Epilogue
EPILOGUE
COMEBACKS
Beck
The crowd was never this loud in Los Angeles when I played here. But then, I had never played a game like this.
With less than one minute left in the Super Bowl, we’re down by four. We are fucked if I don’t engineer a helluva comeback in the next fifty-eight seconds.
I can barely hear a thing in the huddle, and my voice is hoarse from calling plays.
When we go into shotgun formation, I scan the field, read the coverage, and take the snap.
But when I’ve got the ball, the Denver Mustangs are all over my receivers.
There’s no way I can complete a pass.
I hand off to the running back, who carries it just shy of a first down.
We get right back into it, and I go for a play fake, drawing the Mustangs’ defenders to the running back as Carter races downfield.
Yes, baby, yes! Go, go, go!
I sling the ball his way, but a safety barrels in his direction, hellbent on intercepting.
My heart climbs into my throat as I watch and pray for two seconds that last forever as Carter launches himself into the air and grabs the ball... with the side of his motherfucking helmet.
Holy shit.
He’s got one hand on the precious cargo, cradling it against his head. He scrambles out of bounds and puts us twenty yards away from the biggest chance of my life.
With the clock ticking, I’m behind the center once more, taking the snap, then hunting for an open man.
Where the hell is a receiver when you need one?
But I spot an opening, a line down the right side of the field if I can just weasel past that big-ass linebacker.
Sometimes, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Tucking the ball into my arm, I run like hell, dodging the defensive end, darting around a linebacker, and then the end zone is mere yards away.
All I have to do is run like hell. And I fucking do, carrying the ball all the way.
Holy shit.
I’m electrified as my teammates swarm me, high-fiving and chest-bumping. They’re so ready to crack open the sparkling cider.
But there are ten seconds left, and anything can happen. After Hayden secures the extra point, I pump a fist, then pace the sidelines, where all I can do is watch.
When the Mustangs’ quarterback throws a Hail Mary pass, time freezes as the ball sails down, down, and down the field, looking like it’ll land in a receiver’s arm right in the end zone. But Isaiah cuts in and snatches the ball from the air for a goddamn game-ending interception.
We did it. We fucking did it.
My teammates crush me in the most epic hug of all time as we pull it off—a repeat.
I guess trading for me wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I look to the stands, wishing my brother were here but knowing he’d be as thrilled as I am.
But someone else who loves me is here. When I return to my hotel, my voice is nearly gone, but my energy is sky-high, especially since Jason’s waiting for me in the lobby bar.
He didn’t come to the game. He said it would look to fans like he was rooting for me. I could understand that. A compromise here or there for our fans is a small sacrifice for being together.
Here in the lobby bar, he holds out a glass of champagne.
“Fuck you. I hate kitty litter,” Jason grumbles as I stride over to him. I take the champagne, set it down on the bar, and grab his face.
Then I kiss the man I love.
When I break the kiss, I whisper hoarsely against his lips, “You may hate kitty litter, but you’ll love fucking a Super Bowl winner.”
In my hotel room, he shows me how much he loves it by bending me over the bed and taking me hard and fast. It’s intense and bone-rattling, and it borderline hurts as he drives into me, his hand on my shoulder blade, his mouth near my ear.
“Made me so hot watching you run that ball,” he grunts.
“Turned me on, winning a Super Bowl,” I rasp out in my fading voice.
“It gets me so hard, fucking a Super Bowl winner.”
“Winning one makes me wanna come on you,” I mutter.
He obeys, pulling out and then flopping to his back. I climb onto him, sink down on his cock, and stroke myself till the pleasure consumes me. I finish my night by finishing on his chest.
He follows me off the cliff with a dirty, satisfied groan.
A little later, when we’re cleaned up and under the covers, he sighs contentedly. “Question for you. I’m already on kitty litter detail since, you know, the cat lives with me. So, how does this change anything?”
“That’s a good question. I guess I’ll need to monitor you to make sure you do it every day,” I suggest, hoping Jason hears more in my offer.
“And how would you do that exactly, Beck? I mean, you do sleep over a lot already, I suppose,” he deadpans.
Enough crumbs. Time to be bold. “You could ask me to move in with you,” I suggest in my shredded voice.
He flips to his side and props his head in his hand. “Move in with me,” he says with a smile.
“So you can fuck a Super Bowl winner any time you want?”
He laughs. “Yes, baby. I love fucking a Super Bowl winner, but next time, that Super Bowl winner is going to fuck me on our Alaskan king.”
Our .
That sounds very good to me.
Another thing that sounds good is introducing Jason to my friends in Los Angeles. The next day, we go to breakfast at a café in Venice Beach where we meet Rachel.
Is this a bad idea? She’s my friend, but she’s also an ex. I hope it won’t be weird, even though Jason knows she’s a part of my life.
Rachel’s already here, and she pops up from the table, and rushes over to us. I’m expecting her to throw her arms around me, but she goes straight to Jason. Clasps his shoulders. Looks up at him since he’s a foot taller. “Thank you,” she says, earnestly.
He furrows his brow, but then a second later the line is gone. Doesn’t take him long to get her meaning. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says.
“You make my friend so happy,” she says softly. “And that means the world to me.”
My throat tightens as he hugs her back. Wow. I really can pick ‘em. I have an amazing friend in Rachel, and an absolutely incredible boyfriend in Jason.
The three of us sit and eat breakfast, and there’s nothing awkward at all about my guy meeting my ex-girlfriend.
When we finish, Jason and I go to the beach, heading to a basketball court on the edge of the sand. My friend Drew is by his lonesome, dribbling a basketball. He gears up to shoot.
“Hey! Want to see my ring?” I shout.
The ball soars, hits the rim, and wobbles off. He turns to me, shoots me a you’re dead look then says, “Why did I make plans to see you?”
“Because I’m your idol,” I deadpan.
Drew shakes his head, points his thumb at me, then looks to Jason. “You might need to expand the door frame in your home now that he’s got a ring,” Drew says.
“I can only imagine what it’ll be like when he actually has the damn thing to wear,” Jason says, then tips his chin Drew’s way. “Good to see you again, man.”
They know each other, since it’s a small world and all. But it’s good to see Jason hanging with a buddy of mine. This was something I once imagined. Something I wanted. Now, I get to have it, and it’s fantastic.
“You too. Wanna play?” Drew asks.
“Always,” Jason says, and as the three of us play an impromptu pickup game, Drew tells us more about his life here in Los Angeles, and this past season playing for the Devil Sharks. “No clue what’s going to happen next season. Sort of feels like everything’s up in the air. But maybe I’ll meet some beautiful lady who’ll take my mind off my team woes.”
“Sounds like a perfect solution to football woes,” I say drily, then shoot the ball.
“You know what? It sure does,” he says as the ball sails through the net.
The three of us hang out for a while longer, then I take off with my guy, walking toward the water, enjoying the day in the sun with the guy I chose.
The guy who chose me too.
As the waves crash, I reach for Jason’s hand, then give him a chaste kiss. Maybe people are looking, and maybe someone’s taking a picture, and maybe I don’t care.
I’m making him happy, and that’s what I care about most.