Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,201

making me stop and listen, telling me they mated for life. It’s like life’s been giving me every signal it can, all along the way, and I’ve been refusing to read them. Baby—I’m reading them now. I know what I want, and it’s you.”

He still couldn’t tell, because there were a few tears rolling down her cheeks, and the hand in his was shaking. He said, “You haven’t run away this time, and you haven’t told me we’ll talk about it later, so I’m hoping those tears are a good sign. I love you, and all I want in this world right now is my ring on your finger. I want to grow some babies and some flowers here with you, and watch the rosebushes and the kids get taller. And I sure do wish you’d say something, because I’m real nervous here.”

“It’s … it’s my house,” she said. “Our house.”

He stared at her. “What? Of course it is. What did you think?”

“I thought …” Her hand was shaking like crazy now. “I thought you were just … asking for my opinion. Because I’m … good at this stuff. At details. You haven’t said anything, and I … I …”

She couldn’t go on, and he couldn’t stay down here when she was crying, could he? He stood up, took her in his arms, and said, “Hey, now. Hey. It’s OK. We’ve got this.” He pulled her into his shoulder and tried to laugh. “Last time I said it, you didn’t seem to think I meant it. So I thought—maybe if I buy you a house. A family house. Maybe you’d believe me then.”

She was standing back, wiping at her eyes, trying to smile. “Sorry. I just—I’m surprised, that’s all. This is why Grandpa, and, uh … everybody. Why you got everybody here.”

“I thought, because I embarrassed you before,” he said, “that I could make it right.”

“Then,” she said, still going for that smile, even though it was wobbly, “could you show me the ring again? I have a feeling it’s nice.”

He laughed out loud, and so did everybody else. The kind of laugh when the awkward part’s over, and the good part starts. He said, “It’s pretty nice, yeah. I remembered how you don’t like fussy things, so I made it simple.”

A round stone, two carats of flash set into an elegant, sleek platinum band. No sharpness to any of it, and nothing aggressive about it. Nothing but rounded curves, all of it looking like the light shining in the right woman’s eyes, glowing with the warmth of her love. A love that was strong enough to set you straight when you were wrong, and to hold you up when you were weak.

And a promise strong enough that she could let herself fall and believe you would catch her. Every single time.

She said, “It’s so beautiful. And I love you, too. I love you so much. I can’t … Could you put it on me?”

“Is that a yes? This is forever, you know. I want to make sure.”

“Yes.” She laughed, even though she was crying. “Yes. Oh, Harlan. That’s a yes.”

64

Clutch Play

Harlan stood in the tunnel on an October Sunday, focused on his breathing, and got his head right.

It didn’t matter that they were playing the Patriots, in the rematch of the game where he’d come up short on that Hail Mary. It didn’t matter that the Devils were four and one so far, because records didn’t win games. It didn’t even matter right now that Jennifer was due in two weeks, and that his announcement that he was taking a week off after the baby had been met with scorn and disbelief and chatter about his entitlement, especially since they were playing the Chiefs on the first weekend in November, and that was going to be a tough one.

“If the Devils lose and that loss knocks them out of the playoffs,” one NFL analyst had warned, “he’s going to be blamed for it, and not just outside the team. It’s team first. That’s what he’s paid for, and that’s the way it has to be.” Since Major League Baseball was still the only league that offered paternity leave, and every player knew it.

He knew what everybody had said, because Annabelle had told him. Looking worried about it. She’d said, “What if they cut you, or you lose your starting position?”

He’d said, “Hey, now, Bug. You know somebody’s always saying something. Everybody’s always saying something. I can’t worry about that.