End Game

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Aurora 

The last few months had felt like walking a tightrope—balancing the wreckage of one world while trying to rebuild another. When Nate and I left Connecticut, I made the hardest choice of my life: I cut my family off. Everyone except Daniel, of course. He'd always been the only one in my corner.

The fiasco at my father's political soirée had been the final straw. My parents' stunt—inviting William, watching with smug satisfaction as Nate was cornered and humiliated—broke something in me. I could see it in Nate too, how much it gutted him even once we were back in California. He hated himself for losing control. What I hated more was knowing my family had engineered the whole thing.

My father, ever the strategist, had done what he always did best: damage control. Protecting his campaign's image mattered more than protecting me, but in scrubbing the incident from the press, he'd kept Nate's name clean. It wasn't mercy—it was self-preservation. Still, I was grateful it shielded Nate.

After that, I stopped answering their calls. I blocked my mother's number. I'd given them too many chances already. This time, I was done. For the first time in my life, I was living on my own terms—supporting myself, unlearning the need to mold myself into their perfect daughter. It was terrifying. But it was also liberating.

Final exams blurred past, and before I knew it, Nate was boarding a plane to Florida for his summer training program. He was determined to give it everything he had, and I couldn't have been prouder. Still, I didn't go with him. The choice tore at me, but I knew I needed this summer—for me.

So I moved in with his foster moms, who welcomed me like I'd always belonged. I worked evenings at The Study, and during the day I took a full-time job with a Leadership Adventure program for underprivileged kids. The work changed me. It made me realize I wanted to switch my major in the fall and become a teacher. On Sundays, I volunteered with Nate's moms at the food bank. For the first time in my life, I felt like I wasn't pretending. I was part of something real.

And that's when the idea for the scholarship fund came.

Nate inspired me every day—his grit, his kindness, the way he carried everything he'd endured without letting it harden him. I wanted to give something back. By the end of summer, it was ready: The Nathaniel Johnson Scholarship Fund, created for underprivileged high school athletes chasing something bigger.

Tonight, Reseda High was hosting a community event honouring past athletes who had gone on to succeed after graduation. Nate thought he was just giving a speech about Florida and UCLA, which he was—but he didn't know the scholarship announcement would be the night's highlight.

The late-afternoon light streamed through his bedroom window as I fastened the last clasp on my earrings. My black dress fit like it had been made for me—sleek, with thin straps and a daring slit up one leg. The strappy heels added just enough elegance, clicking softly against the floor as I shifted toward the mirror.

That's when his arms slid around my waist, his warmth immediately grounding me. His reflection appeared behind mine, his lips brushing the curve of my neck as his hands settled on my hips.

"You look amazing," Nate murmured against my skin, his voice low and smooth.

I smiled at his reflection in the mirror. "You're not so bad yourself."

When Nate came back from Florida, he wasn't just different—he was transformed. The physical changes were impossible to ignore: broader shoulders, a sharper jawline, the way his tailored navy suit clung perfectly over a crisp white shirt. But it was more than that. He carried himself with a quiet confidence now, as though he finally believed in himself the way I always had.