26
RAFE
The arena empties slowly,like it doesn’t want to let him go.
Even after the final buzzer, even after the interviews and the ceremony that wasn’t technically a ceremony but absolutely was, people linger in their seats as if staying a little longer might press pause on time.
I stand near the edge of the tunnel with the rest of our makeshift family—my band, his sister and her family, my parents and sister, Maria with half the San Diego foundation kids orbiting her like satellites—and watch Ollie shake hands with staff, trainers, security guards, ball boys.
He thanks everyone.
That’s who he is.
He doesn’t look overwhelmed. He doesn’t look wrecked. He looks steady.
His shoulder is wrapped under his jersey, the tape visible when he lifts his arm to hug someone. I know it aches. I’ve seen him ice it every night for the past two weeks. I’ve seen the way he rotates it carefully when he thinks no one’s watching.
But tonight, he doesn’t move like a man in pain. He moves like a man finishing something on purpose.
When he finally looks up and spots me near the tunnel, the noise fades in my head even though the arena is still humming.
He smiles.
It’s not the public smile. Not the captain smile. Not the media one.
It’s mine.
And fuck, that still undoes me.
He jogs over, slower now that the game is done, and pulls me into him without hesitation. No checking who’s watching. No calculating angles.
“Hey,” he says, breath warm against my temple.
“Hey yourself.”
“You see that last assist?”
“I saw you show off.”
“That was not showing off.”
“That was absolutely showing off.”
He laughs, and I feel it against my chest.
Around us, people clap Ollie on the back. Cassius shouts something about postseason dominance. Maria corrals two foundation kids who are vibrating with awe. My mamá wipes at her eyes discreetly, which she thinks no one notices.
I pull back enough to look at him properly.
“You good?” I ask.
He nods once. “Yeah.”
There’s no tremor under it. No hidden panic. No sense of a cliff edge.
Just calm.
The ceremony after the game was brief but intentional. A highlight reel. A framed jersey. A speech from Coach that walked the perfect line between teasing and reverence. The crowd stayed on its feet for longer than anyone expected.
