He bolts over and intercepts me before I can reach Wyatt. “Ms. Griffin, please,” he hisses, “at least have him speak with the journalists before—”
But he can’t finish because Wyatt’s hand lands on his shoulder. “No, Liam, I want to speak with Ellie now.”
Liam gives him a desperate glance. “I’m still your agent, at least for one more season. And I think you should do a round-up with the reporters first.”
Wyatt waves back. “I passed the mic to Coach Jenkins. He’s rather happy to discuss his retirement plans and strategy for this year’s games.”
Without waiting for his agent to react, Wyatt takes my hand and hauls me with him to a corner of the field where there’s nobody.
Well, technically, we’re still not alone as most of the people present are staring at us, but at least no one can hear what we’ll say.
We stop face to face with each other.
I clear my throat. “Wyatt I—”
He shakes his head and puts a finger on my lips. “No, Ellie, let me start.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Ellie, I’ve always thought I knew what I wanted from life. But it turns out that I didn’t.” He rubs his neck and captures my eyes. “I loved football and still do, but that drive that made me want to be the best at all costs came from a place of hurt. I wanted to prove myself to my father. And ultimately to myself. I thought that’d make me feel worthy and happy…but it didn’t. At least not the way I’m happy when I’m with you.”
I grip his hands. “Wyatt, you don’t have to give up being with the NFL for me. I was wrong to doubt your words based on our past.”
His lips open, but I continue, “I was reasoning from a place of hurt, too. When you said you loved me, I didn’t want to let it sink in because I didn’t feel I could deal with you ever taking it back.”
“I would never take it back, Ellie. I love you. More than anything,” Wyatt says. “And that’s why I’m thrilled about my decision.”
“What about your career?”
He smiles at me. “My career will go on just as it should. I’m starting a new chapter. Joe was right. A player should quit while they still have a passion for the game.”
He seems entirely self-assured as he says this. I don’t detect even a hint of hesitation.
“How is this possible? Only two weeks ago, you said you don’t know how to live your life without being part of the league?” I ask.
Wyatt cups my face. “You made me realize that my road forward wasn’t becoming a bitter veteran in the NFL. I want to retire. I want to be close to you here. And I’m looking forward to transmitting all I know to these kids.”
His radiant smile reminds me of how happy he looked when he was teaching the boys in the park. Suddenly I feel less worried that it’s only a grand gesture he could regret later.
“So you teamed up with my brother and my friends on this, huh?” I ask.
“I wanted to make sure you knew this was really happening and not just something I planned on doing,” he explains. “I even told my mother and father that I—”
My brows shift upward. “Your father? You spoke to him?”
Wyatt nods. “Yes. I’m committed to a life with you, where only the good from my past comes with me. So I forgave my dad.”
My heart feels like exploding. “Oh, Wyatt, you leave me speechless.” I raise myself on my tiptoes and brush the tip of my nose on his. “This means you’re sure about moving to Phoenix next year?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure,” he answers, smiling.
My brows arch. “Ninety-nine percent?”
“The last percent will come once I hear you say what I’m hoping you felt when we kissed.”
He slides his hands to the lower part of my back.
My lips curl up, and I push myself even closer to his chest until my mouth is almost touching his. “Wyatt Harrison, I’m in love with you. Still and forever.”
He grins. “Now, that’s a hundred percent. Probably even two hundred.”
He closes the distance between our lips, and applause fills the air. That’s when I remember we aren’t alone. Our talk entirely blocked out the voice from the microphone and the stares of the audience.
“Shall we stop?” Wyatt murmurs. His fiery breath sends delicious shivers across my spine.
“No, I don’t care who sees us,” I say and press my mouth on his once more.
Wyatt must be glad about my decision because he eagerly picks up right where we left off. I snuggle up to his chest, and he deepens our kiss.
I close my eyes, and the cheering crowd around us disappears. All that remains are Wyatt’s muscular arms, familiar smell, and sweet taste.
Later I’ll have to thank my brother and my friends for rescuing me from my stubbornness and lack of courage. Without them, Wyatt and I might not have gotten our real second chance.
But for now, I just let the joy Wyatt’s lips unleash in me cascade over me, and I revel in the realization that sometimes cheating the laws of reason and love is exactly what leads us to our happily ever after.
Epilogue
(Wyatt)
TEN MONTHS LATER
“That’s it for today, folks!” I blow into the whistle I received from Devon to inaugurate my new coaching career.
The sharp blow cuts through the air like the song of a screech owl in the desert, notifying the players that their suffering is over.
The exhausted boys roar with clear delight, and I can’t blame them. Although today’s workout was the last before their (relatively brief) summer holiday begins, I didn’t go easy on them.
I brought them to their limits—not to enjoy their pain or to cement their acceptance of me as their new head coach—but to give them a glimpse of what they’re truly capable of and what we’ll reach for during our next season together.
Judging by their sweaty but grinning faces, I’ve hit the bull’s eye.
Zoe, Coach Jenkins’s old assistant, whom I kept on because I wanted someone who knows the school’s ropes, ushers the players inside the locker room with a loud, “C’mon guys, let’s hurry. The cleaning crew is arriving early today. All of you need to be gone by the time they get here.”
