“I’ll text her.”
“What about the game? Did you…win?”
He looked at me like he didn’t understand the question. “What?”
“The Super Bowl. Did you win?”
He let out a short laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, we won.”
“You won the Super Bowl and you’re here with me?”
“Ellie,” he said, like my name was a full sentence. “You disappeared. You think I was gonna pop bottles and take selfies while you were missing?”
I swallowed the knot rising in my throat.
“I left the field before the press conference,” he added. “Didn't even shower. I probably smell like ass.”
“You didn't have to?—”
“Yes, I did,” he said firmly.
I cupped his jaw, grounding myself in the rough stubble under my palm, the warmth of his skin. My throat tightened with everything I couldn't say—how much it meant that he chose this, chose me, over the one thing he'd worked his entire life for.
“You won the Super Bowl,” I whispered, “and you left to find me.”
His hand covered mine, pressing it closer to his face. His eyes were dark, intense, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“I’d leave a thousand Super Bowls for you. Do you get it yet?” His voice was rough, raw. “None of it means anything if you're not there.”
“I’ll throw you a celebration party to make up for it.”
He chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”
A long silence settled between us, heavier than the rain that started to fall again. This time, it was a drizzle, and neither of us moved.
“Come sit,” he said finally. “You look like you need to stop standing.”
I let out a small giggle, and we found a bench under the awning of an empty building. It smelled like wet pavement and cheap metal, and I’d never been more grateful for a seat in my life.
Then I told him everything.
Ben. Lauren. The letters. How I figured out pieces, which led them to take me here. How close it came to going wrong.
He didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt, keeping his hand wrapped around mine the whole time. His other hand kept clenching and unclenching.
“They arrested them about half an hour ago,” I said. “The police are still collecting evidence, but it’s done. It’s over.”
Sawyer shook his head slowly, like he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “Jesus.”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning back against the bench. “It was a lot.”
He looked down, nodded once, and went quiet.
“So…” His eyes lifted to meet mine.
“So…”
“I heard your song.”
