Page 104 of Chasing The Goal
I take a breath. Not the kind you take to calm yourself, but the kind you take before you jump. Before you leap from the high place you’ve always been afraid to fall from.
“I bought this the night she was born,” I say. “You were asleep in the hospital bed, and I was holding her, and I remember thinking—this is it. This is what I want. Forever.”
Her mouth opens slightly. Her eyes shine, wide and unblinking.
“She’s not mine by blood,” I say. “But she’s mine. Completely. And so are you. You have been, since the day you showed up at my place with that duffel bag and told me you didn’t know how to do this, but you were going to try.”
Her lips tremble.
“You made a life with me,” I say, my voice tight. “And I want to spend the rest of it making sure you both know exactly how loved you are.”
I open the box.
She gasps, one hand covering her mouth.
The ring catches the light like it was waiting for this moment. A massive oval diamond in the center, flanked by tworound stones that glow like tiny stars. It’s bold and clean and stunning and completelyher.
“Marry me, Mal,” I whisper. “Let me be your always. Let me be her dad. For real.”
She doesn’t speak. Not at first.
She just nods—wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks—and then she launches herself toward me, carefully, around the baby between us, her arms wrapping around my neck. The box falls between us, landing on the mattress.
“Yes,” she breathes against my shoulder. “Jaymie. Yes.Of course yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger, and it fits like it was made for her. Maybe it was. Lola stirs just then, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she doesn’t wake. She stretches one arm dramatically above her head and flops to the side like she’s bored of our nonsense. Mallory and I both laugh through our tears, the sound raw and real.
“I want to remember this moment forever,” she whispers.
“You will.”
We ease Lola into her crib, wrapping her in the soft blanket with the tiny moons on it. She stays asleep, her face peaceful, like nothing in the world could touch her. I brush a kiss across her forehead, then pull the door nearly shut behind us.
Mallory turns to me in the low morning light, her hair messy and her ring catching the sun.
“Hi, fiancé,” she says, voice rough with emotion.
I step toward her, heart in my throat.
And kiss her. Deep, slow, sure.
We don’t rush.
It starts with the way she kisses me—open-mouthed and slow, like she’s memorizing the shape of me all over again. Her hands roam, warm and familiar, curling into the back of my neck, sliding under my shirt. She hooks a leg around my hip, dragging me closer, breath hot against my jaw. Her nails bite into my shoulders just enough to make my spine arch. The softness between us burns away, replaced by heat. Hunger. Months of watching her sleep, nursing our daughter, biting her lip when I walked into a room shirtless.
Her voice is rough when she says, “I need you,now.”
That’s all it takes.
Clothes scatter. Breath shortens. She pulls me down and opens under me, gasping my name like it’s a promise and a prayer. My mouth finds her collarbone, her throat, the inside of her thigh.
We move like we’ve been starving for this—forus—for the feel of skin and sweat and years of want finally let loose.
She bites my shoulder to keep from moaning too loud. I grip the headboard to keep from coming too fast. And when she falls apart beneath me, nails raking, back arching, breath shaking—I follow. Hard. Fast. Deep.
After, we collapse into each other, hearts racing, skin slick, the room filled with the smell of sex and warmth and quiet triumph. Mallory laughs breathlessly against my chest. “I’m going to be sore.”
I grin, tracing lazy circles down her spine. “I’ll carry you to the kitchen. Bride privileges.”
