Page 53 of Sweet Oblivion

Next season . . .

Being a football fan isn’t new. Growing up in a bar, I’ve seen my share of games. I’ve even seen a few in this suite. Lexie and I made our way back down to Ashton and Kaleigh before the national anthem. But my heart has never threatened to beat out of my chest before the way it is now. Today, as the players jog onto the field to line up and the crowd absolutely erupts, I realize I’m standing, cheering, my heart thudding wildly in my chest... Because out there, on that field, is the man who saved my life. The one I’m going to marry. The one who, if I’m really honest with myself, has become a tiny little bright spot in my life.

Even if he’s not so tiny.

Not even a little.

He looks like a giant down there.

Helmet on. Muscles stretching his jersey.

Focused. Dangerous. Untouchable.

And somehow mine.

My fingers curl around the railing. The ring catches on the stadium lights, blinding and brilliant and so real.

“Holy shit, Laney,” Kaleigh cheers beside me. “That’s your fiancé down there.”

“Yeah,” I swallow. “It is.”

And like he knows, I swear Ryker glances up and looks right at me.

Across the field and the chaos, the noise fades, and the world narrows until it’s just him.

Just us.

Just for a moment.

Frozen, only we’re not. The world is still spinning. The game starts, and I suck in a breath with Ryker’s very first hit, and I’m not sure when I finally exhale.

Every play feels like it’s happening inside my chest instead of on the field.

Every hit.

Every tackle.

Every run.

He’s amazing.

“Sit,” Ashton says for the millionth time by the end of the fourth quarter, tugging me back down into the suite chair. The nervous energy feels too much to handle. I swear I don’t know how she and Lexie do this each week.

“I am sitting,” I snap, already halfway back up when Ryker tackles Buffalo’s receiver. Because I can’t not watch. Can’t not track him. Watching as he moves like he owns the field. Like he was made for this. Nothing can touch him. Not today anyway.

I know the game is made up of four fifteen-minute quarters, but, honest to God, I think those four quarters just took four damn years off my life. The stadium erupts when the time ticks down, and the Kings quarterback takes a knee to end the game.

Everyone around me explodes.

Cheering. Screaming. Hugging.

And I’m just . . . still.

Because with his helmet in hand, Ryker Beneventi is looking up at me.

Again.

Ryker