Sweet Rome (Sweet Home) (36 page)

We played out of our skins, but Notre Dame was never too far behind us, never too far in front.

The final down of the game, fifteen seconds on the clock, fourth quarter. I had led a drive into the red zone. We had to score a touchdown; a field goal was not enough to secure the victory. Notre Dame’s defense hadn’t missed a damn beat all night and I had one last chance to wrestle the win from their stubborn clutches.

Calling a, “
Crimson Two, Crimson Two,
” in the huddle, we moved into position, ready to execute an option play called by Coach himself. “Down… set…
Hut, hut
,” I calmly yelled, taking the shotgun from the center.

I immediately looked for Porter.
Shit!
He was covered. I checked down to Carillo.
Fuck!
Not an option. Stepping back, I scanned the wider field, Jimmy-Don giving me precious few seconds.

Now!

Seeing a running lane, I set off, my breath echoing in the casing of my helmet as I powered onward, the end zone clear in my sights. I visualized making the touchdown. I felt the elation of winning the game, willing it into reality.

I pushed my tired legs to their absolute limits, every muscle screaming, and I broke the plane—
touchdown!
—then spiked the ball.

The sensation of victory hit me hard, but I didn’t freeze. We’d taken it. We’d fucking won.

Staring up to the sky, I pulled down my jersey, kissed my hand, placed it on my tattooed wings, and held it up high, praying, “This one’s for you, my angel. This one’s for you…”

Suddenly the whole team dove on me. TV reporters, Tide staff, and fans alike flooded the field. “Sweet Home Alabama” blasted around the stadium as hundreds of fireworks burst in the sky, celebrating our win.

After many congratulations and hugs, I stared over a sea of heads to see my girl sat in her seat, crying, Ally holding Molly in her arms. I glanced to the Jumbotron, still showing replays of my celebration.

The wings. She’d seen the wings—I just hoped she loved them too.

The Tide was swiftly caught up in the whirlwind of our win. After the trophy presentation and painful TV interview eulogizing my award as the championship’s MVP, I jumped off the stage and ran to my girl, immediately lifting her up and exclaiming, “We won, baby!”

Throwing me a smile, she replied, “I’m sooo proud of you.”

One hand holding her gorgeous ass, the other caressing the bare skin of her back, I confided, “I need to be alone with you. Now.”

We took off, heading for the player’s tunnel, ignoring shouts from the coaching staff calling me back. Fuck them all. I needed to be alone with my girl.

Molly giggled, nuzzling my neck, and asked, “Don’t you have to be with the team?”

“You want to give them all an after show? Because right now all I can think of is being inside you, and no matter where we are in thirty minutes, it’s happening.”

Golden-brown eyes widened, and she sucked in a low breath. “We need to go… like now.”

Relaxing for the first time in weeks, I exhaled in relief. “Glad we’re finally on the same fuckin’ page.”

34

NFL Draft

Radio City Music Hall, New York

Four Months Later…

“
The first draft… for the next NFL season… for Seattle Seahawks… is… quarterback… Romeo Prince… from… the Alabama Crimson Tide!!!”

A warm wave of relief washed over my body, and I closed my eyes.

I’d done it. And hell, I was the first pick draft. I was the best fucking player in the country… I
was
worth something after all.

An excited high-pitched scream sounded in my ear and my girl pulled me to my feet. Unable to resist getting caught up in the moment, I lifted her to my lips and kissed her over and over. I pulled back and she whispered, “Baby, you did it.”

As I looked into Molly’s eyes, I remembered a time when I wasn’t sure she’d ever come back to me, never mind be right here beside me as my life changed and my dream came true, or at least half of my dream.

A steward tapped me on the shoulder. “Mr. Prince, we need to go to the stage now. Please follow me.”

Nodding and squeezing Molly’s hand one more time, I turned to the corridor, a huge friggin’ camera following me the entire way. I took the Seahawks baseball cap handed to me and, placing it on my head, walked onto the stage.

The lights and the noise were blinding.

The commissioner pulled me in close as he shook my hand, saying, “Well done, son! You got to be feeling pretty damn happy right now!”

