anything further.
We stayed out on the roof for another hour, longer than we probably should have. But it was a nice night, and the relaxing feeling of being together, in the quiet, after a week of chaos, was too good to pass up. It felt like we were on the precipice of something enormous. This big game, Paxton’s retirement.
But something else, too.
And I couldn’t place my finger on it, but after tomorrow, it felt like the entire world was going to change.
Forty-One
Paxton
My teammates flank me, our hands over our hearts as a country singer I didn’t recognize belted out a beautiful rendition of the National Anthem.
I lock eyes with Connor, who nods, black streaks of tar paint smeared under his eyes. My gaze scours the stadium, taking in the scents and sounds that have become my theme song, my soundtrack, for the past eight years.
This is it. The last game. I knew for a while that it was coming, but I wasn’t fully prepared for the emotion clutching my heart and bringing unshed tears to the back of my throat.
I found them in the stands, in the family suite that sat just above the fifty-yard line, at the top of the first section of seats. Demi stood with her hand over her heart, my jersey underneath her big parka jacket. She looked breathtaking, my lucky charm, my second chance. How fucking lucky was I that she had given me one? That was divine intervention if I ever saw it. A gift from the stars.
On one side of her stood Dylan, his face painted with my number drawn out in white paint. He looked like a total groupie, and I had to laugh at his enthusiasm.
And on the other side was Sarah and Aaron. They’d been so thrilled when I’d sent them tickets, told them I wouldn’t want them to miss this big moment. Little did they know that the moment they weren’t supposed to miss wasn’t the actual game, but the grand gesture after it was over.
The anthem ended, and our team moved into a huddle, Coach delivering one of the most motivating pump up speeches I’d ever heard.
“Men, we’ve worked damn hard this season. Overcome all of the odds stacked against us. No one thought we would be here in the end. But here we fucking are! Go out there and play the best four quarters of your life. Leave nothing unanswered, nothing stays out on that field! Sixty minutes of glory, that’s what I want from you. Hands in!”
We all put them in, the circle of brawn and courage buzzing with raw energy that could spark an explosion.
As soon as the first whistle blows, our special team’s unit receives the punt and the receiver runs the ball out to the forty. Time to go to work, and I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. I can practically hear it, flowing overtime and giving me this adrenaline high that is indescribable.
I line up, the cornerback covering me giving me some sneer and trash talk that I don’t even bother to listen to. This is my game, he has no business even being on my field. Some of the youth and cockiness floods over me, and I’m transported back to the hotshot know-it-all who used to make risky plays that sometimes paid off, and sometimes didn’t. That ego combined with my knowledge now is what will get me through this.
Play after play, we advance, scoring or picking up first downs. It feels like time is standing still, and for the first time in a year, I don’t feel the aches and pains of old age as an athlete plaguing my body. It’s like the universe is allowing me to give the game of football one last shot, scratch free. My knee is mobile, the tendons flex and muscles tense, without having to favor the other leg or go easy on it.
I put every ounce of myself into the last drives, trying to see the game through the eyes of the little boy who fell in love with it.
Because it will be his last time, my last time, under the lights.
Ticker tape is everywhere.
In my hair, in my mouth, fluttering down from the sky like stars that have exploded into our team colors.
It’s a sea of people, cameras, new championship merchandise being flung at me or pulled over my head. My teammates are crying, happy tears, and reporters are shoving microphones in my face, trying to get a quote from the one guy who is on top of the world right now.
It was my swan song. The last game. A ring. Going out as a champion.
I see her through the crowd, her milk chocolate-colored hair waving wildly as she congratulates person after person, every other second jumping up and down next to Dylan in disbelief.
Moving people out of the way, dodging cameras and handshakes, I finally make my way to her.
“Baby!” she screams, hugging my neck and all but jumping into my arms.
I bury my nose in her hair, squeezing her tight to me, basking in this moment. She’s the only one I want by my side for every moment in life. It took me a long time coming to realize that.
