Chapter 55
Chapter fifty-five
Jay
March
Liv
I’m on my way x
I re-read her text for maybe the tenth time, the tiny timestamp mocking me from an hour ago. She’s probably here by now, somewhere in the crowd, and still, I can’t stop checking my phone like it’ll make her appear.
It’s been an interesting few months—new city, new job, and more surprises than I could’ve predicted. Liv and I have managed a few trips together, and we’ve planned the summer out to perfection.
But today is the day it all begins for real.
The stadium feels alive in a way I’ve only ever dreamed of capturing.
Drums thrum through the stands, the sea breeze rolling in over the turf, the Valkyries warming up beneath a sky streaked in blue.
My first game photographing them. My first shot at proving I deserve to be here.
Preseason has been tame, but this feels big.
I’m on the side of history I want to be on, here with this team of incredible women.
I adjust my camera strap, pretending my hands aren’t shaking. My superior, Penn, is across the field. He gives me a thumbs up when a voice catches my attention…
“Hey, I’m looking for the Valkyries’ hotshot photographer. Have you seen him?”
I turn, and there she is. My girl.
Her hair’s tied up, her team lanyard swinging around her neck, that familiar sparkle lighting her eyes. The second I see her, the tension in my chest eases just a little.
“Depends who’s asking,” I say, fighting a grin. “You some kind of fangirl?”
She hums, pretending to think. “What if I am?”
“Then I’d tell you I can’t be distracted today, but I might just make an exception for you.” I tug her in by the waist.
“Are you nervous?” she asks, eyes flicking all over my face, trying to read me.
“Yeah,” I admit. “A little.”
She leans up onto her toes, whispering in my ear. “Would it help if you pictured me naked?”
“Baby,” I groan, dropping my forehead into the crook of her neck. “Don’t do that to me here.”
Her melodic laugh reaches me, and I deflate, tension evaporating just from being near her.
She glances toward the stands then, and a new kind of smile tugs at her mouth. “Speaking of distractions,” she says, nodding toward the middle section.
I follow her gaze and freeze.
Seb, Indie, Quinn, Miles, Hudson, Daphne, Finn, Foxx, and even Liv’s dad, who we see every time she visits here. All of them, clustered together, waving and holding up a huge hand-painted sign that reads Smile for the camera, Oliviera!
For a second, I can’t find words as I look at my group of friends.
Seb, Miles, and Hudson were my stumbling introduction into adulthood—the first real glimpse of what loyalty looks like outside of a family.
Hudson, especially, has been in my corner since we were kids, long before any of us had a clue who we were going to become.
They taught me what friendship looks like when it’s real, loud, loyal, and messy in the best ways.
They let me fix things for them, too, even when they didn’t need fixing.
Maybe that’s why I clung to them the way I did.
Being useful was the one language I knew how to speak.
But Liv… she taught me something my friends never could.
She taught me that I didn’t have to be the steady one all the time.
That I didn’t have to earn my place by patching the cracks around everyone else.
She taught me that the people who love you don’t come to you because you’re the fixer, or because they need something; they come because you’re you. They stay because they love you.
And standing here, watching all of them gathered under that ridiculous sign, I know I’m not the glue holding anything together. I’m just part of the picture.
“You didn’t,” I manage.
“Oh, I did,” she says, proud and unbothered. “Your time to shine, baby.”
And just like that, the nerves are gone. My heart’s still racing, but it’s not panic anymore. It’s gratitude. It’s awe. It’s everything I’ve been chasing, finally standing right in front of me.
I kiss her once, it’s quick and grounding. “Thank you.”
She brushes her thumb across my cheek, smiling. “Go make them look good, hotshot.”
Some moments don’t happen because you plan them.
They happen because the right people collide with your life at exactly the right time.
***
The Valkyries win, and by the time I’ve packed my gear and finished the last few post-match shots, I’m riding a high that makes my chest ache in the best way.
Now we’re all crammed into Pour Decisions—the tiny sports bar a few blocks from the stadium—some of the team scattered between tables, the rest of us jammed into a corner booth that smells like fries and spilled beer.
Liv’s dad skipped the bar, but he lingered long enough to be sure she was still smiling.
I’m glad he did. It means more to her than she ever says out loud, having him close, having him show up.
When he found out about what happened with Rhys, he flew out to Oregon for her birthday weekend before Christmas, without thinking twice.
I don’t think he fully realizes how much that meant to her…
but I do. Seeing her happy is everything I’ve ever wanted, and her dad shares that sentiment.
