Epilogue
Travis
One year later
The stadium lights are blinding, but I know exactly where Riley is sitting.
Third row, forty-yard line, wearing my jersey.
She’s got a thermos of what I know is hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and she’s sandwiched between my mom and hers, both of whom are screaming loud enough to be heard over the sixty thousand other fans packed into this stadium.
I adjust my helmet and try to focus on the play that Coach just called, but my eyes keep drifting back to her.
She catches me looking and waves, her smile bright enough to rival the stadium lights.
My heart does that stupid flip thing it’s been doing for a year now, every single time she looks at me like that.
“Steelbird! Eyes on the field!” Coach barks, and I snap back to attention.
Right. Football. The thing I’m actually supposed to be doing.
The whistle blows, and I’m moving on instinct, reading the play, watching the quarterback’s eyes. The running back breaks left, and I’m there, wrapping him up and bringing him down hard but clean. The crowd roars, and I can hear Riley’s voice cutting through everything else, screaming my name.
When I jog back to the sideline during the timeout, I risk another glance at the stands. She’s on her feet, clapping, and I can’t help but grin like an idiot. This woman is mine. Mine!
“Man, you’ve got it bad,” Thorne, our safety, says with a laugh as he slaps my shoulder pad. “One year later, and you’re still making heart-eyes at her during games.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m smiling, nonetheless.
Because he’s right. I do have it bad. And I wouldn’t change it for anything.
The last year has been unexpected, to say the least. When Sienna and I released our joint statement admitting the relationship had been a PR arrangement, I braced myself for backlash. For sponsors pulling out, for fans turning on me, for my career to take a massive hit.
Instead, something weird happened. People loved it.
The headlines shifted from ‘NFL Star Caught Cheating’ to ‘Travis Steelbird’s Honest Confession Wins Hearts.
’ Sienna and I did a joint interview where we talked about the pressures of fame, the impossible standards celebrities face, and how we’d both made a choice we regretted.
We were honest, authentic, and vulnerable in a way the media rarely sees from public figures. And the fans ate it up.
My endorsement deals didn’t disappear, but they evolved.
Instead of being the picture-perfect boyfriend, I became the guy who chose authenticity over image.
The player who walked away from millions because being true to himself and the woman he loved mattered more than money.
Ironically, that authenticity made me more marketable than the fake relationship ever had.
Sienna’s also doing great. Her co-star finally asked her out, and now they’re Hollywood’s newest power couple. The kind where they can’t stop looking at each other on red carpets, where the chemistry is so obvious that astronauts could see it from space.
As the fourth quarter is winding down, we’re up by two touchdowns. This game is in the bag, which means I’m officially done until after Christmas. Three weeks off. Three weeks to go home to Maplewood Springs with Riley and spend the holidays with both our families again.
Last year was supposed to be a one-time thing with the Quinns staying with us because of the plumbing disaster.
But by New Year’s, when their house was fixed and they could move back in, nobody wanted the arrangement to end.
So this year, both families made it official: Christmas at my parents’ house has become an annual tradition.
Beau’s already there, helping my dad set up the extra tables and chairs we’ll need for Christmas dinner.
We’ve gotten even closer this past year, despite my initial fears that dating his sister would complicate our friendship.
If anything, it’s made us closer. He sees how happy Riley makes me and how she grounds me in ways I didn’t even know I needed.
The final whistle blows. We won, 31-17. The crowd erupts, and my teammates are celebrating on the field, but I’m already scanning the stands for Riley.
She’s making her way down to the field access area, and security waves her through without hesitation.
I’m jogging toward her before my brain even registers the decision to move.
She meets me at the edge of the field, and I don’t care that there are cameras everywhere, that this will be on ESPN and social media within minutes.
I sweep her up in my arms and kiss her like I haven’t seen her in months instead of just this morning.
She laughs against my lips. “Great game, superstar.”
“Thanks, but it’s even better now that you’re in my arms,” I say, setting her down but keeping my arms around her waist.
“Still cheesy after a year,” she teases, but her eyes tell me she loves it.
“You love my cheese.”
“I really do.” She stretches up on her toes to kiss me again. “Ready to go home?”
Home. Not my apartment in the city, not Riley’s apartment, not the hotel where the team usually stays. Home. Which means Maplewood Springs. Our families. And the Christmas traditions we’re building together.
“More than ready.” I take her hand, lacing our fingers together as we walk toward the tunnel. “Fair warning, though. Beau’s already texting me demands for manual labor. Something about a playhouse Beau bought for her?”
Riley laughs. “Rosie’s going to love it. She’s obsessed with you, you know. Keeps asking your sister when Uncle Travis is coming home.”
Uncle Travis. My heart does that flip thing again. Rosie started calling me that a few months ago, and it never gets old.
“What about you? Are you obsessed with me too?” I ask, pulling her closer as we navigate through the crowd of reporters and fans.
“Hmm.” She pretends to think about it. “I’m moderately fond of you.”
“Moderately?”
“Okay, fine. I’m wildly, desperately, inconveniently in love with you. Happy?”
I stop walking right there in the middle of the tunnel and kiss her again. Because I can. Because she’s mine and I’m hers.
“Extremely happy,” I whisper against her lips.
A camera flash goes off nearby, and Riley laughs. “We’re going to be all over social media again.”
“Good. Let them see. Let everyone see how much I love you.”