Placing her down, I sink to one knee, pulling the ring box from my football pants. I’d had the thing in my extra helmet on the sidelines all game. I held it up to her.
“Demi Rosen, I’m done with this chapter. Now, I want to start my next one. The one where we live happily ever after. Now, I know you deal in wishes, so I’d like you to grant mine. Marry me. Make me the luckiest man on the face of this earth. The luckiest man in the galaxy.”
People around us start to catch on, there are some shrieks and wolf whistles. Then the crowd begins to cheer, they must have this playing on the Jumbotron.
But I’m only focused on Demi, her expression priceless. She stands stock-still, her mouth hanging open, tears glistening in her beautiful brown eyes. I wait her out, trying not to ask again because I know she’s in shock.
“Answer the boy, bubbala!” Her mom nudges her, both of her parents looking on in surprised awe.
I look at her, really look at her, inching the ring toward her.
“Yes,” she whispers, her eyes boring into me, tears spilling down her cheeks.
I don’t wait on my knee any longer, which is starting to throb, and instead jump up to lift her in celebration. She squeals and buries her head in my shoulder.
“I love you so much,” I whisper into her hair.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time,” she whispers back.
Someone around us yells, “She said yes!”
Flashbulbs come from every direction, and people rush us, pulling Demi away from me. I laugh, the whole atmosphere just one of huge celebration. I make my way to her again.
“I think I need to give you something to seal the deal.” I take her left hand, putting the ring on her third finger.
Studying it on her hand, Demi puts her other one to her mouth. “It’s so beautiful. Pax, I can’t believe this.”
I gaze at it on her hand, knowing that it is exactly where it belongs. That ring is home. “It was my mother’s.”
A gasp, and then tears. “This is the most special ring you ever could have picked. I promise I will cherish it forever.”
Taking her face in my hands, I kiss her lightly and then lean my forehead in to hers. “I know you will, because I’ll never let you take it off. You’re mine. Forever.”
And then chaos takes over again. Her parents smother her, as Dylan shakes me by the shoulders and shouts about being the best man and sitting on a float in the Super Bowl parade. The press surrounds us, asking questions about my game and the engagement.
Through it all though, I’m looking at Demi. My future wife.
Forty-Two
Demi
One Month Later
“Please tell me again why we are doing this?”
I suck in, the air in my lungs burning as I hear the zipper on the back of the dress zip up.
“Chelsea, if you don’t want to be supportive, you don’t have to be here,” I half-joke.
The seamstress taps me on the shoulder, signaling that I can turn around and walk out.
I’m halfway out of the fitting room when my best friend answers again. “I don’t mean this, as in trying on wedding dresses. I mean, why are we doing this so soon? Don’t people wait a little before starting to plan a wedding? Much less actually have one in less than ninety days.”
The delicate layers of tulle waft around me as I look at the panel of people before me. “Mom, are you going to cry at every single one?”
She blows her nose, sobbing again. “You just look so beautiful!”
Leave it to my mother to be even more of a bridezilla than any of the brides in this bridal dress salon. She sits next to Farrah, who looks like she might be allergic to my mother’s crying. Chelsea sits next to my coworker, and Hillary, who I have become close with even as Paxton goes through retirement, looks on as well. They’ve all assembled to make my bridal party, and have been a huge help scrambling to make our wedding happen.
After the initial shock and celebration of the Super Bowl and our engagement wore off, which took about a week, my fiancé announced he would like to get married as soon as possible. As in, tomorrow, and he wasn’t kidding. I put him off a little, saying that I’d been dreaming about this moment and that if we didn’t give my mother a fairy-tale wedding, she’d Jewish guilt us both to death.
So here I was, trying to find my dream wedding dress in a week, so that we could get married in two months. I’d already hired the photographer, a friend of Hillary’s who did their family portraits here in Charlotte. We’d booked a venue, which was surprisingly easy with my event planning contacts. I was using the same florist I did for every annual Wish Upon a Star gala, and Paxton was in charge of the band and hotel accommodations. It might be a whirlwind, but I was surprised at how easily everything was coming together.
