He's my endgame! (Tayvis)

What happens next?

Taylor didn't leave right away.

When the final whistle faded and the crowd began to spill outward in waves, she stayed seated for a moment longer than necessary. The noise still clung to her, not just in her ears, but in her chest, in the strange lightness behind her ribs.

She had done it.

There was no undoing that now.

Around her, people talked loudly, phones already out, voices buzzing with speculation and certainty. She caught fragments without trying, her name, his number, the word together spoken like it was brand new.

She stood before doubt could catch up.

The walk out of the stadium felt longer than the walk in. Heavier. Every step echoed with awareness, of eyes, of momentum, of the way moments turned into headlines faster than anyone could stop them.

By the time she reached the car, her phone was vibrating relentlessly.

She didn't look.

Instead, she stared out the window as Arrowhead receded behind her, the lights shrinking, the noise dissolving into distance. Something in her chest finally loosened.

Not relief.

Acceptance.

She flipped her phone face down in her lap and let herself be still.

Travis noticed it the second he was alone.

The locker room buzzed, laughter, music, congratulations flying fast and loose, but his mind kept circling back to the same image. Her. Sitting there like she belonged. Like it wasn't a question.

He towelled off slowly, grounding himself in routine. He'd played a good game. He knew that. But there was something else under his skin now, a charged awareness that the world had shifted, even if only by a degree.

His phone was waiting for him when he checked it.

Messages stacked on messages. Teammates. Friends. Family.

And one from her.

I'm heading out. I'll see you later.

No commentary.
No exclamation point.

Just fact.

He exhaled through a quiet smile.

Drive safe, he replied.
Then, after a beat, I'm really glad you came.

The reply came almost instantly.

Me too.

That was enough.

Later that night, Taylor sat cross-legged on the bed in her hotel room, shoes kicked off, hair loose, the city glowing beyond the window like it always did, indifferent, restless, alive.

Her phone lay beside her, finally unlocked.

She scrolled slowly.

The reaction had arrived.

Photos.
Videos.
Speculation turned into certainty in real time.

She felt it, the old instinct to brace, to retreat, to plan ten steps ahead.

Instead, she set the phone down.

She wasn't panicking.
She wasn't spiralling.

She was calm.

That surprised her more than anything.

Another message came through.

You okay?

She smiled softly and typed back.

Yeah. Just letting it land.

Three dots appeared.

Then, Same.

She leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, heart steady. Tomorrow would come with questions. With noise. With interpretations she couldn't control.

But tonight?

Tonight, she knew exactly what she'd done.

She'd chosen him, not as a statement, not as a headline.

Just as a fact.

And whatever happened next, she would meet it the same way she'd walked into that stadium.

Eyes open.
Feet planted.
Unapologetic.