One Look: A grumpy, single dad small town romance(86)

38





LARK





Three Months Later


We were down twenty-four to twenty as the final quarter was coming to a close. My palms were sweaty and I felt sick. MMU really needed the win.

“He’s definitely getting fired after this one.” Penny shrugged and shook her head.

“Penny! C’mon. Positive thoughts!” I clamped my teeth together. Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts.

I looked out onto the field from the family-box suite and into the packed stadium that held dueling fans in their schools’ colors. It was Saturday, and just like the ones that came before it, we were here and ready to cheer for our team.

Once the season had started, I’d learned pretty quickly that the most valuable commodity was time. It felt like Wyatt was always being pulled in a thousand different directions, but not once did he ever make our time feel less important. In fact, he’d set some boundaries with the board of directors, and when Wyatt said it was “family time,” he meant it.

Sure, our definition of family had also expanded.

There was a gravitational pull to being part of a community, part of a family. We’d emptied ourselves into being a part of the team and the players’ lives.

Joey, Kevin, and Michael would always be a little more special. I watched with pride as the hulking frame of number twenty-three turned toward the box and thumped on his chest.

Kevin.

Penny and I stood and screamed for him. It was something he’d started at the first game—a show of love and appreciation—and it nearly made me cry every single time.

The team taught me that I needed them as much as they needed me, maybe even more. The players knew that Wyatt’s door was always open, and we would be there for them if they ever needed anything. Attending a university in rural Michigan meant that many were away from home, missing holidays and birthdays with their families. We did what we could to fill in the gaps.

Being a part of a huge extended family also meant you shared their burdens. When you won, you rode that high together, but if we lost, that shame and burden followed us.

My hands clamped together. The nerves were something that never seemed to get any easier.

When a player on the opposing team got past one of our linemen, Penny stood from her seat and cupped her hands like a megaphone. “Come on, Fitzy! Get the molasses out of your cleats!”

I threw my head back and laughed. Penny loved the game and was nearly as passionate about it as her dad.

My eyes found Wyatt. He was standing on the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest and a deep line in his brow.

God, my boyfriend is hot.

A sexy little thrill raced through me as I recalled all the dirty, delicious things we’d done the night before. I’d teased him and called it his pregame ritual and loved that only I was privy to the unleashed and thoroughly masculine side of Wyatt Sullivan.

My teeth sank into my lip. My stare flickered between the game and the timer.

My eyes clamped closed as I threw up a silent prayer to the universe.

Penny launched herself into the chair with a huff and tugged my shirt. We hadn’t done it. With only seconds to go, our quarterback had been sacked, and with it our chances of pulling off a win had been sacked too.

I swallowed hard. A loss was difficult for all of us, and I was sure I’d hear rumblings around town about how Wyatt and the team sucked. Petty words most likely drummed up by the Kings and the stupid town rivalry.

I looked down onto the field with pride. Win or lose, we were still in it together.

Wyatt searched for me, as he always did, pulling the headphones off and lifting his chin. The subtle, silent action always sent melty warmth spreading through me.

No matter what happened on the field, Wyatt always searched for me.

After the game and press conference, we made our way back to Outtatowner.

Penny had fallen asleep in the back seat, and I hummed along to the radio while Wyatt fielded calls and recounted the game to a few reporters.

Once we got home, however, work was done. It was one of the many things Wyatt did to ensure our time together was sacred. He worked hard to leave the game on the field and his home focused on his family. On us.

Wyatt caught me staring. “What?”

I smiled at him. “You love me?”

A smile crossed his face as he continued down the dark country roads toward our small town. “Of course I love you.” He lifted my hand to kiss my knuckles. “I’ve been working my ass off to show you in every love language possible.”

An album of memories flipped through my mind. The wildflowers, time with his friends and family, the picnic, sweet daily texts, his words, his touch. Wyatt had found a way to show me his feelings in every single love language.

Turns out quality time was the love language we both craved. That and the filthy words of affirmation he came up with when I was pinned beneath him weren’t bad either.

After Wyatt carried the snoring Penny to her room, he walked into the kitchen. I turned and smiled at him. So much had fallen into place in the last few months that it was hard to believe sometimes. I still technically had the apartment above the barn, but I hadn’t used it at all in months.

In the soft glow of the kitchen light, Wyatt’s gaze darkened on me, and my pulse ratcheted higher. He reached behind him and pulled at the collar of his polo to bring it over his head.