Epilogue
Ally - Three Years Later
The world is very loud right now.
The crowd roars like a living thing, a tidal wave of noise reverberating through the Olympic arena as the scoreboard flashes the final numbers.
Great Britain — GOLD.
Allyson Montrose — Women’s Individual Archery Champion.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. Not because I’m overwhelmed…
But because I’m looking directly at him.
Nate is in the stands, standing on his seat, both arms thrown in the air, screaming my name like he’s trying to send it through the stratosphere.
He shouldn’t stand out. He’s bundled in a baseball cap and sunglasses, trying to be discreet out of respect. His National Theatre schedule barely allowed him the trip, much less the shouting and applause.
But he can’t help it. He’s tall. He’s gorgeous. And he’s always been impossible to miss. Especially to me.
The medal ribbon is cold against the back of my neck; the metal itself is warm from the official’s hands. I blink hard, trying not to tear up as the British anthem swells.
We did it. I did it.
But it was a team effort. It never felt like just me.
Team GB welcomed me with open arms, made marvelously mean comments about Josh and Olivia, and promised me they’d use Nate as target practice if he ever followed in Josh’s footsteps and cheated on me, knowing he never would.
And when I’m on the podium, none of my team are thinking about what they wanted individually.
They cheer for me as loudly as I’d cheer for them if they were here. And that is the difference.
It was fun to watch Olivia valiantly ignoring me. Even more gratifying to see her come last place this time.
Josh wasn’t even in attendance. He lost his place in the team last year. Nothing dramatic; he was simply replaced with better archers.
When the ceremony ends, when the interviews fade into white noise, when I’m ushered into a quiet corner of the athlete village for a breather, I finally get a second to myself.
Or five seconds.
Because then he’s there.
Nate slips inside with a hastily pinned visitor badge, chest still rising like he ran the last hundred meters to get to me. He doesn’t say a word. He just looks at me, and the gold medal, and my trembling hands.
Then he’s kissing me, hard, deep, unapologetic, and unbearably proud. My fingers twist into his shirt, pulling him in until the metal on my chest taps his sternum. “You did it,” he murmurs against my lips. “Ally. You did it.”
“We did it,” I say, voice shaking.
His forehead drops to mine, both of us laughing breathlessly.
Three years. Three years of flying across continents to accommodate each other, of early morning practices, of learning how to cook more than just ramen in a tiny London flat, of his Shakespeare rehearsals and my training camps, of jet lag and video calls, of small triumphs and bigger fears.
He kissed me on the banks of the Thames the night I made Team GB officially. He kissed me outside the National Theatre the night his Hamlet opening got a standing ovation that lasted six whole minutes and change. He kissed me this morning, whispering, “Gold suits you. Go get it.”
And he’s kissing me now, gold solid between us, anchoring me to the present.
“I am so proud of you,” he says against my mouth.
“Thank you.” I snuggle closer. “I’m proud of me, too.”
“You should be,” he agrees. “But I knew this would happen.”
“Oh, really?” I tease.
“Yep. The moment that arrow thunked into the tree trunk next to me three years ago so I could get back up that incline.”
I soften at the memory. “Our first kiss -”
“Was not the way it should have been,” he says ruefully. “And I want a do-over.”
My eyebrows lift. “When?”
Nate’s gaze hones in on my lips. “Now,” he says, capturing them again in a kiss that makes me wonderfully giddy.
His arms crush around me, his breath unsteady.
I feel invincible. Not because of the medal, though that helps.
Because of this. Because of him.
***
Nate - A Few Months Later
I don’t belong in this building.
That’s not insecurity talking; it’s the constant whispered awe that echoes every time I walk through the stage door:
“That’s Nate Woodruff.”
“He was on that western show, right?”
“How did he go from TV to this?”
This is the National Theatre. My dream job I never dared to dream.
The Olivier stage.
Much Ado About Nothing this season, Hamlet last season.
Standing ovations nearly every night.
Tonight, though, the applause hits different. Because Ally is in the audience.
She’s seen me act on stage before. But she has never watched me command one this big, this historic, this absolutely unforgiving. It’s taken everything I have, and I’ve never felt such satisfaction in my career before.
I still get to act in Cochise County, and I’m enjoying it considerably more now that I’m pursuing something just for me, not just what is expected. It means a lot of flying and a new deftness with jetlag, but it’s working so far.
In fact, I’d call it a wild success. My write ups are an absolute dream: Who knew the Cochise County heartthrob had such depth as an actor?
Even Dad told me he was proud of me after Hamlet, and I doubt he understood half the script.