And I mean it. The photos from last year’s ice rink nearly destroyed me, not because of the media attention, but because I thought I’d lose Riley before I ever really had her.
Now? Now I want everyone to know. I want the whole world to see that Riley Quinn, English teacher, book nerd, keeper of my heart, is the best thing that ever happened to me.
We make it to the parking lot, where both our moms are waiting by the car.
The drive home takes four hours, but it feels shorter with Riley’s hand in mine and her head resting on my shoulder as she dozes off halfway through.
Our mothers alternate driving, and I’m grateful I don’t have to sit behind the wheel after my football game.
My phone buzzes with a text from Beau: ETA? Dad’s driving me crazy with his “helpful” suggestions for assembling Rosie’s dollhouse.
I text back one-handed: Two hours. Hang tight.
His response is immediate: Hurry. I need backup. Also, I bought the good beer. You’re welcome.
I smile and set my phone down, wrapping my arm around Riley as she snuggles closer. Outside the window, the landscape gradually shifts from city to mountains, from highways to winding two-lane roads. The closer we get to Maplewood Springs, the more I feel the tension of the season melting away.
This is what matters. Not the wins or losses, not the endorsement deals or the media coverage. This. Riley sleeping on my shoulder, our families waiting for us, Christmas lights already twinkling on Main Street as we drive through town.
We pull up at my parents’ house just as the sun is setting.
The house is lit up like a beacon, with Christmas decorations covering every available surface.
The crooked mailbox at the Quinns’ house is still tilted despite Mr. Quinn’s annual attempts to fix it, and it makes me smile.
Some things never change. And they shouldn’t.
Riley stirs as my mother puts the car in park. “We here?”
“We’re here.”
She sits up, stretches, and looks at the house. “I can’t believe we get to spend another Christmas together.”
“Best tradition ever,” I say.
Before we can even get out of the car, the front door bursts open and Rosie comes running out, well—toddling quickly—with Maddox and Aspen right behind her.
“Uncle Travis! Aunt Riley!” Rosie squeals.
I scoop her up and swing her around while she giggles. “Hey, Rosie-girl. Ready for Christmas?”
“And for hot cocoa with marshmallows, like Aunt Riley,” she says, melting my heart.
Beau appears outside too and slaps me on the shoulder. “Thank God you’re here. That dollhouse I got for Rosie came with instructions written in what I’m pretty sure are ancient hieroglyphics.”
I set Rosie down, and she immediately grabs Riley’s hand, pulling her toward the house while chattering about cookies and Santa and something about a reindeer she saw at the Christmas market.
Beau and I follow, and he throws an arm around my shoulders. “Good to have you home, man. Season treating you well?”
“Can’t complain. How’s business?”
“Busy, but good.”
“And your love life?”
“Let’s not talk about that this week,” he says with a laugh.
We step inside, and the familiar chaos of Christmas washes over me.
My dad is attempting to hang garland while Grandma directs him from her armchair.
Aunt Annie and Uncle William are arguing good-naturedly about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.
Riley’s parents are in the kitchen chatting with mine, and the smell of homemade gingerbread cookies fills the air.
Later, after dinner is eaten, dishes are washed, Rosie has been put to bed, and most of the family has dispersed to their various rooms, Riley and I slip outside to the back porch.
It’s cold, but the sky is clear and full of stars. The same porch where I first told her I loved her. The same mistletoe still hanging from the beam, carefully preserved by my mom, who declared it good luck.
Riley leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her head.
“Happy?” I ask her.
“Incredibly.”
“I am too.” I gently turn her around in my arms, nerves rushing through me. “And kissing you under the mistletoe? I want to keep doing this for the next fifty or sixty years. Maybe longer if we’re lucky.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Travis Steelbird, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I love you, Riley Quinn. I’m saying you’re it for me.
I’m saying this is my last season. I’m calling it quits.
I want to come home to you. Not for a week, not for a weekend.
Forever. I want to wake up next to you every morning.
Want to help you grade papers about Shakespeare and Stephen King.
I want to build snowmen with our kids someday and teach them how to ice skate on this same rink where I fell in love with you all over again. ”
I get down on one knee and get the box out of my pocket that I’ve been carrying around with me for weeks. “That’s why I need to know if you’ll do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
She presses a hand to her mouth, and tears stream down her face. “Yes, a thousand times yes.”
I kiss her before slipping the ring over her finger. “I love you. So, so much, Riley.”
“I love you too, Travis.” She holds her hand up, and the ring catches the moonlight. “Wait until Beau hears about this. He’s going to lose his mind.”
“He already knows. I asked his permission three weeks ago.”
Her jaw drops. “You did?”
“Of course I did. He’s my best friend. And your brother.
I wasn’t going to propose without his blessing.
He made me sweat for it, though. Gave me this whole speech about how if I ever hurt you, he’d tackle me himself, retired NFL player or not.
I also asked your dad for permission. He said, and I quote, ‘It’s about time, Steelbird. ’”
“I’m so happy.”
I grin. “Me too, Mrs. Riley Steelbird.”
“Mrs. Riley Steelbird. Has a nice ring to it,” she says with a big smile.
“It really does.”
I kiss her again, for a long time. I know with absolute certainty that this is what winning really looks like. Not touchdowns or trophies, but this: Riley’s hand in mine, a ring on her finger, and a lifetime of Christmases ahead of us.
I finally scored the only touchdown that ever really mattered… the one that brought me home to her.