Epilogue Will
Will
Confetti falls in a blizzard of black and gold, sticking to sweaty jerseys and getting stomped into the turf.
The stadium is chaos in the best possible way.
People are everywhere, laughing, crying, and cheering until their voices crack.
Teammates crash into each other in clumsy hugs, helmets and mouth guards tossed aside, arms wrapped tightly like they never want to let go of the moment.
Cameras flash from every direction, catching wide smiles, tear-streaked faces, players dropping to their knees just to take it all in.
Fans are still roaring in the stands, some of them climbing over rows to hug strangers.
The scoreboard still glows overhead, the final numbers frozen in time, proof that it’s real.
Someone blasts the victory song through the speakers, but it’s almost drowned out by the noise of the crowd and the team piling together in the center of the field.
In the middle of it all, the championship trophy is raised high, gleaming under the lights.
Hands reach for it from every direction, hands that have bled for this season, trained through injuries, fought through losses that felt like the end of the world at the time.
Now those same hands shake with adrenaline and disbelief.
Someone sprays champagne. It arcs through the air and rains down over everyone nearby, and nobody even tries to dodge it. Jerseys cling, hair is soaked, and the smell of champagne mixes with sweat and the sharp scent of the stadium’s smoke machines.
The Nashville Rampage is bringing home another league championship.
In the middle of the storm of bodies and noise, someone grabs my shoulders, shaking me like they’re trying to prove I’m real. My chest is heaving, lungs burning from the last minutes of the game, heart still pounding like the buzzer just sounded.
The fans are losing their minds, jumping, shouting, waving to no one, to everyone, all at once.
They’re chanting our name now, the rhythm echoing off the walls.
The Rampage fans are loyal and always show up for us.
The number of people who drove to New York for this game is astonishing, the support humbling.
Rampage.
Rampage.
Rampage.
Their chants echo, and I’m sure they can be heard throughout the entire city of New York. I look around at all of it, the confetti drifting down like glittery snow, the trophy flashing under the lights, my players screaming like they just won a life-changing lottery.
And it finally hits me.
We actually did it. I laugh, half hysterical, half exhausted, grabbing the nearest teammate and pulling them into a crushing hug.
“We fucking did it,” Reid cheers as he hops onto my back.
Knox, Landry, Baker, and Foster join him, and we’re suddenly in a group hug.
I’m a coach, I don’t play favorites, but the last several months, these men have become more than my players.
They’re family. Sure, I think of all of my players as family, that’s part of what makes this franchise a success, but this group, it’s different. They’re more.
The celebration rages on, and while I’m proud of my team, it’s my wife I can’t wait to celebrate with.
Amanda and I got married in a small ceremony in our backyard in early October.
It was the perfect day, with just those closest to us in attendance.
Her parents refused to come, and that’s okay. It’s their loss.
The cleaning crew comes out to clear the field and starts to clean up after the ceremony. I round up the players, and we head to the locker room. Once everyone is there, I raise my hand and the room goes quiet.
“You played one hell of a season,” I tell them. “You gave me your all every practice, every game, and this”—I point to the trophy—“is proof of that hard work. Thank you for another incredible season. Now, go find your families and celebrate.”
The room erupts, and I stalk off toward the room I’m using as an office to pack up my things. Tossing the strap of my bag over my shoulder, I walk out to see that a good portion of the guys are either showering or heading out to shower at the hotel.
“It’s funny that what… five, six years ago, we’d all be going out to party all night long, and now, all we can think about is getting home to our wives and kids,” Baker muses.
“Take it from a man who learned the hard way. A career is great. You should celebrate the wins and mourn the losses, but when that career is over, it’s your family, your wife, your kids, your friends who will still be there.”
“Aww, Coach Daddy passing out all the life lessons,” Landry teases.
I chuckle, waving their teasing off as I walk out the door to go find my wife.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out and celebrate?” Amanda asks. She’s sitting on the bed in our hotel room, her hand on her baby bump. She’s thirty-one weeks along. She’s glowing and more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” I assure her. “How’s Mia?”
“Having the time of her life.” She laughs. “I just talked to Candice. She said that she and Coral have been angels.”
“Of course, they’re angels,” I counter, leaning down to kiss her.
“You know, I got a gift today.”
“You did? From who?”
“Sloane.”
“An early baby gift?”
“Nope. This gift is for both of us.”
“What did she get you? Or us, rather?” I ask.
“It will be easier to show you.” With that, she stands and begins to strip out of her clothes. My cock swells as she goes. I rake my gaze over her standing in a bra and panties, and that’s when I see it.
“Does that say what I think it does?” I ask, taking a step closer.
“If you think it says Coach’s girl, then yes,” she answers. She turns and shows me the back, and she’s wearing—what I’ve learned since she moved in with me—boy shorts. The back says, Property of Coach Warner. “You like?” she asks.
“I fucking love. Tell me, baby, why is Sloane buying you lingerie? Not that I’m complaining.”
“It’s a Rampage tradition. She made them herself.
Well, the personalization part. I guess she did it with Corie first, then with Rowan, and then with Bellamy.
She even made some for herself when she and Baker got together, and finally, Eden got hers when she and Foster made things official.
She said I’m a Rampage girl now, and I needed to look the part. ”
“Remind me to offer to watch Camden for her so they can have a night together.”
“I’ll do that.” My wife laughs.
“Mandy, as much as I enjoy you in them, I think they’ll look much better on the hotel floor.”
“Let’s test that, shall we?” She quickly strips out of her sexy bra and panties, bends over the bed, and peers at me over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
“Already? I think I should check, just to make sure.” Dropping to my knees, I swipe my tongue up her center, and she rewards me with a moan. She’s dripping wet, and my cock weeps to be inside her.
“I need more,” she demands, and what my wife wants, my wife gets.
I spend the rest of the night making love to her, in all kinds of positions.
We’ve had to get creative with her growing belly.
I would say it’s a definite night to remember, but every moment with her is one I’ll cherish for the rest of my days.
This woman has changed my life, given me more than I ever could have hoped for, and it kills me to think I could have missed it all, had I not been willing to risk the play.