Slightly dazed by all of the attention, I just nodded numbly, and he handed me my Seahawks jersey, the feel of it in my hands and the
PRINCE 7
on the back too much to take in.

I had to do a shitload of press, answering question after question about how I felt going to Seattle. How do you verbalize a dream coming true? I was excited, beyond excited, and told a thousand journalists so—it was the fucking NFL after all—but something just wasn’t sitting right in my stomach. A sinking feeling of doubt was tugging at my mind. I knew what it was… Mol. She hadn’t decided on a damn school yet for her PhD. We’d been living together for months now. After our stint apart, we moved into our own apartment almost immediately, and I’d seen her apply to lots of colleges and hadn’t dared bring up my anxiety about us having to live apart. At this point in my life, I knew I couldn’t be without her. Hell, I didn’t sleep anymore if she wasn’t curled into my side.

Those thoughts kept playing on my mind as I shook a million hands, met Seahawks staff by the dozen, and by the time I got back to the green room—my friends and Molly still giddy as all hell from my achievement—I was ready to tear my fucking hair out with worry.

Flashing me a huge smile, my girl launched into my arms, pressing kisses all over my face, singing, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Trying to ease my anxiety, I pulled her into my chest, probably holding her too tight. I obviously had, because when I let her go, her eyebrows were drawn and she asked, “What? What’s wrong?”

She could read me like a book.

I glanced over her shoulder and noticed our friends staring at us, smiling… Well, except for Ally. She was frowning too, sensing my weird turn in mood.

I held up my hand to our friends, excusing Molly and myself, and, needing to deal with this crap now, pulled her down a corridor, making sure we were alone. She smiled and playfully tugged on the peak of my cap, but I could see the strain around her eyes… She thought I wasn’t happy.

Reaching for the cap and pulling it off, I said, “I am happy, baby.” I didn’t want her to misunderstand that. “But I can’t do it without you. Seattle. I’m going to Seattle. You applied to Harvard, Yale, and Stanford that I know of. You’ve been so fuckin’ secretive, and I’m going insane. We could be on different sides of the country for all I know, and I need you with me. I don’t think I can do this without you.”

“Rome—” She tried to interrupt, but I had to get all of this out before it ate me alive.

“I feel like just demanding it because I know you would drop everything for me. But I also want your dreams to come true. I don’t know how to have both you and football.”

Her face was unmoved, relaxed even, and I couldn’t understand how she wasn’t freaking out like me. Was she
actually
okay with us being apart?

Holding my hand, she pressed a kiss on each of my fingers before confiding, “Romeo, I’ve run away from my problems all my life, never to return, but you’re the first person I’ve ever run back to. That means so much to me. You pulled me out of the darkness.” I swallowed hard when she took my hand she’d just kissed and pressed it against her flat stomach. We’d decided to wait to have more children, wait until we were older, more settled, but it still ripped me to shreds knowing we should’ve been preparing for our angel’s arrival if things had gone down differently.

With a soft squeeze of my hand, she made me refocus. “And gave me hope. Hope that one day I will be a good mother… when the time is right, and that I do have a family… in you.”

I couldn’t speak, and when she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the angel wing tattoo on my chest, my eyes closed and I had to take a deep breath. “You once told me that one day you wanted to get away, that one day you would be your own person, and that one day you would get everything you wanted.” I had, all those months ago in her room, but what I wanted now landed solely in her hands.

Cupping her face, I told her, “But what I want is you. Everything I want is with you. You’re my ‘one day.’”

She handed me an envelope from her pocket, and a small smile set on her lips. “Your ‘one day’ is finally here.”

I immediately ripped it open and read the short paragraph:

Miss Shakespeare,

We at the University of Washington, Seattle, are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted on the PhD program for Religious Philosophy. To confirm your place, please contact us using one of the methods below.

My heart pounded and my hands were actually shaking. Looking up at my girl, I couldn’t digest it. She was coming with me? She’d done this for me?

But… how?

Her gaze was expectant, but all I could get out of my mouth was, “You… Does…? What?”

