Epilogue Part Two
FIVE YEARS LATER
“I’m so proud of our little Lijah. The Thick Thighs Save Lives Foundation is going to change the future of sports,” Nakoa says, slapping a hand to my shoulder and squeezing.
I shake my head at him. “That is not the name, and you know it, Nakoa. We’ve been over this.”
“Ignore him. I do,” Adhira says with a roll of those pretty cinnamon eyes.
I suck on a cinnamon lolly, slipping a hand in her hair, and press my lips to hers, catching her off-guard. She gasps into my mouth, lips parting just enough for me to slip the sweet under her tongue.
“Dude, get a room,” Nakoa grumbles.
“Let the lovebirds be,” Jelani jokes, patting me on the back as I release my wife despite my body pleading with me to keep her close forever. The massive purple butterfly tattooed over my heart for her doesn’t tide me over the same way as the butterflies on my arm always did for Mum and my sisters.
It’s been five and a half years together, and I’m still every bit as desperate to spend every waking moment with this woman.
“Elijah, are you about ready? The kids are all very excited to meet the players,” Evelyn, my publicist and one of the most ingenious people I know in marketing, says.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say with a nervous chuckle, following her out through the locker room and onto the pitch, where hundreds of people have come to support me and my not-so-little dream.
Adhira takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she follows me onto the small platform we’d set up for this purpose. Press snap photos all around us, my hands shaking and blood pumping with my old friend, anxiety.
“Ready on three, okay?” Evelyn whispers, switching the microphone on before handing it to me.
I drag in a deep breath as the crowd quiets down, my teammates and families of strangers gathered with their eyes on me.
“I’ll keep this short, not because I don’t have a lot to say, but because of a pesky fear of public speaking,” I say, releasing shaky laughter.
The crowd eats it up, their laughter and Adhira’s constant presence easing me.
“When I was picked up by the Wyvern Warriors, my only goals in life had been to play the sport I loved and make enough money to keep my sisters happy while doing it.”
Mum stands off to the side with Ellie and Lyla, two teenage girls who have grown into such lovely young ladies. My chest swells with pride, their wide smiles acting as a silent cheer.
“And over time, I met the most incredible woman who was battling something only those who’ve lived it can truly understand.
I hate to say she fought cancer, because that feels a little like it diminishes the true weight of what she—and so many like her—have gone through to make it out the other side.
Cancer isn’t a known entity, not a person with strengths that can be beaten through sheer determination.
It’s an unknown beast that tries to pull the rug out from under you at every turn.
The truth is, you can’t prepare for it. Nothing will ever truly prepare you for the unknown, the waiting, the treatments, the pain, the endless blood work, scans, and fear.
And after experiencing the caretaker side of this truly terrifying illness, I wanted to find a way to show you all the strength you have—and allow you to feel even a fraction of the strength we each see in you every day. ”
I crouch on the stage, Adhira following me without hesitation, as I get on eye level with the fifty or so children standing before me.
“You’re all here because you love sports, right?”
A chorus of children roaring their agreement echoes back, my grin growing wide even as emotion pricks at the backs of my eyes.
“You’ve gotta be strong to play sports, yeah?”
Again, they respond in kind.
“Little Warriors was just a dream. A hope that someday, I’d find a way to show you all how strong you can be.
How much you can truly tackle.” They laugh, saving me from the embarrassment of a lacklustre pun.
“So, consider today the first of many, where children all across the globe can show the men’s and women’s pro-sports world what real strength looks like. ”
The crowd breaks out into cheers. My teammates sprint out onto the pitch to pair the children up, some leading their parents to the stands, where, for once, they can just watch their child be a child, rather than a brave soldier facing cancer.
As they disperse, Evelyn takes the microphone from me, switching it off as I pull Adhira up.
“You did great,” Evelyn says with a soft smile, peeling off to tend to the press.
My heart pounds, everything around me threatening to overwhelm me, but Adhira’s hands—one pressing to my chest and the other my cheek—draw me back into the only thing that truly matters: her.
“Do not spiral, Elijah Elliott-Shah. You were incredible,” she says, pressing onto her toes, bringing us eye to eye.
“These children, and thousands more, are going to have a little light at the end of an otherwise dark and seemingly endless tunnel because of you and your brilliant, compassionate mind. Don’t overthink it. ”
I release a long breath through my nose, holding her gaze as I wade through the pride and nerves until, eventually, I find the place where only she resides. A complete calmness washes over me; my hands find themselves on her hips, grounding us.
“You are the greatest part of every day,” I whisper, repeating her words from all those years ago.
“And you are the only person I’d want to do life with.” Her smile widens, her gaze flickering up, and it’s the only warning I have before she steps out of my grasp, a bucket of cold water pouring over my head.
Laughter spills from my teammates, but it’s Coach Auclair who claps me on the back, blue eyes glittering. “Your Mum and I are proud of you,” he says, extending an arm to Mum. She takes his hand, allowing him to twirl her into his side, holding her tight and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“He’s right, love. We’re so proud of you,” she says, beaming. Every day, I hold a new level of gratitude for this man who took a chance on me, allowed me to make mistakes, and now shares the same selfless love Adhira and I have with the woman who loved me first: my mum.
Surrounded by the greatest love of my life, the people who chose me even when I wouldn’t choose myself, and all those I met along the way, I feel whole. Whole and truly loved.