Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey yourself.”
“Enjoy this to the fullest. Take some time to celebrate and soak this in. You earned it. You deserve it,” I say. “Stop thinking about next season.”
He laughs. “You know me far too well.”
“Damn right, I do.”
The procession of buses and trucks comes to a stop, and we all quickly disembark, making our way through the throng of fans who are reaching past the line of cops tasked with keeping the path clear, desperate to get a high-five from the players. The wives and girlfriends of the players are ushered to a secure area to the side of the stage while the players take the steps up to the platform. Then the speeches start as the players celebrate the title with the fans.
The speeches, some scripted, most impromptu, go on for nearly an hour and never once does the energy flag. The atmosphere here in downtown LA is absolutely electric. Gabe is at the podium hyping up the crowd and with tears in his eyes thanking everybody for their support this season, the sincerity and emotion thick in his voice. Tania takes my hand and squeezes it, the tears in her eyes matching her husband’s. They are the cutest couple ever.
“All right, all right, enough of me,” Gabe’s voice booms through the speakers all around the square. “Let’s get the man y’all really want to hear from up here to the podium. Everybody give it up for your league MVP, your Finals MVP, and now a four-time champion and, in my opinion, the best to ever lace ‘em up—Ben Givens!”
The crowd erupts with chants of “Ben” coming from some corners and “MVP” from others. Ben, ever reluctant to step into the spotlight, has to practically be dragged to the microphone by his teammates. He’s always hesitant to speak publicly, but there’s something different this time.
He looks… nervous. Not just reluctant but kind of scared. And that’s something I’ve never known Ben to be. He always attacks challenges without fear. What's going on? Is he about to announce his retirement or something? I can’t believe he’d do something like retire without talking to me first. He always talks to me about major decisions.
Ben spends a few minutes predictably deflecting the praise everybody is heaping on him, giving all the credit for the title and his MVP awards to his teammates. He’s the rare superstar who spends more time hyping up his teammates than celebrating his own successes and achievements. It’s one of the reasons the city of LA has embraced him like one of their own.
“Now, there’s something else I want to say,” Ben says. “First, I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out here to celebrate with us. I want to thank you all for supporting this team so passionately. I have honestly never felt the kind of love you all are giving us today!”
He pauses while the crowd cheers wildly. I know firsthand that the fans appreciate that Ben includes them. Makes them feel like part of the reason the team has been so successful.
“You’re all a big part of our success, guys,” Ben says, “but I want to single out one person for special recognition.”
As he speaks, Ben looks my way and smiles, making my heart flutter like hummingbird wings. Before I know what’s happening, Gabe is beside me. With a deep, booming laugh, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of flour, drawing a sharp squealing giggle from me. He carries me up to the stage and sets me down on my feet next to Ben who takes my hand and turns to me.
“You all know Bailey Greene as the finest sportswriter in LA,” he says. “But she is my rock. She’s my champion. She’s the woman I love with all I have to give. She’s my everything.”
The crowd erupts again, and my face gets so hot that I’m half surprised I can’t see flames. A stupid grin on my face, I try to turn away, but Ben holds me fast. He motions for the crowd to quiet down, which amazingly enough, they do. He gives me a wink, grabs the microphone, and takes a few steps away from the podium, dragging me along with him. Much like Ben, I’m not used to being in the spotlight and am uncomfortable when it shines on me. I’m a writer and mostly anonymous, and I like it that way.
“We’re going to run it back next season,” Ben promises to more cheering from the crowd. “But before we get started working on three in a row, there’s one thing I want to do first. There’s just one question I need to have answered.”
The crowd falls silent, but there is an anticipatory pressure in the air around us. My heart leaps into my throat and everything falls away when Ben drops to a knee, pulling a small black box out of his pocket and looking up at me.