Breaking Tackles: A Taking Flight Novel (2 page)

“It was fun,” I say. “We walked around the West Village and we grabbed ice cream at a place called The Big Gay Ice Cream Shop.”

“That sounds about right,” Adam says, chuckling. Rufus is a tall, broad, buff, gay Australian. He and Adam bonded during spring break over sports. “I wish I could have been there.”

“Me, too,” I say, just as the commissioner makes his way back to the stage.

The second pick isn’t an upset, and after the announcement Michael and Jason come over to chat with Adam and give him advice. Mostly they tell him not to act like a cocky bastard—just to be humble, to not drop the hat, and to smile for the picture with the commissioner.

“You’re gonna be great, little bro,” Jason says. “You’re a hell of a lot better than either of us were in college.”

“Thanks, man,” Adam says, blushing a little. Both of his brothers were picked in the first round, but neither in the top ten. “But I probably still have some time to wait. I’m guessing I’ll be in the latter half of the ten.”

“Most likely,” Michael says. “You’re not
that
good.”

We all laugh at that, and the brothers ask me how my family is doing and separately tell me that I look nice. Neither of them brought dates tonight, and I feel a little weird about that.

“Is it strange that Mike didn’t bring his wife with him to this?” I ask.

“She wanted to come,” Adam says. “Apparently she had some work meetings that she couldn’t reschedule.”

“Oh,” I say. “I guess I’m just feeling a little conspicuous. Since, you know, your brothers didn’t bring dates.”

“Why?” Adam asks. “I want you here more than I want my brothers here.”

“You’re such a liar,” I say, poking him in the ribs.

“Am not,” he says. “I’m glad they’re here, but I wouldn’t have been disappointed if they didn’t come.”

“Does that mean you’d be disappointed if I didn’t?” I ask.

“Of course,” he says. “You’re my good luck charm.”

He’s said this to me before. After we started dating, his game improved. As in, there is statistical evidence that the game he played after we started dating was better than the game before we started dating. His stats only continued to rise.

I smile at him and he kisses my temple just as the commissioner makes the long walk back across the stage.

“Who’s supposed to be third again?” Mrs. Kistler asks.

“The receiver from Alabama,” I say automatically.

“That’s right,” Mr. Kistler says, as Jason gives me a thumbs-up and Michael nods approvingly.

“You know you’ve got a rare one, right, little bro?” Jason asks. “Women who know football the way she does are few and far between.”

“Stop dating models and maybe you’ll find one,” I say before thinking. Once I realize what I said, I cover my mouth, but Mike and Adam both crack up and Jason says, “Okay, Court. I see how it is.”

We have to stifle our laughter as the commissioner finally gets to the microphone.

“For the third pick in the NFL Draft, the New Orleans Saints choose,” he says, pausing as per usual, “Adam Kistler.”

It takes me a moment to realize what just happened. When my brain finally registers that Adam was picked, Mr. Kistler has already jumped to his feet, Jason and Mike are getting out of their chairs, and Mrs. Kistler is, quite literally, clutching her pearls.

“Adam,” I say, as he stands and lifts me out of my seat as if I weigh nothing before smothering my mouth with his.

“Oh my God,” I say, a little breathless from the kiss and what just happened.

“Oh my God,” Adam echoes, his eyes bright, the shock evident on his face.

“Son, you need to get on stage,” Mr. Kistler says, and Adam nods, kisses me one more time, and then heads that way.

We watch as he crosses the stage, looking extremely dapper in his navy suit, takes the Saints hat, and poses for a photo with the commissioner. Then he’s ushered to the other side of the stage and whisked away to the press room.

“New Orleans,” Mike says, shaking his head.

“Third pick,” Jason says, also shaking his head.

Suddenly, a pretty reporter is in front of me and the bright light from the camera following her around blinds me momentarily. I try my best to not squint into the camera as she says, “Courtney, that was quite a kiss. How are you feeling right now?”

Why this woman is talking to me and not to one of the three Kistlers standing near me who are or have been NFL players, I don’t know, but I do my best to sound intelligent.

“I’m thrilled for Adam,” I say, smiling. I open my mouth to elaborate, but the reporter says, “So will you be joining him in New Orleans?”

“Oh,” I say, shocked by the question. What the hell kind of question is that? “I’m sure I’ll visit.”

“I’m sure you will,” she says, sounding amused, before looking at the camera and saying, “Back to you, Pete.”

The light on the camera goes off and she says, “Thanks for that. This is fun!” Before I’m able to ask her what the hell she was thinking, she walks away. I look toward the Kistlers, who are all staring at me, and shrug.

“Welcome to our world, Court,” Jason says.

