Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I let him ramble, because he’s on a roll.
“I’ll do it if we have to because I would never hold you back from your dream of playing in the NFL—I’m not that much of an asshole—but damn it, I’m super selfish and don’t want you to leave me.”
“You done?” I ask, a smile finding my face. Weirdly, Talon freaking out about this makes me calmer, because he’s right. This could be so much worse than it is. I could’ve been cut. They could’ve thrown me out on my ass. But I’m here. I get to stay with the team and be in Chicago—even if I don’t get to play too many games. If any.
“What? What did they say?”
“I’m benched because McLaren and the new kid are faster than me right now.”
The fight leaves Talon in a visible whoosh as he relaxes. “You’re staying?”
“For this year at least.” Next year, probably not, but I don’t say that. We’ll face that when we need to. I have an entire season to figure out my future.
Talon begins pacing again. “No. You’ll be here next year too. We’ll make sure of it. More training, more PT, more—”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“Together. We’ll figure it out together … right?”
I nod. “I’m not going to run again. I know what I want.”
Talon being here, supporting me, planning our future together is all I want.
“Whatever I do, whether this is my last season or my leg gets better, it won’t matter. So long as I’m with you, I’ll be happy.”
Talon’s expression softens, and he approaches to wrap his arms around me. His head fits just below mine, and his shampoo smells like the crappy hotel stuff. “We can still do this. I’m sure of it. Do you remember that night a billion years ago where I promised it was gonna be you and me winning a Super Bowl together one day?”
“Yeah,” I mumble into his hair. “I thought you were full of shit.”
Talon laughs. “I think even back then the dream was about us together. Not the championship. I fell in love with you without even knowing that was possible.”
My chest warms and fills with happiness. “So maybe we should make a new dream. Anything else that involves you and me.”
He playfully slaps the back of my head. “That’ll be Plan B. We can still do Plan A. It might just take some time.”
“Lucky I’m willing to keep your ass forever.”
Talon pulls back and cocks his head. “Just my ass?”
I shrug. “I guess I’ll take the rest of you too.”
With a wry smile, he leans in and softly kisses me. “You’re so good to me.”
“Sarcasm. It’s how I love.”
“Holy shit, you must love me a fuck ton.”
It’s my turn to kiss him. “More than a fuck ton.”
“I love you too, Shane.”
Chapter Thirty-One
TALON
THREE YEARS LATER
Okay, so dreams take fucking longer than planned in real life, but the important part is we’re here. Whether it was fate, the universe, or pure will, Miller being demoted only lasted half a season before he was called up because the rookie choked when it counted. Miller worked his ass off, and we fought as a team, but we’d had too many losses in the first eight games to come back. We missed out on even the playoffs that year, which crushed our egos considering we were the defending champs.
Last year, we at least made it close to the end but were knocked out one game from the Super Bowl.
We’re a strong team, and we’ve proved that, but it was still never enough for me.
Now, as we’re about to be presented with the Vince Lombardi Trophy—something I’ve won four times now—nothing, and I mean nothing, has been a bigger win for me.
Because this night has been over a decade in the making, ever since the night Shane Miller walked into my life.
It’s also the night I never thought would come—the night I ask someone to be my forever person on paper and not just in our hearts. When I told my family my plan, my mom said I was romantic, Dad said I had balls of steel, and my brother said it was douchey.
Thanks, Trey.
When the announcer is done talking to the coach and GM and he calls me up to give an MVP speech, I’ve never been closer to shitting myself on national TV.
In the three years since coming out, two more players have followed suit. One from Baltimore who’s near retirement and a kid named Whitman who came out not long before he was drafted to San Francisco. Is the industry more accepting? Not quite, but it’s getting better.
My hand shakes as the trophy is handed to me and my GM gives me a hug.
I’ve thought about taking this step with Miller for three years now—ever since we chose each other above all else—but maybe doing it in front of a hundred million people or so is too impulsive. It’s me, so it wouldn’t be a Talon thing to do without a little flair, but I’m thinking this could be too much.