Epilogue
Fall hits like a reset button.
There’s the same field, same lines, and the same tiny orange cones that are probably older than Coach.
But I’m different.
“Okay, no—Nico, if you kick it like that again, I’m legally required to make you do a hundred more drills,” I call, jogging backwards as the ball slowly rolls away from him. It looks almost like it’s mocking him.
“I slipped!” Nico shouts back, already grinning as he chases after the rogue ball.
I hum doubtfully before loudly saying, “Again, but this time with gravity on your side.”
A couple of the newbies laugh. One of them, red-faced and dramatically draped over his knees, groans, “I’m dying.”
“You’re doing great,” I tell him, flashing him an encouraging grin. “Now get up and give me another twenty.”
He does not get up. He does, however, fall to the ground and start whining louder.
I ignore him. My siblings pull this sort of thing all the time. He thinks he can win by pretending to die? The twins perfected that move at age six and have only gotten away with it twice.
“Reset!” f I clap my hands at all the newbies, gaining their attention. “First touch, then pass. Think before you kick. You’re all doing great!”
They shuffle back into position, and I jog between them, adjusting stances, nudging feet, while tapping a shoulder here and there.
It’s weird. A few months ago, I would’ve been out here doing my own drills while thinking about scouts, stats, and whether every touch I did was good enough.
Now?
I’m thinking about whether Nico is about to trip over his own feet again. It’s very likely.
“Princess is doing great, by the way,” Nico says as he jogs past me between reps.
I blink. “Your illegal dorm cat? You still have her?”
“My emotional support queen,” he corrects. “And yes. She loves it in the dorms.”
“Sure,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “And how’s your RA taking it?”
Nico makes a face. “Reyes? Ah, he’s cool. Maybe a bit strict, but I’ll teach him how to let loose one of these days.”
“Do not mess with Reyes, Nico,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I’m not messing with him,” Nico says, waving away my concerns as he nearly loses his ball again. “I’m helping him. He needs to have some fun.”
“Hmm,” I reply, knowing that, after the last two weeks spent pre-season training with Nico, Reyes doesn’t want whatever ‘fun’ Nico is helping him with.
Before I can tell him to watch his footwork, someone shouts across the field, “NICO ALVAREZ!”
We both turn.
And there, standing at the edge of the field like the physical manifestation of our conversation, is the RA Daniel Reyes.
He is wet. Not like, sweaty-from-exercise wet, but soaked through with water like he just jumped in a pool while still wearing his clothes.
His hair is plastered to his forehead and his shirt is clinging to him, all of him dripping wet. His face has the most terrifying expression I’ve ever seen from him, and he was the one who found my under the bed salami experiment that caused half the floor to get sick.
Nico freezes before very innocently yelling, “IT WASN’T ME!”
And then runs away.
“I KNOW IT WAS YOU!” Reyes shouts back, already sprinting after him.
I watch them go, wondering how much the ‘running from death’ sprinting should factor into Nico’s exercise plan for today.
“He would seem a lot more innocent if he didn’t immediately flee the scene,” Colten says, appearing at my side and watching the two guys run off the field, both still screaming at the other.
I grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “But this is a lot more entertaining.”
Colten snorts before wrapping an arm around my waist and squeezing.
“You avoiding practice?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I wanted to see how you’re treating the newbies.”
From behind us, the dying newbie wheezes, “I’m literally dying over here.”
“They’re doing great,” I tell Colten.
Colten looks behind us for a second before shrugging and pressing closer. “Don’t forget you still have your own training.”
“Ha, like you would let me forget,” I say.
I’m still a scholarship student, and I still have to earn it by playing on the team, but Coach and I worked out a fair compromise. After I apologized to him for giving up on going pro, he just patted my shoulder and told me I could train my replacement.
So far, I haven’t found one, but it is fun bullying the newbies.
And, after some prompting from Colten, I also apologized for souring the waters with Rick the dick.
Coach agreed Rick was a dick, and also said that I was never allowed to go to a meet with him again.
“That’s correct,” Colten replies.
I smile at him, enjoying the sunshine and last bit of summer weather before the rain takes back over.
I still love soccer, that part is the same as ever. But it’s not this heavy thing sitting on my chest anymore, demanding everything I have and then asking for more.
Now it’s just fun again.
There’s the never-ending movement, the teamwork, the sound of cleats on grass and someone laughing as they finally pull off a cool trick.
Sure, I need to play for the scholarship, but I no longer feel like I’m chasing something that might never choose me back. I don’t have to wear my body down with the chance of even more injuries, all while trying to make the people around me happy by being the best.
