Crashed

He smiles softly at me, his eyes suddenly becoming so intense and serious. “No, I don’t think you get it, Ry, and I don’t know how else to say it …” He reaches out and cups my face again, holding my head with unsteady hands so that my eyes lock with his. “I want to be your motherfucking checkered flag, Rylee. Your pace car to lead you through tough times, your pit stop when you need a break, your start line, your finish line, your goddamn victory lane.”

His words have stolen mine and feed the need I’ve had since our first meeting. As much as I tried to fight the feeling that fateful night, I wanted to be his. Wanted so much more than a make-out session in a backstage hallway. I wanted the whole frickin’ race with him.

“Your trophy,” I muse with a soft smile, thinking back to our conversation the morning after our first time together, and I know he remembers, because he returns the same smiles back at me.

“No,” he whispers as he leans forward and presses his lips to mine. “You’re so much more than a trophy, Rylee. Trophies are inconsequential when all is said and done … but you? You could never be inconsequential.” I can feel his lips curve up to a smile.

“No, you and me together … that would make you mine,” I tell him with a smile of my own as I contribute a memorable moment from our past myself.

“Good one,” he concedes, leaning back with a devilish smirk on his handsome face. “My turn,” he says, licking his lips before his grin returns. “Is there anyone whose ass I have to kick before I can make it official?” he says with a laugh, his words challenging me to remember.

I shake my head, smiling as his fingers trail up my arms and his eyes dare me to recall my line. His touch is distracting, but I remember. I bat my eyelashes at him. “Make what official, Mr. Donavan?” I ask, and when I meet his eyes, I’m surprised by his intense gaze.

“This, Rylee.” He breathes. “Make this official,” he says.

I gasp, my hand flying up to cover my mouth as I look down at the sparkling engagement ring. I’m so thankful I’m sitting because the world is moving around me in a blur. All I can focus on is the brilliance of the man in front of me, asking to make my world complete. A world I never thought would exist for me.

I remind myself to breathe, even though I still can’t trust myself to form words properly, so I just stare at him, my body covered in goose bumps despite the warmth of his love pulsing through me. I stare at him through tear blurred eyes and nod subtly in shock. I don’t move my eyes from his, because I can see this moment means as much to him as it does to me.

“Make this official with me, Rylee,” he says, his voice certain but hands are unsteady. I love the fact that he’s nervous, that I mean so much to him that he’s worried I might say no.

“I told you once that if I couldn’t say the words, I’d do anything I could to prove to you how I feel about you. Well I can say the words now, baby. You showed me how. I love you.” His eyes hold mine but I can’t help but look down at that shy smile of his that owns my heart. “I love who you are and what you make me. I love that your spark has stopped the blur. That you wanted to race with me. That I don’t need the superheroes anymore because I need you instead.” He shakes his head slightly and nervously laughs before he begins again.

“Shit, we’ve already done the for better or worse part and the in sickness and health, so let’s do the ’til death do us part too. Make a life with me, Ryles. Start with me. End with me. Complete me. Be my one and only first. Be my goddamn victory lane and my fucking checkered flag because God knows I’ll be yours if you’ll let me. Marry me, Ry?”

Tears are coursing down both of our faces, and I’m so overwhelmed by the beauty of his words and the outpouring of his soul that I can’t speak, so I show him instead. I lean forward and press my lips to his, the taste of salt mingling on our lips as I pour myself into the kiss.

And then I start giggling as my lips are pressed against his, and emotions run rampant through me. I can’t help it. I lean back and dash away my tears as he looks at me.

“You’re killing me here, Ry…” His voice wavers, a mix of exasperation and anxiety. His eyes hold mine—beseeching, imploring, pleading—and I realize that I know the answer without a doubt, but never told him.

“Yes, Colton.” I say, my voice escalating with excitement as more tears form. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Thank Christ!” He sighs and shakes his head, total adoration in his eyes as he looks at me. My eyes are still locked with his, but his hand reaches out to take mine. He breaks our connection and looks down, drawing my eyes down to watch him slip the cushion cut canary diamond, framed by smaller diamonds, onto my ring finger.

We’re silent as we stare at it, the enormity of the moment hitting us. The ring is beautiful and huge but a simple gold band would have done the trick, because when I look up, there’s my real prize. Dark hair, green eyes, stubbled jaw, and a heart that owns me: mind, body, and soul.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” he says and presses a kiss to my lips and then throws his head back and laughs before yelling at the top of his lungs, “She said yes!”

I’m startled by his shout, but then I understand when I hear a roar of cheers and rush to the edge of the terrace. When I look down I’m shocked to see everyone looking up at us from the patio below. Everyone from today, including both sets of our parents.