BRAGGING RIGHTS
Gillian: Three Years Later
THE AIR FELT electrically charged. It was hard to believe that in a matter of minutes the eyes of over a million Americans would be watching what happened in this stadium in the Windy City.
And they would be focusing on Lucas, my father, the entire team, as well as the opposing team.
Lucas had dreamed of this his entire life, even if there were times he refused to admit it, and the time had come.
This was his house.
His time.
And it was more than deserved.
“Did you see this picture?” Drake asked, jolting me out of my heartfelt reflection.
I took his phone from his hand and rolled my eyes when I glanced at the screen. It was a picture of Lucas attached to a resistance band being held by Dallas as they walked the perimeter of the stadium.
Lucas wasn’t a fancy dog—he was just getting a workout for goodness sake.
The photo that was snapped by the press just hours ago had already gone viral. I had to admit though as I glanced down at it again, he did look like was he being taken for a walk.
The chuckle I let out couldn’t be helped.
All of a sudden Lucas started marching his team down the field, and when he looked at me, he narrowed his eyes.
How on earth did he know I was making fun of him?
All I could do was stand on the sidelines with my heart racing, and mouth “Good luck.”
Just as the music for the National Anthem started piping through the stadium, I handed Drake his phone and placed my hand over my heart.
This was the Super Bowl. And the Bears had finally made it all the way.
All. The. Way. As my father had said about five thousand times over the past five days.
Lucas had an amazing season—the most touchdowns, the most passing yards, and the fewest interceptions.
He would be named MVP, for certain.
The coin was tossed, and we won, which meant Lucas was up. He always preferred it that way, being first.
Imagine that.
The first quarter passed in the blink of an eye. We were ahead by 7. The second quarter ended and we were up 24–14. The third quarter was over with no additional points scored. And the fourth quarter went by in a flash. Amidst all the scoring by both teams, we were still up.
With a mere forty-five seconds left, all that remained was for us to run the clock out. Lucas broke the huddle and followed the center to the line of scrimmage.
What was he doing?
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. This game was so close, and at 34–28, anything could happen.
Then I heard it.
The whistle.
The applause.
The roar of the crowd.
The game was over.
We’d won.
Won!
I opened my eyes and listened to all the cheering. Scanning the field, I found Lucas on his knees. The tears that fell from my eyes couldn’t be withheld. This was his moment, and he deserved it.
My gaze quickly shifted to my father, who was headed to the field toward Lucas. I started crying even harder when he brought him to his feet. This was his moment too, and he too deserved it.
I stood with my hands over my mouth to try to quiet my sobs.
Orange and blue confetti came raining down as the men in my life embraced each other right there on the field.
I blinked in surprise when a spotlight bounced overhead and then directly landed on me, illuminating me to the crowd of cheering of fans.
What the what?
The announcer’s crisp, clean voice came over the speakers. “Miss Whitney,” he boomed, “Lucas Carrington would like you to join him on the field.”
My mouth gaped open and heat shot to my cheeks. And then the entire stadium quieted, and I found myself shaking.
What was going on?
Aiden strode over and nudged me. “You better get moving.”
I glared at him.
“Now,” he grinned.
Somehow I found myself walking on shaky legs toward Lucas and my father.
As soon as I had gotten about five feet away, Lucas removed his helmet and tossed it to the ground. Our gazes locked, and with his blue-eyed stare fixed on me, I put one foot in front of the other. When I reached him, I felt like I couldn’t feel my legs. I was that nervous.
“I was wrong,” my father whispered when I was close enough.
I gave him a confused look.
“A guy can play ball and have a life.”
I blinked at him. But then the spotlight found the three of us, and as soon as it did, I saw my father slip Lucas a small velvet box.
Once it was in Lucas’s big palm, he dropped down onto one knee.
This couldn’t be happening!
I felt like I was in a dream.
The lights.
The confetti.
The cheers.
There was no way this was real.
He looked up at me and smiled, slow and sexy, his eyes knowing. I gave him a tender smile, but my pulse was racing.
Around us, flashes went off and people yelled. There was cheering from the fans and sneering from the women who didn’t want him off the market. Didn’t they realize he had been for a very long time? It didn’t matter.
I knew he was mine.
The crowd applauded as he opened the box. “I love you, Gillian Whitney. Will you marry me?” he asked in a husky voice.
I shut out the noise all around us and I dropped to my knees in front of him. I stared at the gorgeous diamond ring in awe. It sparkled and caught the lights from above, dazzling me with its brilliance, the same way Lucas had the first time I saw him on the field.
Leaning forward, I cupped his face in my hands. “Yes, Lucas, I’ll marry you,” I breathed, my voice shaky and filled with emotion.
That easy smile spread across his lips as he slipped the glittering diamond onto my ring finger.
The crowd erupted all around us, but the only person I was looking at was him. I wasn’t expecting this. We hadn’t talked about marriage. But sometimes unexpected, was best.
Lucas pulled me into his embrace, his mouth hard and fierce over mine. I clung to this Super Bowl champion just as fiercely.
Our journey was far from over, but we had been gifted with the greatest page turning script in life . . . each other.
And we were going to give that gift the most perfect ending . . . together.