“Yes,” Lane said hurriedly and with his whole chest. “Yes, I fucking meant it. I love you. Was trying to save it for the perfect moment, but then I thought, there’s no perfect moments.”
“Yeah, there are and that was one,” Trevor said, and leaned in, kissing him right there on the sideline.
Didn’t care who was watching or who was going to judge, because itwasperfect. Perfect because Lane loved him and Trevor loved him back.
Finally.
Epilogue
TheVinceLombarditrophywas shinier than Lane had imagined it would be.
He gazed at it, on the stage above him. Could hardly believe that Aidan was holding it, though the Thunder had maintained at least a solid two-touchdown lead from the mid-second quarter through the end of the game. The Seahawks had never had a chance, not from almost the beginning of the game, when Jordan had leaped in front of Darnold’s second pass, returning it for a touchdown.
Then Aidan and the offense had marched right down the field on their next possession, Mo scoring the touchdown from thirteen yards out.
Unlike their other playoff games, this had been remarkably low dramatics. No last-minute touchdown drives. No despairing and hushed halftime conferences where the Thunder tried to figure out how to right the ship.
Nope, they’d been pretty assured of winning for most of the game, and so maybe this was a little anticlimactic.
Good, but anticlimactic.
Trevor squeezed his hand as they gazed up at the stage.
Mark Justice, the owner of the Thunder, finished up his speech, and handed the trophy to Coach Robertson, their head coach, his white polo barely splashed with orange spots, because he’d had more time to figure out how to evade the Gatorade victory bath than most coaches did.
“Honestly, this is more speeches than I expected. More make-outs, less speeches, please,” Trevor said, leaning in and pressing another kiss against Lane’s mouth. His face was still lit up with joy. Lane could see that look on his face forever.
Wouldbe seeing that look on his face forever, if he had anything to say about it.
“Didn’t you watch the Super Bowl before this?” Nate wondered from Lane’s other side.
“Well, yeah, sure, but by this point, I was usually a few drinks in, and we didn’t give a shit about the trophy, because we weren’t holding it.”
“We’re still not holding it,” Lane complained.
Trevor elbowed him in the side. “You’ll get there, babe, just be patient. The guys who pay us have to talk themselves up first.”
Nate laughed. “How about the guys who coach us?”
“I guess we could give them a part of the credit,” Lane allowed. “They can get their moment in the sun.”
Also about to get his moment in the sun was Mo, who’d gotten pulled aside early in the post-win celebrations, but then nobody was surprised that the guy had won the MVP. His stat line had been unreal: two touchdowns and almost two hundred yards.
The Seahawks hadn’t had anyone who could even remotely keep up with him, and Aidan had exploited that early and often.
Lane couldn’t say his stat line had been particularly special, but then it hadn’t needed to be. Neither he nor Trevor had evengotten a touchdown, but that was okay. They were getting rings. And even more importantly, they’d already gotten each other.
“Love you,” Trevor murmured under his breath.
“Love you more,” Lane murmured right back. “Winning with you is great.”
“Losing would be great, too,” Trevor added, tucking himself more firmly into Lane’s side.
Lane wound an arm around his waist and pulled him in the last inch.
Next to them, Jordan and Nate made synchronized gagging noises.
“Hey,” Lane retorted without much heat. “You’re not gonna tell me that you and Ramsey are gonna be equally gross?”