Giggling, she removed the letter from my frozen hands and said, “I also applied to Seattle. When Doctor Adams, all those months ago, mentioned there was a possibility of you going there, I researched into how the draft worked and took a calculated chance on Seattle. I didn’t want to say, just in case it didn’t work out. But it’s just paid off. I’m coming to Seattle with you, baby. You’re looking at the newest PhD student of philosophy. I sent my email confirmation about twenty-five minutes ago.”

Fuck. As she said those words, I realized we’d done it. Against all the odds, against every obstacle thrown our way—the loss and all the pain—we’d friggin’ done it. We’d both gotten what we wanted and we were still together.

Unable to contain my happiness, I smashed my lips against hers and my mind drifted to the one last missing step. I wanted Molly forever, and in my heart I knew there was only one thing that would make everything perfect.

Breaking away from her lips, I stared my girl right in the eyes and said, “Marry me.”

Her mouth dropped in shock and she stuttered, “W-what?”

Holding her face in my hands, I repeated, “Marry me. Marry me tomorrow, tonight, as quickly as we can. Just… fuckin’ marry me, Shakespeare. Let me make you officially mine.”

“But… But…”

I pressed her against the wall and reiterated, “I love you. I love you more than anything. I can’t and won’t be without you ever again. I want to give you everything possible. I want to give you happiness… I want to one day give you children… Marry me. Be with me. Have forever… with
me
.”

Her breath came quick as I kept my gaze locked on hers. A wash of contentment settled over her face, and then she made my fucking life.

“Yes!” she cried.

“Say it again.” I needed to hear that one small—but powerful—word once more… just to be sure.

“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you!” She giggled and I kissed her with everything I had until she chuckled against my lips.

“What the hell are you laughing at now, Shakespeare?” I asked, her happiness becoming infectious.

“That the two ill-fated lovers—in our story—found a way to be together against all the odds, all of the obstacles, finally getting their happily ever after.”

Fucking Romeo and Juliet…

Ah, whatever. My girl wanted a fairy tale? She could damn well have one. Holding her close, I whispered, “For never was a truer story of love conquering woe than this of
Molly
Juliet and her Romeo.”

We both paused for a moment, gazes locked, before we burst out in laughter.

“And where, Romeo Prince, did you learn that?”

Shrugging, I answered, “Google. Where else!” Molly couldn’t stop herself from giggling.

Bringing her left hand to my mouth, I kissed her bare ring finger. “You need a ring.”

“It’s okay. We’ll sort it later. I don’t need a ring yet. I’m happy with just having you.”

“Fuck that!” I said a bit too loudly. “We’re sorting it right now.”

“But… but… the draft…”

“Is done. We’re going to Seattle. No need to stay here any longer, and right now we’re getting you a ring.” I paused and looked down at my flustered fiancé—fuck! my
fiancé
—and a question came to mind. “Or should we just get married now?”

Swallowing, she whispered, “What? Where?”

I shrugged. “Vegas? We can be there in a couple of hours.” The excitement that thought brought was almost too much to take. She could be my wife in a couple of hours.

“No,” she said in a low voice, and the excitement within me faded.

“No?”

Clutching my hand, she said, “I want to marry you, as soon as possible, but not at some cheap chapel or by some dodgy fat Elvis!”

Pulling her to my chest and wrapping my fist in her hair, I asked, “Then where?”

Smiling sadly, she said, “My parents eloped to Gretna Green.”

“Where the fuck is that?”

“Scotland.”

Scotland? Fine, whatever. “Done. We’ll get the next flight out.”

Shaking her head but laughing this time, she said, “No. I’m joking. I don’t want that. I want us to have our own story. I want us to make our own memories. I want this wedding to be done right.”

I groaned in exasperation. “Mol, for fuck sake, I just want to make you mine. You own me in every way, shape, and form. Just give me this, soon. Let me have you too.”

Brushing a hand down my cheek, she pressed a kiss on my lips and whispered, “Okay, baby. However you want. Wherever you want.”

“Done, we’ll get married as soon as we’re back in Bama, but right now, we’re getting you a ring.”

Taking Molly’s hand, loving the sound of her excited squeal behind me, we reentered the green room, walked to our friends, and I put my arm around Molly’s shoulders. Our friends threw each other questioning glances, watching us closely.