Page 121 of Tackled By Love
Dawson Sinclair: We have raised over ten million dollars in two years for children who struggle to make the words make sense. We believe that each hockey player sees the ice differently, just as a dyslexic mind sees the world differently. But both are unstoppable.
Ambrosia Mercer: Absolutely, I am so proud of what we are doing and how much support we are providing.
Dawson Sinclair: Couldn’t pick a better person to do it with, but I have to say, I’m over this boyfriend crap.
I throw off my headphones and set Dawson with a look. “What the hell? That’s off-script, and I know ’cause I memorized it.”
It’s as if he doesn’t hear me as he moves to stand, pushing his mic out of the way.
I take in his massive figure as he steps toward me, tucking his hands into his pockets. When I got the job in Knoxville, he rented a little cabin in the mountains surrounding the city for us to live in. The front of the house is made of nothing but glass and is amazing during the winters. It’s where my studio is too. It’s small, but it’s ours and I love it.
Just as I love him.
Over the last couple years, not much has changed. He got a new haircut, more clean-shaven up the sides, while his curlsare tighter, thanks to my curl washes. He loves to grow out his beard, which I don’t like because it hides his dimples. He has put on more muscle, no longer needing to be lean to run as a quarterback. And he still makes me so happy I could cry.
Has it been easy? Not at all.
Especially when we were living apart, but we knew that going in.
“Dawson, I want to get this done. I’m ready to go to bed.”
He waggles his brows at me, drawing my lips into a smirk. He pushes my mic out of the way before dropping between my knees and wrapping his arms around my middle. While I’m still confused, I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing his lips since I can and I want to. His eyes track my every move, and I grin at him. “What is wrong?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“Hear what?”
“I’m tired of being your boyfriend.”
I squint at him. “Then get out from between my legs.” He laughs as I try to push him away, ignoring my protest. “This milk isn’t free, buddy!”
His laughter has my smile growing, even if I’m confused. “I want to be your husband.” The sentence stops my protest and my movement. I meet his loving gaze—the need, the pride, and the lust swirling in his green depths.
The air around us crackles as our eyes lock, and a smile moves over his lips.
“You haven’t asked,” I tell him, my voice raw and full of emotion.
“I haven’t,” he agrees, and then he’s reaching into his pocket. “You told me once that you’d never drop to your knees, open your legs, or bend over for me, but I have to say, you’ve done all that and more.”
I give him a dry look. “Is this really your proposal?”
He grins. “No, that was the lead-up.”
“It isn’t something I can tell the grandkids.”
Dawson snorts, shaking his head like he can’t believe this moment is real. “I love you, Ro. I loved you before I even knew what love was supposed to feel like. I’ve loved you scared, I’ve loved you furious, I’ve loved you happy… And every version of me has loved you more than the last.” He cups my cheek, kissing my nose. “We’ve been circling each other for years, playing this boyfriend-girlfriend game, but loving you didn’t just make my life better—it changed me. You are my metamorphosis. The moment everything shifted. My before and my after.”
He swallows, brushing his thumb over my cheek to catch the tears that have started to fall. “I want the next chapter, the forever one. Because, in my head, you’ve been Ambrosia Mercer-Sinclair since the second I kissed you on the quad.”
I choke on a sob and shake my head. “I was so mad you kissed me.”
“I wasn’t.”
I laugh. “I really wasn’t. I liked it a lot. I likedyoua lot.”
“I know,” he tells me, kissing my nose. “And there is no one on this planet who fits me like you do. Or fits you like I do. No one I want to play harder for, be better for. When you cheer for me, it feels like every day is a championship I get to win. Your love is my trophy, Ro. And I want it for life.” His voice drops, soft and certain. “I love you, my heart-stopper. Marry me?”
Suddenly, he’s holding a ring that I don’t even get to see because I’m nodding enthusiastically before crashing my lips to his.
Turns out, metamorphosis wasn’t about changing who we were; it was about growing into who we were meant to be.
Together.
