Chapter Thirty-Eight

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"You nervous?" Greyson asks, as our limo pulls up in front of the arena. He places his hand on my thigh and the warmth of it calms me down almost instantly. "I can't help but notice you're spinning your ring around your finger."

I sigh and place my hand on top of his, interlocking our fingers. "Yeah. I'm a little nervous. I've never walked a red carpet before. What if they ask me questions? What'll I say?"

"Del, I mean this with the utmost respect, if they're gonna ask anyone questions, it's gonna be me. Especially seeing as how this is my first appearance anywhere since I walked off the mound in the last game I played."

His face is stoic, but there's a wrinkle of either worry or concern between his dark eyebrows.

"You always were the one people were more interested in talking to."

He lifts our joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss against my knuckles. "Only because I'm standing next to you."

Greyson throws the door open, holding onto my hand as he helps me out of the car. Noise immediately surrounds us and makes it hard to hear as the woman at the entrance directs us on where to go, so I move closer to him to keep from getting lost in the crowd. There are people everywhere. Cameramen and women are shouting names and snapping photos of celebrities as they smile and pose. Reporters and journalists are conducting interviews. Greyson gets the go-ahead from the woman checking tickets, and he takes my hand and looks at me over his shoulder, smiling in reassurance as he drags me along, forcing me to face a fear I never knew I had – walking a red carpet.

I've been in the company of semi-famous models when I assisted Nico on fashion shows. I've been at a table with well-known politicians. I even ran into Tina Fey at a bagel shop in Tribeca, but I've never been starstruck before. Right now, I'm completely starstruck. As expected, the carpet is packed with athletes, musicians, actors and actresses, reality stars and Olympians. Steph and Ayesha Curry are here with their kids. Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart. Russell Wilson and Ciara. Maks and Peta from Dancing with the Stars. Megan Thee Stallion and Lil Nas X. Tiger Woods. The USA Women's soccer team. Lebron freaking James.

A very tall, very big, yet extremely friendly looking guy and a gorgeous blonde come up to us, the guy extending his hand toward Greyson in greeting.

"Greyson McKinnie."

"Mike!" Greyson shakes his hand, and they do one of those bro hugs where they bump chests and slap each other on the back. "It's good to see you."

"You too." He wraps his arm around the blonde next to him and pulls her close. "You remember my wife, Jessica?"

"I do. It's nice to see you again, Jess," Greyson says. He lifts our joined hands to his chest and looks down at me, smiling affectionately. "This is Delaney. My...uh, my Delaney. And Del, this is Mike and Jessica Trout. Mike plays centerfield for the Anaheim Angels. He used to kick my ass whenever we faced each other."

I smile and wave at them. "It's nice to meet you both."

"Nice to meet you too," they both say in perfect unison.

"You look good, McKinnie. You feeling good?" Mike asks.

"Not good enough to ever play ball again, but I'm alright. Much better than I was a couple years ago."

"That's what I like to hear." Mike smiles and smacks Greyson lightly on the shoulder. "I know it's not the same, but if you ever wanna get back into it, let me know. The Angels organization would love to have you on staff as a pitching coach."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

A woman calls Mike's name and waves him over. "My agent beckons. It was nice to meet you, Delaney, and it was really good to see you, Grey. I'm glad you came tonight."

"Good to see you too, bud. Have fun tonight. And try not to heckle me too much when I'm onstage. I'm uncomfortable enough as it is."

"Not a chance." Mike laughs and shrugs his shoulders. "Heckling is a part of the fun."

I watch as they walk away and are greeted by a crowd full of reporters and journalists clamoring for his attention.

"That was Mike Trout."

"It was," Greyson says.

"Mike Trout. The man who could go down as the best baseball player of our time."

"That's correct."

"Dude." I huff a shocked laugh. "My mom is gonna freak out."


