46. Chapter 46

Flashes of lights gleam around me. I did it. Three years ago, I was walking across a stage in Kansas City, shaking hands with the Commissioner of the NFL, and today, today another dream comes true.

Standing at the fifty-yard line, my body slowly turns in a circle. Seats are beginning to fill. The atmosphere is palpable. Black and blue jerseys are scattered throughout the stands. My number is plastered across people's chests.

I made it.

I made it to the Super Bowl. Not only am I playing in one of football's biggest games, but I'm hoping to join a class of some of the best players. And if I have anything to say about it, today I'm becoming a Super Bowl Champion.

It's been a trying couple of years. My rookie year was tough. The NFL is no joke. There was quite an adjustment period. Practices that seemed endless as we worked out new plays. Strength and weight training that pushed my body to the limits. Working with a nutritionist to develop and maintain strict diets. Endless meetings with the media, upper management, the team, and sponsors.

Then when you think you're done, there would be mandatory events from PR. Of course, the events were for charities, and I didn't mind attending, but there were nights when I just wanted to go home to relax and mend my pained body.

On top of everything, there's navigating Colorado's atmosphere which is severely different from Texas. So many times I thought I was going to pass out on the field as my lungs adjusted to the thinner air. Not only was there an adjustment period for my body and the game I love, but I had to do it alone.

A part of my goddamn soul was missing. It was crushing. Some days felt impossible to get out of bed. I was beaten, broken, and alone. No one tells you about the isolation. About self-doubt. The fleeting feelings of inadequacy.

But then, on my hardest days, the days I question everything, her name would flash on my screen.

My Wilder.

Her voice always calms me immediately. A year apart while she finished her degree felt impossible. She is truly my best friend, and I didn't realize at the time how much I relied on her. How seeing her smile would change my entire day. How having her wrap her arms around me would make me feel whole. But it was only a year. A year we could do while she finished her degree.

Even when she wasn't with me, knowing she was mine made things easier. Knowing that she was walking around CTU with my ring on her finger. It felt primal. It felt like I was beating my chest, even hundreds of miles away, telling every guy on campus that Brynn Wilder—Brynn Boyd—was mine. Marrying Brynn in Kansas City was the best decision I have ever made.

A few weeks prior to the draft, this all-consuming feeling swept over me. and I knew that KC was going to be the right time. She was asleep in my bed, wrapped in my sheets, and I couldn't take my eyes off how peaceful she looked. With the families we both of us came from, I knew it was always going to be Brynn and me against the world. Her eyes fluttered open, surprise crossing her face as she found me staring at her.

"Hi baby," escaped her lips in a whisper, a slow smile spreading across her kissed-swollen lips, her hair a mess from being fucked into exhaustion, and she never looked so beautiful.

Once she dozed back off, I reached for my phone, finding Eliza's number. Quickly, before Brynn woke back up, I typed out my plan for Kansas City. My agent thought I was crazy, but she arranged everything.

In the last three years, we've navigated long-distance marriage, adjusted to marriage in the same state, and learned how to handle a marriage where I'm on the road for half the season. It's been a challenge, but life with Brynn wouldn't be any other way. A lot of healing has occurred over the last three years too. Brynn and her mom have been working on their relationship. Carolyn and Brynn see each other a few times a year, both taking turns flying to see each other. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it's so much better than it was. Brynn's relationship with her dad is still nonexistent, but her relationship with her mom has always been more important to her.

I wish I could say that my relationship with my parents is better, but unfortunately, we had to cut that cord. After confronting my parents about the conversation I overheard while I was in the hospital, I discovered that my dad wasn't the dad I thought he was. The game he took Damien and I to was one he went with his mistress, not someone who worked with him. Needless to say, that memory was completely ruined.

My mom filed for divorce and latched on to the president of the credit union where she worked. I guess she was the one we all had to worry about being in it for the money.