Seb’s halfway through a dramatic retelling of the play of the night, hands flying everywhere. “Dude, she literally fended off three people. I should’ve retired on the spot. I’m man enough to admit half the Valkyries could flatten me and I’d still say thank you.”
Indie grins, raising her glass. “As you should.”
“Honestly,” Hudson adds, shaking his head, “watching them out there makes our training look like recess.”
“Cheers to that.” Daphne nudges him with a smile, and everyone raises their glasses to clink together. “Your daughter is going to be on that team one day, you know.”
Hudson grumbles, but there’s also a look of pride, too. He knows he won’t win that battle.
Finn sips his beer and turns to Liv. “So, when are you moving to California?”
She catches the look on my face and squeezes my knee under the table, silent reassurance in one small gesture. “I’ve got a summer internship at the Coastal Art Gallery, starting right after finals.”
A round of coos and congratulations filter in with the noises in the bar, and I pull Liv closer to me, kissing the side of her head.
“I could get used to this sea air, you know,” Daphne says, side-eyeing Hudson. “I think Rosie would love it, too.”
Hudson grins. “You just want an excuse to make her a beach kid.”
“Obviously.” Daphne shrugs, unapologetic.
The conversation splinters into overlapping chatter—Finn arguing with Miles about the best post-match playlist, Quinn trying to convince the bartender to let her pour her own drink. My chest is so full knowing that they all made the effort to be here for me today.
Liv’s hand slips into mine beneath the table. “Come on,” she says quietly, eyes flicking toward the open staircase that leads up to the rooftop terrace.
I let her pull me away from the noise, our fingers linked as we climb the narrow steps. The music fades until it’s just the hum of the city and the steady crash of waves beyond the street.
Liv leans against the railing, looking out over the dark coastline. “You can actually hear the ocean from here.”
“Guess that’s one perk of coastal living,” I say, stepping behind her, hands resting lightly on her hips.
Up here, the night stretches wide, the bright string lights swaying overhead, faint salt in the air.
There’s a heaviness, too, a charged quiet that sits low on the horizon.
Thunder murmurs somewhere far off. The smell of incoming rain hits, and for a second, I’m right back at that night, standing in the downpour outside our building, soaked through and stubborn, refusing to come in until she’d gotten her fill of the storm.
She looked wild then, all lightning and defiance, and I’d fallen before she even looked my way.
Liv tilts her head back, eyes bright. “Is that thunder?”
“Yeah,” I say, listening to it fade. “Hear any secrets yet?”
“You remembered that.”
“Of course I did. I remember everything about you, Olivia.”
“Too far away to hear yet.” She glances up at me, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. I love looking at her when a storm is nearby; that magic in her comes alive.
“So,” she starts, “have you still been doing it?”
I tilt my head. “You know I have.”
She watches me for a second, then nods. “Every week?”
“Every Sunday night,” I say. “I put on that playlist you made me and fill it in.”
She turns back to the railing, elbows resting on the edge. The wind tugs a few strands of hair loose, and I reach out, tucking one behind her ear.
“You’ve been keeping up with yours?” I ask.
“Every week. Some pages are good, some are a disaster, but it helps. Makes me feel close to you even when we’re not in the same place.”
I nod. “A year’s going to go fast.”
She brings my arms tighter around her. We stay like this, breathing, listening, just being together.
The scrapbooks we’ve been filling out for each other were all her idea, a way to recap the time spent apart at the end of it all when we’re living here.
It works, too, and gives us something to hold onto when we’re miles apart.
The air between us feels easy, quiet. She tilts her head back against my chest, her fingers finding mine and weaving them together.
When she turns around, it’s slow and unhurried, her hands sliding up my chest until they’re looped around my neck. The city lights paint soft edges across her face, and I swear I feel her heartbeat against mine.
“Hi, baby,” I murmur.
“Hey,” she says back, smiling like she already knows what I’m thinking.
I lower my head, catching her mouth in a kiss that starts gentle, but deepens fast, everything unspoken finding its way between us. Her hands tighten at the back of my neck, and mine find her waist, pulling her in closer.
When we pull apart, her forehead rests against mine, both of us catching our breath.
I pull out my phone, open the camera app, and angle it to capture us. Liv leans in, tucking her head beneath my chin, and smiles. I snap the photo and another as she closes her eyes, breathing me in.
“I like being here,” she says quietly. “With you. I don’t want to go back to separate calendars and beds.”
I nod once. “We’ll get there. One more year, right?”
She nods, too, and presses her forehead to my collarbone. I hold her there, memorizing the weight of her, the sound of the waves behind us, the way she always fits against me like this, knowing that this is our beginning.