Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Our eyes hold, Noah’s supplicating. Mine are filled with love. Because in the end, this beautiful idiot is still the love of my life.
Always was, always will be.
“I fell in love with you on jump,” he murmurs. “I’ve never stopped loving you and I will love you till my very last breath.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath and look around. Women everywhere with lips parted, eyes damp, their hands on their throats. Torturing him any more seems cruel, and I’m done with anger and resentment. I’ve had enough of those two to last me a lifetime.
“She don’t want him, I’ll take ’im,” one drawls.
Get your own idiot, ladies. I claimed this one when I was ten.
“I have no right to ask but I’m going to anyway.” He licks his lips, worry etched in his furrowed brow. His dark lashes lift and his eyes tag mine.
It’s all there. Our past, present, and future. Everything sacred. Everything I hold dear reflected back to me with so much longing.
“Better ask quick, bud. Police are coming,” the guy next to me warns. Behind him, I spot two officers of the law talking to the flight attendants.
“Can I spend the rest of my life with you? Because I can’t do it without you. I tried––” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to curb the smile growing on my face. Seeing it, Noah adds, “If you don’t, I may have to resort to stalking again.”
“He’s kidding,” I inform our audience. Not really.
Noah’s fleeting smile is shy and vulnerable and a little bit hopeful. That’s when two sets of hands clamp down hard on his shoulders and pull his arms behind his back.
“Marry me, Maren! Please! I’m beggin’ you!” he yells while he fights the police officers hauling him away.
You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes when you die? Apparently, it happens with marriage proposals as well because that’s what happens. My entire life flashes before me, a life without Noah, and it’s a lonely and meaningless one.
“Okay,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Okay, yes. Quit carrying on. I’ll marry you.”
The crowd erupts in applause and whistles. I’m nearly blinded by all the camera flashes going off. I’m sure there’ll be video. Katya is going to have a fit over this. Meanwhile, the man soon-to-be my husband is smiling from ear to ear, pearly whites flashing while the cops drag him by his arms to the head of the plane.
“I love you!”
“I love you too!” I scream back.
Someone hands me my bag from the overhead compartment and I chase after him with the crowd cheering us on. I catch up to them at the door and cup his face, press a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Baby, I need you to bail me out of jail.”
“This better be the last time.”
Right before they yank him off the plane, he grins. It reaches his brightly shining eyes and extends so far beyond his face is wipes out everything else.
“What are you lookin’ at?” I whisper.
When you really think about it the heart is a bully, an arrogant little dictator. It tells us whom to love and we’re expected to follow its orders, no questions asked, no choice given. But sometimes, every now and then, once in awhile, the little bully gets it right.
“You, my love.”
Epilogue
Maren
“Welcome to Arthur Ashe Stadium for the US Open Women’s Singles finals. Today’s match between Serena Williams and Maren Murphy Callahan is sponsored by Prudential.”
I wish I could tell you that I won the US Open that year, the year I broke my wrist, lost my mojo, and found my way back to who I was––not only Maren Murphy, Grand Slam winner and twelfth-ranked player on the WTA. But also Bebe’s sister, Jonathan and Maryanne’s daughter, Noah’s lover and best friend, and ultimately his wife. Unfortunately, I can’t. I barely made it to the quarterfinals before getting my ass kicked up and down the court by Garcia. It was an ugly one too. I’m still butt hurt over that loss, though not entirely surprised. Making up for a decade’s worth of lost time can be distracting if you get my drift.
I wish I could tell you I won the following year, but I lost in the finals. Gutting, totally gutting.
Noah and I found a happy balance between training and working in Oklahoma from September to January and traveling for tournaments the rest of the year. It turned out to be easier than either of us had anticipated. Knox took over managing Rowdy’s, and even though Noah has said over and over that he doesn’t mind carrying my coattails I’m ready to make some changes, to start the last book of our trilogy. I’m ready to hang up the racket and go home for good.