The Way We Touch: or Wrangling the Wide Receiver (The Bradford Boys)

Two months later…

Neon lights shine through the theater in the Manhattan Center in Midtown. A crowd of celebrities has turned out for the annual league honors, and I cover Dylan’s small hand with mine as we sit together in the balcony.

She’s beautiful in a red strapless dress that hugs her curves and hangs in a flowing skirt to her muscular calves. I’m so glad she finally agreed to come with me, even if it was pretty last minute.

Garrett called and insisted we attend, even though I’m completely out of the running. He guaranteed me I wouldn’t have to watch Ricky win the MVP trophy, and he threw in a carrot for Dylan—their brother Hendrix is also here.

Once she agreed to come, I gave in and said yes. The carrot for me was being able to stay in my apartment with all the privacy features I installed after our last encounter with the gossip sites.

Now we’re in our seats watching highlight reels and listening as award after award is announced.

Lifetime achievement winners are assigned along with the Man of the Year award, whatever that means.

I slide my palm down the front of my charcoal-gray Armani suit. The ring Dylan gave me at Christmas never leaves my finger, and her sparkling engagement ring is on hers.

The second TMI article put an end to all the bad-mouthing and dragging her reputation. Once the list of everything she’s overcome and achieved became public, followed by how faithfully she stood by me during my recovery, anyone who dares to dunk on her comes off looking like the biggest asshole in the business.

Word of how we handled Krall in the parking lot also trickled through the media. It was all speculation, of course, since nothing could be verified on tape or video.

We have never addressed the rumors, but after the guy who cut my record-setting run short with an illegal tackle was found with his clock cleaned in the parking lot of the Bradford family restaurant, they put two and two together.

“How much longer?” I shift in my seat, clapping when a friend from another team wins the Comeback Player of the Year award.

“Too long,” Hendrix quips from where he sits on Dylan’s other side.

His date is an actress from LA, but Dylan is so excited to see her brother. She holds his hand and leans her head on his shoulder, and it’s one of the few saving graces of the night.

Hendrix is a cocky little shit, but he still has that Bradford heart—even if he tries to hide it behind a mask of celebrity. He’s wearing a sharkskin suit, and he has his championship ring on his finger. I’m surprised he didn’t roll up in his tricked-out Range Rover, but he used a car service like the rest of us.

Then the stage explodes with neon lights, and a new video begins. Shifting in my seat, a surge of nerves hits me when I realize they’re playing my highlight reel from the past season.

“He set record after record until he was unfairly taken down at the pinnacle of his success,” the narrator says, and they show that fucking replay of the hip-drop tackle.

Even though my knee is fully healed, Dylan’s eyes are fixed on her hands in her lap, which tremble as she moves her diamond ring around on her finger.

Reaching over, I cover her hand with mine, and when she looks up at me, I lean over to kiss her forehead. “We made it, babe. Don’t be afraid.”

She nods, and I’ve already made my decision. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to tell her.

The video ends, and a comedian I like walks to the microphone to announce the offensive player of the year award.

He hesitates, then says my name, and the entire place erupts with applause and cheers. Everyone is on their feet, and Garrett stands beside me, clapping.

I look up at him with a wry smile. “You could’ve warned me, bro.”

I grasp his elbow, and he pulls me in for a hug. “Why would I ruin the surprise?”

Turning back, I catch Dylan’s hand and give her a kiss before heading down to the stage, passing players I’ve encountered on and off the field all wishing me well.

Ricky stops me on the floor, catching my hand in a firm shake. “I’m ready to take you on again next year!”

I nod, not stopping as I hustle up the steps on my fully healed knee to the man holding my trophy. He passes it over and congratulates me, then steps aside for me to take the mic.

It takes a bit for the applause to die down, and as it does, I try to pull together something of a speech in my mind. I start by thanking my coaches and my fellow teammates. I thank the league and the other players who’ve sent encouragement.

“This is a big surprise.” I scratch my forehead with my thumb. “I guess I have to thank Garrett for getting my ass here or I’d have missed it.”

That elicits modest laughter, and I wait.

“Finally, I’d like to thank my fiancée Dylan Bradford for standing by me through all of this, even though she insisted she only dated golfers…” More modest laughter. “I somehow managed to change her mind, and I want to thank her for her bravery and her unflinching support through the hardest times.”

Clearing my throat, I look up to see she’s on the big screen smiling and tapping tears out of her pretty amber eyes. Warmth surges in my chest, and I realize the time is now.

“I hadn’t planned to announce this yet, but after my accomplishments this year, I’ve decided to make it my last. I’m retiring from the league at the end of this season.” A collective gasp sweeps the crowd, but I don’t stop. “I’ve had a great run. I’ve made some great friends, and now it’s time to move on to my next great adventure. Thank you so much for this, and I’ll see you soon.”

I hold up my hand, waving at the crowd, who are on their feet again clapping. Ricky is frowning at me, but when I look out and see Dylan’s smiling face, I know I’ve made the right decision for us.

“You said I didn’t warn you. You could’ve warned me!” Garrett’s voice is loud over the noise of the bar.

“You?” Dylan pushes his arm. “He didn’t even tell me!”

