Epilogue 2
MATTY
Our first class since the championship, and the lecture hall felt like someone had crammed a stadium’s worth of noise into four walls.
People were still riding the high of the win.
There were lots of orange hoodies, phones flashing clips from the final seconds on repeat, and half the class looked like they’d been celebrating nonstop, judging by the hungover pallor to their skin.
Garrett dropped into the seat beside me, still smelling faintly of beer from last night’s festivities. His hoodie was half zipped, baseball cap pulled low. It was the same one he’d worn through the entire season. His superstition.
He had his phone out before his ass even hit the chair, scrolling fast through another mock draft thread. His name kept showing up in the top ten in every one. He’d already been called “the next great running back” on ESPN twice this week.
“You realize the draft’s four months away,” I muttered.
Garrett didn’t look up. “Four months is forever in draft years,” he said, flicking his thumb across the screen. “Scouts are fickle. I sneeze wrong at the combine, and I drop three slots; I’ll never hear the end of it from my brother.”
I grinned. Garrett’s brother was a star quarterback on the New York Predators. I could see that being a lot to live up to. “Yeah, you’ll survive, Top Ten.”
He smirked, finally glancing up. “You mock me now. Let’s see how you act next year when you’re the one having to wait.”
I chuckled, tapping my pencil against my notebook. “We’ll see.”
The door at the front of the lecture hall opened, and Garrett’s phone hit the floor.
Garrett followed it a second later.
He didn’t trip. Didn’t stumble. He just collapsed straight out of his chair, knees folding, hitting the tile with a dull thud.
I blinked, leaning over the desk. “Fucking hell, man—what are you doing?”
He wasn’t listening. His eyes were wide, fixed on something at the front of the room.
I followed his gaze to the woman stepping up to the podium. She looked like she’d walked straight out of a commercial for expensive perfume. Auburn hair pinned up in a sleek twist. Sharp black blazer hugging her waist. Heels that clicked like punctuation.
She looked young, too young to be a professor, but I was pretty sure that’s what she was.
“Aubrey,” he breathed.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
He nodded, his eyes still locked on her even though he was still on the floor and she was going to notice any second. “That’s my wife.”
My jaw dropped. “Your what?”
He swallowed hard, face pale. “My wife. I married her in Vegas. The night we celebrated the championship last year.”
I still was having trouble understanding the words coming out of his mouth. Because I was pretty sure he’d just said he was married.
I glanced to the front of the room again.
Down at the podium, she smiled tightly and picked up a marker, writing her name across the whiteboard in clean, looping script.
Dr. Aubrey Bro—.
Her hand froze halfway through the O.
Because her eyes had found Garrett.
The color drained from her face, and for a second she looked like she might bolt. Then her professional mask slid back into place.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said, her voice just a touch too bright. “Welcome back. For anyone who missed last class, I’m Dr. Browning, and I’ll be teaching Intro to Shakespeare this term.”
Garrett looked like he might throw up.
I leaned back, fighting the grin threatening to take over my face. “Holy shit,” I muttered.
He turned to me, whispering harshly, “Don’t. Say. A. Word.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I murmured, still grinning. “Just—Wow. Didn’t expect the semester’s first scandal to come from you.”
He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “She disappeared the morning after. I had no idea how to find her. I never thought I’d see her again.”
“She looks found now,” I whispered, nodding toward the podium. “But what was your plan? Just to be married to her forever?”
He made a sound like he was choking, and I clapped him on the back as he finally staggered back into his seat.
Dr. Browning cleared her throat and launched into the syllabus, eyes darting back to him only once—long enough to confirm that, yeah, this was really happening.
I stifled a laugh, shaking my head.
First class after a championship, and my teammate had just discovered his Vegas wife was his new professor.
There was no way this wasn’t going to blow up spectacularly.
I couldn’t wait.
Read Garrett’s story in The Wrong Call here.
Read Jagger’s story in Don’t Say Mafia here.