by B. B. Hamel
He moved forward, his legs churning, pushing against the pile of men. He was a beautiful beast, a monster on the field, crushing and destructive. He was an angel of death come to take what was his.
He dove forward. The ref blew the whistle dead.
Everyone held their breath.
The ref signaled for the first down, and the stadium went insane.
That was it. The Eagles were going to the Super Bowl, and there was nothing stopping them now. All they had to do was take a knee, and then it would be over.
As time ran out, I kept thinking about everything that had happened. I went from hating that man to loving him with every ounce of my being. I couldn’t imagine living without him, and I never would. I was his, for as long as he wanted me to be.
We had come through adversity together. There was going to be more in the future, and we’d get through that, too. Nothing was perfect, but perfection could come from hard work and dedication.
He worked me hard. I was dedicated to him.
We spend most nights together. After practice, he would send the car over and I’d stay with him, letting him do whatever he wanted to me for as long as he wanted to do it. He made me feel things I had never imagined.
Sometimes we did workouts to help with his strength. When he ached, I rubbed him down and made him feel better. When I was stressed, he took off my clothes and made me feel right.
That was all I needed.
The stadium exploded again when the clock wound down. People spilled out onto the field as the guys shook hands, and the media began to swarm them. I stood off to the side, smiling, feeling blessed and amazed by everything that had happened and would happen.
We were going to the Super Bowl. We were going to the most important, biggest sporting event in the whole world, and it was all because of Owen.
He was going to win it for us. There was no doubt in my mind.
As I stood there, I suddenly spotted him. Reporters were hounding him, but he ignored them all and walked right toward me. I smiled and laughed as he threw his arms around me, lifting me off the ground. I kissed his sweaty mouth and loved the salty taste.
“Taylor,” he said.
“What?”
“I was thinking about waiting to ask you this, but I can’t.” He put me down and took my hands.
“What are you doing?”
He dropped down to one knee.
“Owen?” I asked. There was a huge crowd around us. Cameras were running and pictures were going off. He reached down into his sock and pulled out a small, black velvet bag. He opened it and took out a ring.
My heart nearly stopped. I covered my mouth. “Owen?”
“Marry me,” he said. “I want you. Marry me.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Of course.” He slid the ring onto my finger, and the crowd began to cheer. He stood up and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me hard.
The reporters all tried to get an interview with him, but he waved them all away.
“Later,” he yelled. “I want a second with my damn fiancée.” He scooped me up and we walked off into the locker room together.
“You had that with you the whole time?” I asked him.
“I’ve had it with me at all times for the last month.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve known since the second we met.” He pressed me up against the wall of the hallway and kissed me.
“I knew, too,” I said.
“Liar.” He grinned. “You hated me.”
“I still do. Asshole.” I hit his chest and smiled. The light reflected off the absurdly large diamond on my finger, and I knew that this was what was supposed to happen.
I was Owen’s. I was going to be his wife, and I was going to have his babies. I was going to have a lifetime of him, days and nights and minutes and hours of him, moments of him. Owen waking, Owen showering, Owen laughing, Owen slowly stripping my clothes off and kissing my skin.
That was all there was for me and all there ever needed to be.
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