There wasn’t even a doubt in my mind now that it would happen one day.
“What’s on your mind, mi amor?” he asked, his words low and sultry in my ear.
“Forever,” I answered softly.
Leo pulled back on a smile. “With me?”
“And Palico.”
“Of course,” he said, but his smile leveled out as his eyes searched mine. “I can see it.”
“Me, too.”
“What do you think,” he asked, nodding to the grand scene around us, the garden lush with plants and flowers and trees, the lights golden, the band more expensive than our mortgage. “You want something like this, too?”
I let out a long breath, considering. “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe, just you and me and a quiet beach somewhere far away.”
“An elopement?” Leo asked, surprised. Then, after consideration, he nodded. “I could get down with that.”
“Yeah?”
“Hell yeah. But,” he said immediately. “You know there’s no way we can get away without having my mom there.”
I laughed. “Would never dream of it.”
“But you do want to get married?” he asked, almost tentatively.
“I do.”
“And kids?”
“Um…” I cringed. “Maybe we could be the cool aunt and uncle?”
“Oh, come on, Stig,” Leo said on a low, throaty laugh, his lips pressing against the soft skin under my ear. His next words were whispered just below it, sparking chills down my legs. “Let me put a baby in you.”
“Not tonight,” I said, pressing a hand against his chest. “We have a fur baby, and a shop to open.”
“Fair,” he conceded. “But one day…”
“Maybe,” I said, holding up a threatening finger. Leo grabbed it and kissed it, and my ovaries tightened like little traitors at the touch.
The music picked back up after that, and we rushed to join our friends in the center of the dance floor. We partied until well after midnight, Julep’s dad paying the band and the event staff to stay later so we didn’t have to stop. It wasn’t until almost two in the morning that we finally gathered our belongings, the girls holding our heels in our hands as we walked barefoot out of the garden.
Holden and Julep left the venue under a parade of sparklers, ducking into a vintage car that took them to their honeymoon suite at the hotel. They were leaving for their honeymoon in the morning — two weeks traipsing through Europe.
Once they were gone, we all took the shuttle back to the hotel, hugging each of our former roommates when we were back in the lobby. We made them promise to come see us before the season got under way, and Kyle booked his flight right then and there to prove he would.
Riley and Giana tackled me next while Leo said his goodbyes to Zeke and Clay, more tears being shed before Leo and I rode the elevator up to our own room. It was so quiet compared to the wedding that my ears rang as we undressed, and then Leo ran a hot bath in the massive marble tub, both of us easing into the sudsy water with heavy sighs.
We got more dirty than clean in that tub, eventually toweling off and moving to the bed. With all the emotion of the night still clinging to us, we made love until dawn, not stopping to sleep until the sun started slipping through the curtains of our room.
When we finally did curl up in the sheets, Leo spooning me from behind, I inhaled a long, sweet breath before letting it out as I cuddled closer to him. I’d never felt such joy and happiness for people I loved before. I smiled wider with each passing thought — Braden and Kyle playing together for the Seahawks, Blake staying another year as quarterback to lead NBU, Riley and Zeke starting their coalition, Holden and Julep starting their marriage, Clay and Giana starting a family.
My heart was so full, I thought it’d burst.
And when I rolled over, pressing my forehead to Leo’s and feeling his warmth radiating over me, the most blissful peace enveloped me like a blanket. A laugh bubbled out of me as I realized the most hilarious, beautiful truth.
I had everything I’d ever wanted.
All because I begged my parents to buy me Halo.
The End
Thank you for reading Hail Mary, and the entire Red Zone Rivals series. As a special token of my gratitude, I’ve written a bonus scene with your favorite couple – Clay & Giana. Read it here.
As bittersweet as it is for this series to come to an end, I’m so excited for what’s next…
A pro hockey romance series of interconnected standalones.
Football is my number one love, but hockey is a close second, and I’m over the moon to write some tropes I’ve been longing to write for years. Get ready for single dad, fake fiancé, teammate’s little sister, and more.
Pre-order book one here, coming summer 2023!
While you wait, get swept away in my small town romance series featuring four brothers finding love and solving the mystery of their father’s death. Keep reading for a sneak peek inside book one, On the Rocks!
Noah
When you hear the word Tennessee, what do you think of?
Maybe your first thought is country music. Maybe you can even see those bright lights of Nashville, hear the different bands as their sounds pour out of the bars and mingle in a symphony in the streets. Maybe you think of Elvis, of Graceland, of Dollywood and countless other musical landmarks. Maybe you feel the prestige of the Grand Ole Opry, or the wonder of the Country Music Hall of Fame. Maybe you feel the history radiating off Beale Street in Memphis.
Or maybe you think of the Great Smoky Mountains, of fresh air and hiking, of majestic sights and long weekends in cabins. Maybe you can close your eyes and see the tips of those mountains capped in white, can hear the call of the Tennessee Warbler, can smell the fresh pine and oak.
Maybe, when you think of Tennessee, all of this and more comes to mind.
But for me, it only conjured up one, two-syllable word.
Whiskey.
I saw the amber liquid gold every time I closed my eyes. I smelled its oaky finish with each breath I took. My taste buds were trained at a young age to detect every slight note within the bottle, and my heart was trained to love whiskey long before it ever learned how to love a woman.
Tennessee whiskey was a part of me. It was in my blood. I was born and raised on it, and at twenty-eight, it was no surprise to me that I was now part of the team that bred and raised the most famous Tennessee whiskey in the world.
It was always in the cards for me. And it was all I ever wanted.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Until the day Ruby Grace came back into town.
My ears were plugged with bright, neon orange sponges, but I could still hear Chris Stapleton’s raspy voice crooning behind the loud clamor of machines. I wiped sweat from my brow as I clamped the metal ring down on another whiskey barrel, sending it on down the line before beginning on the next one. Summer was just weeks away, and the distillery swelled with the Tennessee heat.
Being a barrel raiser at the Scooter Whiskey Distillery was a privilege. There were only four of us, a close-knit team, and we were paid well for doing a job they hadn’t figured out how to train machines to do yet. Each barrel was hand-crafted, and I raised hundreds of them every single day. Our barrels were part of what made our whiskey so recognizable, part of what made our process so unique, and part of what made Scooter a household name.