Epilogue
Mallorie Jade
“Why don’t they sell milkshakes here?” Silas complains beside me.
I snort. “Because it’s the State Championship game in the middle of November, Silas. Who is going to buy a milkshake in this weather?”
“They are a basic food necessity.”
The man has been grumbling about a milkshake since we left town this morning. If I had known he would be this grumpy without one, I would have made a pit stop.
“We’ll stop and grab you one on the way home. Now watch the game. I have a lot riding on it,” I say, scolding him like I’m his parent.
There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says, “I’ve heard.”
I ignore it, though. It’s no surprise to anyone that Hayes and I made a bet on this game. He tends to get a little fired up while he’s coaching. I’ve counted. He’s broken no less than ten clipboards over the course of this season. I figured he would break at least three this game, and when I told him as much, he looked at me with trouble on his face and took that bet.
Now I’m counting—and losing.
We’re down to the fourth quarter, and he’s only broken one so far.
We’re even losing, too.
I figured he’d be a nervous wreck at this point, but a young kid stands beside him with a coaching headset on his head, keeping him calm.
I think Hayes Miller is cheating—and using Tanner to help him.
After the day that Tanner ran away, Hayes offered him a position to help coach. Hayes wanted to show him that there are other ways to be involved with the things you love.
It’s been great for the kid, and Hayes’s relationship with him has only gotten stronger. That’s why I have a strong suspicion that Tanner is helping him win this.
Whenever Hayes starts to lose it, Tanner is right there, placing his hand on his shoulder and giving me a wiry look.
It’s suspicious—very suspicious.
The seconds tick down, and the final buzzer sounds.
We lost, but from the smiles on the boys’ faces, you wouldn’t think so.
Each player walks off the field with their head held high, slapping each other on the back good-naturedly.
We might have made it to the state championship, but this moment is what Hayes worked for all season.
My eyes scan the crowd, searching for him in the sea of players celebrating their season.
And when I find him, my heart flips in my chest.
“See, how can it be too cold for a milkshake when you two share looks that heat up the whole stadium?” Silas quips.
But I ignore him because Hayes is walking my way, and without dropping my gaze, he mouths, “I won.”
A grin splits his face as he weaves through the crowd. I follow the path out of the bleachers to the field, and we meet on the sideline, stopping inches apart.
I smile up at him and say, “Did you really win if you cheated?”
His answering grin is sneaky, telling me all I need to know.
“You can’t prove it.”
Reaching up, I flip his nose. “Fine, but only because I owe you one for breaking your nose that one time. So,” I pause, wrapping my hand around his neck, “what do you win?”
There’s mischief in his eyes when he says, “You, MJ. I win you. Marry me.”
Then he drops to one knee.