Page 209 of The Coach

I turn to the side entrance of the room, where I know she’s waiting.

“Ivy, sweetheart—come here.”

A noise runs through the crowd as the door opens.

And then, there she is.

Ivy steps in, hesitant at first, then standing taller.

Her green eyes lock onto mine.

I reach out, pulling her next to me.

“This is Ivy. She’s my…” I search for the word. I haven’t proposed to her yet, because, well, I don’t want it to be rushed. I want to take my time with her, make it special. “She’s my girl.” I settle on.

She smiles back at me.

“Anyone else have anything else to say?” I challenge, looking back at the reporters.

Silence.

Not a single fucking word.

I smirk. “Okay. Let us focus on the games, please.”

And with that?

I walk Ivy out of the damn room.

Ivy is quiet as we drive through Miami.

Not upset. Just seems like she’s processing.

And I get it. That was a big moment.

I just told the entire country I love her.

I reach over, grabbing her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You okay?”

She exhales a laugh. “I don’t know. This is all kind of insane, right?”

I squeeze her fingers. “Maybe. But I meant what I said.”

Her eyes flick to mine. Soft. Curious. A little stunned.

I smirk, turning into a private entrance of a high-rise.

Her brows knit. “Where are we going?”

I park, hop out, and open her door before she can even reach for the handle.

She gives me a look. “Jackson.”

I just grin. “Come on.”

We take a private elevator up forty stories to the rooftop.

And when the doors open?

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