Page 40 of Tight End
I dropped to one knee, and her gasp hit me like a 225-pound linebacker.
Looking up at her beautiful, radiant face, I felt my heart thunder against my ribs. “Marry me, baby. Let me spend the rest of my life taking care of you and our kids. I don’t want a world where you’re not mine in every way.”
I dug a little box out of my pocket and opened it, revealing a sparkling diamond engagement ring.
She sucked in a breath and blinked as if to make sure it was real. “It’s beautiful.”
“Not half as gorgeous as you. Now, are you going to marry me? Or do I have to tie you to the bed and keep you from coming until you agree?”
Marissa rolled her eyes, but tears spilled over her cheeks. She dropped down to her knees with me, laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
I took the ring from its velvet bed, and she giggled when I fumbled it, my hands shaking now for an entirely different reason. I slipped the band on her finger—simple, elegant, and unmistakable. “Between this rock, your sexy-as-fuck belly, and your soon-to-be new last name, nobody will question who you belong to.”
I cupped her face and claimed her mouth with a kiss that was all hunger and love. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, pulling me closer like she needed me as much as I needed her.
When we came up for air, she stared at her ring for a few beats, then looked back at me. “Raiden…I love you so much.”
“Same, baby. And I meant it.” I pressed a kiss to her palm. “You’re mine. Forever.”
I wrapped my arms around her, our foreheads pressed together, and simply held her for a while.
This woman.
She was everything.
My whole damn world.
EPILOGUE
MARISSA
Covering the first Nighthawks home game of the season with my belly rounding out my shirt and fresh red streaks in my hair wasn’t how I expected my move to football coverage to look. But here I was—balancing a laptop on my baby bump like it was part of the press box furniture, trying to type with what felt like a tiny tight end doing drills inside me.
The stadium vibrated beneath us as the game clock dipped under a minute. The crowd was still losing its collective mind over Raiden’s third touchdown of the night. Three. As in one for each time I’d kissed him before he left this morning.
“Shaffer is locked in,” the reporter beside me said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Marriage looks good on the guy.”
I pretended to focus on my stat sheet. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said so.”
He chuckled. “You two are disgustingly cute. Don’t deny it.”
I didn’t bother trying.
The press box buzzed as the final drive wrapped up. Below, the field looked like a living, breathing ocean of red as fans surged to their feet.
On my other side, a younger reporter twisted in her chair toward me.
“Did you see Micah Hayes tonight? Twenty-one tackles.” She widened her eyes dramatically. “If the rumors I’ve heard about him and that girl at The Tight Line are true? That man is trying to show off.”
I kept my smile polite. “You all know better than to ask me for insider gossip about Raiden’s teammates. My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “It was still worth a shot.”
The final whistle blew. The roar of the stadium swelled beneath us. I finished jotting my closing note, saved the file, and stretched my aching back. Then I got up to head down to congratulate my man on one of the best games of his career.
And since I had a press pass, I had a slight advantage over the other wives because I didn’t have to wait in the family room with everyone else.
Fans in the concourse were chanting his name, the sound echoing through the concrete tunnels as I stepped out. My badge swung against my rounding belly, drawing a few smiles from stadium staff as I passed.
