Page 59

“Ugh. It’s too early for this, Sierra,” she mutters, practically spinning toward the bathroom like it’s on fire.

I laugh, flopping back into the pillows for a second.

Then I sit up, grinning.

“This conversation isn’t over, Thalia,” I shout through the bathroom door.

TWENTY-SIX

Nick

I’ve been through the craziest matches, brutal press conferences, and enough wild nights to make most men buckle. But this?

This feels different.

The kind of calm that settles into your bones, when you know—absolutely know—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

I lean back in the chair on my parents’ porch, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching the shadows stretch over the pool like lazy ghosts of the day. The wood creaks beneath me, the air is warm, and everything is still—except for the low hum of voices and laughter coming from inside.

Mom’s laugh rises over the others, a bright sound, familiar and grounding. She’s probably teasing Ethan and Ryan about something, while Dad and Noah argue in that mock-serious tone they reserve for sports stats no one will ever concede on.

Chris and Kai are somewhere out front, talking about logistics like they aren’t already micromanaged to death by Thalia and her team.

The truth is, none of that matters to me right now. Because all I can think about is her.

Sierra.

Even just thinking her name pulls something in my chest, tight and warm and solid. She’s in the house on my right—so close I could walk there barefoot in under a minute—probably curled up with Thalia and her brothers, half-laughing, half-crying, making more last-minute plans for tomorrow.

Our tomorrow.

God.

I close my eyes for a second, letting the sound of the night fill the space between my ribs. Crickets, muffled laughter, my own quiet breath.

This is it.

The start of something I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have.

Tomorrow, I marry Sierra Thomas. The only woman I’ve ever wanted.

And, for the first time in my life, I’m not running for something.

I’m running to her. With everything I’ve got.

A flicker of movement at the doorway pulls me from my thoughts.

“There he is,” Ethan chuckles, stepping outside with a lazy grin and a beer in hand. He drops into the chair next to me like he’s lived on this porch forever.

“Last night as a single man.” Noah smirks, lifting his glass in a mock toast from across the deck.

I huff a quiet laugh, the weight of the moment settling over me like a second skin. My fingers tighten around the glass, grounding myself.

“Finally,” I murmur. The word is simple, but layered. It’s not just about tomorrow. It’s about everything that came before it—every mistake, every detour, every night I wished for her and every morning I woke up without her.

This is the end of all that.

And the beginning of everything else.