I Hate Football Players 3 | 18+

Epilogue: Ellie

A/N: Mature content.

After Logan and I graduated from UW, Mom put the house up for sale. In a surprising decision, she also quit her insurance company job and moved in with her sister. Apparently they'd talked a lot since Dad's funeral and while half of Aunt Maria's eight kids were still in high school and the rest out of the house, she already experienced empty nest syndrome. In what sounded like a crazy but exciting lifestyle change, Mom and Aunt Maria planned their own start-up catering company.

In a very bittersweet process, I came home for the summer between when my undergraduate education ended and graduate school at UW started, packed up my room, and spent a month with Mom until the house looked like we'd never lived there. Walls and floors were scrubbed, pictures and personal belongings packed up, and more than eighteen years of memories relived.

While I packed, the glint of additional platinum on my ring finger signaled the biggest change in my life.

Logan drafted third overall came with its perks, which included a four-year, thirty million dollar contract, plus a twenty-one million dollar signing bonus and additional incentives if Logan played in the playoffs. Since all players drafted in the first round had four-year contracts, Logan took a move that surprised anyone who didn't really know him and negotiated the other aspects of his salary contract.

Mr. Reynolds casually looked over the fine print for any red flags but Logan honestly would've played for the NFL's minimum salary if that meant he stayed in Seattle. That said, before either of Logan's gigantor feet touched the turf for the Seahawks, he'd financially secured our future beyond either of our wildest dreams.

I still think he'd make a decent high school science teacher... maybe someday.

After Logan signed his NFL contract, our life churned forwards at a faster pace than I'd expected. His summer was packed with NFL orientation, training, and conditioning camps and he fielded enough PR offers and endorsements that he hired an agent for that part of his life.

Just two wedding planning sessions into that shitstorm of a process, surrounded by binders of flowers, venues, and catering menus, I blurted out the best decision for us.

"Let's do a destination wedding..." I pleaded at Logan with both my eyes and the amount of desperation that soaked my voice. "Next month."

"Next... month!?" Barbara, the very kind but slightly dated wedding planner my mom recommended, gasped like I'd committed blasphemy. "That's - that's -"

"Perfect." One of Logan's hands clasped over mine. "Second week in June free."

"But - but!" Poor Barbara tossed both hands up in the air, leaned back in her seat, and gaped at me. "Eleanor, don't you want a beautiful, Italian wedding? The live band, four-course dinner, crystal, white gloves -"

"Ehh, not really." My shoulders lifted up to my ears and I craned my neck back at Logan. "I just want you, me, and our closest friends and family. I can't promise the rest of my family won't be butthurt, or throw us a party later."

"I'll go straight to the courthouse right now if that's what you want," Logan promised with a soft kiss on my forehead. "I just want you, baby."

While his offer tempted me a lot, I sat silent for a moment. "I'd like to at least wear a dress in a short ceremony, if that's okay."

"F-fine," Barbara huffed herself out of hyperventilation and shoved a thick binder across the table with me.

The words 'Destinations' over a couple that relaxed on the beach jumped out at me, and just four pages in, my index finger tapped on an 'all-included' option.