I begin to worry Miller didn’t end up coming tonight even though last we spoke he was about to get on the plane. I expected him to come join us on the field for the celebrations, but I don’t come across him. Not even when the trophy presentation starts.
I find Noah with Jackson. “You seen Miller?” Last I heard, they were going to take the stadium seats for the game.
“Uh, yeah. He’s … somewhere. He said he’d meet us down here—he’s slow on his leg.”
There’s slow and then there’s hesitant.
Noah seems like he’s holding something back.
“What?” I ask.
“He, uh … well, it was weird. When you won, he just sat there. Everyone was screaming and going nuts. He sat there, staring at the field.”
Shit.
I glance around, hoping with all hope that he’ll appear in front of me with a wide smile.
It doesn’t happen, and I can’t spot him anywhere.
When I take to the podium to accept MVP, I glance out at the crowd, trying to find him. My speech is short, because I’m too distracted. I don’t even know if I make sense.
He never shows.
By the time we hit the locker rooms to shower and change into our suits, I’m convinced something’s happened to him. Maybe he couldn’t handle it and left.
I wonder if it was too much for him to watch the game when he knows he may not get another chance. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t deserve to be on that field while we accept the award, but he’s as much part of this team as anyone else. We might’ve lost those first two games had it not been for him, and then we wouldn’t be here at all.
But then I think about what it would be like to be in his shoes, and yeah, I can kinda see his point in not feeling worthy. It’s easy to say he should feel a certain way; it’s a whole other ball game to make him feel it.
I’m almost dressed when the door to the locker room opens, and Jackson calls out, “Miller!”
I spin, and there he is in all his hot as fuckness, but the imagery of happiness dies there when I notice how he’s still limping.
His eyes watch me and send warmth over my skin. He clears his throat for me to flick my gaze to his face and off his leg.
As soon as our eyes lock, the last few months of only talking via text and FaceTime fills the entire locker room with gut-curling tension.
“You’re here.” My voice is a mix of a worried croak and relieved breath. I want to ask him where he was, I want to go to him, but I don’t do either.
Seeing him in person like this … the pull I’ve always had toward him has never been stronger.
“What, you think I was gonna miss this?” His words are cocky, but there’s something like doubt beneath it all.
Unable to restrain myself, I step forward and take him into a hug. I know immediately that it’s a mistake. My body responds as if we’re alone. He smells like Miller—like home—and I want nothing more than to kiss him right here in this locker room. But we haven’t even begun to define what we are, and after Henderson’s comments a few weeks back, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s something that could ever happen. Not just in the locker room but in public at all.
When I pull away from Miller, Jackson’s looking at us weird, but he shakes it off.
That’s when my eyes catch on something in his hand. “Whoa, is that what I think it is?”
Jackson slips a gold band on his ring finger. “Probably not. It’s not an engagement ring.”
He tells us to follow him out into the hall, where he informs the media he’s fucking married. He and Noah ran off and got married almost three months ago and have kept it quiet.
Miller and I chase after him and his new husband, away from the cameras and reporters.
“Where was our invite, assholes?” I ask.
Jackson at least looks a little sheepish. “We didn’t tell anyone but my brother and our best friends.”
I bounce on the balls of my feet like an excitable child. “Fine, but I guess this can only mean one thing tonight.”
“Uh-oh,” Jackson says.
I elbow Miller. “See, the kid does catch on quick. Double celebrations all ’round.”
Chapter Sixteen
MILLER
“Take me drunk, I’m home.” Talon stumbles into my hotel room as I open the door for him.
“I’d love to take you drunk, but you’re not home.”
I’m not exactly the most sober either, but Talon’s completely wasted. It’s oddly cute.
Talon struggles with his suit jacket, and he spins to try to take it off. It doesn’t work. It just makes him dizzy. When he steadies himself, he holds out his hand to me.