Page 70 of The Game Plan
Bret holds open the door, and I step into the carpeted space. It isn’t much—white walls, a wide window, and a flowered arch standing above the officiant and Grant. My gaze catches on him instantly. Even with his back to me, his black jacket fitted just right, he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Crew sits in a row of chairs, grinning as he watches his girl. I can’t help but wonder if he’s imagining his own wedding with Bret. Soft music fills the room as she walks down the aisle. Rounding Grant’s shoulder, she hugs him, whispering something before sliding into her seat. Then Grant turns around.
Oh my god, the way he looks at me…
Like he’s forgotten to breathe, his lips part, eyes dropping slowly, down my hair, face, dress, and landing on my bump. Something flickers across his face. It’s not only awe, but it’s admiration. Hope. Love.
Slowly, I walk on shaking legs toward him. My heart rattles in my chest as I fight off the stinging in my eyes.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs against the shell of my ear, so soft I almost don’t catch it.
There’s no hiding the blush that creeps onto my cheeks. “So do you. Did you model for GQ before this?”
I feel his chuckle rumble against my side. His hands find mine, warm and comforting.
The officiant clears his throat and welcomes us before diving in. His words are short, but they weave around the steady thump of my heartbeat. Everything feels like it’s happening at double speed, and I can barely soak it in.
As he starts the traditional vows, Grant interrupts him and reaches into his pocket.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I wrote a little something.” He clears his throat, and I shake my head. Of course he did. “I wasn’t able to get much sleep last night. Instead of counting the clock, Itried to write the thoughts I couldn’t get out. It’s rough and not professionally written, but it’s me.”
Grant’s warm hazel eyes glance up, locking onto mine. He scrubs a hand down his neatly trimmed beard, and my chest tightens.
“Growing up, I was lucky enough to witness a love most people only dream about,” Grant begins. “My parents weren’t flashy. No grand gestures, no extravagant gifts. They just loved each other quietly. Steady. Honest. That’s the kind of love I always wanted. A life with my best friend.
“When I saw you walk into that glass wall at orientation”—the room erupts with laughter—“I knew you needed to be on my radar. Then came the Union, the parties. But it wasn’t until you climbed onto the bar at the Eagles Nest, dressed as Cher fromClueless, and tried to rap ‘Rollin’ with My Homies’ that I knew you were the one.”
A watery laugh slips free as I shudder at the memory.
“You’ve always been chaos and joy in my life. Somewhere along the way, you became more. Labels have never been our thing. Hell, I don’t think we’ve even officially dated each other. We always had something deeper than friendship, more than anything I’ve ever known. Now I get to call you mine—for real. I don’t want perfect… I want the raw, the messy, the too-tired-to-function kind of love. You’re mine forever, Peach.”
My breath stumbles over the sob stuck in my throat. As I feel a few tears streak down my face, I’m grateful I opted for the waterproof mascara.
When the official looks at me, I panic. I didn’t write anything. Hell, I barely knew I was getting married today. But I squeeze his hand, inhale deeply, and step closer.
“I’ve questioned a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never questioned you. Not once. That’s the kind of man you are. This isn’t the wedding I pictured, but you were always the type of manI pictured. There have been many times I’ve wondered if I was enough, if I was good enough for love, but then you walked into my life. A broody face hidden behind a layer of scruff. You took one look at me, and I knew I wanted to get to know you better.” Pausing, I take a second to breathe.
“You’ve never asked me to be anyone but myself. When I wasn’t ready, you never left my side. You promised you’d be waiting. And one thing about you is, you don’t break promises. You see me. You fight for me. And now you’ve made space for my baby, too. So I promise to love you with all my heart, to be your teammate, your peace, and your best friend.”
I can feel a tremble wrack through his body as he eyes the officiant, almost as if he’s begging him to finish up.
With a soft chuckle, the officiant declares us husband and wife. As soon as the words leave the older man’s lips, Grant grips my face in his large hands as his mouth descends onto mine.
And with my lips pressed against his, I allow myself to fall.
Fall in love.
Fall into us.
Fall into our forever.
We’ve been driving in silence for a few minutes now—the comfortable kind we often find ourselves in. I love that Grant never feels the need to fill every second with words. We can just be. Just exist in the afterglow of this afternoon.
For most of the drive, Grant has kept his hand relaxed on my thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles on my exposed skin with his thumb while the other is draped over the steering wheel. Seriously, why is that so hot? And I mean that on a normal basis, not as a hormonal pregnant woman.
As much as the insecurities want to creep in, I refuse to let them tarnish this moment. Grant Campbell chose me.
I am Mrs. Grant Campbell, and my heart has never swelled so much.