Taking pictures on a red carpet is not as glamorous as it seems. It's people shouting at us from every direction, so many cameras I have no idea where to look when, and flashes so intense I'm seeing spots. I feel so awkward, and if I had my way, I'd walk the red carpet unseen, but Greyson can't do that, which means I can't do that. So, I lift my chin and straighten my spine, and after a series of photographers calls out Greyson's name, we smile and pose and then move on to the next spot, I've almost gotten the hang of it. I'm almost comfortable.

But even though I'm playing the part, inside I'm really intimidated. I don't feel like I belong here, but Greyson is completely at ease. He's eating up all the attention, and the crowd absolutely loves him. He signs autographs for fans, smiles at them and waves, and makes jokes with photographers and reporters, but through all of that he stays focused on me. Someone will shout his name and request a photo of him alone, and as soon as he's done he'll take my hand and guide me down the carpet. He even gives my fingers the occasional squeeze to let me know he's next to me when things get hectic. He's been letting me know he's here with me all night, and I suddenly realize that's something Will never did.

Whenever we'd go to functions or special events, Will would attach himself to me and introduce me to everyone we came across, but once that person was out of sight he'd drop me like a hot potato and wander off to the bar with his colleagues or friends. Sometimes it was an hour before I saw him again. Greyson makes me feel important to him. He makes me feel seen. He didn't bring me with him tonight to make himself look like a loyal family man, or because I look good on his arm. He brought me because he wants me here with him, not for him.

Whenever we'd go anywhere together, Will would always walk ahead of me. I'd ask him to wait, or to slow down, but he'd just tell me to hurry up. He never even held my hand or looked over his shoulder to ensure I was still there, but Greyson has been glued to my side all night. When I speak Greyson looks at me. He actually makes eye contact and listens to what I'm saying. Most of the time when I'd talk to Will, he'd either be on his phone with a client or a friend, or too busy checking his fantasy football team to pay attention to me. He would constantly interrupt me to talk about himself. I'd catch his eyes scanning the room for something, or someone, more interesting while I'd tell him about my day.

When Will looked at me I felt like he saw right through me, but when Greyson looks at me, I feel like I'm the only person in the room.

All of these musings have made me come to one conclusion. I'm in love with Greyson. Whether I never stopped loving him in the first place or I've fallen back under his spell is completely irrelevant. The point is that I love him, and I can admit it to myself without spiraling into an inner monologue full of denial. I love him. I do, I love him. I love him like his-and-hers towels and knowing each other's coffee order by heart. Like Always kiss me Goodnight signs above the bed and riding a tandem bicycle on the boardwalk. I love him like ice cream in bed together for breakfast and pancakes for dinner in a homemade blanket fort in front of a cheesy eighties rom-com, and annual holiday cards. I love him like forever.

And I want him as much as I love him. I want him to be my best friend and my partner in life. My shoulder to cry on when I'm sad and the person I run to when I have good news. I want to go for walks on the beach with him and Hercules every morning and catch fireflies at night in our backyard like we did when we were kids. I want our families to celebrate holidays together, and at Christmas, I want to decorate our big tree with ornaments that have been passed down through generations, then drink hot chocolate with extra marshmallows as we watch Home Alone, a holiday tradition we create together.

I want to watch the fireworks from South Grove Park with our families and friends every Fourth of July. I want us to get married in front of everyone we love. I want us to have babies and teach our kids to be strong, and smart, and confidant. I want to us to watch them grow up, and when they're old enough to build a life with their own soulmate, I want to get old, and wrinkly and smelly with Greyson, and when the time comes, I want us to die in each other's arms.

I want to spend the rest of my life with him, and I want the rest of my life to start right now.

As we're walking along – saying hello and sharing pleasantries with celebrities like we're old friends – a reporter from Baseball First magazine shouts Greyson's name, waving him over once we notice her. She's a stunning, petite woman with long, thick, wavy auburn hair and a heart-shaped face. Her skin is a beautiful golden brown, and her narrow waist and perfect curves are accentuated by the hunter green bodycon dress she looks like she was poured into.

