Epilogue
Graham
Two weeks later
“I’m going to throw up.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am!”
Quinn pressed her hands against her stomach as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
Her gaze was trained on the football field in front of us, honed on the Cardinals’ sideline. It was the two-minute timeout during the conference championship game. Ohio Central was down by three points and were preparing to kick a field goal to tie.
“Here, sweetie, have some of this.” Dottie leaned back from the row in front of us, her red sequin jacket sparkling in the stadium lights as she offered Quinn her whiskey flask.
Quinn’s eyes widened before she snatched the flask and took a swig.
I gave Dottie a look. “How’d you manage to sneak that in here?”
Dottie waved me off. “I’ve been alive a long time, babe. I’ve learned a thing or two.” She winked and her husband, Earl, chuckled at her side.
Quinn took one more pull before she handed the flask back to Dottie. “Thanks.”
“Anytime, love.”
Quinn went back to bouncing on her toes. “This timeout is taking forever,” she muttered.
I placed my hands on her shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “They’ve got this.”
She stopped bouncing, but her toe started to tap instead. “How are you so calm?” she hissed.
My fingers massaged the tense muscles in her neck and shoulders. “Me? Calm?” I leaned close and whispered into her ear. “Never.”
She shivered, but it didn’t last long. She twisted and slapped me on the arm, her face hard with annoyance.
But the blush in her cheeks gave her away.
“Stop trying to distract me!” she grumbled. “I want to be champions, Graham. I want to make the playoffs and none of that happens if we miss this kick.”
I let out a breath, curling my arm around her shoulders and pulling her into my side. “There’s two minutes left. Even if we miss, we have time.”
She glared at me. “Two minutes isn’t enough when we don’t have the ball.”
“Our defense has been immaculate.” I adjusted the Cardinals cap on her head, the one signed by the head coach himself. “They’ll hold them.”
She couldn’t argue with that, and she looked back toward the field, still disgruntled.
I couldn’t hide my smile as I watched her. Quinn and I have had a long, difficult past few weeks.
Amos still hadn’t been apprehended. He’d been free for weeks and every day felt like a failure, like waking up on pins and needles, waiting for something else to happen.
Jackie Black, the senior officer, the woman who had so much trust and was about to retire in a few months, was found dead after the first week.
Part of me felt sorry for her. She had been a very lonely woman.
It was discovered after his escape that Amos and Jackie had been in contact with each other, over numerous phone calls and messages.
She thought he was in love with her, and Amos was charming enough to drag her along, to make her feel special.
She thought she was breaking him out so they could run away together.
Instead, he killed her.
The blare of the band starting up the fight song brought my thoughts back to the present. To this moment, watching my favorite team playing a championship game with the woman I loved.
It was our first real outing since Amos’s escape. We’d decided we couldn’t put our lives on hold forever. We were still being safe and cautious, but I wanted to bring her somewhere fun after everything.
Quinn grabbed for my hand as the Cardinals’ special teams took the field. She squeezed hard as the kicking unit lined up.
The stadium fell into a tense, collective hush. The ball was snapped. The kick went up—
And missed. Wide left.
Quinn screamed in disbelief, and my jaw dropped open. That had been a chip shot. Practically automatic. How the hell did he miss?
She twisted to look at me, horror all over her face.
I tightened my arm around her shoulders. “It’s fine,” I said flatly. “There’s time.”
She gave me a doubtful look, stunned—like her voice had abandoned her.
I scanned the stadium. It was a neutral site, but easily sixty percent of the crowd were Cardinal fans, and they all looked absolutely dejected. It was eerily quiet as the opposing team took over on offense. Less than two minutes were left on the clock, and OCU had one timeout left.
If the defense could hold them, we might get the ball back.
First down was a quick handoff for one yard. I clapped, trying to not let the disappointment get to me.
Second down was another run to the outside, but the defense was ready. No gain.
The noise started to build again, tentative at first, then louder as hope crept back into the stands.
On third down, the quarterback dropped back—but the blitz came fast. He scrambled, panicking, and threw the ball out too quickly.
The roar was instant and overwhelming as a Cardinal defender snatched the ball from the air and took off toward the end zone.
Quinn and I yelled at the same time, grabbing blindly for each other as we watched him dodge a tackle, then another, blockers forming in front of him.
“Oh my God!” Quinn screamed.
The stadium exploded as he crossed the goal line.
I barely registered anything except her—her ecstatic laughter, her eyes bright and sparkling as she turned toward me. I didn’t think before I surged forward, grabbing her face in both my hands.
And as the chaos of victory crashed around us, I brought my lips to hers and kissed her breathless.
The crowd flowed out of the stadium in a loud, laughing surge, everyone riding the high of the win. Our group was smaller than the one that had come to the rivalry game, but it was still enough to feel full with energy and joy.
I kept my arm around Quinn, walking with her pulled tight against my side; hers was wrapped around my waist. She fit there perfectly. At some point, someone started to sing the fight song, and before I knew it, we were all screaming it at the top of our lungs, voices hoarse and unrestrained.
This was what it was all about, I realized. This was what living was all about. Taking all the good things it gave and breathing them in like they were vital, and not letting the bad drag you down in its seemingly relentless claws.
When we reached the Bird Bus, people began piling on, still laughing, and talking over one another. I was about to climb on when Earl stopped me, holding up something small.
“Hey,” he said. “I think this is for you.”
I frowned. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. It was taped on the bus door, but it has your name on it.”
Something uneasy slid through me as I took the small envelope from his hand. Quinn pulled away from my side, concern tugging down the smile she’d worn since the game ended.
“Graham?” she asked, cautious.
I didn’t answer.
I opened the envelope. Inside was a folded piece of white cardstock, a butterfly sticker pressed to the front. My stomach dropped as I flicked it open.
Thanks for looking out for my lovely lawyer, Doctor.
Can’t wait to see you soon…