Epilogue #2
An immediate hunger replaces the earlier horror; the scouts and trainers getting exactly what they’ve been waiting for.
Everyone is typing away on a tablet or on the phone, while the cameras track Seb as he slows down, puts his hands on his knees, and breathes heavily.
It looks like exhaustion, but I know him well enough to spot the relief.
This must be the first real breath he’s taken in days.
He moves easily through the rest of it—the vertical jump, the broad jump, the shuttle—producing numbers that every sports network will discuss up and down until the draft.
We find each other for five seconds when the quarterbacks move off the field, and my group moves in, his knuckles bumping against mine in passing.
“How do you feel?” I ask, and he snorts.
“Like I want to sleep for a whole week and then have ten seconds without anyone asking me a single question,” he says, half of it coming over his shoulder as we’re both already being ushered in different directions.
“Yeah,” I call after him. “Same.”
I run clean, 4.52 on my first attempt and 4.
47 on the second, which draws a low murmur from the scouts along the sideline, but nothing compared to what Seb got.
My jump earns me a few appreciative nods before I move on to the three-cone.
I’ve prepared for this my whole life, my body going through the motions on autopilot, but my mind has already wandered off the field.
As soon as it’s over, I grab my jacket and head over to find my people in the stands.
Linden still has the book open on his knees.
Kelly, once again, spots me first, rising halfway out of her seat to greet me.
“You were so fast,” she tells me when I reach them, already leaning in for a hug.
“Careful, I’m disgusting,” I warn her but don’t duck away when she embraces me, just patting her arm while she holds me.
Brandon quietly hands me a water bottle, and I take it gratefully, unscrewing it and downing half of it, my gaze wandering through the stadium.
A few seats over, Coach Wagner has said his goodbyes to Leo.
He catches my eye and gives me a small nod, which translates to nothing less than a standing ovation.
I bow my head, then sigh with relief, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Thanks, Kelly,” I tell her as she takes the empty bottle from me.
She smiles warmly at me, her hand still patting my shoulder.
I feel bad that they flew out for this when they could’ve just watched it all on TV, but she kept telling me that she meant to get Brandon out of Vermont anyway, and that this would give her the perfect excuse.
I’m not sure I believe her, but my chest feels too full standing here with them to question it.
Linden has closed his book, his finger holding his page as his eyes move over my appearance—a small smile spreading on his lips.
“You also jumped very high,” he comments, his grin suggesting that he wasn’t really focused on the jump itself. “And pressed a lot of weight on that bench.”
“Oh yeah? Did you also happen to notice that we all pressed the same amount of weight?” I wink at him, and his grin widens.
“Yeah, but you pressed it often.”
I laugh at that, then nod at the book he placed beside him, the cover placed downward, probably to spare his parents’ eyes.
“You started without me,” I point out, and he snorts.
“I’ll reread it with you,” he promises as he leans forward, his voice dropping so low that only I can hear him. “Can’t wait to try out a few scenes as soon as we make it back.”
I chuckle at that, my heart fluttering in my chest as his warm breath tickles my ear. And then, without thinking twice about it, I grab him by the collar of his shirt.
Linden goes very still under my touch, blinking at me in confusion. He must see the intention in my eyes, though, because he tries to lean away, a soft “Micah” leaving his lips, but I’ve already bridged the distance between us, pressing my mouth to his.
It’s not a deep kiss, no big performance—just my lips on his, warm and firm and sure.
When I pull back, a flush tints his cheeks. A few low murmurs come from the sidelines, but I’m not sure if they’re meant for us or the performance on the field, and I also couldn’t care less right now.
“That…that might hurt your—,” Linden stammers, his eyes darting around hectically. No doubt, somewhere behind us, eighteen scouts are currently pulling up my stats on their tablets to run a quick risk-benefit analysis. Explosiveness off the line versus kissing his boyfriend in the stands.
“I know, but I don’t care,” I tell him with a small shrug. “I’ve thought about this all week now.”
His eyes search mine, his teeth worrying his lower lip. “And?” he whispers, his hand reaching for mine.
I lift my gaze, slowly letting it travel over the ranks of the Lucas Oil Stadium, taking in the full view. For a moment, I let myself imagine the roaring crowds and blinding lights; then I blink the mental image away, my eyes finding Brandon’s.
“I want to take your dad up on his offer. I want to go back to Vermont,” I tell him.
Brandon has gone very still, his gaze fixed on me. He doesn’t look surprised, I notice, more like he’s been quietly expecting this for a long time. The corners of his mouth twitch as he leans forward.
“Yeah? You sure about that?” he asks, and I squeeze Linden’s hand in mine as I nod.
“Very sure.”
Kelly makes a small sound, something between a squeal and a sob, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Brandon looks over at her, then clears his throat.
“Well,” he says. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“I know.” I laugh, suddenly lightheaded. “I remember.”
fin.