Chapter 12
TWELVE
Olivia
Five Years Later…
Maple Creek has a way of marking the passage of time.
Not in hours or seasons, but in what has been built and what has been saved.
Five years ago, the youth center was a brick box on the brink of eviction, a dream that lived on grit and grant deadlines.
Today, it’s a building with a new wing, a mural splashed across the east wall, and a name etched in steel above the entrance. The Walker–Morgan Center for Youth.
I still flush when I walk under it. CJ swears it was the board’s idea, but I know his fingerprints were on every conversation that made it happen.
He meets me at the door this morning, skates slung over one shoulder, Thunder cap backward like the years never taught him to wear it right. His hair is longer now, streaked at the temples, his grin the same reckless one that got us here in the first place.
“Board meeting done?” he asks, leaning down to kiss me quick and easy, like oxygen.
“Approved the art budget,” I tell him, holding up the folder. “The kids are voting on the next mural theme. It’s currently tied between ‘outer space’ and ‘dragons who bake cookies.’”
“Dragons in space who bake cookies,” he says immediately. “You’re welcome.”
I laugh. Some things never change.
Inside, the building hums. Kids in the new computer lab are working on coding projects.
A drama group is rehearsing a play in the multipurpose room.
Ezra, still our kitchen wizard, is passing out snacks to a line of teenagers who call him Chef like it’s a title.
The whole place feels alive in a way I didn’t dare imagine five years ago.
I walk past the tutoring room, and there’s Malik, seventeen now, six feet tall, all wingspan and swagger, helping a middle-schooler with algebra. Bea sits at the art table, drawing panels for the graphic novel she swears will be a bestseller one day. She waves when she sees me, then points at CJ.
“Mr. Morgan! You promised to run goalie drills after snack!”
“I never break a promise,” CJ calls back, already tugging at his laces.
He still plays for the Thunder, still makes saves that cause me to bite my lip in the stands, but the community-service-punishment-turned-volunteer-turned-husband role is the one that stuck deepest. He built a program where the kids play on Thunder ice once a month.
He started a scholarship fund with his per-save pledge that has already sent three graduates to college.
He’s still a show-off in interviews and a magnet for attention, but the cameras don’t bother me anymore.
Because now, when they follow him, they end up here, too.
At four o’clock, practice spills onto the new gym floor.
Kids dribble, pass, and shoot. CJ referees with his usual chaos, pretending to get crossed up by a twelve-year-old, making the whole group howl.
I stand at the edge, clipboard forgotten, just watching.
Watching him. Watching them. Watching the life we fought for take up space like it always belonged here.
He catches my eye, winks, then lets himself be “blocked” by a boy half his size. He falls dramatically, sprawled on the floor, arms spread like he’s been slain. The room explodes with laughter.
Five years ago, that man walked into my office cocky, grinning, and sentenced to community service. Tonight, he’ll walk home with me, and when we get home, he’ll see the surprise on the kitchen counter. The one I made to tell him that I’m pregnant. Finally.
We’ve been trying for the last year without any luck, but last week, I got the news. I’m so excited to see his face. I can’t wait to make plans with him and start this next chapter in our lives.
Five years ago, he told me he wanted the thing that scared me. Today, I know he was right, because sometimes the biggest gamble you ever take isn’t losing.
It’s letting yourself win.
I close my folder, tuck it under my arm, and walk toward him as he gets up, shaking his head in mock defeat. He’s still smiling when he meets me halfway, sweat in his hair, joy in his eyes.
“Dragons in space, huh?” I say.
“Dragons in space who bake cookies,” he corrects, sliding an arm around my waist. “Long game, Boss. Always the long game.”
And together, we play for keeps.