I do suspect, however, that it was largely because Fallon had agreed to move back in with him the day before.
The smart woman won’t marry him again, which drives him nuts, but he knows how lucky he is to have whatever she allows.
Ally watched me tonight with a small, secret smile I could see even from the boards. It took all my professional discipline not to smile back… Though I looked her way for a split second as Benedick laughed at something Beatrice said.
And again, for the length of a heartbeat, when I said the line, I do love nothing in the world so well as you…
After the curtain falls and the cast floods backstage with adrenaline and makeup-smudged grins, I slip away, through the maze of corridors, because I know exactly where she’ll be waiting.
Stage door. Her hands in her pockets, her hair pulled back, her expression attempting calm and failing adorably.
“Nate!”
I turn, grinning when I see Leo Mills, my favorite tattoo artist and good friend, walking over with his wife, Sadie. “Mate, you nailed it,” he declares as he hugs me. “I absolutely understood every single word.”
“He did,” Sadie says, giving me a fist bump while I’m still wrapped in Leo’s arms, having my back slapped like he’s trying to clear a blockage. “He actually laughed when you realized Beatrice was into you.” She grins. “Thanks for the tickets, by the way.”
“No problem. Was the seat OK?”
“Are you kidding?” she asks. “Perfect view and extra cushioning in the fancy-grade seats? Fricking superb.”
I’m so glad they got it together. And I’m even gladder when I notice the curve of another early baby bump.
Leo grins. “Nope, she didn’t eat too much pasta again.” Sadie punches his arm, and I laugh.
“Congrats, guys.”
“Twins,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Holy crap. I mean, congratulations, that’s brilliant.”
They both laugh at me. “Yeah, two little Leos running around will put us through our paces,” Sadie agrees. “‘Holy crap’ is right.”
Leo gives me a warm look. “How’s Ally?”
“She’s great.” I’m smiling the way I always do when anyone says her name. It’s never decreased in size, no matter how long we’re together. “She’ll be around somewhere if you wanna say hey?”
“We really need to dash,” Leo says, putting his arm around Sadie and kissing the top of her head. “Babysitter. Plus, if we see you both, we’ll end up getting dinner together, and we promised Rhi we’d be back asap.”
“Tell her hey, and congrats again on the gold,” Sadie adds apologetically.
“No worries.”
“And, Nate?” I lift my eyebrow at Leo. “I’m glad your Sadie situation worked out.”
I grin. “Thanks, man.” I remember almost crying on his shoulder about her all those years ago, when he and Sadie were new. We both got the girl. And we exchange the knowing look of the lovelorn whose patience was rewarded.
I head out a few minutes later, rushing now to see my love. When Ally sees me, her mouth curves like she’s been waiting to breathe.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” she whispers back, eyes shining.
I haul her into me, lifting her off the ground and kissing her soundly. Taking her hand, we stroll back to our apartment - our flat, as she keeps correcting me, her British vocabulary now alive and kicking again - as the London night swirls around us in its street lamp haze.
“You were extraordinary,” she says against my mouth. “As usual. Even if you did accidentally call Leonato Claudio in act one.”
I laugh. “From gold medalist to theater critic?”
“Not a critic,” she says, cupping my jaw. “Just your person.”
And I swear, the Thames could sweep over its banks and I would still be exactly here, anchored by her.
I don’t have a ring.
I don’t have a speech prepared, other than fragments of heartfelt sentences I’ve thought about idly over the last few years.
But, glancing around Waterloo Bridge in the moonlight, surrounded by her heritage, it’s suddenly obvious: now. Ask her right now.
It’s not like I wasn’t planning to do it soon anyway.
I turn my head to kiss the palm of her hand, looking into her beautiful, happy eyes. “Marry me,” I murmur.
It takes a few seconds for her to register what I just said, and I almost laugh as the drama plays out on her face: realization, disbelief,, shock… and finally, thank fuck, happiness. “You’re not kidding?”
“Never been more serious in my life.” Since we left the cabin, life has been nothing but right. Even in the mundane moments, or the times we bicker like teenagers, or the pressure has been high, it’s all been everything I hoped for and more. Because Ally was there.
And you can take away everything: the money, the success, everything I ever earned, and I won’t miss it… Because she is all I will ever need. Everything else is just extra.
Her eyes fill, and her smile nearly splits her face. “Then yes,” she says, her voice catching. “Holy shitballs, yes!”
A red London bus beeps its horn in amusement at us as I pull her to me, kissing her on and on, losing myself in the taste of her smiling lips.
And, like the universe is giving us a stamp of approval…
It starts to snow.