While my parents" marriage fell apart, my brothers and I turned to each other. Damien followed us out west and he lives in the city, not far from our condo. In his last two years of college, Xavier really buckled down and got serious. He's now a rookie in the league and plays in Boston. The three of us get together as much as our schedules allow. Damien has his sight set on a nurse he works with. Maybe there'll be a wedding for him in the future.

"Boyd!" a tiny but mighty voice sounds from the sideline, pulling me from my thoughts. Eliza is standing in a blue pantsuit with a black Colorado Colts T-shirt underneath.

Nodding my head in acknowledgment, I leave my spot on the field and make my way toward her. The closer I get, the wider her grin spreads across her lips.

"You made it," she says, clutching the folders tighter against her chest.

"I couldn't have done it without you, Eliza. None of my dreams would've happened if it wasn't for you and all of the hard work you put into making them come true."

"Now don't get soft on me now. You've got a ring to win." She pauses, looking around the stadium. A look passes over her face as the smallest amount of moisture gathers in her eyes. "Thank you for taking a risk with me." Clearing her throat, she continues before I have a chance to respond. "Now go kick some ass."

"I second that!" my favorite voice exclaims from beside us. I turned to find my wife making her way over to us.

A low growl escapes my throat—Eliza chuckles—as I take in my wife's appearance.

Her long blonde hair is curled in waves, pulled up in a high ponytail. The blue and black jersey is customized with my number thirty-one stretched across her chest in Swarovski crystals. Yeah, somehow, I managed to keep my high school number through college and into the NFL. It's pretty exhilarating.

My eyes continue trailing down her body, landing where the jersey stops mid-thigh on her tan legs. Bright blue cowboy boots cover her feet, but I can't take my eyes off where the skin of her legs is exposed.

"Fuck, baby," I rasp out.

She smiles, a blush taking over her cheeks. She throws her arms around my middle and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in as tight as I can with my full pads on. She lifts onto her tiptoes, I move my mouth down to meet hers. Our lips find each other, and I can feel the nerves escape me and flow into her.

That's the thing about Brynn. She's a feeler, always taking on what everyone else is feeling.

Ending the kiss, I look down at her, still so lucky that I can call her my wife. "I love you, Wilder."

"I love you too," she says, grinning back up at me. "Now go kick some ass."

Leaning down, I brush my lips against her forehead one last time before turning and jogging away. But before I get out of arm"s reach, a hand slaps against my ass. Looking over my shoulder, I find my wife with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.

"Love you, thirty-one!"

Goose bumps erupted over my skin while moisture lined my eyes as one of the country's biggest performers belted out the National Anthem. It was chilling to stand on the field before the game, but nothing compares to how I feel right now, mere minutes away from kickoff.

"And the home of the bra-a-aaave," the country singer finishes, just as a roar of F-16 engines rush overhead causing the stadium to rumble. Hands start slapping my shoulder pads as we turn to huddle up on the sideline before kickoff.

Hands dropping to my side, I shake out my limbs, opening and closing my hands. I tilt my head from side to side, cracking the bones. I take one last glance up in the stands toward the suite where I know my family is watching. Bringing my fingers up to my lips, I blow a kiss toward them while our team awaits the kickoff.

The Minnesota Grizzlies kicker sails the ball, but our returner is able to easily catch the ball. He takes off like a rocket, dodging and weaving through the mob of players rushing toward him. Following his blockers, he makes it to the twenty-seven-yard line. And just like that, my first Super Bowl game is underway.

The offense makes our way out onto the field. I find my position to the right of our quarterback. Clapping his hands, he waits for the snap. Dropping back, he finds one of the best receivers in the league for a quick fifteen-yard gain. In the huddle, he looks at me and gives me the play.

Breaking the huddle, we rush to find our spots. I wait for the snap and once our QB has the ball, I take off to my left, running behind him as I await the handoff. The offensive line holds off the defensive, and I pick up a quick seven-yard run.

Slow and steady, we take our time making our way down the field. Our team is good, damn good, but so are the Grizzlies. The game plan is to take advantage of the clock as much as possible. Short runs to pick up quick yards. It's working as we find ourselves inside the five-yard line after taking five minutes and clicking down the clock.

