Lachlan smiles at her, whispers something in her ear.

He takes the microphone.

Suddenly the giant screens in the stadium fill with the sight of Lachlan’s handsome face. He smiles broadly at the screen, something that makes him look so much younger, softer, dare I say goofy. He brings the microphone to his lips and speaks into it but no sound comes out.

He tries again but nothing. His lips are moving, he’s smiling, his eyes crinkling joyfully, but that’s all we in the stands can know.

“What is he doing?” I ask Amara.

She shakes her head. “I haven’t a bloody clue.”

Finally he waves at someone and they come out with a clipboard and a pen. He takes the pen, is about to write something down, and then he pauses and looks up at me. Right at me in the stands.

I can feel Amara’s eyes on me too, as well as the people below us as they all crane their necks to look at what the hell Lachlan McGregor, savior of the game, is staring at.

It’s me.

Always me for him.

Always him for me.

Our eyes are locked together.

Then he writes something down.

He looks back at me while he displays the paper and clipboard in front of the camera. I know that the screens are showing a message because people are gasping, but I can’t take my eyes off of him. His gaze always holds me, as strong as his hands.

“Kayla,” Amara whispers, grabbing my arm. “Oh my god.”

I finally look at the screens. At the shot of the paper Lachlan is holding, still smiling, albeit a bit nervously now. It’s shaking.

It reads: Kayla Moore will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?

Signed: Lachlan McGregor.

Then the clipboard drops away, the camera focus on the grass.

My head swivels back to him but he’s gone, running forward, across the field.

Up the stairs.

Down the row.

Stopping right in front of me.

I’m still sitting down. I haven’t moved. I haven’t really formed one coherent thought.

I honestly can’t figure out what’s going on. Is this really my Lachlan, my reserved, subdued Lachlan? Am I caught in the middle of a play or something?

He gets down on one knee so that he’s at my level. His damp hair clings to his sweaty brow, his eyes clear green, piercing through me.

“What are you doing?’ I ask him, so stunned.

He holds out one of his hands and held between his fingers is a ring. A gorgeous, beautiful emerald and silver ring.

“Oh my god,” I think I say, maybe I just breathe it.

“I thought it would be some grand romantic gesture,” he says. “But it didn’t really work out that way. Technical difficulties.” He has a way of staring at me that makes the rest of the world disappear, like I have blinders on. I’m hanging onto his every word, tunnel vision of his face. “They say you should always do something that scares you, pushes your comfort zone. You did that a lot with me. Every time you came here to Scotland, you gave up the life you knew behind. You were brave. You took a risk. Many risks. Now, I know the surest thing I could ever do is ask you to marry me. Because I know I’m supposed to be with you and you know you’re supposed to be with me. I knew it from the moment I asked you here, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. But now I do. Now I know. And so I’m doing this like this, because it’s bloody frightening.”

His eyes dart from side to the side, at all the people, all his fans, that are listening to his every word and watching us like a television program. “I mean, I don’t know any of these people. But I do know that I want them all to know just how much I love you. That if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for Kayla Moore, I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be the man I am today. A better man. And yes, a man that’s terrified that you might just say no in front of the entire world. But that’s the risk I’m willing to take for the chance that you may say yes.” He swallows hard, his eyes measuring me. “Will you marry me?”

“Are you serious?” I whisper, still feeling like this is some kind of dream, like someone is going to pull the rug out from under me and I’ll fall flat on my face, humiliated. But I guess he has to be feeling the same way too. Every moment that the ring, shining beautifully, is held out there in his hand, waiting for my finger, is a moment that he dies a little inside.

What the fuck am I even waiting for?

As if there was ever anything to think about.

“Yes,” I tell him gleefully.

It hits me once, twice.

Oh my god, he’s asked me to marry him.

Oh my god, I’m going to marry my lover, my best friend, the man of my dreams.

“Yes!” I say louder now, smiling so wide it hurts. “Yes, I will marry you Lachlan. I love you. I love you.”

He grins at me with some much joy it takes my breath away. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I tell him, shoving my ring finger toward him. “Put the damn ring on it already.”

He laughs, his eyes watering, and slips the gorgeous ring on my finger. His hands are shaking. It might just be the most adorable, most vulnerable moment and we’re sharing it among so many people.

But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s our moment.

I stare down at it on my hand. It’s so beautiful. Not because of how it looks, because it really is gorgeous, but because it came from him. Because he chose it for me when he knew he wanted me to be his wife.

I look up at my future husband and I can’t even believe it.

“I’m so lucky,” I say, beaming at him, my cheeks hot and stretched from smiling so hard.

“Aye,” he says with a sly smile. “But then again, so am I.”

The next few hours pass by in a blur. I can’t really believe what happened. Pictures are taken because obviously the local paparazzi is going to go a little bit nuts and Lachlan’s family come by to congratulate us and I can tell they knew he was going to do it. I was the only one caught unaware and boy was I caught.

Finally we manage to break free of all the hoopla and we’re on our own and heading in a cab back to the flat. We don’t speak much in the back. I just stare at my ring while he holds my hand and stares out the window. I’m still coming to terms with how surreal the day has been. First he wins the team an epic game, then he proposes to me in front of thousands. I mean…he fucking proposed! On one knee and everything.

I’m getting fucking married!

It hits me even harder once we get into the flat and I realize that this is really, truly my home now. All of the beautiful cornices and designs, everything will be my home.

More than all, he’s my home.

Always will be, wherever we are.

Emily and Lionel greet us at the door as usual, wanting attention, perhaps feeding off of our happiness, but Lachlan quickly whisks me away into the bedroom. He closes the doors behind him and peels his shirt off, displaying tattoos and abs for days. One of his latest tattoos is the word “love” across his chest.

The love is for me.

He strides across the room, grabs me, pulling me toward me and gazes at me so intensely I fear I may spontaneously combust. “I love you,” he says to me, his burning eyes roaming over my skin. “And this, us, this will be forever.”

“You promise,” I whisper.

“Always,” he says.

He kisses me long, deep. Beautiful. Our lips are sweet with love.

We fall back into bed.

And find each other again and again.

The End

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s no secret that my muse for the character of Lachlan is none other than the magnificent actor, Tom Hardy. But it’s also Mr. Hardy himself that inspired me to do more than just write a book. An advocate for adopting shelter dogs and a warrior against the unfair stigma and treatment of pit bulls, Hardy uses his fame and stature to try and help educate people on the matter. And while my own fame and stature is absolutely miniscule, especially compared to a mad genius like him, it did inspire me to speak out and do more for a cause I deeply believe in.