Page 160 of Changing Rules

After the snap, I lateral the ball to Marco. As he runs forward, I’m zeroed in, ready to catch the ball once he tosses it back.

Two yards from the line of scrimmage, he turns and launches it my way. I catch it, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and instantly search for Gibson. He’s right where he’s supposed to be: in the front right corner of the end zone. I pull my arm back, then launch it forward, and the ball flies toward him.

He jumps and tucks the ball into his side, ensuring he’s got a hold on it as he crashes to the ground—scoring a fucking touchdown as the refs signal the end of the game.

Johnson, a defensive lineman on the opposing team, stands a couple feet away, cursing, his chest heaving. He shakes his head and then meets my gaze. We stare at each other in silence, and for a moment, I think he’s going to hit me.

Instead, he takes a step back and nods. “Nice throw.”

As he turns and takes off, it dawns on me. Forty-five seconds ago, we were five points behind. Five points…and we just scored six. We fucking won. The second Super Bowl win of my career.

“Walker!”

My teammates surround me, tackling me. Despite the pain in my side, I laugh. These fuckers are the best.

The post-win whirlwind makes me restless. Photographs, blitz interviews, claps on my back. Once, twice, three times. When yet another journalist zips over to me, I consider blowing him off. I haven’t given any interviews or made a single comment since Miller attacked Bella. These days, the only words I have for reporters are “No comment.” For the most part, they respect it. Only one guy pinched his lips in annoyance, and he was sent off to go fuck himself in avery respectfulway.

“God, that was so stressful!” Meg’s voice drifts to me from the sideline.

I whip around and find her tucked up against Garcia. He’s a sweaty mess, but he’s got one hand cupping her barely rounded belly. Warmth spreads through my body at the sight. I can’t wait to watch their family grow.

I head their way and give Marco a slap on the shoulder.

Meg gives me a little finger wave. “Hey, Walker. You should have seen your girl during the fourth quarter. She didn’t have even the slightest doubt you’d win.” She covers Marco’s palm on her belly. “She’s still in the stands; she didn’t want to draw attention. I’m sad she can’t join you. You deserve to have your woman by your side while you celebrate your win.”

“That’s fine. I’ll find her soon.” I chew the inside of my cheek. “Is she with Kaden and Liv?”

“Ben and Tom,” Meg states, a pointed look on her face. “And your parents.”

“With Mom and Dad?” Warmth spreads through my body.

“She was chatting with your dad through the whole game,” Meg murmurs. “I had no idea she knew so much about football. Looks like you’ve rubbed off on her. She was describing everyplay, and he was smiling and laughing and cringing and yelling along with the rest of us. It really looked like they were bonding.”

“I think you just blew our captain’s mind, baby. Look at the shock on his face.” Marco laughs. “If he leaves before the ceremony, it will be all your fault.”

“What did I do?” She frowns at her boyfriend.

“Nothing,” I murmur.

Drew calls my name and waves, pointing at the crowd of people gathering for the trophy ceremony.

I look at Marco. “Let’s go.”

Once we’re finallyfree to go, I stride across the field with Drew and Kelly and their little guy, discussing the celebratory dinner when we get back to Boston. I’m still riding high, ready to find my girl, but my mood plummets when a group of reporters rushes me. Suddenly, the lightness inside me turns to nausea. I have a sinking suspicion they want to ask questions that aren’t about football. My PR guy warned me about this, pushing me to release a statement beforehand, to take the wind out of their sails. I postponed it, and here we are, dammit.

“Mr. Walker, you were brilliant on the field. Congrats on your win!” A blonde woman with a microphone steps forward, blocking my path. “Do you mind answering a few questions? It’ll be quick.”

I grit my teeth, debating whether to play nice or tell her no right away.

She bats her long eyelashes at me, a broad smile on her lips.

“Actually—”

“Xander!”

My heart leaps.Bella?

At the edge of the field, next to my parents, Bella is waving. She’s wearing light blue mom jeans, a white hoodie, and a bomber jacket with my number on it. I had to be at the stadium early, so I haven’t seen her outfit until now, and I can’t stop myself from grinning. She isn’t hiding anymore. Her hair is pulled back, her posture confident. She looks so sexy, so beautiful, and she looks like she’smine.

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