EPILOGUE
Emery
Fifteen months later
Our second season ended last night.
Not with fireworks or chaos or the kind of noise that rattles your bones—but with relief. With closure. With the quiet understanding that the grind is over and everyone survived it.
Lucas’s season. My season.
While there’s still work to be done, it’s not the day-in, day-out grind of Monday recovery, prep all week, followed by Sunday game day.
And it means we get to finally do this—stand in the driveway of the house we built together, new keys warm in my palm, and the late afternoon sun dipping low behind us.
“It’s finally ours,” I whisper.
Of course, we’re exhausted. Between the long days at work, the crazy travel schedule, the endless discussions—and a few fights—over what we wanted our dream house to become—we’ve been burning the candle at both ends for longer than is healthy.
But now there’s this. A move-in ready house. A quiet, private yard. The spring and summer to settle in and make it ours. And the peace that comes with all of it.
Lucas exhales beside me, hands on his hips as he looks at the house. Not evaluating or planning, like so much of our time here has been. Just taking it in.
“The timing couldn’t be more perfect,” he says.
I glance at him. “For what?”
“For this,” he says. “Season ends. House is finished. Life decides to give us a second to breathe.”
I smile and lean against him, head on his shoulder. “True,” I murmur.
His words settle into my chest in that way that still surprises me—like love doesn’t knock anymore. It just lives here permanently.
He slides his arm around me and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Fifteen months ago, I didn’t know if we were allowed to want this,” I say.
He squeezes me. “Two years ago, I didn’t know who I was without football defining me.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he says and I can hear the smile in his voice, “I coach. I come home. I get lectured about posture and hydration. I steal your coffee. I argue about tile samples.”
“Not anymore,” I laugh. “The tile is tiled. But c’mon, you loved arguing about the tile samples.”
“I loved winning the argument more.”
“Only because you loved what came after.” I hum in appreciation. “And I certainly did too.”
“I’m sure we can find other things to argue about and have make-up sex over now. The lawn’s not mowed. The trash is full.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, push off him, and officially open our new front door.
The quiet inside hits us first.
This place has been hustle and bustle and noise and dust for months. Now? Nothing. Its quiet pulls us in and tempts us to leave the world outside behind us.
Lucas drops the bag he was holding by the door and looks around slowly, like he’s letting himself believe this is real.
“We actually did this,” he says again, softer this time.
I nod. “We tend to do things thoroughly.”
“Stubbornly,” he corrects.
“Same thing.”
We laugh and start walking through the house together, unhurried. We’ve walked these halls hundreds of times, but this is the first time we’re walking them to live here.
It feels so very different.
Lucas stops at the room off the kitchen. “This is going to be my office.”
I hum, noncommittal. I’ve already claimed my space with an incredible view of the backyard so he’s welcome to this one.
“Desk here. Film screen there. Whiteboard on that wall.” He gestures, already seeing it.
“I’m sure you’ll spend many hours in there.”
“And there will be a desk.” His eyebrows quirk up. His desk fantasy has been regularly fulfilled, but I have no doubt he’ll want to relive them on both of our desks when they arrive.
Not that I’ll mind at all.
We keep moving.
“Guest room,” he continues like a realtor as if I don’t know the house plan. “And another. Brendan already said as soon as we’re settled all four of them will be coming.”
“Can’t wait.”
We tour the rest of the downstairs and then head up the short flight of stairs.
“Loft,” he says. “There’s so much we can do with this space.”
“Hmm,” I say.
“Laundry room.” He opens the door as if he’s making sure he’s right. He’s cute and it makes me smile.
But I’m about to turn the tables on him.
I open the last door at the end of the hall.
Light spills in—soft and golden. The backyard stretches beyond the window, grass new, and trees swaying in the breeze.
“This,” I say casually, “will be the nursery.”
“Okay,” he says. “But it’s farthest from our bedroom.”
“Yeah, but it has the best light. The crib could go there. Rocking chair under the window. The changing table right here.”
The silence behind me is cautious.
“You say that like you’re expecting a furniture delivery tomorrow.” He laughs and shakes his head.
“No. Wednesday,” I say as normal as possible.
“What do you mean on—” He pauses. “Emery?”
“Hmm?”
“Emery.” It’s more forceful this time.
I turn. He’s frozen in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame like the ground just shifted.
I meet his shocked eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
His gaze drops slowly to my stomach, still flat and unnoticeable.
“Oh,” he breathes. Then again, softer. “Oh.”
Within seconds, he sinks to his knees in front of me, choking over the words, “A baby,” as he repeats them over and over. He presses his forehead to my belly and wraps his arms around me.
“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say, tears burning. “You are.”
He kisses my stomach in silent disbelief.
And I already know with absolute certainty that Lucas will be the parent his parents never were.
Present. Steady. Fierce in the ways that matter.
He looks up, eyes shining with tears. “I guess we should probably stop being too busy to plan the wedding.”
I laugh through the emotion. “Probably.”
I point out the window to the backyard. “I was thinking . . . maybe out there.”
“Perfect.” He stands, cups my face, and presses the sweetest of kisses to my lips. “A baby,” he whispers, still testing the reality of it.
“It’s real. All of it.”
We stand, forehead to forehead, in the house we built—no stadium lights, no noise, no pressure—just us, finally still. Visualizing a future neither of us ever imagined for ourselves.
And knowing, without question, we wouldn’t change a single thing about the journey that brought us here.
“Think I finally found something to top orange slices and Gatorade,” I murmur.
Lucas barks out a laugh before kissing me again. “Yes. This definitely tops that.”