CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT #2
“Yes.” I take one breath. “And if I forget, you can tell me. Loudly, if needed.”
Her mouth twitches. “I do have a microphone.”
“I’ve noticed.”
The smile almost arrives.
Almost.
I look down the corridor, then back at her. “I don’t know how easy this will be.”
“No.”
“My schedule. Your work. Travel. Cameras. People deciding they know things because we stood too close.”
“Yes.”
“You covering the sport I play.”
“That one is inconvenient.”
“Very.”
“And important.”
“Yes.”
My hand flexes at my side.
I want to touch her.
I wait.
She sees it.
I say, “I can’t promise simple.”
“I don’t need simple.”
The words echo from the fan zone.
But now they are steadier.
She steps closer.
Not much.
Enough.
“I need honest,” she says.
“I can do honest.”
“Then start now.”
The hallway seems to narrow.
The whole world narrows.
Not to a camera frame.
To her.
I have said true things in public tonight. Good ones. Necessary ones.
This one is different.
This one has no audience to make it safer.
“I love you,” I say.
Quiet.
No speech.
No polished captain answer.
Just the truth before fear can request revisions.
Sienna’s breath catches.
Her eyes fill, and for one terrifying second, I think I have given her too much after a day that already held everything.
Then she laughs once.
Small.
Shaky.
Beautiful.
“That is very inconvenient.”
My heart climbs into my throat. “Yes.”
“And badly timed.”
“Also yes.”
“And going to require boundaries.”
“Many.”
“Probably conversations neither of us will enjoy.”
“I’m prepared to be brave.”
“Don’t overpromise.”
I smile.
She steps closer again.
Her hand finds mine.
Not hidden this time.
Not waved in front of cameras.
Just held in a quiet corridor after the truth has already been told.
“I love you too,” she says.
The words move through me so cleanly I almost lose balance.
Maybe from the knee.
Probably not.
I cup her face with one hand, careful, giving her every second to change the answer even after saying it.
She does not.
So I kiss her.
Soft.
Relieved.
Earned.
No rush. No heat that needs a door. No secret trying to become a scandal.
Just Sienna’s hand tightening around mine, her breath catching against my mouth, and the distant sound of my team losing their collective minds behind a wall.
When we part, she rests her forehead against mine.
Then she whispers, “You still have a team celebration.”
“I was hoping they’d forget.”
“They won the Global Cup. I doubt memory loss has set in.”
A voice echoes down the corridor.
“DARIUS!”
Nathan.
Of course.
Sienna steps back, but she doesn’t drop my hand.
Nathan appears around the corner, medal hanging crooked, hair damp, and expression exasperated before he even fully sees us.
Then he sees us.
His face does several things.
All of them annoying.
“Oh, good,” he says. “I was sent to find the captain, and instead I have found a romantic development.”
Sienna lets out a quiet laugh.
I point at him. “No.”
“Yes.” Nathan keeps walking toward us. “Very much yes.”
“You saw nothing.”
“I saw enough to make several excellent choices.”
“Such as?”
He looks at Sienna. “Welcome to Briarwood nonsense. We have snacks, unsolicited advice, and men who require emotional supervision.”
“I’ve noticed,” she says.
Nathan nods approvingly, then pulls her into a quick side hug so awkward and sincere that I feel something in my chest twist.
He releases her and points at me. “I’m still watching you.”
“You are younger than me by four months.”
“Emotionally, I am ancient.”
His phone buzzes.
He checks it before he can stop himself.
His face changes.
Emily.
Sienna sees it.
I see it.
Nathan sees us seeing it.
“Do not start,” he says.
Sienna lifts both hands. “I said nothing.”
“Journalist silence is suspicious.”
“Briarwood defensiveness is louder.”
I laugh.
Nathan glares at both of us, then pockets the phone like it has personally betrayed him. “Team. Now. Colton is giving a speech.”
That jolts me. “Unsupervised?”
“That is why I came.”
We move fast.
As fast as my knee and post-Final reality allow.
The locker-room corridor gets louder with every step. Music. Laughter. Someone chanting Mateo’s name. Coach’s voice trying and failing to restore order. Morgan shouting, “Do not climb that,” which is never a sentence that belongs near Colton.
Before we reach the doors, my phone buzzes.
I pull it from my pocket.
Coach Miller.
Bring the trophy home to Briarwood. And bring the reporter too.
I stop.
Sienna reads it over my shoulder.
Her face softens.
“Demanding town,” she says.
“Very.”
“Do I get a choice?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows lift.
I smile. “But you do get snacks and unsolicited advice.”
“Tempting.”
“And a crooked banner.”
“That might seal it.”
I take her hand again.
This time, when the locker-room door opens and the whole wild, loud, impossible team turns toward us, I do not let go.
Colton sees first.
Naturally.
He throws both arms up. “FINALLY.”
Morgan closes her eyes like she needs patience from a higher power.
Nathan mutters, “I regret everything.”
Mateo starts clapping because he is young and unwise.
Coach looks at our joined hands, then at me, then at Sienna.
One slow smile.
Not teasing.
Approving.
The room erupts.
I stand there with the Global Cup medal on my chest, Sienna’s hand warm in mine, my knee aching honestly, my team shouting, and Briarwood already waiting for us to come home.
For the first time all week, I do not feel like the story is something I have to survive.
It is something I get to walk into.
Not alone.
Not anymore.
***