End Game

Epilogue

Epilogue

One Year Later

Nate

The roar hit me before I even crossed the white line — a living, breathing thing that shoved the air out of my chest. SoFi's lights cut through the night like a dozen spotlights aimed straight at my heartbeat; the turf smelled like fresh rubber and rain-dampened grass even though the sky was clear. The Rams logo on my chest felt heavier and truer than any piece of fabric I'd ever owned. For a second I simply stood there, letting the noise roll over me, letting the history of every youth league, every busted-up knee, every late-night throw in a parking lot collect and settle into this single, impossible moment.

But then I looked up.

There she was — Aurora — a bright, steady island in a sea of faces. The emerald-cut engagement ring I bought her was on her finger as it caught the light and exploded into sparks. She was standing, waving, the kind of proud that made my throat tighten. Beside her, Callie had smeared glitter on a banner and Samuel was whooping like a man possessed, both of them grinning like kids at a carnival. The sign read: NATE JOHNSON, RESEDA'S FINEST, and for a ridiculous, glorious second I felt exactly that.

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head. Callie probably came up with that.

It still felt surreal. Seeing Aurora there, supporting me, reminded me of how far we'd come. I wasn't just some foster kid from Reseda anymore, wondering if I'd ever be good enough. I was standing on a professional football field where those dreams lived — and she'd been the one who believed in me when I didn't. And Aurora had grown too. She wasn't the guarded girl who didn't know if she could fully step away from her family's shadow. We'd found our way—together.

The ref's whistle cut through my reverie; the world snapped back into sharpness. Pads creaked, helmets clacked, coaches barked. But even as we lined up I felt her eyes like a tether around my neck, steadying me. I thumbed the little medallion at my throat — Aurora's gift — feeling the cool metal under my skin where "Unstoppable" was engraved in her messy, perfect handwriting. It steadied me like a prayer.

The playbook became a language I knew by heart: read, snap, set, throw. Each throw that night felt like carving a path through air, like every muscle and memory was finally answering the same call. The crowd rose and fell like ocean swells. By halftime the scoreboard favored us by two touchdowns and I could taste victory — salty and metallic and sweet — on the back of my teeth. But between plays, between huddles, between touchdowns, my eyes kept finding her. She was always there, mouth forming words I couldn't hear over the roar, but I could read the meaning: I'm here. I'm proud. I'm yours.

The final whistle felt like a gift wrapped in sound. Victory folded over us, warm and loud, the locker room a blur of slapping backs and shouted names. I wanted the noise, but I wanted the quiet more — the quiet where she waited outside and the rest of the world fell away.

When I pushed through the crowd and found her, the city lights painting halos around everyone, she stepped into me like she belonged there more than I did. Callie and Samuel were with her—Callie bouncing on the balls of her feet, grin plastered wide, Samuel still whooping and clutching one corner of the banner they'd made—waiting like they'd staked their claim on this moment. I wrapped my arms around Aurora and let the scent of her — jasmine shampoo, sweat from cheering, a hint of the perfume she only wore for big nights — fold into me. The world shrank to the line of her jaw, the way her fingers threaded through the gap at my neck.

"You were incredible out there," she said, her voice full of pride.

"So were you," I replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Cheering me on like that? You're the real MVP."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," I teased, my hands tightening around her waist.

Her smile softened, and she looked at me the way she always did—like I was something more than I ever thought I could be. "I do. More than you'll ever know."

I glanced down at the ring on her finger, the symbol of the life we were building together. "You know," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper, "I've won a lot of games in my life, but you'll always be my greatest victory."

"Don't try that mush on me now," she said, but the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "I'm proud of you, Nate. I've never been as proud of anyone."

I cupped her face, brushing my thumb along her cheek. "None of this feels real without you."

She kissed me then — not a quick press, but the kind that carried every unspoken thing between us: the fights we'd survived, the choices we'd made, the promises we were still learning how to keep. Her hands slipped under my jersey at my waist, fingertips grazing my skin, pulling me back down to earth. I tasted adrenaline, sweat, victory — and something sweeter. The future.

When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine, her nose bumping mine the way it always did.

"You may be a big football star now, but you're still such a sap," she whispered, though her voice wavered.

I grinned. "Guess you bring it out of me."

Her smile softened. "Good. Don't ever lose that."

"Not planning to." I slid her hand to my chest, over the medallion she'd given me. "Every time I walk out there, this goes with me. So do you."

Her eyes shone under the stadium lights, fierce and sure. "And I'm so excited for this journey. The late nights, the games, the travel, the chaos... all of it. Together."

That one word — together — settled deeper than any victory ever could.

"Promise?" I asked quietly.

"Promise." She kissed me again, this one softer, steadying.

"Alright, enough of the epic love story," Callie cut in, waving the banner like it was a flag. "Some of us would like to congratulate the superstar too, you know!"

Samuel threw an arm around me with a grin. "Seriously, man — that was one hell of a first game in the big leagues. And thanks for the tickets. Best seats I've ever had."

I laughed, clapping him on the back. "Anytime. You've always got a spot in the crowd, Sam. Front row if you want it."

Callie squealed, pulling Aurora into a hug before grabbing me next. "So proud of you, Nate."

We walked away from the stadium side by side, shoulders brushing, voices low, the afterglow of the night still buzzing through the city. The cheers followed us, but none of it mattered compared to the quiet warmth of her hand in mine.

For the first time, I wasn't just chasing something. I'd found it. And with her beside me, the future stretched out wide and bright — bigger than any scoreboard, stronger than any crowd.

Whatever came next, we'd face it together. And that was the real win.