Now, I get to just enjoy the game, and help others do the same. And everyone doesn’t hate me for not going pro! It’s amazing, and so, so freeing.
I didn’t realize how scared I was of that until I had to tell my parents. Thankfully, as my mother gently reminded me, the world does not revolve around me. They still have the twins and football, after all.
“Look at the lazy couple, not even pretending they’re not here to flirt anymore,” Rich calls out as he and Brian pass us, both of them running drills down near us.
“Rich? Didn’t you graduate?” I ask, even though I know the answer. Colten does too, and barks out a laugh.
“Shut up! I need my master's!” Rich says, just barely keeping himself from crying.
“It’s okay man, you’ll graduate eventually,” Brian consoles him as they dribble their balls past us. Rich cries harder, but continues to dribble. I can respect that.
My eyes catch on the school’s mascot, a golden phoenix with huge cartoon eyes, standing further down the field and turned towards us.
Not moving, not doing anything, but just silently staring.
I turn back toward the newbies and pretend I didn’t see anything. If I ignore it, I’m sure it will go away eventually.
Colten’s attention is already on the newbies, laughing under his breath when one of them nearly face plants from trying to do a stepover too fast.
I watch Colten, taking in how the sunlight catches in his freshly dyed black hair. He looks relaxed, wearing the easy smile that's become so much more common these past few months.
And I think, yeah. This is it. This is exactly what I want.
“Hey, random question,” I say.
“That’s never a good start,” Colten replies, his eyes still on the newbies.
“How long have you been in love with me?”
He chokes, his arm reflexively squeezing my waist. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just curious,” I say innocently. “Ballpark estimate?”
“You cannot just ask that like it’s a normal question,” he says, staring at me. “Why are you like this?”
“That’s not an answer,” I reply, tilting my head in a way I know he’s weak for.
He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Three years.”
I blink. “Three years?”
“Give or take,” he mutters.
“That’s—” I laugh. “That’s when we met.”
“Yes, Patrick,” he says, sighing heavily. “I’m aware.”
“So you’ve just been in love with me this whole time? Even when I tried to make salami in our dorm room?”
“Please stop reminding me about that. I still get nightmares.”
I grin, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, exposing the pink tinge on his cheek.
“That’s kind of amazing,” I say, still grinning.
“You’re insufferable,” he complains, but doesn’t push me away.
“You know,” I say thoughtfully, “I think I might’ve been in love with you the whole time too.”
He freezes. “What?”
I shrug. “I just didn’t know what to call it,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “But, like, there’s no one else I ever trusted as much, or wanted to follow around all the time, or play soccer with, like you.”
His expression softens, just a little.
“You’re unbelievable,” he says, punching my bicep.
“I know,” I say, and then I swoop down to kiss him.
Because I can, because he’s here, and because it feels like the most obvious thing in the world.
“I KNEW IT!”
We break apart and turn.
Elias Papadakis, of all people, is standing there, hands over his mouth, and eyes shining like he just witnessed a miracle.
“I knew you two were soulmates!” he yells, before glaring directly at Colten and saying, “I told you the spell worked! I can’t believe you stole my books when you were actually in love with him this whole time!”
“You let me borrow those books,” Colten replies with his own glare.
“Under extreme duress!” Elias counters before running off. He yells something about shoving it in his cousin’s face and needing to charge for his services.
I stare after him. “Should we stop him?” I ask.
“No,” Colten says immediately. “You’re not allowed anywhere near him or his ‘magic’ again.”
The mascot, who has not moved in the last twenty minutes, watches Elias go with unsettling intensity.
Nope, not thinking about that. Not my problem.
“I mean,” I start, turning back toward Colten and ignoring whatever’s happening further downfield, “we could ask him for better powers, like flight, or maybe laser eyes.”
“The answer's still no,” Colten says, shaking his head. “One spell was enough for my lifetime.”
“Fair.” I grin at him. “Guess the only magic I need is your love.”
He stares at me. Then, without warning and very rudely, shoves me backward onto the grass.
“You’re the worst, Farmboy,” he says, grinning as he steps over me.
“I’m your worst,” I correct, laughing as I reach up, grab his waist, and pull him into the grass with me.
“That isn’t even grammatically—oh, whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes before he puts me in a headlock and kisses my head.
A couple of feet away, the newbie groans, “I’m still dying, but if someone could get me a white Greatorade, not any of the other colors, I might survive.”
I don’t move to help, but to be fair, I don’t think anyone else does, either.
Still, as I struggle against Colten’s headlock, warm and safe and only slightly in pain, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Because I’m not chasing the life I thought I should want anymore.
I’m living the one I actually do want.
The end.