Page 85 of Overtime
“Marry me.”
“Jesus Christ, Colton. Maybe we do need to call the doctor.”
“We can do it this weekend. It’s an away game in Vegas.” His face lights with amusement. “We can have Elvis do it. Tell me it wouldn’t be perfect for you.”
“Okay. You’re scaring me now. Did I break you? Is this from the swelling? I’m going to call Ben and ask him what to do.” I reach for my phone.
“I’m fine. But yes, call Ben and Violet. Tell them they have to be our witnesses for our wedding this weekend.” He jumps up. “I’ll call my assistant. They can help you find somewhere to get a dress. Do you want Harper there? I can call Alex.”
“You do not seem fine. I tell you, ‘I love you,’ and you stare blankly into the void for several minutes and then say you want Elvis to marry us.”
“And?”
“And you are not a get married by Elvis in Vegas person, Colton. You’re a house already built for the wife, picket fence owning, elaborate wedding with four hundred people that takes two years to plan—having person.”
“Yeah well, fuck that. Elvis it is.”
“Oh my god. Stop this. You haven’t even said if you love me back yet!”
“Do you have a brain injury? Because I thought it was just me.”
“Colton!”
“What?” He looks at me with a giddy smile.
“I am not kidding when I say you are freaking me out. Can you please just be sensible right now?”
“Okay. I’m being sensible.”
I give him the side-eye and then motion for him to sit down. “Do you love me? I mean, seriously. Don’t joke about Elvis. I’m trying to have a serious conversation about this.”
“I’m not joking about Elvis. I’m just trying to get you tied down before you run off again because you get scared in the middle of the night when you overthink it. If there’s a paper trail and legal grounds, I can at least try to run after you this time.”
“This time?”
“You were in love with me last time too. That’s why you ran.”
“I was not in love with you. I was terrified that you were serious about being in love with me.”
“Yeah. I don’t buy that. The way you look at me? The way you fuck me? That’s from a long-term obsession. Years of missing someone you wish you could have back.”
“Please.” I try to feign my way out of this.
“Trust me. I know.”
“You want me to believe that you were in love with me this whole time?”
“No. I want you to believe we’ve been in love with each other this whole time, and stupidly fucking denying it. But yes. I’ve been in love with you.”
I scoff because I have a very hard time believing that.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Not really. When I got here… that was not someone in love. The way you acted. You weren’t even happy to see me.”
“Joss, I was scared to see you. All the feelings I knew it was going to dredge up. I never really stopped being in love with you. I just accepted it would never be returned. Seeing you, thinking about you—it hurt like hell. You were still in my head all the time.”
“I’m sure.”
