“Blake!” I dug my heels into the ground. “What’s wrong? You haven’t mentioned anything about my hair. Do you not like it?” And there was that insecure teenage girl again. He grunted but didn’t say anything else. He took my hand and started walking to the car again. I stayed frozen, refusing to move, and refusing to let him move me. Dropping his hand and crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Talk!”

   He let out a frustrated groan and then looked around, searching for something. His eyes lit up. He must’ve found what he was looking for. Probably a ditch to throw his ugly girlfriend in. He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward an alcove between two stores.

   “You think I don’t like your hair?”

   I nodded, pouting as I gazed up at him.

   He looked around again before he cleared his throat. Gently, he tugged on my hand and led it down to his crotch, where I could feel how hard he was. I bit my lip, containing my moan at the feel of him in my hand.

   He raised his arms, flattening his palms on the wall on either side of my head. “Does that feel like I don’t like it?” he whispered in my ear. “I need to get you back to our room, Chloe. Now.”

   “Oh my God!” I quickly snapped on my bra and pulled on my shorts. “We’re gonna miss Hoosiers.”

   He laughed, lazily shrugging his shirt back on. “I’ve seen it a million times. I can tell you exactly what happens.”

   “That’s not the point. I want to see it. I want to see it with you. I want to fall in love with basketball the way you have. I want to feel what it feels like for you.”

   “When did you do all of this?” I asked as I took in the trunk of the Jeep. He’d set up a blanket, food, drinks, and a jar full of lollipops.

   “While you were at the salon somehow getting more beautiful.”

   “This is amazing.”

   He grinned and took up his position, knees up, legs spread, waiting for me. I sat cross-legged between them, like we’d done so many times out at my mom’s lake.

   His arms wrapped tightly around me as he softly kissed my neck. “I love you,” he said. And it didn’t matter that it was the seventh time he’d said it that day. Each time it was said held a greater significance.

   I tilted my head up to kiss him. “I love you, too.”

   Blake

   We watched the movie in silence. She got so caught up in it that she didn’t even realize that I was so caught up in her. I could watch the movie whenever I wanted, but this moment, with her, it was once in a lifetime. She sniffed, wiping at her tears as the final scenes played.

   I knew what was happening without looking. It was the state championship game; they were tied at forty, twenty-four seconds on the clock. Hickory, the underdog heroes, had just called a time-out. Coach Norman Dale had given them the play, using Jimmy as a decoy. The players hadn’t wanted it, and Jimmy had spoken up, “I’ll make it,” he said. And the story went back to game play.

   She leaned forward, her eyes glued to the screen as the seconds ticked by. I knew the moment the shot was about to be made. The sound of a ball hitting the hardwood floors. Once. Twice. Crossover. Third time. The music blasted. Chloe held a hand to her heart. Then that swoosh—that unique sound a ball makes when it passes through the hoop, nothing but net. And then the cheers. Not just on the screen but from the people around us. She let out a sob, so relieved that the shot had made it, and that Hickory had won. On the screen, the crowd swarmed the court, people hugged, people cried. In my head, it was silent, all but for the thumping of my heart.

   “Chloe.”

   She turned to look up at me, her eyes welling with tears.

   She blinked.

   They fell.

   I wiped them away.

   And then she smiled.

   And that was all I needed to say the words.

   “Marry me?”

   Chloe

   My breath caught.

   My heart stopped.

   My eyes closed.

   Nothing but red.

   “Chloe.” His voice sounded far away. “Did you hear me?”

   I opened my eyes to see his beautiful face watching me, waiting. “What did you say?”

   His hand went in his pocket, and he pulled out a little black box. “I’m asking you to marry me,” he said. And then he flipped the lid.

   I looked away, too afraid that I might be dreaming.

   “Marry me,” he said again, his voice softening and his confidence waning. “I know it’s not much,” he continued, “and I get that we don’t really know what’s going to happen or what our future might be. But we’re eighteen, so it’s okay that we don’t have that stuff worked out yet. And I know that I have nothing to offer you, just this car and a bunch of maybes. And I know it’s selfish, to want you like this, to need you the way I do—”

   “Yes,” I cut in. Because I knew it, too. I knew that I was being selfish—to want the same things as he did. But a part of me wanted that selfishness to be okay, because he knew about my chances. He knew what might be coming. He just didn’t know how soon.

   “Did you say yes?” He lifted my chin so I would look him in the eyes. “Is that what you said? Did you say yes?”

   I nodded, and then he lunged at me. Kissing me. Hugging me. Holding me. Then he took my hand in his, pulled the ring from its box, and slipped it on my finger. And then it was my turn. I jumped on him. Hugging. Kissing. It was a messy kiss, but we didn’t let that stop us. Through laughter, through tears, we never stopped kissing. “I love you,” I cried.

   And then we did it all over again.

   “I need to call Mary,” I managed to get out.

   He handed me his phone.

   It rang twice before she answered. “Hello?”

   “Mom!” I squealed.

   And then I froze. My heart dropped to my stomach.

   Blake took my hand and squeezed it once. He smiled and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

   I closed my eyes and I saw her, my mother, in my vision, in my memory. And that was exactly what she was. A memory. An irreplaceable memory.

   A calmness washed over me and I smiled.

   Mary stayed quiet on the other end.

   I wiped my tears, and inhaled deeply. “Mom,” I whispered, afraid of how it would make me feel. But all it did was make me feel lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. It felt right. “Mom, it’s Chloe.”

   Silence.

   And then I heard her shaky exhale. The line clicked, and Dean’s deep voice filled the space of the car. “Who the hell is this making my wife cry?”