Everyone jogs behind her giant sneakers, except for one boy.
I recognize him as Terrance, our most ambitious junior varsity player, before he even takes his helmet off. He’s the only one who regularly stops me for some extra thoughts on his performance.
Though I’d planned on leaving immediately after the practice—I need to get to Daisy’s Creamery before Ellie does for a last check on the preparations—I smile at the boy. “Hey, Terrance. You were terrific today.”
Terrence always looks as if he’d run a mile, a constant tinge of red under his tawny beige freckled skin, but at my comment, his usual blush becomes even more intense. “Thank you, Coach Harrison.”
He scratches his curly hair as if unsure how to continue. His jugular artery pounds visibly on his neck.
Even after almost four weeks of working with them, the kids are still somewhat overly excited in my presence.
Zoe phrased it rather wittily once; she said all the Cougars seem high, just because they’re breathing the same air I do.
“You’ve got something you wanted to discuss?” I prompt kindly.
Terrance clears his throat. “Yes, Coach Harrison. I’d like to speak to you about the off-season training camp.”
I raise my brows. “Do you have a problem with the timeline?”
“No, not at all,” he exclaims. “I actually came over to ask if I could do some extra hours on top of the daily sessions you proposed? You said that the practices would begin at 9:30 and be over by noon. But I’d love to invest more time in honing my skills.”
I set up the timeframe to ensure my players will enjoy their summer besides getting in shape for next season.
Still, Terrance’s question warms my heart. He’s a freshman, but I can see him moving to the varsity team faster than any
of the older teens in the junior varsity team. His dedication reminds me a lot of myself. I always begged my high school coach to assign me homework and extra conditioning so I could advance faster.
Perhaps, precisely because of this, I answer, “Our training sessions, though not extremely long, will be power-packed, don’t worry. If you avoid video games and just hang out with your friends for the rest of the time, you’ll be in top form, I promise you.”
“But I want to become the best,” Terrance says, “so I need to focus on football and football only.”
I level his gaze. “Look, take it from me. You don’t need to dedicate every waking minute to football. You’re young. Use your free time also to be young. Only this way can you have a happy life and keep a level head on the field.”
As I’m saying this, I’m surprised to realize that I actually mean every word of this wise statement.
A gratifying glow spreads through my chest as I imagine what Ellie would think if she heard me giving Terrance this speech. She’s the reason I learned what a balanced and joyful existence is.
She made me understand that football is just one thing I love and that playing in the league wasn’t the only way to live out this passion.
Strangely enough, this realization didn’t diminish my performance in my last season for the Kites. In fact, the games of my last season—even if our team dropped out during the conference championship—had been my best ever.
In his farewell talk, Coach Fielding had called my achievement worthy of an MVP title—which was almost as satisfying as if I’d actually been granted that by the NFL.
But it’s not just my shifting view about football’s role in my life for which I have to thank Ellie.
I think back to last weekend when Dad came to Phoenix to deliver me Grandma Harrison’s ring. He and I spent an afternoon together bonding, and I can hardly believe the fun time I had with the man I thought I’d never want to see again.
Ellie taught me the strength to forgive my father and gave me the courage to embark on the journey of building a relationship with him.
She’s the most fantastic and lovable creature on this planet. That’s why I can’t wait to pop my question to her tonight.
“My friend has a birthday party this weekend. You think I should go?”
Terrance’s phrase jerks me out of my reverie.
He eyes me with arched brows, squinting as if he’s not sure whether my previous words were a test about his zeal or my actual opinion.
I pat the boy’s head. His hair is silkier than I expected, considering it looked like a bunch of unkempt hay after he took off his helmet. “Of course. Have fun. Just stay away from the booze. That’s really detrimental to a player’s stamina.”
A grin spreads on his face. “I will, Coach Harrison. Thanks for your advice.”
He looks thrilled.
This is evident in his cheery turn and the jubilant grit he puts into his steps while he dashes toward the locker room.
While I go to my car to head over to Encanto Park, Terrance’s elated stride is still swirling in my mind.
When he handed over his team, Coach Jenkins warned me that my most challenging task won’t be to develop a winning strategy, but to build high-character, young people from my players. He said my job would involve being as much their counselor, chauffeur, meal provider, confidant, fundraiser, and advocate as being their trainer. I guess the old guy was right.
I park my car near the entertainment park and hurry to the ice cream parlor. As the table in the snug corner beside the ice cream shop comes into view, my heart speeds up.
It has two chairs and is covered with a simple but elegant white tablecloth, just as I requested. I even drew a map for Monica to show how to set it up. I tipped her very generously to ensure she wouldn’t skip any steps, not even measuring the geometrical middle with a ruler to find where to place the vase filled with pink peonies.
Monica has respected my instructions to the letter.
Let’s hope the special cone she promised to fabricate for Ellie’s sweet avocado cayenne is also ready. I dropped off the ring on my way to work this morning to give enough time for the server to experiment with how best to hide it.
I want to go inside to ask Monica about it when Ellie’s voice calls from behind me.
