Hardcore fans don’t miss their moment.
They built banners overnight. They printed shirts in less than twenty-four hours. They chanted his name in a rhythm that felt less like farewell and more like a promise.
Marshall forever.
He didn’t cry.
He smiled. He thanked them. He talked about gratitude and timing and knowing when your body has given you everything it can.
He didn’t frame it as loss but as evolution.
That’s new.
We drift toward the family section eventually, and he hugs my parents properly this time. My mamá pulls him down by the face and speaks rapid Spanish at him that makes him grin and nod like he understands every word.
“You’re one of ours,” she tells him in English at the end, firm and absolute.
He swallows hard at that.
His sister wraps him in a hug next, fierce and unapologetic. His niece tackles him at the knees like he’s still invincible.
The foundation kids hang back for a second, shy now that they’re this close. Ollie crouches down immediately, shoulder protesting but ignored, and thanks them for coming. One of them hands him the crooked sign from earlier.
“I’m putting this in my office,” he says solemnly.
The kid beams like he just signed a contract.
Eventually, the arena staff starts herding us gently toward the exits.
Outside, the air is cool but not cruel. April finally decided to commit to thawing.
We pile into cars. Vinny drives the lead vehicle, steady as always, though his posture tonight is looser.
The Tammy situation has quieted in the last two weeks. Crossing state lines turned it federal. The restraining order wasexpanded, a psychiatric evaluation mandated, strict distance enforced. Bail wasn’t revoked after Rafe and I submitted statements asking for leniency—treatment instead of jail, as long as she stayed far away from us until trial.
Handled.
Not erased. Not demonized.
Simply handled.
That’s what growth looks like.
Back at the loft, the mood is loud and messy for an hour. Pizza boxes open. Music playing low. Eli and Drew telling exaggerated stories about the first time they saw Ollie try to impress them by spinning a basketball on his finger. Rosa arguing about who cried more during the ceremony.
Eventually, people filter out.
My parents leave with warm hugs, having already insisted they stay in a hotel. Thankfully, they at least allowed me to organize it for them. Maria wrangles the last of the kids toward their hotel. The band promises brunch tomorrow before flying out.
The door clicks shut behind the last guest, and silence settles. Ollie leans back against the door for a second and exhales slowly.
“You sure you’re okay?” I check again.
He nods, but this time there’s something softer under it. “Yeah,” he says. “I thought it would feel… worse.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Like I was losing something.”
