Epilogue
TALON
Two months later
The whistle blew sharp and final, echoing through the Wilson Center. One by one, the swimmers pulled themselves out of the water, dripping and panting, hands braced on their knees as they tried to catch their breath.
“Good set,” I called, raising my voice just enough to carry. “Hit the showers and then stretch after.”
There was a chorus of groans and laughter—half exhausted, half relieved—and then they scattered, towels slung around shoulders, chatter bouncing off the walls. I jotted a quick note on the clipboard and tucked the stopwatch into the pocket of my bag.
Being an assistant to Coach Saunders felt good. Different than winning, but good.
A year ago, I never would’ve believed this would be my life.
Back then, everything had funneled toward one goal: make it onto the Olympic team.
Win. Prove myself. And I had. I’d stood on the blocks with the best in the world, swum the races I’d been dreaming of since I was a kid, come home with memories and hardware I’d thought would define me.
But the truth? It wasn’t the medals that stuck. It was this—the look on a swimmer’s face when they hit a personal best, when they realized all the early mornings and sore muscles had actually meant something.
I’d thought being done with competition would feel like an ending. Turns out, it was just the start of something else, something new.
I turned toward the stands. “Ready?”
Livvi was curled up in one of the faded blue seats halfway up, her legs tucked under her, my finished manuscript balanced in her hands.
She had a way of disappearing into a book, but when her eyes lifted and found mine, it was like she’d been waiting for me all along.
Her smile warmed everything inside me in a way medals never had.
She’d graduated a few months ago, but instead of rushing headlong into some career just for the paycheck or success, she was giving herself the space to look into things that lit her up.
Opportunities that mattered to her. Not for money, not for prestige—just for fulfillment.
Watching her chase joy on her own terms was somehow even more inspiring than watching her study late nights at the library.
“Yeah.” She closed the manuscript I’d be sending out soon, once it had her stamp of approval.
I shouldered my bag. “Let’s get out of here.”
We walked the familiar route back to my apartment, the late September air still warm, carrying the smell of cut grass. Our strides matched easily, and I reached for her hand because it was instinct now. Because not touching her felt wrong.
She tipped her face toward me. “You looked like you were in your element back there.”
I huffed a laugh. “Maybe I was.”
“And how does that feel? After all the”—she gestured vaguely—“Olympics chaos?”
“Quieter,” I admitted. “Better, in a way.”
She squeezed my hand but didn’t press, just walked with me until we reached the apartment.
The second we stepped inside, Sapphire’s tank light clicked on with a soft hum, and the little blue tang darted forward like she’d been waiting to greet us.
“There she is.” She set her book on the coffee table and leaned down to tap the glass gently.
“Yep.” I dropped my bag and crouched in front of the tank. “And she’s thriving.”
Sapphire zipped in a tight circle, as if to prove the point. It was ridiculous, how much meaning one tiny fish had taken on. But she was still here. We were still here. And that meant something.
Before I could say more, a loud knock rattled the door.
I frowned. “Expecting anyone?”
Livvi shook her head.
When I opened it, Ridge stood there with his easy grin, a grocery bag in each hand. “Hope you don’t mind company.”
Behind him, Ledger appeared with a single loaf of bread in his hand, like it was the most important cargo. Roxie trailed after, balancing a foil-covered dish and glaring daggers at him.
“I told you to carry the bags in first,” she snapped.
“Someone had to make sure this didn’t get squished,” Ledger shot back, kicking the door shut with his foot. “You could’ve managed.”
“I was balancing the dessert you begged me to make, genius.”
“Pretty sure no one begged you to make anything.”
Roxie gasped, affronted, and shoved the dish into his chest. He nearly dropped it and swore under his breath, and she only looked more pleased with herself.
I glanced at Ridge. “And this is …?”
“Dinner.” Ridge shrugged like it was obvious, then carried his bags to the kitchen.
Ledger muttered something under his breath as he followed, Roxie hot on his heels, already criticizing the way he was unloading the groceries.
Livvi leaned close to me, her voice low with amusement. “Do you think they will ever get along?”
“Probably not.”
The sound of bickering rose behind us, something about how to chop peppers correctly. Ridge’s laugh threaded through it, trying—and failing—to play peacemaker.
I let it wash over me and pulled Livvi back toward the tank. Sapphire darted near the glass, catching the glow of the light, completely unbothered by the mayhem in the kitchen.
“Feels a little like family, doesn’t it?” she murmured, her hand slipping into mine.
“Yeah.” I watched her reflection beside mine in the glass. “Messy. Loud. But family.”
Her smile softened. She leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder as the noise behind us escalated into Ledger scoffing and Roxie snapping back.
“You realize this probably means we’re hosting forever,” she said, teasing.
“Could be worse.” I turned to her, brushing a hand along her jaw until she lifted her face up. “At least I get to do it with you.”
Her eyes searched mine, steady and sure. “Every day?” she asked quietly.
“Every single one,” I promised.
The arguing in the kitchen spiked—Roxie insisting Ledger had no clue how to dice an onion, Ledger firing back that at least he didn’t burn toast—but it all blurred into the background as Livvi’s lips found mine.
The kiss was simple, certain, the kind that didn’t need fireworks or grand gestures. Just commitment. Just us.
And in that moment, with Sapphire swimming lazy circles and laughter and banter flowing from the kitchen, I knew—this was better than any finish line.