Page 79 of Dump Tackle My Heart
Bone-crunching hits.
Tactical brilliance.
Unshakable focus.
And every time he got up from a tackle, his eyes foundme.
And yeah, I’ve got footage fordays. I’ll be cutting reels through the New Year.
Which works out, considering Hudson just casually informed me before the match even started that we’re spending the holidays in New Zealand with his family—after a stop in Jersey City to seemine.
Like it’s already decided. Likewe’re already a we.
God help me, I nod.
Of course I nod.
Because who would say no tothis?
To him?
He finds me before I can even step off the sidelines, still riding the adrenaline high, still covered in sweat and dirt and pure joy.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing, like I’mhis, and kisses me like he’s starving.
And maybe he is.
Or maybeI am.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
My hands are in his hair.
And the world blurs around us—noise, cameras, confetti, teammates, fans—none of it matters.
It’shim.
It’sus.
When he finally pulls back, his breath hot against my mouth, his forehead rests on mine.
“Still think I only want you ‘cause we got snowed in?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
I laugh, choking on emotion.
“No. I don’t think that anymore.”
“Good.”
His lips twitch. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you’re coming with me.”
“I’m in,” I whisper. “All the way.”
I might’ve doubted myself once.
Might’ve questioned whether this was real.
But I won’t do that again.