“That was bizarre, right?” I ask. Mike and Jason give me sympathetic looks while a different, probably more experienced, reporter approaches the elder Kistlers.

“I can’t even tell you how often Ashton is asked if she’s pregnant,” Michael says.

“What?” I shriek. “You got married, like, not even a year ago, right?”

“It’s been nine months. Which means that reporters are on baby bump watch.”

“That is insane.”

“It is what it is,” he says. “You’ll get used to it.”

I see a third reporter approaching our group, and excuse myself to the restroom. This one can have Mike and Jason for comment.

When I get to the bathroom, I lock the stall and lean my back against the door, doing my best to breathe evenly.

Adam is moving to New Orleans.

My boyfriend is moving to New Orleans. He’s the first round, third draft pick of the NFL.

Oh my God, my boyfriend is probably a millionaire.

A twenty-year-old millionaire who is moving to New Orleans.

Without me.

Adam

I’m exhausted. In the best possible way.

“Are you okay?” Courtney asks from across the table. I made reservations for us at the Boathouse in Central Park, knowing that I’d want to take Courtney out to celebrate after the draft. She balked at the prices when the server gave us the menu, but, prices aren’t something I really have to worry about anymore.

Even if they were, I’d want to do something nice for Courtney on our first trip to New York. Willa told me this was one of the most romantic spots in the city, so it sounded perfect to me.

“I’m great,” I say, even though I haven’t slept in almost two days. After the draft, I did a press conference, met with my new sports agent who introduced me to a financial advisor, who took me out for celebratory drinks at some members-only place, and then met up with my brothers and Courtney for an extremely late dinner at a greasy spoon. I had so much energy that even when I went to bed, I wasn’t able to sleep.

Mostly because I knew what was going to happen today.

“Adam, this is so nice,” Courtney says, “But if you’re too tired, we can have this boxed up. You need to sleep.”

“I promise you, there’s no way I could sleep even if I tried.”

She gives me the side-eye and says, “Whatever you say.”

The server brings our food and everything looks delicious, if overly fancy. I’ve never understood the need for garnish. If the food tastes good, why does it need to look good?

“This smells amazing,” Courtney says as her steak is placed in front of her.

As we begin eating, I realize that my hands are shaking. Though I was nervous about the draft, I think I’m more nervous about tonight.

Courtney and I talked some about what would happen after the draft, but not a lot. It didn’t seem like there was much we could do until we knew where I would be going. The only thing we did know was that most likely, I’d be moving away. So we decided that no matter what, we’d try to make long distance work.

I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than try.

I somehow make it through dinner without dropping food on myself and after I hand the waiter my credit card to pay the bill, I’ve become so nervous that I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Thank you so much for this,” Courtney says, placing her hand on top of mine. “It was way too much, but was delicious and amazing.”

“It’s no problem,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s the least I can do to make up for the craziness of the last couple days.”

I don’t know what got into my parents. I guess I should have told them that Courtney was coming to New York, but I figured they’d assume she’d be here. They know that she’s important to me. That she’s always been important to me. I guess they’re just used to how Mike and Jason acted after they were drafted. It was a constant stream of women and parties. While I wouldn’t mind going to a few parties, I don’t need the stream of women.

I already have Courtney.

“So, what now?” she asks. “I think Dan and Rufus said they don’t have plans tonight if you want to hang out with them later. If you’re up for it, that is.”

“That’d be cool,” I say nonchalantly, standing up and heading out of the restaurant. I pull out the burner phone I bought before the draft, knowing that my real phone would be blowing up. Willa texted me directions to the next place we’re going and I need to double check that I know how to get there.

“Do you mind taking a bit of a walk?” I ask Courtney.

“Nope,” she says. We had an early dinner, and it’s a perfect spring day—sunny and warm with a cool breeze, and the sun is just starting to set. “It’s really nice out. I’m glad we’re walking.”

We make our way from 72
nd
Street toward 59
th
, holding hands and chatting about anything but football and the fact that I’m moving to New Orleans.

It hasn’t skipped my notice that Courtney has been avoiding the subject. I know she’s been nervous about our future and she’s mentioned talking to Willa about long distance.

My burner phone buzzes and I see a text from Willa with nothing more than a question mark. I give Courtney an apologetic look and quickly text back with “go,” before putting my phone in my pocket.

“It was smart of you to get that phone before the craziness hit,” Courtney says.

“Yeah, Jason suggested I do it,” I say. “Remember when he was drafted and had to change his number because someone posted it to Facebook?”

“Yeah,” Courtney says. “Why would someone do that?”

“I think it was an ex,” I say, shrugging, but glad I don’t have many of those. Watching the shit my brothers went through was a cautionary tale.

