The sun is warm, the air warm.
And for the first time since Pops left, the future doesn’t look like an empty hallway.
It looks like a path.
One we’re walking together.
I tighten my grip on Logan’s hand and let my voice drop into something lighter, something Pops would’ve appreciated.
“So,” I say, sniffing. “State champions, huh?”
Logan smirks. “You’re kind of a big deal.”
I scoff. “Don’t start.”
He leans closer, mouth near my ear, voice low and full of trouble. “End game, remember?”
I shove his shoulder. “God, you’re insufferable.”
Logan laughs, and the sound chases something cold out of my ribs.
And as we step out of the cemetery—hand in hand, side by side—I realize something I didn’t think I’d ever be allowed to feel again:
The man who inspired me…his story ended.
But ours?
Ours is just beginning.
THE END
EPILOGUE
LOGAN
Four Years Later
The stadium is alive.
That’s the only way I can describe it—the way the noise swells and dips, the way the lights turn the turf into something unreal, the way the air tastes like cold metal and adrenaline. Chicago in November. Sharp enough to wake you up. Loud enough to drown out every thought you don’t want.
I bounce on the balls of my feet near the sideline, helmet under my arm, chin strap dangling. The seams in my gloves bite into my palms when I flex my hands.
My knee doesn’t hurt anymore.
It’s there—scarred and strong, a quiet reminder of a version of me that once thought pain was the end of the road. Now it’s just…part of the road. Something I survived. Something I worked through until it stopped being the loudest thing in my life.
I exhale and scan the field.
Across from us, Jaxon is already in his helmet, calm like he was built out of steadiness. Even in the pros, even with all thechaos that comes with being him, he looks like the kind of guy who knows exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Beside him, Beck is bouncing like a caged animal, grinning behind his facemask, like he’s been waiting for this game since the schedule dropped.
He spots me and points like I’m a target.
Then he makes a very clear gesture with his hand that would get him fined if anyone in the league office was watching closely enough.
I laugh under my breath. Of course.