“And, Chels, they usually do. But we’ve wasted so much time, you know that more than anyone.” I raised a brow at her. “So, tell me if you like this one?”
I waved a hand to model it for them. The dress had a full, fluffy skirt with tiny crystal flowers all over it. The straps were illusion and wide with a deep V to my cleavage, but still modest. It was gorgeous, and a little flutter went through my stomach as I waited for them to respond.
“Well, I don’t dislike it as much as that mermaid crap you were talking about before, so I’m sold!” Farrah smiled.
She was my rational thinker during this time, keeping me on track and on budget.
“I think this is the one!” Hillary clapped, always positive. She and Mom were on the same page, and my mom smiled and nodded through hysterics.
“I love it. You look incredible. But then again, you look incredible in anything. Oh, and if Paxton Shaw ever hurts you, I told him I’d cut his ding-a-ling off and shove it down his throat.” Chelsea made the slice-across-her-throat motion.
Okay, so she was still a little skeptical of my husband-to-be, but she was coming around.
Farrah laughed hysterically. It seemed that my college best friend and my work best friend were a match made in heaven. They’d already set up a happy hour for all of us tomorrow night, and were calling it the bachelorette before the bachelorette. I’m pretty sure they were forcing me to have the ever-popular girls trip simply so they could party their asses off, but I was happy to do it for them.
“I really think this is the one, Demi,” Hillary spoke again, nodding like an experienced stylist. She was my fellow fashion lover; we prayed at the altar of shoes and purses. “Can we see that veil? No, not the fingertip one, the cathedral. Every woman deserves to wear a cathedral veil once in her life. I plan on wearing one at least three times.”
“Does that mean you’ll have three husbands?” Chelsea asked.
Hillary waved her hand. “Oh lord no, one husband is all I can handle. No, I’ll make Charles marry me two more times. For the romance of it, but mostly so I can buy two more wedding dresses that are completely different than the one I wore the first time.”
My mom started to laugh. “Isn’t that the truth? One husband is surely enough. That’s why they want you to get it right the first time, because trying to find another one is completely exhausting. Not to mention, I will never wash another man’s underwear. No, thank you.”
Chels hugged my mom as she laughed. “Amen to that, Mama Rosen!”
The consult
ant put the veil on me, clipping it into my hair, and bringing me earrings to go with it.
“Oh no, she won’t be wearing those.” My mom shooed her away, and I smiled at her.
I knew why she didn’t want me to put them in. “You still want me to wear them?”
Mom nodded, tears wetting both of our eyes. “Of course I do, your grandmother would want you to wear her pearls.”
Before she’d passed, my grandma would tell me all the time how she couldn’t wait to see her pearl and diamond studs, her most prized possession, on the lobes of her only granddaughter on her wedding day. And now I was going to do just that.
When everything else was fastened and zipped, I turned, looking in the three panel mirror at the end of the little runway the salon had in the middle of the store.
And my mouth dropped. I looked like a bride. A full-fledged, fairy-tale, white Christmas ornament, bride. “Oh my God …”
“That’s the reaction we were looking for. Sold, we’ll take it!” Chels whirled her hand around, signaling to the bridal consultant to pack it up. “Now, let’s go have a drink. I’ve fulfilled my maid of honor duties, and need a stiff martini.”
With tears in my eyes, I laughed. “Okay fine, let’s go pay you in blue cheese stuffed olives. But, I don’t think I’m going to take this off until the wedding day. So, I can wear this for another two months, right?”
Forty-Three
Paxton
When Chelsea had proposed a joint bachelor/bachelorette party, I had been skeptical.
I wanted Demi to have her space with her girlfriends. And selfishly … I wanted to have my last night of freedom, doing stupid shit with my guys friends.
But two months after the Super Bowl, and here we were. Four shots and two beers down, everyone was drunk, giddy, and ready for a weekend of all out partying and fun.
When Stars Burn Out Page 16