“Bitches be crazy,” Courtney says, making me laugh.

We round a corner and our destination—Gapstow Bridge—is in front of us. The bridge is made of stone with ivy creeping up the side, and sits over a pond in the park.

“Oh wow,” Courtney says. “That’s so pretty. This is the famous bridge, right? The one in all the movies?”

I actually don’t know. I just asked Willa which bridge was prettiest. I shrug and say, “Maybe.”

Courtney rolls her eyes and says, “What good are you to me if you don’t even know if a bridge is famous.”

“Apparently no good at all. I really don’t know why you keep me around.”

“It’s for the fame and money,” Courtney deadpans, making me laugh again.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I’ll have both soon,” I say and I feel her tense up beside me.

“Adam, you can’t think—”

“I don’t,” I say, interrupting her and squeezing her hand for emphasis. We’re nearing the entrance to the bridge, and I suddenly realize that this is the moment. I take a deep breath as we walk to the middle of the bridge. I stop and Courtney does the same, taking in the view from the bridge.

“So pretty,” she says.

“You really are,” I say, moving to block her view of the other side of the bridge.

She rolls her eyes and says, “Thanks, cheesy.”

I take a deep breath and she senses my anxiety. “Is everything okay?”

“Courtney Narducci,” I say, my voice shaking a little. “You’re absolutely amazing.”

“Adam, what’s going on?” she asks.

“I know that we haven’t been together as a couple for all that long, but I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Now that we know what my future looks like, I want you to be in it with me. Forever,” I say, taking a deep breath as I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the velvet ring box as I bend down on one knee. “Courtney, will you please make this the best week ever and say you’ll marry me?”

I finally look up at her, now that I’ve gotten all that out, and see that her eyes are shifting back and forth between me and the ring. She looks thoroughly confused.

“You’re not joking,” she says.

“I’m really not.”

“Oh my God. You’re proposing.”

“I am.”

Her mouth drops open in shock and then she says, “Yes. Yes! Of course.”

I huge smile breaks out across my face and I stand, taking the ring out of its cushioned box and slipping it onto her finger.

“Oh my God,” she says, looking at the ring on her hand. “I have to call my mom.”

“I might have taken care of that for you,” I say, moving to the side so that she can see the end of the bridge, where our families and friends are gathered.

“What?” she yells. “Seriously?”

I nod and smile.

“How did you do this?” she asks, but I don’t have time to answer as everyone makes their way onto the bridge with us, clapping and cheering and yelling their congratulations. Courtney’s parents rush to her, and she and her mom hug, rocking back and forth.

Her dad shakes my hand. “I never thought she’d say yes,” he says. “But if I have to see my little girl with someone, I’m glad it’s with you. Welcome to the family, Adam.”

He claps me on the back before going over to his daughter, and I turn to my family. My brothers hug me, my mom is in tears—happy ones—and my dad embraces me.

“I’m proud of you, son,” he says. “Congratulations.”

I know my parents think we’re rushing into this, but when I told them this morning that I was planning to ask Courtney to marry me today, they, after picking their jaws up off the floor, wished me the best.

After our families have had their time with us, our friends start to close in. I see Sophie, Willa, Kate, Natalie, Jack, and a girl I don’t recognize and assume is Ana—who graciously offered use of her dad’s plane to get everyone here—go in to hug Courtney and gawk at the ring, while I am deluged by the guys.

“Congrats, man,” Luke says, clapping me on the back. The sentiment is echoed by Dan, Rufus, and Kip, and after we have a bit of a silence after the congrats, Rufus says, “So, you’re moving to the Big Easy.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It looks like it.”

“New Orleans is great,” Luke says. “I went there for spring break last year—it was so cool. You’re going to love it. And I’m sure Sophie and I will be coming to visit.”

“I’ll be latching onto that visit,” Kip says.

“You should probably just plan on buying a massive place and hosting everyone you know for Mardi Gras,” Rufus says.

“Have you mapped out how far New Orleans is from Mizzou?” Dan asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “Quite a ways.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine,” he says. “I’m sure you and Courtney will get very well acquainted with that trip back and forth, though.”

I furrow my brow at that. “What do you mean?”

“Well, with Courtney still in school,” he says, “I just assumed.”

“Oh,” I say. “Yeah. I guess we’ll have to figure that out.”

“I’ll say,” Luke says. “But man, don’t worry about something as dumb as logistics right now. Enjoy this.”

“Seriously,” Rufus says. “First round NFL Draft pick and engaged to your dream girl.”

“Right,” I say, squashing the feeling of anxiety that’s crept up into my stomach, “Definitely living the dream.