He's my endgame! (Tayvis)

He doesn't say it out loud

Travis didn't jump to conclusions.

He learned a long time ago that assumptions were how you fumbled something good. So when Taylor texted maybe , just one word, lowercase, deliberately noncommittal he didn't read into it right away.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Practice had been solid that day. Clean reps, good energy, nothing worth replaying in his head. And yet, hours later, he found himself sitting alone in his kitchen, replaying that one word like it had weight.

Maybe.

Not yes.
Not no.

A door left unlocked.

He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of water, eyes unfocused. He wasn't nervous, not the way people expected him to be nervous. No pacing. No adrenaline. Just a steady awareness that something important might be approaching, and the only thing he could do was not mess it up.

Taylor hadn't asked for reassurance. She hadn't hinted. She hadn't tested him.

That was the thing about her, she never tried to control the moment. She just lived inside it until she understood it.

And if she was even considering coming to a game... that meant something.

Travis had played in front of packed stadiums since college. He knew how to perform under lights, how to turn noise into fuel. Arrowhead on a Sunday felt like home, familiar, loud, predictable in the best way.

But the thought of her there?

That wasn't about football.

That was about choice.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over her name. There were a dozen things he could say, casual jokes, easy outs, anything that would let her know it was okay if she didn't come.

He didn't send any of them.

Instead, he locked the phone and set it face down on the counter.

If she came, it had to be because she wanted to. Not because he nudged the moment into existence.

Later that night, he went for a drive, no destination, just movement. The city lights blurred past, radio low, mind unusually quiet. He thought about his family, about how they showed up for each other without asking. Thought about the way Taylor watched people before deciding how close to stand.

He respected that.

More than that he trusted it.

By the time he got home, his phone buzzed.

I've been thinking about what you said. About choice.

His chest tightened, slow and deliberate.

He typed back once. Deleted it. Tried again.

Whatever you decide, I'm good. I just want you to feel like it's yours.

The dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

That's why I'm thinking about it, she wrote.

He smiled, not wide, not showy. Just enough to feel it.

He set the phone down and exhaled, letting the moment settle without chasing it. He didn't imagine her in the stands. Didn't picture the cameras, the headlines, the noise.

Instead, he pictured something smaller.

Her walking in on her own terms.
Her choosing him without needing to explain it.

And maybe, if he was lucky, trusting him enough to let the world see it.

Travis turned off the lights and headed to bed, heart steady, mind clear.

Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn't afraid of the noise.

He was ready for her.