Raleigh Ann plopped down beside her with a plate full of sliders and nachos. “Okay, I need to marry a football player immediately. Why didn’t you tell me it was likethis?”
Abigail leaned over the bar, sipping a club soda like it was champagne. “I feel like we’re in an episode ofReal Housewives: Tritons Edition.” She looked at Abigail. “You brought your big sunglasses, right?”
“Obviously,” Abigail said, adjusting her oversized frames dramatically. “We came to slay and stay hydrated.”
Ali laughed, sinking a little deeper into the chair. She kicked off her sandals—Abigail’s beloved donation to the cause—and curled her legs beneath her. “This feels fake.”
“It’s not,” Abigail said with a nudge. “This is your life now, remember? The tight end’s girlfriend. Or kicking guy. Or whatever position Dylan plays. Sports aren’t really my thing. I only know what a tight end is because of Taylor Swift and TMZ”
Ashley rolled her eyes. “He’s the quarterback, Ab.”
“Well, he’sclearlywinning.”
They all dissolved into giggles again, drawing a fond glance from Kallie, who was chatting with Dylan’s parents near the buffet.
Ali leaned her chin on her fist, watching the field as the pre-game graphics lit up the jumbotron. Her chest tightened—not with anxiety this time, but with something warmer. Hope.
She was here. With her people. Watching her person. And for the first time in years, it didn’t feel like the past was waiting to ambush her. It just felt like the beginning of something new.
The Alchemy
Dylan
The roar hit him like a wave—loud, hot, and electric.
Dylan stepped through the tunnel, the field exploding in front of him, the Tritons banner rippling in the breeze. Tempest, the sea dragon mascot, was already hamming it up on the sideline, tossing a football into the crowd as fireworks flared overhead.
But Dylan only had eyes for one spot.
The suite.
He couldn’tseeher exactly—not through the tinted glass and flood of color—but hefelther up there. He always did. Just knowing she was here had every nerve ending buzzing.
His cleats hit the turf with a familiar rhythm, his helmet tucked under one arm. This was the moment he’d dreamed about as a kid. The season opener. Sold-out crowd. National broadcast. But for once, the pressure didn’t sit like a weight on his shoulders. It felt more like fuel.
He was grounded. Steady.
Loved.
A teammate slapped his back as they jogged out, music thundering through the sound system.
“You ready to wreck them?” Rocky called out, grinning as he adjusted his gloves.
Dylan smirked. “Born ready.”
They made their way toward the sideline, the camera already in his face as the announcer boomed his name. He nodded at it with practiced ease, raising one arm for the crowd, but his mind was still upstairs—in that suite, with the girls who screamed louder than anyone, withher.
He could almost hear her voice, soft but fierce.
You’ve got this.
Yeah, he did.
Because she was here.
Because he wasn’t running anymore.
Because this time, he knew who he was playing for.
