Tayvis One-Shots

loss of my life

Travis's POV

The game is slipping away, and I can feel it.

I hear the roaring of the crowd, the chants, the celebrations that aren't for us. Every play, every drive, every hit, it all feels heavier, like the weight of this moment is pressing down on my shoulders, and no matter how hard I push, I can't break through.

But then the stadium erupts in something different. A wave of boos rolls through the crowd, loud enough to cut through everything else. For a second, I think maybe there was a bad call, maybe someone did something stupid-

Until I see the jumbotron.

Taylor.

They put her on the damn screen, and people are booing her.

She just laughs, tilting her head to the side like she's amused by it, like it doesn't phase her at all. But I know her. I know that tiny shift in her expression, the way her fingers tighten on her jacket, the way she blinks a little too fast before going right back to pretending like she doesn't give a damn.

It pisses me off.

I barely register the next snap, the next play. My body moves on autopilot, but my mind is stuck on her, on how she's up there, dealing with bullshit she never asked for just because she showed up to support me.

I should be able to fix this. I should be able to turn around, grab a mic, and tell every single person in this stadium that they don't deserve to breathe the same air as her. That they can hate me all they want, but they don't get to come for her.

But I can't.

I shake it off as best as I can, forcing my focus back to the game. There's still time. There's still a chance.

Except there isn't.

We lose.

And suddenly, nothing else matters.

----------------

I just stand there for a second, hands on my hips, helmet feeling too damn tight, chest heaving. The Eagles rush the field, their fans losing their minds, and I swear I can hear Jason's voice in the mix, probably losing his shit somewhere up in the suite.

I drag in a breath, forcing my emotions down, because I can't let this show. Not now. Not in front of the cameras, not in front of my teammates who are already hurting enough.

Eventually, I make my way off the field, past the reporters, past the chaos, my body heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. I know exactly where I'm going.

The suite.

I step inside, and it's loud—Jason and Kylie are celebrating with their girls, Scott's clapping him on the back, the energy in here completely different from what I just walked away from. My team just had their season ripped away from them, and I step into this.

And then I see her.

Taylor.

She's standing off to the side, her coat still wrapped around her, hair a little messy from running her fingers through it a thousand times. Her face is careful, unreadable, but the second she sees me, something in her shifts.

I don't even think.

I just walk straight to her.

She meets me in the middle, arms slipping around my shoulders as I bury my face against her neck, the warmth of her wrapping around me like a shield from the rest of this room.