Chapter 51 The Alchemy
The Alchemy
Dylan
The roar hit him like a wave—loud, hot, and electric.
Dylan stepped through the tunnel, the field exploding in front of him, the Tritons banner rippling in the breeze. Tempest, the sea dragon mascot, was already hamming it up on the sideline, tossing a football into the crowd as fireworks flared overhead.
But Dylan only had eyes for one spot.
The suite.
He couldn’t see her exactly—not through the tinted glass and flood of color—but he felt her up there. He always did. Just knowing she was here had every nerve ending buzzing.
His cleats hit the turf with a familiar rhythm, his helmet tucked under one arm. This was the moment he’d dreamed about as a kid. The season opener. Sold-out crowd. National broadcast. But for once, the pressure didn’t sit like a weight on his shoulders. It felt more like fuel.
He was grounded. Steady.
Loved.
A teammate slapped his back as they jogged out, music thundering through the sound system.
“You ready to wreck them?” Rocky called out, grinning as he adjusted his gloves.
Dylan smirked. “Born ready.”
They made their way toward the sideline, the camera already in his face as the announcer boomed his name. He nodded at it with practiced ease, raising one arm for the crowd, but his mind was still upstairs—in that suite, with the girls who screamed louder than anyone, with her.
He could almost hear her voice, soft but fierce.
You’ve got this.
Yeah, he did.
Because she was here.
Because he wasn’t running anymore.
Because this time, he knew who he was playing for.
Dylan’s spiral arced high and clean, dropping perfectly into Rocky’s hands in the end zone. Touchdown.
The crowd roared again.
He barely registered the chest bump from a teammate, the thud of shoulder pads, or the camera trailing him down the sideline. He was locked in.
Second quarter, and they were already up by two TDs.
But even as the game surged forward—another first down, another brutal hit he danced around—his mind kept tugging toward the suite.
At halftime, he jogged toward the tunnel, his jaw clenched, his body on fire in all the right ways.
“Don’t let up,” Coach barked as they passed. “You’re not done yet.”
Dylan didn’t intend to be.
The Tritons took the win.
Final score: 34–17.
He shook hands at midfield, traded words with the opposing QB, then found himself surrounded by flashing cameras and booming voices.
“Mac!” a reporter called. “Incredible season opener. How does it feel to come out this strong in front of a home crowd?”
Dylan ran a towel over his face, catching his breath. “It feels good,” he said, grinning. “The team came out hungry. We’ve been building chemistry all off-season, and today was just a taste of what we can do.”
Another question flew at him, something about new offensive strategies, but his eyes caught on movement behind the reporter.
Kallie.
And just behind her—Ali.
He blinked. And then his whole body stuttered.
The shoes.
Her legs were bare, tan, and toned in that navy and teal dress he hadn’t seen yet. But it was the sandals—those sandals—that stopped his heartbeat.
His lips twitched upward even as he tried to stay focused.
“You good?” the reporter asked.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Yeah—uh—just spotted my lucky charm,” he said smoothly, nodding toward the sideline.
Kallie smirked behind her sunglasses. She knew exactly what she was doing.
And Ali?
She waved. And blushed. And he couldn’t wait to get to her.
The house was still, the kind of post-game quiet that settled deep in his bones.
Ali’s suitcase stood by the door with the other girls’ bags. They had to get back to Georgia. They all had work in the morning.
Ali stood by the kitchen island, sipping water from one of his protein shaker bottles and wearing his navy Tritons hoodie over her dress. The heels—those heels—were now abandoned beside the stool where she’d slid them off with a groan and a muttered, “Dylan better appreciate my sacrifice.”
He leaned against the doorframe, just watching her. “I more than appreciate it babe. I would thank you properly, but you have to leave. I’ll be sure to make it up to you on the phone when you get home tonight.”
Soft, flushed, windblown from the day. Hair clipped back now, mascara just slightly smudged, cheeks still pink.
She looked up and smiled—sleepy and so full of love it almost hurt.
“You were amazing today,” she whispered, like it was still a secret. “Everyone around me was cheering for you like crazy.”
He walked over and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb gently under her eye. “You were all I saw.”
She leaned into the touch.
“I’m glad I came,” she said. “I was scared. But it felt good. Right. And maybe a little weird.”
“Because of the stadium?” he asked.
She nodded. “Because of… everything. But I think I made new memories today.”
He kissed her forehead, then her lips. Slow. Like he had all the time in the world.
“I hate that we have to head out soon,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Me too,” he said. “But, I’ll be back soon. Or you’ll be here again. We’ll figure it out.”
Her fingers slipped under the hem of his hoodie, resting against the skin of his lower back. “I just don’t want to lose this. Any of it.”
He tipped his forehead against hers.
“You won’t,” he promised. “You won’t. Not this time.”
And for a while, they just stood there—her in his arms, his heart beating steady again, both of them silently holding on to the moment before the world outside pulled them back into motion.