His voice drops to a whisper, “Marry me for real this time, dollface.”
The tears spill faster, hot and unstoppable, down my cheeks.
“You want a big wedding?” he goes on, his thumb caressing my undereye. “I’ll give you the biggest damn wedding Tennessee’s ever seen. You want it small? Just us and a courthouse? Done. Whatever you want, Amelia. Just… just say yes. Because I don’t want fake. I don’t want deals. I just wantyou.”
My vision blurs, my chest heaves, and my voice breaks as I choke out the only words I can.
“I don’t care about the wedding,” I sob, reaching up so I can cup his face with both hands. “You’re everything I could have ever wanted, Maverick. Your sillyness, your heart, and overall, just you, baby.”
For a heartbeat, he’s still. Then his mouth crashes into mine, desperate and trembling, as if he’s been holding his breath since the day I entered his life and is finally, finally allowed to exhale.
And as he slips the ring back onto my finger, his hands trembling, I know this isn’t fake.
It never was.
epilogue
. . .
One Year Later
maverick
One year.
It’s been a year since I walked off that field for the last time. A year since the noise faded, since the lights dimmed, since I wasn’t Maverick Hayes, quarterback of the Tennessee Mustangs anymore.
I used to believe the game was everything I was. My entire identity was tied to a jersey, a number, and Sunday crowds shouting my name. I thought that without football—if I didn’t have that—there would be nothing left. Just a washed-up athlete with too much time on his hands and nothing to show for it.
And hell, I was scared. I was more afraid than I’d ever admit out loud. Not of getting hit, not of breaking bones—I’d done plenty of that. But of what came after. Who I’d be when the crowd wasn’t chanting, when my stats didn’t matter, when I wasn’t the golden boy under center anymore.
Turns out, I was wrong.
Turns out, there’s a whole life after the game—a better one.
Because a year later, I know exactly who I am.
I’m Amelia’s husband.
That’s it. That’s the headline. That’s the jersey I’ll wear for the rest of my life.
It’s her—her laugh, her sharp mouth, her ink-stained fingers, her soft body curling against mine every night—that pulled me through the spiral. Every time I questioned who I was without the game, she was there. Whispering I was more. Proving it when she looked at me like I hung the damn stars. Reminding me that being her husband is the only title I’ll ever need.
And fuck, I’ve never felt more at peace.
The field gave me glory. But Amelia… Amelia gave me myself back.
A year of living with her has been the best year of my fucking life.
It’s funny how many things you notice when you share four walls with someone. How they drink their coffee, how they leave the bathroom mirror fogged up after a shower, and how their hair ends up in every corner of the house no matter how many times you vacuum.
And then there’s me. My quirks. My flaws.
I clean. Obsessively. I always have. Ever since the day Mama died, when everything felt out of control, like the ground was ripped out from under me. Scrubbing a counter, lining up shoes, folding towels into perfect thirds—these were the only things I could control when I couldn’t control life. It’s how I kept the chaos at bay.
I thought Amelia would hate it. I figured she’d roll her eyes, call me neurotic, maybe even pack her things after I reorganized her art supplies one too many times.
But she didn’t.
