When I get close to my house, I see something that makes me stop short, slamming my brakes. There's a car parked in front of the house, and in the late afternoon shadows by the front door, I swear I see two people sitting. I must be seeing things, though, and as I pull closer, I realize I'm not. I barely even notice when I half run over the curb pulling into my driveway, knocking over my mailbox, and slam the car into park, the little blonde girl already up and running toward me. "Daddy!"
"Laurie!" I call out, scooping her up and swinging her around in a huge circle, hugging her tight. "Oh, baby girl, I’ve missed you so much. I love you so much, Laurie."
"I love you too, Daddy," Laurie says, and I hold her tight until she squirms a little, I'm holding so tightly. "Daddy, I need to breathe!"
"Sorry," I say, setting her down. I'm so enchanted by her that I barely notice Whitney coming up until she's only a few feet from me. I look up and can see that she's nervous, afraid that I will reject her. But I can never do that. "Laurie, take the keys and run inside. How long have you been sitting out here?"
"Only a little while. What's inside?"
"Cold water," I say, looking down. "Keep yourself safe in Florida, and drink a lot of cold water, okay? Besides, I need to talk to Mama."
"Okay. When you come inside, I have something to show you. I drew pictures!"
"And I want to see them," I promise sincerely. "Give me a few minutes, okay?"
"Okay.”
Laurie takes off like a jackrabbit up the lawn, and I'm face to face with Whitney, silence between us. I look into her beautiful face, and I can't be angry. I can't do anything but tell her the truth. "I missed you."
Whitney nods and reaches out, taking my hand. "I missed you."
"I'm so glad you’re here."
Whitney nods again, then trembles, starting to fall to her knees. I catch her and hold her as she sobs, begging me in a choked voice for forgiveness that doesn’t have to be given. Instead, I hold her, kissing her temples and telling her it’s okay. "Whitney, it doesn't matter. I love you."
"Troy, I was so foolish. I'm sorry."
"No, you don't need to be sorry. I should have told you about the trade. I'm sorry. Whitney . . . if you don't want me to be a football player, to live the League life, I won't. I'll retire after this season if you want me to."
Whitney shakes her head and hugs me tight. "No. No matter where you go, no matter if it's Jacksonville, New York, Los Angeles, or even Cleveland, I want to be with you."
I know what to do, and without hesitating, I get down on my knees. "Then let's do it the right way. Whitney . . . will you marry me?"
Whitney is so surprised that she doesn't even move except to make a tiny little squeak that catches us both off guard. She clears her throat and tries again. "You really want to marry me after all I’ve put you through?”
I nod, taking her hand. "I want us to be a family more than anything else in the world. Be my wife, and let's not deny that we are meant to be together. No matter what."
"No matter what," Whitney echoes, then smiles. "Oh yes, yes, I’ll marry you, Troy. On one condition."
"What's that?" Her and her conditions.
"We do it after you play in the Pro Bowl."
I grin and pick Whitney up, carrying her toward the door to the house. "Well, that'll be in February . . . sure. March or April is a great time to get married. Although maybe June is best."
"Why June?"
"I know exactly who I want to be my best man, and he's busy until then."
I set Whitney down on the edge of the slate porch that leads indoors and see Laurie looking at us with hope in her eyes. "Mama?"
"Yes, honey, we're staying," Whitney says. "We're going to stay together."
"Come on," I say, taking Laurie's hand on one side and Whitney's on the other. "This place has four bedrooms, and I want you to pick out which of the three empty ones is going to be yours. And tomorrow, maybe we can look at taking you furniture shopping."
"Really? My own bedroom?"
"Uh-huh. Welcome home, baby girl. Welcome home."
Epilogue
Whitney
“I’ve been informed that the couple has written their own vows. Troy, if you would go first?"
It's an extravagant wedding—at least part of me says so—but after getting to the Pro Bowl and signing a new contract with Jacksonville that makes Troy one of the highest paid linebackers in the game, I'm not all that averse to splurging on this momentous occasion. I'm wearing a white Vera Wang knee-length dress, and the sand is warm between my toes on the beach in the Bahamas that Troy rented for our wedding and reception. Behind me are Dani and Mom, who are acting as my bridesmaids, wearing blue Wang dresses of their own, bought and not rented, a gift to them from Troy. I'd been tempted as a joke to put Dani in the same horrible taffeta-style monstrosity that she had for her wedding, but I know the choice hadn't been hers, but Pete's mother’s.