Page 153 of Unmanageable

She lets out a shaky, breathless laugh, looking into the cramped space. She touches the faded paint on the exterior.

“You are insane. How did you even…”

“I had help,” I say, standing close to her in the cool night air.

The silence of the woods is heavy, leaving just the sound of our breathing near the orange metal.

This is it.

No crowd. No cameras. No Golden Boy persona.

Just us and the old tin box.

My fingers close around the velvet box in my pocket. I slide down onto one knee on the gravel beside the open door of the van.

My heart stutters so hard I think it might actually stop.

Her breath catches—a sharp, audible hitch. Her eyes flick down to my hand, then back to my face, wide and shimmering.

“Oh,” she says softly, her voice barely a thread. “Oh, Finny.”

I reach out and take her left hand, my thumb finding her wrist. My skin brushes right over the tiny dollar sign tattoo. I press my lips against the ink, a slow, lingering kiss against the warm skin of her pulse point, before I look up into her eyes.

“Scottie Elise Reed,” I start, and somehow, by some miracle, my voice doesn’t shake. “You came into my life like a controlled demolition and proceeded to rebuild everything I didn’t even know was broken. You make me braver. You make me softer. You are my home, Scottie-girl.”

A single tear tracks down her cheek, but she doesn’t move to wipe it away.

“I love you,” I continue, my thumb moving back to her wrist, resting over the tattoo. “I want to choose you every single day for the rest of my life. Scottie, will you—”

“Finn. Stop.”

I freeze. My brain starts scrolling through every worst-case scenario Dean has ever narrated during a legal brief.

Is she saying no? Is it too soon? Did I use the wrong middle name?

“Huh?” I ask, my stomach dropping.

“I need you to stop for a second,” she says, more tears spilling over and soaking into the collar of the hoodie.

“Okay. That feels… ominous,” I mutter. “Is the ring too small? I can get it resized. I can get a bigger diamond. I can buy a better van.”

She shakes her head quickly, reaching out to grab my free hand and squeezing it so hard her knuckles turn a stark, ghostly white. Her fingers are shaking just as much as mine are now.

“I was going to tell you later,” she says. “I swear. I just didn’t want to ruin the weekend. I didn’t plan for this to happen now. I had a whole strategy, Finn. A plan. But I can’t let you finish that sentence without telling you what’s actually happening.”

“Telling me what, Scottie? You’re scaring the goalie here.”

She looks at me—really looks at me—with eyes that are bright and overwhelmed and fiercer than I’ve ever seen them.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stops.

Literally.

The wind outside dies. The lake goes silent.

My ears start ringing with a high-pitched hum. My lungs completely forget the basic mechanics of breathing.