Page 80 of Dump Tackle My Heart
BecauseTankwon’t let me.
And God, I love him for that.
A couple of weeks later, we land at Newark International Airport and take a rental to my folks’ place.
Jersey City smells like roasted chestnuts, fresh bagels, and exhaust fumes—and God, I missed it.
We’re barely in the door of my parents’ townhouse before my mother is smothering Hudson in a hug like she birthed him herself.
“Oh my God, you’re even bigger in person,” she squeals, cupping his cheeks. “Dani, honey, this man’s a linebacker!”
“He’s a rugby player, Ma,” I mutter.
My dad’s watching from the archway, arms folded across his I-used-to-be-a-cop chest, doing his best impression of intimidating father.
He’s failing, mostly because he keeps cutting his eyes to me and then to Hudson like he already knows what’s coming.
Because he does. I told him. Sort of.
Not the moving in together part, obviously. But he knows I’m going away with this man.
I’m just starting to peel off my coat when Hudson steps forward.
Like, full-on steps into my dad’s space.
Calm. Confident. Shoulders squared, hands relaxed at his sides.
Respectful, but firm.
“Mr. McNally,” he says in that deep, gravelly voice that turns my knees to Jello, “I’d like your permission to marry your daughter.”
What?
I choke.
Audibly.
“Excuse me?” I say, turning so fast my purse nearly smacks a family photo off the wall. “I’m right here, you know. You didn’t even ask me yet!”
Hudson grins, cocky and sweet all at once, without looking away from my dad.
“I know, Sweetheart. But I will.”
My mother lets out a dramatic gasp worthy of a soap opera.
My dad just blinks. Once. Then his face goes all serious.
“She’s my only daughter,” he says slowly.
“I know,” Hudson replies. “And I swear on everything I am, I’ll protect her. Respect her. Support her. Love her—with everything I’ve got.”
My dad nods.
Then he adds, just for shits and giggles, “Just remember she’s got three uncles and four cousins within a ten-block radius. All cops. You mess up, they’ll find you. And bury you, son.”
“Duly noted,” Hudson says with a smirk.
I just stand there, heart racing, trying to process the fact that this man—the same man who calls me Sweetheart in a voice that could melt steel—just asked my dad if he could marry me before even asking me.
