I worry about her leaving me. Not every day, but when she’s like this, it’s all I can think about. I have to stop and think, put myself in her shoes, when her mind starts wandering into the dark. She can’t help it. She’s tried. And most of the time it’s triggered by an event she’s seen on television or read about in the paper. Or when someone asks her about her scars.
When we finally pull up to the valet, I get out and rush to her side. I open her door, take her hand in mine, and scoop her up into my arms, twirling her around. She squeals and it’s the happiest fucking sound in the world to me right now.
“We’re home, at least temporarily,” I say to her as she slides down my torso. Her hands rest on my cheeks and she looks into my eyes.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You do,” I remind her. “We were destined to be together, to walk through life as one.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me. “I can’t wait to be your wife.”
I let her words linger between us, hoping she hears herself for a minute before I drop down onto my knee. She looks at me oddly, and then at the people who are coming in and out of the hotel where our apartment is located. They gasp, but my Peyton is utterly confused.
“Peyton, will you marry me?” I ask, reaching for her hand. There are a few ahs coming from the onlookers and one yells, “If you won’t, I will.”
“Noah, what are you doing?”
“I don’t know, but it feels right to ask you again as we start this next chapter of our lives. You’ve given up Chicago for me, and I just have to make sure you know how much I love you.”
“I do know, now stand up, people are staring.” She laughs as she tugs on my shoulder, helping me stand.
“Excuse me,” I holler to the people lingering. “This woman has agreed to be my wife, to put up with my whining, complaining, and the bellyaching I do after practice. She’s my best friend, my cheerleader and the mother of my future children, but most importantly, my partner!” I turn to Peyton, who looks completely stunned. “Whatever you need, Peyton, I’ll give it to you.” I lean down and kiss her, much to the delight of the people around us.
When we part, she socks me in the gut. “You’re a pain in my butt,” she seethes.
“I know.” I gasp for air. “But you’re smiling, so it’s worth it.”
The elevator ride results in Peyton rubbing the spot where she punched me. I may be over exaggerating my pain a little bit, but it’s worth it. I’m going to milk it for as long as I can. At our apartment, I unlock the door and let her enter before me. She gasps, and I smile, knowing full well what she’s walked in to. I shut the door quietly and come behind, wrapping my arms around her.
“Welcome home.”
The company I hired to decorate the inside of the apartment went above and beyond my expectations. The large ‘welcome to our home’ sign is eye-catching and beautiful, and something that will hang in our next home. Flowers fill the room. Roses, peonies, daisies, and hydrangeas cover every open surface. But it’s the bottle of champagne and the tray of strawberries that catches my attention.
“What do you think, future Mrs. Westbury, should we drink that bottle in the tub?”
“I’ll start the water, you grab the goods.” She turns in my arms. “I’ll meet you there.”
I lean down to kiss her but she’s off and moving rather quickly down the hall, all while leaving a trail of clothes for me to follow. Right now, I’m not going to pay attention to her sudden mood change. I’ll chalk it up to traveling or whatnot, but I am going to pay attention. If planning our wedding is causing her to retreat, maybe it’s time we rethink our plans.
3
Peyton
Minus the heat and humidity, Chicago and Portland aren’t all that different. They’re both bustling, overcrowded metropolises. However, I love it here and one of my favorite things to do is go to the Saturday market along the waterfront. I’ve been able to buy so many amazing trinkets for our home, as well as fresh vegetables, fruit, and the most beautiful bouquets. Noah doesn’t always come down with me, which gives me an opportunity to really explore. He’s too well known, and people don’t hesitate to ask him for his autograph or to pose for a picture. Even if he wears a disguise, someone always figures it out. You would think, that after growing up with the band, I would be used to it. In some ways, I am. I expect the fans to recognize Noah, my dad, Liam, and Jimmy, but I don’t always like it.
This morning, I’m sitting in Pioneer Courthouse Square with a cup of coffee in my hand, watching as people rush to work. They come and go in droves, getting off the train and buses before disappearing into the skyscrapers surrounding me. The bricks that make up the square contain names of the community members who help bring the project to life. The names below my feet, the ones I’m sitting on and the ones that surround me, make me wonder what their life was like, who they were and what they’ve become since the early 80s.
The bell from the nearby church rings out. I count each one, it’s nine and time for my dilly-dallying to end. If others have things to do, they’re not hurrying off. They’re lingering, enjoying the sun, and reveling in the beauty that is all around them. I want to stay, and probably would if there weren’t more pressing issues weighing on my mind.
A few blocks down, where the older buildings are, I push a heavy steel door open and climb a flight of narrow stairs. Inside, the room is warm, the sun beating through the windows. A few people look at me as I enter. I smile softly and choose one of the seats in the back. The advantage of sitting the
re is the fact that I’m close to the door and can make a quick escape if I feel like I can’t manage the meeting well. The disadvantage is that when I go to speak, everyone will turn and look at me. They do it out of respect, so they can hear your words and let them soak in.
“Good morning.” His name is Barry, he’s a grief counselor, and comes highly recommended. He sits on a stool, wearing corduroy pants and a tweed blazer. Very outdated, but very Portland. “I want to thank each of you for coming today. I know that sometimes you struggle with waking up, so the fact that you not only woke up but also got dressed and made your way here, speaks volumes about how your day is going to go. Would anyone care to start?”
Someone in front raises their hands. I careen my neck to see, but the people in front of me are taller, making me wish I had chosen a better seat.
“Last week, I lost my husband.” Her voice is soft, and I almost couldn’t hear her, but I did, and her words stab me in the heart. Noah… he’s always on my mind. My constant everything. I desperately want to be his wife, but fear he will be ostracized by his teammates, his coach, and the media. Players “know better” than to get married during the season or have children. Wives have been the butt end of jokes when they give birth between August and the end of January, saying we know better. And I do. I know that football is an old boys club, that it’s hard for women to break through the mold. I also know that I’m going to be damn good at whatever my job turns out being, but being Noah’s wife is also important to me. Maybe more so than a job.