Once again, I find myself lining up to the right of the quarterback.

"Hike!" our quarterback yells, stepping back and waiting for the play to start.

Starting toward my defender like I'm going to block, I quickly drop back to receive the ball. Juking right and then propelling to my left, I cut and weave until I'm inches from the end zone. The defense is closing in, but not fast enough. Stretching my body out, the hand holding the football crosses the goal line before I'm brought to my knees.

Touchdown!

Jumping to my feet, I'm met with the rest of the offense. Finding our quarterback, I point my finger toward him in a show of respect, thanking him for giving me the ball. Helmets smack together, cheers erupt, and the vibe is celebratory as we make our way over to our sideline.

The rest of the first half and the third quarter go off the same way with us taking a slow and steady approach to the game. The Grizzlies are looking to make it a fast-paced game, their strategy isn't working for them. In fact, it's making them flustered. The Grizzlies have three interceptions and two fumbles, yet they're still within a touchdown of tying the score.

Halfway through the fourth quarter, there's an electric current running through our sidelines. The fans can feel it too. We are up by two touchdowns with six minutes left. Coach gathers us around.

"All right, boys, you ready?"

Grunts of agreement envelop us.

"Good. Listen, we aren't changing anything up. Keep the pace. Make smart decisions. We are sitting good. Let's not get cocky yet."

And with that, we rush out to the thirty-seven-yard line.

Confetti shoots out from cannons around us as the clock winds down to zero. Reaching up, I unhook my chin straps before removing my helmet. The smile that breaks free consumes my face, and I can't help but let the tears form.

I fucking did it.

We fucking did it.

Teammates rush the field. Grown men have tears in their eyes and are celebrating like kids at a carnival. Today, dreams were made.

A high-pitched voice pulls me from celebrating with my team. "Daddy! Daddy!" comes the voice. My head is on a swivel looking for the owner of the precious voice. "Daddy!"

Pushing their way through the crowd is my baby girl in my Wilder's arms. She's dressed like her mama in a custom jersey dress and denim jacket, much like her mom wore for my National Championship game. Only this time instead of an eagle on the back, it's a bucking colt. Her beautiful tan skin is the perfect mixture of my black and her mom's white skin tones. Beaming blue eyes that match her mom's stare up at me. Her curly light-brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail and my sweet two-year-old looks beautiful.

Our eyes find each other, and she stretches her arms toward me. Grabbing her out of Brynn's arms, I toss my girl in the air.

"Cleo!" I shout as she squeals.

Pulling her into my chest, I reach out and pull Wilder into me. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and a look of pride is plastered on her face.

Throwing her arms around my neck, her lips seek mine out immediately. All sounds fall away around us as I savor this moment. Cleo wraps her arms around me as she buries her head in my neck. Brynn kisses me over and over, my sweat and tears mix together with her tears. After what feels like an eternity, she pulls back. Her eyes find mine and she searches my face. I'm not sure what she"s looking for, but I let her soak it all in.

"I'm so incredibly fucking proud of you!" she screams over the crowd. "We are so incredibly proud of you!" She steps back from my embrace and I watch as her hands move from my neck and land on her stomach.

My eyebrows draw in, confusion crossing my face. My eyes bounce from her face to her hands on her stomach and back up to her face. A wide grin spreads across her lips.

"The three of us are so proud of you."

My knees buckle as I digest the words that Brynn just said.

The three of us.

"B-Brynn," I stutter. "What are you saying?"

But that grin never leaves her face. "You ready to be a daddy again, Mr. Super Bowl Champion?"

With the arm that isn't holding Cleo, I lift my wife off the ground and spin them both. "I love you so much, Brinley Boyd. You keep making my best days even better."

"I love you, too, Quinton."

I thought winning the National Championship was the best day of my life.

I thought getting drafted into the NFL was the best day of my life.

But at this moment, celebrating another dream coming true, with my wife, my beautiful daughter, and now another child. It's by far the best day of my life.

And we're just getting started.

THE END