Much later, I stir in the tangle of sheets, his arm a possessive band across my waist, his body curved protectively around mine. Snow whispers against the glass, soft and un-intrusive. For the first time, the future doesn’t loom with uncertainty—it unfurls, warm and possible.
I press a lingering kiss to the curve of his shoulder, breathing him in, and let sleep claim me again.
This—this quiet, fierce closeness—is what’s coming.
Not flawless.
Not simple.
But deeply, undeniably ours.
And that makes it everything.
Chapter 27
LEO
The buzzer soundsand the gym explodes.
Blue and gold confetti rains from overhead, the crowd roaring, stomping, a wave of pure chaos. My chest heaves, sweat stinging my eyes, hands braced on my knees as the truth sinks in?—
State champions.
The guys swarm me—shouts, backslaps, bodies colliding in celebration—but my gaze cuts straight through it all to the stands.
There she is.
Jade’s on her feet, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes shining with tears she’d never admit to. She’s in my hoodie, sleeves pushed up, leggings hugging her legs, hair in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed from screaming my name. Our eyes meet, and she doesn’t cheer louder.
She just smiles—that quiet, heart-stopping smile.
And everything else fades.
She’s been at every home game. Front row or right behind the bench. No demands. No spotlight. Just present. Steady.
After the ceremony, the photos, the madness dies down, she slips through the crowd to the tunnel. No dramatic leap into my arms. She just reaches up, adjusts my crooked championship cap, and kisses me—soft, quick, real.
“Proud of you,” she whispers.
Two words. Everything.
Winter doesn’t dim us.
She’s deep into her indoor travel team—brutal practices, endless drives, turf that reeks of rubber and effort. I’m there whenever I can. Sometimes Dad tags along, hands buried in his coat, watching quietly.
One night, as she flies through sprint drills, he mutters, “I played. Competitively. Before the knee gave out.”
I stare at him like he’s grown a second head.
Turns out soccer runs in the family deeper than I knew.
Jade’s eyes light up when he tells her. She asks questions, really listens. She has this gift—drawing people out, making them feel seen without forcing it.
She’s different now. Brighter. Not performative. Just… rooted. Like she finally trusts the ground beneath her.
Valentine’s Day isn’t fireworks.
No grand gestures.
