I spot her before I even step all the way inside. She’s standing near one of the tall cocktail tables, glass in hand, laughing at something Julia just said. Megan, next to her, nods along.
Magnolia is radiant. Unbothered. Her eyes scan the door just as I walk in, and the moment she sees me, she lights up, her entire body shifting. She crosses the floor, and when she reaches me, she doesn’t hesitate. Arms around my neck, lips on mine.
She kisses me like I just came back from war.
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in tighter, breathing her in—vanilla and red wine and something that’s only her.
The crowd fades. The noise softens. For a second, it’s just us.
When she pulls back, she smiles up at me, hands still looped around my neck. “Hello… The Wall.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “You heard that, huh?”
“Umm… everyone heard that. You’re still the one they chant for.”
“I just hope I don’t let them down when I’m back on the pitch.”
“Not possible.”
I press one last kiss to her forehead before she takes my hand and leads me toward the corner where the other wives have gathered.
“Is Bradley okay?” she asks, tipping her head toward the screen across the room, where a replay of the hit is already looping.
I snort. “He’ll feel that hit tomorrow, but he’s fine. Bit rattled maybe, but he’ll walk it off.”
Her brows lift. “That tackle looked brutal.”
“Yeah, well… he was running his mouth before the whistle. Picked the wrong forward to talk shit to and got flattened for it.”
She hums. “Ah. Got it.”
“Consider it a lesson in consequences.”
“Do you talk shit when you’re playing?”
“We all talk shit.”
“Getting your clock cleaned… is that something I should start preparing for?”
“Without a doubt.”
She smirks, but then her gaze shifts, something sharper flickering behind her eyes. “Speaking of talking shit… there’s something I need to tell you.”
I go still, and my stomach tightens. “Please don’t tell me that fucker was in the suite during the game.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you that fucker was in the suite during the game.”
“Fuck,” I mutter, jaw clenching. “What did he do this time?”
Magnolia takes a slow breath, setting her glass down on the high table behind us. “He came up while I was getting a drink.”
My pulse is already thudding at the base of my neck.
“He made some stupid comments—something cheeky about how you’re retired and it’s cute people are still chanting for you.” Her mouth curves in a humorless smile. “Typical Tyson. Same shit but different words.”
I bite down on the urge to ask what else he said. I already know it gets worse.
“A thought occurred to me. He always does this—finds us in some public place, surrounded by people. He counts on us keeping quiet. Not making a scene. But why are we the ones staying quiet when he’s the one harassing us?”
