I twirl her around, jersey still clutched in one hand, hat crooked on my head, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us.
Her arms around my neck.
My name on her lips.
And the quiet, unshakable truth that I didn’t get here alone.
The cameras are still flashing. Blair’s arms are still around my neck. But the moment slows like the world’s holding its breath just long enough for me to feel it.
I set her down gently, and she smooths my jersey, fingers brushing the number one like it means more than just a pick. Like it’s a promise.
Then I hear him.
My father’s voice, low and steady behind me.
“You did it, son.”
I turn.
He’s standing just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp but softer than I’ve ever seen them. There’s a pause, just long enough to make my chest tighten, before he adds, “I’m proud of you.”
Three words.
That’s all.
But they hit harder than any tackle I’ve ever taken. My throat tightens, sudden and sharp, and I have to look away for a second, jaw clenched, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and relief.
Because I never thought I’d hear them.
Not from him.
Not like this.
Blair slips her hand into mine, grounding me. I squeeze it once, hard, and nod at my father. “Thanks,” I manage, voice rough. “That means everything.”
And it does.
Because I’ve worn a lot of jerseys in my life.
But this—this is the first time I feel like I’ve earned my name on the back.
The partywas loud. Champagne, cameras, congratulations. Everyone wanted a piece of me—agents, reporters, old teammates with wide grins and backslaps that stung. But none of it mattered.
Because the second the elevator doors closed and it was just Blair and me, the world went quiet.
Now we’re in the hotel room. Dim light. Velvet shadows. Her heels are off, hair down, makeup smudged from hours of smiling. She looks wrecked and radiant. Mine.
I reach for her wrist—not to hurt, just to feel her pulse. Proof she’s real. Proof this isn’t a dream I’ll wake from alone.
“You’re mine,” I say, voice low, steady. “Not in the way lovers claim each other. In the way fire claims oxygen. In the way madness claims sanity.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.
She leans in, lips brushing my ear, breath warm and deliberate. “Then let me drown in you. Let me forget my name. I’ll be yours—body, soul, and every dark thing in between.”
I close my eyes for a second, just to feel it. Her words. Her presence. The weight of everything I’ve earned and everything I never deserved.
“You know you’re coming to Seattle with me, right?”