“Sorry, honey, I’m a bit late,” she says and flings herself into my neck.
I lift her, and we kiss.
Sometimes, I greet Ellie with a desperate, ‘I couldn’t wait to see you’, kiss, which I perfected during my time spent on the road with the Kites, when she would fly in to visit me. But this time, it’s a brief but tender, ‘we belong together, and we know it’, lip brushing, which is fast becoming my preferred salutation because of its implied intimacy and trust.
When I lower Ellie, she blinks at the table and furrows her brows. “What’s this?”
“It’s uhm…”
“—my boss’s new expansion plan.” Monica’s jovial comment saves me. “He wants to build an outside terrace but wishes to try with one table first. You,” she grins at Ellie, “and Wyatt are our guinea pigs for tonight.”
Ellie studies the vase, and to my relief, she nods and pulls out the chair. “That’s a pretty table. We’ll be happy to test drive it for you. You can even serve our ice in glass bowls instead of cones.”
“No,” I cry out.
Ellie’s eyes drift to me, and I shake my head. “Let’s not give Monica more work than she already has, no?”
Monica rolls her eyes. “Oh, yes, I’d hate washing two bowls.”
Her theatrical accent is so apparent, I think Ellie will see through us, but she doesn’t. She just shrugs and says, “Yes, sorry, I didn’t think of that. Then just give us our usual, please.”
While Monica disappears to prepare for what might be the most memorable moment of my life, Ellie hops down on the chair and leans back with a sigh. “Ah, it’s a great idea from Monica’s boss. My feet are hurting.”
“How was today?” I ask.
“Good, but tiring.” She smiles at me. “That lady I’m coaching now, to come to terms with her divorce resentment, made a tremendous breakthrough today.”
I lean forward and caress her cheek. “Of course, you’re an amazing therapist. I’m living proof of that.”
Her eyes illuminate. “You were also a pretty exceptional client.”
“Because I was your first.” I wink.
She giggles. “Yeah, that might have something to do with it, too. Anyway, it wasn’t even the therapy session that drained me, but my babysitting duty.”
My eyes widen. “Don’t tell me your boss left you Frank Jr. again?”
Ellie gives me a ‘What do you think?’ look. “I believe it’s the price she makes me pay for granting me an office and a promotion in the same year.” She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t mind it, though. That baby is cute, even if entertaining him with my office’s scarce supplies sucks out all my energy.”
“I bet if we had kids, they would be even cuter.”
Ellie’s glance darts to me. “Wyatt Harrison, is there a special meaning behind these words?”
My revealing phrase was out before I had time to bite my lips together.
Since I don’t want Ellie to know how much I ponder our potential family—it’ll ruin my surprise—I shrug with a coy smile. “Who knows?”
As if organized by magic, Monica appears with our neon-green cones.
I hope she knows which one is Ellie’s because to me they look identical.
The sight of her favorite treat distracts Ellie, and she forgets to press me further on my slip.
She takes the ice cream from Monica with a bright smile.
The waitress winks at me before returning to the shop. A little jingle lingers in the air after the door closes behind her.
“Mhmm, it’s even better than usual,” Ellie moans while she licks her cone, her eyes focused on her turning fingers.
It’s possible that Monica gave an extra
boost to Ellie’s favorite flavor because it’s creamier and spicier than I remember. Even if I don’t really revel in its taste, I slurp the cream with avid gulps so my hands will be free before Ellie gets to the hidden layer of her cone.
After I finished my treat, I watch Ellie bite her cone down with small symmetrical incisions.
At a certain point, she exclaims. “What’s this?”
My heart jumps.
This is my moment.
I bend forward, but the smile freezes as I see Ellie’s lips settle into a sour grimace instead of an expression of delight.
“Was yours like this too?” Before I can answer, she shakes her head. “If Monica’s boss is trying to save on the amount of ice cream in order to have enough money to build his terrace, I don’t approve.”
She shoves the cone toward me, and I blink at a circular piece of biscuit that closes off two-thirds of her cornet.
I can’t suppress my chuckle.
I’d thought she’d seen my ring and didn’t like it.
“Why are you laughing?” she huffs. “Customers come here for the ice cream. It’s wrong to cheat them like this. In fact, you know what I’ll do? I’ll throw this away.” She stands up to walk to the pink trash can located beside the store’s entrance.
“No, Ellie.” I grab her wrist. “You can’t. It’s a perfectly good waffle. Eat it.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “It tastes like nothing without the cream. Also, I need to make a statement against Monica’s boss—”
I reach up and put a finger on her lips. “Ellie, at least eat that biscuit first. Please.”
Ellie’s eyes widen. She sinks back to her chair without further protest and sticks two fingers into her cone to angle out the biscuit. She can’t get a hold of it, so she turns her cone upside down and gives it a vehement shake.
A gasp escapes her throat.
First, I think her bewilderment is because of the large green stain that now decorates her striped summer dress. But when I see her lifting my grandmother’s ring from below the biscuit, my heart flutters.
I was torn between buying a new ring or accepting my father’s suggestion to use his mother’s ring.
Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) Page 29