Page 164 of It Happened on a Sunday
through all the poison and the hate.
You never left my side
through the moments that felt like fate.”
The audience goes wild—there’s no other word for the cheers and whistles and stomping. But Sloane doesn’t notice. She’s too caught up in the song to notice. And I’m too caught up in her and the love shining out of her eyes to pay any attention.
But when she launches into the final chorus and the audience does their best to sing along with her, it’s amazing to watch her realize what’s happening.
Her eyes go wide, her fingers fumble just a little on the microphone, and I swear I can see everything inside of her light up at the way the audience is taking her—no artifice, no Black Widow, no distant mask between her and them—into their hearts.
“We let the light in on a Sunday,
we let the love come pouring in.
We let the love in on a Sunday
and the light come pouring in
on a Sunday,
on a Sunday.”
“Holy shit,” Levi breathes out as the music continues to play. “The Black Widow fucking loves you, man.”
“Yeah, she does,” James agrees just as Sloane launches into the outro and nearly brings me to my knees.
“Maybe even as much as you love her,” Marquis ribs me, but I swear to God I see a mist in his eye.
“Now when the sun comes through my window
I know I’m not alone,
because you happened on a Sunday
and on Sunday I came home,
on a Sunday,
on a Sunday,
on a Sunday.”
As she finishes the song, I reach for my phone. Then freeze, because suddenly the entire stadium fills with color as one question lights up every screen.
MATEO SYLVESTER, WILL YOU MARRY ME?
The locker room erupts in cheers at the same time the entire stadium does. As my knees buckle, I have to grab on to Marquis to keep from falling down.
Even before the lead singer of Shaken Dirty yells into his mic, “Come on now, Sly. Don’t leave the girl hanging.”
Sloane pulls out her phone, and I nearly drop mine three times as I try to text her. Finally I manage to writeYESandI LOVE YOUandTHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY MOVE.
Sloane laughs and holds the phone up to the camera so they can see. “He said yes!”
Marquis slaps me on my back so hard it nearly knocks me off my feet. He gives me the biggest, shit-eatingest grin yet and says,“You’re fucking welcome.”
Shaken Dirty launches into one last song, and before I can say thank you to my best friend for changing my whole damn life, Branson turns the TV off. “Congratulations, son. Don’t let it go to your head. You still have a Super Bowl to win.”
