Epilogue #2
She slowly lifts her eyes, lashes clumped from the humidity, liner smudged like smoke. Vulnerable in a way Amelia rarely shows anyone.
“You don’t have to be scared,” I murmur, as I brush my thumb over her hip. “Whatever it says, we’ll figure it out together.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, eyes sparkling with nerves. “I didn’t want it to be like this,” she whispers.
I shake my head, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Doesn’t matter where. Doesn’t matter when. All that matters is you’re not alone in it.”
She exhales shakily, leaning into me for a moment, her forehead pressed against my chest. I hold her there, gently stroking her hair, trying to infuse calm into her bones even though I’m falling apart inside.
When she finally pulls back, she nods toward the small white box Catalina shoved into her hands. “Guess we should…”
I nod, cupping her cheek. “Yeah, baby. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her breathing quickens. “I don’t—God, I don’t know if I can.”
I move closer, catching her hands before she can twist them into fists. “Hey,” I murmur, tilting her chin so she has to look at me. Her green eyes are wide, wet at the corners, and it guts me. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not now. Not ever.”
She exhales shakily, her lips pressed together. Finally, she nods. “Okay.”
I kiss her forehead and let her go, turning toward the door. “I’ll wait outside if you want—”
“No.” Her voice cracks, sharp enough to stop me. “Stay.”
I nod once. “I’m here, dollface.”
She disappears into the stall, and those few minutes feel like the longest of my life.
I lean back against the sink, arms crossed, trying not to think, not to spin out.
My heart pounds against my ribs so hard it hurts.
I’ve been hit a hundred times on the field, taken bone-snapping tackles, and nothing has ever scared me like this—waiting for the woman I love to see if she’s carrying a piece of me inside her.
She’s back, the test in her hand. She places it face down on the counter as if it’s too heavy to look at.
“Timer’s three minutes,” she whispers.
I slide an arm around her, pulling her into my side, my lips brushing her hairline. “Then we wait together.”
Seconds crawl. Amelia presses her face into my shirt, breathing shallow and fast, while I stroke her hair and whisper nonsense to keep her steady. My hand covers hers where it grips my chest, my thumb brushing over her knuckles.
The phone timer chimes.
Amelia jerks back, staring at the little stick. “Mav…” Her lips tremble. “I can’t look.”
My own throat is tight, but I nod, squeezing her hand. “Then I’ll look for both of us, baby.”
I flip it over.
Two pink lines.
My vision blurs instantly. For a second, I can only stare, my knees almost giving way. Then I look at her—really look at her—Amelia, fierce and fragile all at once, her lips parted as she searches my face.
“Well?” she whispers, like she already knows.
I swallow hard, my voice rough. “Baby… we’re having a baby.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, tears spilling before she can stop them. A sob rips out of her chest, and I’m already pulling her into me—hauling her up, her arms looping tight around my neck as I press desperate kisses along the curve of her throat.
She shakes against me, crying into my neck, and I press kisses to her hair, her temple, anywhere I can reach. “I got you, dollface,” I whisper, my own voice breaking. “I’ve always got you. It’s you, me, and this baby. Always.”
Amelia’s still pressed against me, the pregnancy test forgotten on the counter. Her tears are wet against my neck, and I can feel the way her breathing finally starts to slow, syncing with mine.
I set her down, tilting her chin up and gently wiping away the streaks on her cheeks with my thumbs. Her eyeliner is smudged, her lips are swollen, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Should we…” My voice cracks, and I clear it. “Should we say anything? Or do you wanna keep it just us for a while?”
She sniffles, biting her lip. Then she shakes her head, determination sparking through the nerves in her eyes. “No. They’re our family. If anyone gets to know first… it’s them.”
God, I love her.
I grin, my chest bursting with so much joy it feels like it can't contain it all. “You sure about that, dollface? ‘Cause you know once Catalina finds out, it’s game over. Baby Pinterest boards, matching onesies, probably a custom playlist.”
Amelia laughs, shoving my chest, but her nod is firm. “Yeah, baby, I’m sure.”
I grab her hand, lacing our fingers together, and then I fling the bathroom door open.
The bar's noise hits us hard—Carter grumbling about something, Catalina laughing too loudly, Layla and Reed pretending not to flirt. I don’t even hesitate.
“HEYYY!” I roar, slapping my hand against the doorframe to get everyone’s attention. “I’M GONNA BE A DADDY!”
Catalina screams so loudly I’m surprised the windows don’t shatter. Layla nearly falls off her stool. Carter mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” but he’s smiling and shaking his head. Reed just stares, shock and something unreadable in his eyes, before he finally lifts his glass in a quiet salute.
Amelia’s cheeks flush as she presses against my arm, but she’s smiling through her tears, and that’s all I notice.
I’m standing there, grinning like a maniac, chest pounding with pride.
Because that’s the thing about me: I’ve always been a defender. On the field, it’s my team. Off the field, it’s her—my girl, my wife. And now? It’s our baby.
The bar's noise is a blur—Catalina crying into Carter’s shirt, Layla squealing, Reed raising a quiet toast. Amelia’s warmth against my side, her fingers tangled with mine, and I can’t stop staring at her. At us. At what we just learned.
And my brain… it spirals.
My entire life was football. Quarterback. The guy under center. Everyone expected me to be the golden boy, the one calling plays, throwing the ball, chasing glory. But what most people don’t get—what they never see—is that being a quarterback isn’t just about throwing touchdowns.
It’s about defense.
Yeah, the O-line does the blocking, but the quarterback?
He’s gotta read the field, see the danger before it hits.
He’s the one who takes the hit when the play breaks down.
You hold the line. You protect the play.
You protect your team. That’s what I always prided myself on—not the highlight reels, not the stats.
The defense I could run for the people who counted on me.
When Mama died, that part of me was carved deeper. I cleaned obsessively, controlled everything I could because I couldn’t save her. And after that? I didn’t know who the hell I was without the helmet, without the job.
But now I get it.
Defensive hearts, that’s what I’ve always had. That’s who I’ve always been, not just on the field but off it too. And now, for the first time, it all finally makes sense.
Because it’s no longer about defending a scoreboard; it’s about her. Amelia. The woman who showed me I’m more than the game. The one who lets me love her loudly, who stays even when I fuck up.
And now, it’s about this baby. Our baby.
My new team. My whole world.
So yeah, I’m retired. I’m no longer QB1. But I’ve never had more to protect, more to fight for. And I swear to God, I’ll spend the rest of my life running defense for them.
THE END.