"Greyson! It's good to see you back where you belong," she says, her straight, pearly white teeth practically sparkling as she smiles up at him.

"Thank you. It's good to be here."

"How does it feel to be here? Weird? Awkward? Or does it feel like you never left?"

"It feels good. Really good. Obviously a little different than the last time I was here with my team, but it's been great so far. We've been here for a couple days so we've just been enjoying our time in LA."

"It's rare that someone your age retires from the sport. What have you been doing with your free time?"

Greyson clears his throat, and I gently rub my thumb across the back of his hand encouragingly. I want him to know I'm here for him just like he's been there for me so many times.

"Uh, just the normal things, I guess. Spending time with my family. Seeing and catching up with friends I barely saw when I was playing. I'm near the beach again, so I've been surfing a lot. That makes me really happy."

"Well, that's exciting! But I have to ask, do you miss it? Do you miss the game?"

He squeezes my hand lightly, but unlike a face full of nerves like I'm expecting, when I look up at him, he has a brilliant smile on his face. "Every single day."

She smiles and continues to grill him. "Now, you were known throughout your career, since high school even, for your wicked curveball. Do you ever think about passing that knowledge on to the younger crowd by coaching or managing?"

"To be honest, I haven't really thought about it. Retirement was really difficult seeing as how one day I was playing and then a few weeks later I was done for good. I'm so grateful to have had the career that I had, and to have been blessed with the talent to fulfill my dreams even if only for a short time but coaching or managing isn't on my radar at the moment. Right now, I'm just happy to at the ESPYS and to see everyone."

"Well, if you're not looking to coach or manage right now, maybe you can teach all of us how to surf. If I'm ever in Wilmington, can I call you up and get a lesson?"

She doesn't even try to hide that she's flirting with him, or shamelessly checking him out. She's looking at him like a cartoon bear looks at a rabbit, but instead of it being a rabbit, it's a big, juicy ham, and it's got cartoon waves of deliciousness coming off of it. She's looking at him like he's a juicy cartoon ham, and I honestly don't think she's even noticed me standing next to him.

"I'm not so sure you'd want that," he says, chuckling but respectfully rejecting her come-on in the process. "I'm a much better surfer than I am teacher."

"Oh, I doubt that." She giggles and reaches out, wrapping her black-manicured claws around his bicep. "I have a feeling you'd be a great teacher." I can't help but huff a laugh, a quiet snort coming out of my nose as I do, though it was loud enough to cause reporter chick and Greyson to look at me. "Who do we have here?"

Greyson lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. "I don't know, actually. She's some random girl I met outside. I asked her if she was busy and she said no, so I told her I had an extra ticket and asked her to come inside with me."

I playfully smack him in the chest with the back of my hand, while the reporter takes a healthy step back and laughs uncomfortably. "Stop it!"

"Nah, I'm kidding. This is Delaney. She's someone from my hometown who I've known for a very long time." He digs his fingers into my side and smiles down at me. "She's someone very special to me."

"Is she your wife or girlfriend? Or is someone special all we're going to get."

"She...she's the one. That's all anyone needs to know," he says, placing a kiss on the side of my head.

My stomach flips and a flutter builds, like a million excited butterflies are flying around all at once. Blood immediately rushes to my cheeks, warming them, and my heart begins to race. I know Greyson cares about me, but I didn't know his feelings still ran so deep. I didn't know he considered me the one. When Will and I got married we said simple, generic vows to each other, and neither of us made a speech at the engagement party his parents threw for us. He never wrote me love letters, or made his feelings known in anniversary or birthday cards, or even in a social media post. I've never been the girl that needs public displays of affection to feel loved, but deep down, I always felt like Will never cared enough to speak openly about his feelings for me. I almost feel like he was embarrassed of me more than anything else, so it's nice to hear someone be a little extra about their feelings for me. I didn't realize how much I needed that, or how much I'd like it.

He's slowly putting me back together piece by piece, and the thing is, I don't even think he's trying.

