Page 109 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

“The Revelers had their fair share of injuries and setbacks, but like this city, they persevered.” Everyone gathered around watching the broadcast cheers. “On Wednesday night in Philadelphia, the New Orleans Revelers became World Series Champions for the first time in history and we’re here today to celebrate this team and their amazing season.”

After I send the broadcast back to the station, Brian gives me the signal that we’re off-air.

“I think we should head down to the corner so we can catch the guys as they head toward Decatur Street and then we’ll have to haul ass back to the field.”

Most parade routes take St. Charles Avenue into the Central Business District, but the Revelers wanted to keep this celebration in the heart of the city, so theirs will make its way through the narrow streets of the French Quarter and end at the ballpark.

The front office offered us a spot on the float, which would’ve been fun, but I wanted to capture the people—the fans, the spectators. I want to show what this team and franchise mean to the city and capture the love and support.

“This is pretty spectacular,” Brian says, repositioning his equipment as we get set up to document this historic event. “I have to say, when they told me I’d be working with you as a correspondent for the Revelers, I took it as a stepping stone assignment. I wanted something bigger, something more, but I know the business and I know you have to play the game to get the prize, so I agreed. But this ended up being worth it. Even if they hadn’t won, I still would be grateful for the experience.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. It’s like Brian took that speech from my brain.

Feeling my emotions start to rise as I get the first glimpse of the float, I nod. “Yeah, I feel the same way. I never thought having this position forced on me would lead to where I am now.”

Not only am I standing on a street corner in New Orleans, getting ready to report on the World Series Champions, which is a very substantial news story, but I’m also in love with Mack Granger.

Over the past few months, he’s shown me exactly the kind of man I want to spend my life with.

In the midst of giving everything he has to the game, he always saved some of himself for me. When I needed him to put me first, he did, without question. I’ve never felt more cherished and wanted, more needed and desired. He brings out the best in me, while accepting the worst. And with everything that’s happened, he never once made me feel weak, but instead, showed me my strength and helped me obtain it.

So, it’s no surprise when I catch my first glimpse of him at the helm of the float—that’s decked out in the most ostentatious display of purple, gold, and green—my eyes start to fill with tears.

But this time, they’re good ones.

They’re an overflow of emotion for the man I’m insanely in love with.

He looks so happy. The smile on his face is full of pride and accomplishment. He did it. He persevered, through all the blood, sweat, and tears. He dug deep and left every piece of himself on that field—not just for himself, but for his team.

I’ll never forget the moment they won, that final out when Jorge caught a line drive and launched it to Mack, who tagged a runner out at the plate. It was dramatic and the perfect ending to their season. I watched as the ump called the out and the Revelers cleared the dugout, rushing Mack.

But his eyes were on me. He searched over the heads of his teammates until he found me, giving me that Mack Granger smile and a wink.

I’ve never been prouder of another person than I was at that moment.

“You ready?” Brian asks, clearing his throat and pulling me out of my memories.

Inhaling deeply, I wipe under my eyes. On an exhale, I nod. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

When I turn back to the camera, microphone in hand, I’m composed and smiling.

“Welcome back. We’re standing at the corner of Burgundy and Piety streets in the Bywater. The parade will proceed up Royal Street, across Esplanade Avenue to Decatur Street, up Canal Street to Bourbon Street, and then to the ballpark. Are you ready for a taste of Mardi Gras in November?”

* * *

A few nights later,I’m sitting in Mack’s lap around the firepit at Owen and Sophie’s house, the birthplace of our fake relationship. The fake relationship that feels so far from fake it’s not even funny, but I can’t seem to bring myself to disturb this happy bubble we’ve found ourselves in.

First, we had the World Series, and what a ride that was. Between covering the home games to traveling with the team, it was such a whirlwind of excitement. It’s a high I’ll probably chase for the rest of my career, because I don’t think anything can compare.

Then, it was the celebration—the parade and the fanfare—followed up by the team renting a large river boat and all of us partying until the break of dawn, something I haven’t done in years.

The icing on the cake was having the privilege of being on the inside, thanks to my job, and then being a part of the more personal side, thanks to Mack.

And getting to experience all of that with Sophie, it’s been priceless.

I feel like I’m experiencing what it’s like to have an embarrassment of riches for the first time in my life, and that’s saying something coming from a person with my background.

“Is there anything I need to do for you tomorrow?” I ask, turning toward Sophie, who looks just as relaxed as I feel, snuggled into Owen’s chest with a half-empty wine glass.

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