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“Oh?” Hallie’s eyebrows rise as she studies me, not even flinching as Matthew Jr. grabs at her hair with his small hand.
“We should get going,” Matt says, bailing me out. “Little guy missed his nap, so there’s a high chance of a tantrum any minute.”
The understanding look he aims my way doesn’t appear to have anything to do with his kid’s sleep schedule, though.
Maybe I should have asked Matt for advice on how to do this. Presumably, he had a similar conversation with Mr. Scott before proposing to Hallie.
But Hallie has a very different relationship with their father than Saylor does. And Matt and Hallie have a very different relationship than Saylor and I do. Plus, Matt didn’t live in another country.
So I’m not sure his advice would actually be all that helpful.
Hallie nods, but it’s reluctant and her expression remains wildly curious. “Party went great, Dad. I think Saylor really enjoyed it and it was awesome that?—”
“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
Finally, the words that have been circling my mind for the past ten minutes—the past few months—come out.
And as soon as they’re out there, lingering in the air, we’re back to pin-drop silence.
I clear my throat, the next words flowing a little easier now that the first sentence is out. “I want her to know I’m in this, certain about us, before she has to make decisions about her future. Now that she’s graduated, Saylor can sign a professional contract. I’m hoping she’ll consider a German team. It’s not that difficult to get a work permit, but it would be even easier if we’re…”
I let my voice trail and exhale.
“The logistics don’t really matter. The point is, I love Saylor. I want her to achieve everything she’s ever dreamed. And I want to be next to her when she does. I want her to know I’ll be there, no matter what happens.”
I aim a meaningful glance Marcus’s way, hoping he’ll understand what I mean without me having to spell it out more than that.
I want Saylor to know I’m not going to abandon her the way her mother did physically and her father did emotionally. And while a marriage license is no guarantee, it’s the best I have to offer her aside from time and promises I’ve already made.
Marcus’s expression is neutral, carefully so. I’ve never had the easiest time reading him. If he’s shocked, he’s hiding it well. He’s not looking like he’s inclined to throw another party, either.
And I realize I never asked a question.
“So, what I’m saying is?—”
“They’re resurfacing Sumter Street.” The door bangs open, a gust of warm wind finding its way into the living room before it slams shut again. “Construction vehicles everywhere and cops blocking it off.”
Saylor appears a second later, kicking off her sneakers and pulling out the elastic holding her blonde ponytail in place simultaneously. Always in motion, always looking for the next challenge to tackle.
I swallow the unease that realization comes with.
Saylor Scott is it for me. No other woman will ever compare. She’s been in my life for almost exactly a year, and I can barely remember what it looked like before we met. Before she beat me in a shoot-out, women were just…there. The attention and the games were fun. Flattering. Mutually enjoyable.
But it lost any appeal when Saylor appeared in front of me with all the subtlety of a supernova. Our long-distance relationship has never felt like a sacrifice, because I don’t want anyone else. I could name a thousand reasons why I’m certain she’s the one, but none of them—or all of them—would articulate the way I feel about her quite right.
“Whoa.” Saylor’s glancing around the living room with a furrowed brow, her expression puzzled. “Weird vibe in here.” She pulls her jacket off and tosses it on the arm of the couch, her gaze settling on me. “Everything okay?”
“We were just talking about what a success the party was,” Hallie says. “The whole town showed up for its sweetheart.”
Saylor’s nose wrinkles as her blonde hair falls around her face. “Is that seriously what anyone calls me? The town sweetheart?”
Hallie grins. “Well, no one who knows you.”
Saylor scoffs as she plops down on the couch. “Most of them came to see Beck.” She turns her head to smirk at me, and I manage to smile back.
She’s teasing.
But I know she gets frustrated by the level of interest and attention I draw. Saylor wants to be well-known—on her own terms. For her own skill. She wants women’s football to receive more attention because of her talent, not because she’s associated with me.