"Do we get a last name, Delaney? I'm sure all the ladies out there would like to know who their competition is," the reporter says, a sugary-sweet, and totally fake smile on her face.

"Um..."

"What do you do for a living? Model? Actress? Influencer?"

"Well, I'm –"

"How did you two meet? What's your history? How long have you been together?"

"We've known –"

"You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that to get anything out of us," Greyson says, interrupting me. My eyes are wide as I look up at him for assistance, but he just smiles at me and winks. "Right, babe?"

"Uh...yeah. Right."

"Okay, okay. I can respect that," she says. "Can you at least have the decency to put your female fanbase out of their misery and tell us the truth? Are you gonna put a ring on it and be officially off the market sometime soon?"

Greyson shrugs his shoulders noncommittally. "Guess you'll just have to wait and see." He shoves his free hand into the front pocket of his suit pants and nods to her. "Thanks so much for the interview, but we need to get inside."

After waving goodbye to her and turning to walk toward the entrance of the theater, Greyson's arm slips from around my waist and instead, he takes my hand, holding it firmly in his.

"You handled that well," I say, as we come to the end of the red carpet.

"What? Walking the carpet?"

"No. That interview. She was...something."

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth and he waves her off. "Eh, you've met one reporter you've met them all."

"Are they all that intrusive?"

"They've always only been business with me. Then again, I've never done an interview with a woman by my side before."

I cross my arms against my chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "She's really pretty."

"She is. But when it comes to you..." He places his finger under my chin and lifts my face, pressing a soft kiss on my lips. "There's no competition."

My lips purse as I try to fight the smile his confession has triggered, and I grab the lapels of his jacket as I pull him close. "So, it's my fault she was trying to find out my deep, dark secrets?"

"And you thought people were only interested in talking to me."

Once we get into the theater, we're escorted to our seats by an older gentleman named Raymond. He'll also be the one to fill Greyson's seat when he goes backstage to present his award. We keep walking, getting closer and closer to the stage, and I'm shocked when I see we're in the fourth row. As we wait for the theater to fill, we mingle with Raymond and other guests that are sitting near us – like New York Yankee Aaron Judge and his wife, USA gymnast Shawn Johnson and her husband Andrew, and Shaquille O'Neal - until Greyson is told by the showrunner that he has to go backstage with the other presenters.

"I won't be long." He leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "Don't let Raymond distract you with more pictures of his grandkids. Okay?"

"You'll be the only thing I pay attention to." I make an X over my heart. When Greyson is out of sight, I slip my arm through Raymond's and signal for him to pull out his phone. "Okay, show me more pictures of those grandbabies."


Greyson lied when he said he wouldn't be long. Between the twenty-five-minute opening monologue, the pausing for commercial breaks, and the five presenters followed by the five winners before Greyson's category, it's been over an hour since he left. I'm trying to stay engaged in everything for Greyson's sake but I'm incredibly bored – like learning about the cotton gin in high school history kind of bored. I've come to realize that besides dressing up in fancy clothes and having a night out, these award shows are much more fun to watch when you're sitting on the couch with your friends drinking alcohol.

It's finally Greyson's turn to present, and when he steps up to the microphone – all tall and dashingly handsome while also somehow being adorably timid – and waves to the crowd, I clap my hands and whistle obnoxiously. I don't need to see myself to know that I'm beaming with pride. I know how hard this is for him – standing up in front of all the people he once considered colleagues and friends - but you'd never know it by looking at him. He's poised. He's silly and charming with his speech, making the audience laugh enthusiastically. He exudes confidence. He gets sentimental when he talks about his career and it being cut short, but quickly turns the charm back on when it's time to announce the nominees and finally, the winner.

He fits right in here. I've never seen someone better suited for the spotlight than Greyson.

"You ready to go, babe?" Greyson asks in a whisper when he gets back to our seats.

"Go where? The show isn't over yet?"

He squats down next to me at the end of the row and glances at the stage before looking back to me. "Do you really wanna stay until the end? Are you having that much

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