Epilogue
Two Years Later
Dawson’s Ridge Stadium–Maroon Management Office
The baby boots sit in a small navy box on my desk, soft leather in Ridgebacks maroon, the tiniest studs you’ve ever seen. I’d kept them hidden in the back of my closet for weeks. Every time I opened the box, my breath caught. They made it real.
Twelve weeks pregnant.
I’d planned every announcement I’d ever given in my career—red carpet reveals, trade rumours, brand pivots—but this? I didn’t want flash. I wanted real. Just me, and the man I built this life with.
The office smells like fresh dirt and eucalyptus oil from the physio room down the hall. Maroon Management has its own wing now—overlooking the Ridgebacks field, the heart of Dawson’s Ridge. My name isn’t on the building, but my reputation is carved into every square inch of it.
Asher steps in without knocking, curls damp from training, skin flushed, shirt half tucked into his sweats. I had a whole life before him, but somehow, nothing felt real until he walked into it.
“You called?” he says, still catching his breath. “Shell said this was urgent. If this is about media training the reserves again, I swear to God—”
“Just open the box.”
He blinks. “What is this? Am I being tricked into another sponsorship campaign? Because I’m not modelling cock socks again, babe. That was a dark time.”
I cross my arms. “Open it.”
He does.
The shift in his expression breaks something open in me. Confusion. Wonder. Then something quieter. Deeper. Reverent.
His voice is barely a whisper. “Is this real?”
“Twelve weeks.”
He looks up at me like I have just rewritten the rules of the universe. “You’re… we’re… you waited this long to tell me?”
“I wanted to be sure. And I wanted to tell you here. Where it all technically started.”
He is in front of me in seconds, arms around me, one hand already pressed gently against my stomach.
“We’re really doing this,” he says.
I smile into his neck. “We are.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Me neither.”
“But I want it. All of it.”
That night, we host dinner at our house, riding off the pure euphoria of what the future now holds. The one with the wraparound veranda and lemon tree out back, tucked just off the main road in Dawson’s Ridge. A forever kind of house. Close to Ted of course.
The table is loud—exactly the way it should be.
Shell pours wine like it’s her job to make sure everyone’s glass is full to the brim.
Collins wrangles his niece between mouthfuls of mashed potato.
My dad is manning the barbecue with Alfred at his side—yep, they finally came to visit Dawson’s, and they decided it wasn’t half bad—the two of them arguing about whether the Ridgebacks’ second half of the season has any hope.
I stand in the kitchen for a minute, just watching. All these people. All this life. And then I nod to Asher.
He stands, clearing his throat. “Hey. Can I, uh… say something?”
Shell raises a brow. “You never ask permission to speak.”
“True. But this one is big.”
He looks over at me. And I nod again.
“I just want to say that Scarlett and I…” He falters, actually falters, and I swear Shell’s jaw drops open. “We have some news. We’re having a baby.”
Silence.
Followed almost immediately by chaos.
Shell drops her wine. Collins swears loudly and wipes his eyes. My dad has frozen mid sausage flip. Alfred mutters something about needing to sit down.
And me? I laugh. And cry. At the same time.
There are hugs. Screams. Shell keeps repeating, “You’re going to be the hottest pregnant woman alive.” My dad looks like he is trying not to cry, but his hand never leaves my shoulder.
Asher watches it all, arms wrapping around me from behind, chin resting on my head.
When things calm, he says, “I actually had a gift for you too.”
I turn to him, surprise flicking across my face. “You did?”
He pulls something from his back pocket—small, velvet, familiar. My breath catches.
“But you beat me to it,” he says, voice rough. “You’ve always been one step ahead, Scar. That’s part of why I love you.”
He kneels, right there on the patio, in front of our family and friends and the lemon tree that hasn’t grown fruit since we moved in.
“I didn’t think anything could top this day,” he says. “But if you say yes, it might.”
The awning lights twinkle. The sky has that cotton-candy dusk look I have always loved. And for the first time in my life, I don’t hesitate. I don’t plan. I don’t run.
I just say, “Yes.”
The cheers are deafening. Collin’s niece screams “Aunty you’re getting married!” and Shell instantly demands to plan the wedding and the baby shower.
Asher stands up and kisses me like we have time to waste—like forever is waiting.
And later, when the house is quiet and the stars are out, I curl up next to him and rest his hand on my stomach.
“You know,” I whisper, “I used to think love had to hurt to mean something.”
He looks at me, eyes soft.
“Now I know,” I say softly “it just has to grow.”
The year after.
Ridgebacks Stadium–Game Day
The roar of the crowd echoes through the stadium as the Ridgebacks run out onto the field, maroon and gold flying high under the late afternoon sun.
The whole town is here—Dawson’s Ridge doesn’t just watch football, they live it.
There are scarves, flags, kids have their faces painted, the whole town turns golden.
I stand near the halfway mark, one hip cocked, sunglasses low on my nose, baby balancing effortlessly on my hip.
Our baby—Leo, named after mum’s favourite star sign and Asher’s game-day fire—wearing a tiny custom jersey with Kingston stitched across the back and the number 1, just like his old man.
My heartbeat quickens as we draw closer to kick off, I’m always fidgety and panicking before a game but today is a big one.
Leo is chewing on one of his toy footballs and drooling onto his collar, unbothered by the crowd. He has been around the atmosphere since before he left the womb so it’s no surprise now the calm he feels close to the action.
“You’re going to steal the show,” I whisper, adjusting his Ridgebacks cap. “Just like your daddy.”
Behind us, Shell leans against the railing with a giant iced coffee and a phone already full of pictures—she has become Leo’s personal paparazzi. No one’s more obsessed with baby K than Aunty Shell.
“I’m just saying, if I don’t get exclusive godmother content rights, I walk.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re literally the head of my PR firm.”
“And this is the biggest campaign of your life. I mean, look at that face.” She leans forward to squish Leo’s cheeks.
Leo squeals in agreement. He loves his aunty Shell.
My throat feels tight, we are getting close and the crowd swells louder, as the announcer booms across the field:
“Your new Ridgebacks captain… number one… Asher Kingston!”
I turn just in time to see him jog onto the field, curls bouncing along his forehead, focus razor-sharp—until his eyes flick toward us.
He always finds us in the crowd.
He points to his chest, then to me and Leo. A subtle gesture only I would understand. You are my reason.
Leo lets out a screech of joy and claps his little hands. The crowd goes wild. Probably for Asher. But maybe—just maybe—for us too.
I kiss Leo’s little head and whisper, “Your dad used to break the internet you know, with thirst traps. Now he breaks hearts out on the field and at daycare little man”
Shell snorts. “He’s going to get tackled in two seconds if you keep saying things like that out loud.”
The game begins. Dawson’s Ridge comes alive.
And as I stand there on the edge of the field, our son safe in my arms, my husband commanding the game he loves, my friends shouting from the box seats and my father waving from the glass box above them, I realise:
This was the story.
Not the scandal.
Not the headlines.
This.
Love that stayed.
Family that chose each other.
And a life that grew—one boot, one jersey, one game at a time.