“I thought you were going to win the MVP before you retired,” Garrett complains.

“That actually wasn’t my idea.” I lean back, taking a sip of my whiskey. “I realized it was what my dad said I should do, and again, I was busting my ass hoping to hear him say he was proud of me.”

“I’m sorry.” Dylan’s bottom lip pouts, and I lean forward to kiss her.

“It’s okay, babe. I decided to stop living my life to please him when I met you.”

“But are you sure you’re ready to retire?” Her brow wrinkles.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything—except you.” I pull her to me. “It’s given me a whole new perspective, then Miss Gina took it a step further.”

A smile curls her lips. “Then it’s a good thing. Miss Gina always knows.”

“She does.” I nod, leaning down to kiss her and thinking about our future.

Flying back to Newhope after the ceremony, Dylan curls up beside me on the small sofa. Her head is on my shoulder, and she takes my large hand in hers, sliding the leather ring around my finger.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win the MVP award.” Leaning her head back, she looks up at me. “It sounds corny, but you’ll always be my MVP.”

Smiling, I kiss her lips slowly, tracing my tongue along hers. She tastes like wine and chocolate, and she smells like lavender and vanilla. She fits perfectly in my arms, and every part of my being is satisfied.

“It’s not corny.” My voice is warm. “It’s what I want to be.”

She blinks a few times, her soft brow furrowing. “I hope you didn’t retire just for me, although I’m glad you did.”

Tightening my arm around her shoulder, I hug her closer. “I did it for us. I’ve achieved everything I wanted. I set records that will stand for a while, and I was recognized for it.” I glance at the trophy lying on the seat. “I didn’t want to take the risk of another bad tackle, and I didn’t want to go another season separated from you like we did last year. I chose you, but I also chose us.”

By May, Dylan wraps up her first year of teaching. Mia got invitations from her top three ballet programs, including the American Ballet Theatre in New York. At her graduation, she made a special speech, where she thanked my girl for helping her get there, for being an inspiration, and for showing her what it means to be strong.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Walking through the house before heading to the restaurant, where everyone’s preparing for another wild Dare night, I take a minute to call my dad.

“This is unexpected.” His low voice is surprised, and I hear his hesitation.

By contrast, I’m fully confident in what I’m about to say.

“I’d like to start by apologizing for not being ready to forgive you at the hospital last year. Thank you for being worried about me and for making the effort to extend an olive branch.”

“Okay…” He takes a breath. “Apology accepted. And congratulations on winning player of the year.”

“Thanks.” This is feeling better already, and with a smile, I say a silent thank-you to Miss Gina for insisting it’s never too late to forgive.

“I’d like to work with you, Dad—just not in the way you described. There’s an old radio station here, and I just closed on the paperwork to purchase it.”

“You did?” More surprise.

“It’s a good station with a strong AM signal. I’d like to affiliate with your network and use it to broadcast interviews with local sports heroes and celebrities in the region. We could do some sports talk and basically see where it goes.”

He doesn’t answer, so I finish. “I think it’s a good idea. Don’t you?”

“You’re certainly qualified.” Hearing him say that, after how long he dismissed my degree, goes a long way to erase the bitterness in my chest.

“I’ll write up my proposal and send it to you.”

“I look forward to reading it.”

We disconnect, and I nod. It’s the first step in our next great adventure, but first, I have to get down to the restaurant and see what my girl is cooking up for her masochistic, fire-eating fans.

A cheer rises from the group the closer I get, and I hustle the rest of the way. When I open the door, I’m confused to see Craig standing in the center of the room holding the mic like he was caught mid-announcement.

His cheeks are bright pink, and an embarrassed smile is on his face. He covers his eyes with his hand, and a guy I don’t recognize pulls him into a big hug before planting a big, sloppy kiss right on his mouth.

“Whoa!” I shout, laughing and clapping along with the entire room.

Allie grabs the mic from Craig’s hand. “I’m not sure if tonight’s recipe will top that on the Scoville scale, but we’ll see!”

Dylan stands in the doorway to the kitchen with her hands on her cheeks, and she’s smiling as well, her eyes misty.

I hustle over to her, pulling her close. “What the heck did I miss?”

“Closeted Clint just professed his love for Craig in front of God and everybody! Isn’t it wonderful?” She throws her arms around my neck, and I lift her off her feet.

“Absolutely, and you’re going to have to catch me up. Who’s Closeted Clint?”

“He’s going to be the florist for our wedding!” She kisses my lips. “Now help me bring out the rest of these fried habanero poppers.”

Allie announces the usual warning, and as soon as she’s done, the PA system starts blasting “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer.

It’s an oldie but a goodie, and as the girls dance on the bar, my beautiful fiancée kicks off her flip-flops and hops up there with them.

Her eyes are on mine as she rotates her hips, and her long hair dances in waves around her shoulders. Her red toenails taunt me, and my fingers curl when she shakes her cute little round ass in those cutoff blue jeans.

I’m the luckiest guy in the world getting to spend the rest of my life with her. She’s barefoot and beautiful, a little piece of spicy-pepper heaven. She’s dangerous and everything I’ll ever need, and together, we’re the family I’ve been searching for my whole life.