The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(103)

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asks simply. “For you.”

“But . . . but you have the combine today.” I toe the ground, unable to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

“And were you going to watch me compete in the combine?”

“Yes.” I nibble on the inside of my cheek. “I sent you a text wishing you luck.”

“Is that right?” he asks, so casual, as if we haven’t been through a tumultuous ride when it comes to us. As if the last month hasn’t consisted of me pushing him away every chance I’ve had.

“Yes.” Nerves prick at the back of my neck and I twist my hands together, unsure what to do in this moment, other than blurt out what’s been on my mind. I look up at him, his solid brown eyes connect with my mine, and I feel my stomach bottom out as I open my mouth and say, “I . . . I want to be with you.”

His smirk turns into a full-on grin as he shifts and sticks his hands in his jean pockets. “Oh yeah?”

I nod. “I do. I would like to be with you. In a relationship capacity.”

“And how did you come to that conclusion? Last I remember, you had nothing else to say to me.”

Guilt washes over me.

That’s exactly why I’m confused as to why he’s here. “It was wrong to take my hopelessness out on you.” I twist my hands together. When he doesn’t say anything, I keep going. “It’s taken some personal reflection to realize that I don’t need a physical place to call home, but rather, I can find home in other places.”

“Like where?”

“Like . . . your arms,” I say, my stomach dropping as I confess my feelings.

He slowly nods. “So, if I were to say, ‘I love you, Hazel,’ what would you say in response?”

My eyes connect with his, and for the first time since I made this decision, I can one hundred percent guarantee it was the right decision.

I take a step forward, closing the distance until there’s only a foot of space separating us, rather than the thousands of miles that I thought kept us apart only a few minutes ago.

“If you were to say you love me, right now”—I swallow hard, keeping my gaze on him—“I would say, ‘I love you, Crew. Very much. Always have. Always will.’” I take another step, and I cautiously take his hand in mine and link our fingers together. “And then I would tell you that if you’d still have me, I’d love spending my life following you around, wherever this crazy world might take you.”

His eyebrows slowly shoot up. “You’d give up the farm?”

I nod. “Easily. If it meant I got to be with you, then I’d step aside.” I take his other hand and love the feel of his strong thumbs running over the backs of my knuckles in a gesture of comfort. “This last month has been miserable without you, Crew. For a second, I associated my feelings of despair with losing the farm, but I realized that’s nothing compared to the pain I was feeling of not having you in my life again. A wise man once wrote me a letter and said not everything is black and white, and sometimes I need to love in the gray.” I squeeze his hand. “This won’t be easy, but I know life would be so much harder without you. I love you, Crew, with everything in me. You were meant to be my person, and I really hope you still want to be with me.”

I feel the hope pleading in my eyes as I stare up at him.

And when he smiles, the unease in my chest starts to fade away.

When his hand releases mine and cups my cheek instead, my heart beats faster.

When he pulls me in closer and dips his mouth to mine, my soul feels at peace.

Slowly, his lips caress mine, a gentle kiss, a reminder of the connection we share. His hand slides behind my neck, cupping me gently, tenderly, as if he holds me too hard, I might vanish. Little does he know, he’s branding me, making me his. No one will ever replace this man in my life, no one has ever come close, and I’m going to spend my life making sure I show him just how much he means to me. How much I love him. How much I need him, and only him, to be happy. Nothing else.

He smiles against my lips and pulls away softly. Foreheads connected, he says, “I love you so fucking much, Haze.”

“I love you, Crew.”

He pulls me into a hug and I rest my cheek on his chest, holding on tightly, not wanting this moment to—wait. I pull away just enough to look up at him.

“Why aren’t you at the combine?”

He chuckles. “That’s what I came here to tell you, but then you started talking and were on a roll, so I let you go first.” He tips my chin up and says, “I contacted Mr. Earnshaw yesterday after talking with my parents and Uncle Paul. I’m staying here, on the farm.”

“What?” I ask, my pulse skyrocketing as I take a step back. “You’re . . . you’re staying?”

He nods. “It took me a hot minute to figure it out, but I also received some words of wisdom in the form of a letter and realized that I was living out expectations, I wasn’t living out my passion.” He reaches out and cups my cheek. “Football was expected of me, but you, Haze, you’re my fucking passion, and I would do anything to hold on to that.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His smile is from ear to ear. “Are you comfortable being business partners with me? Running this farm? Dating? Possibly living out a happily ever after under the oak tree?”