Page 49

TWENTY-THREE

I barely made it to the stadium in time for the championship game. Not because I left late from the hotel, I left damn early, but because I had something really fucking important to do before heading here. A non-negotiable kind of important.

Coach doesn’t stop cussing me out for a full hour.

He’s upset, angry, pissed beyond belief, and I get it.

We’re aiming for the damn stars here. He can’t have his quarterback showing up late to the biggest fucking game of the year.

The one we’ve been grinding toward since August. The one that decides everything.

But I had to go. I had to .

I really, really needed to do something. And that something was back in Summerset. So once Jace left for the label, I rented a car and drove back home, did what I had to do, and came back here.

And maybe Coach gets that it was important to me.

Maybe he can see it in my face, because even while he’s yelling, there’s this thing in his eyes, this twitchy little spark that says he knows.

He keeps muttering “breathe in, breathe out” to himself when he looks at me, like he’s reminding himself not to lose his shit completely.

And he didn’t really punish me, either. Yeah, sure, he made me run an extra warm-up lap, but that’s nothing.

Honestly, I probably needed it. Shook off the rest of the nerves.

Still, I can’t stop grinning. Not because I’m being cocky. Because I know .

I’m going to bring it home. For him. For me. For us .

For my whole damn team.

Because yeah, I do feel kinda guilty for making them worry. For that thirty-minute window where no one knew if their QB was even gonna show up. But I’m here. I’m fucking here. And I’ve never wanted to win more in my life.

Lamar grumbles under his breath that Coach only made me run the extra lap for show. Just to keep up appearances. To remind the others that even Tyler King doesn’t get to bend the schedule without consequences. That even I get chewed out when I pull a stunt like this.

But we both know he’s not gonna bench me. Not today. Not on this day. It’s game time. The game time. The biggest fucking game of my career. At least until now.

And yeah, I know I said that last year too, when we made it all the way to the finals. I remember the fire, the hunger, the sweat. I also remember the sting when we lost. I don’t wanna jinx it by calling this our redemption arc, but it kinda is. Feels like it.

Normally I’d be throwing up in my helmet by now. Nerves coiled so tight in my gut I’d barely be able to think straight. All the pressure, the expectations, everything I’ve carried inside me for months should be crashing down on me right about now.

But it’s… quiet. Peaceful, even.

My head isn’t spinning. My heart’s not racing. There’s this strange, steady calm washing over me, like all the noise finally shuts the fuck up. Like everything I’ve done to get here—every pass, every bruise, every damn early morning workout—finally matters. Like I’m ready.

Really fucking ready.

He did that.

And I’m not even talking about the incredible dick-down I got this morning, which, yeah, absolutely helped. Loosened me up in more ways than one. Settled something in me. Grounded me.

But it’s more than that.

I’m in a good place. We’re in a good place. The best place.

Everything that’s happened these past few months shaped the hell out of me. It burned me down and rebuilt me in ways I didn’t even see coming.

And now that the dust’s finally settled, now that things are quiet for once, there’s one thing I kept coming back to. One thought that looped over and over again these last few weeks, until my brain went fucking numb from overthinking it.

It’s that I made up my mind. I’m done hiding. I’m ready to make this shit public. All of it.

Us.

Because I love him. Because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I know, God, I know , he’s ready too.

“You sure about this?” Rafa asks when I corner him by the lockers, holding out my hand for the thing I asked him to buy this morning. The same damn thing he’s had with him every game, even though he’s been mostly benched this season.

“Oh, I’m so ready. Gimme.”

He doesn’t question me further. Just drops it in my hand, and I waste no time pulling it on. It’s a rainbow-colored sweatband, a copy of the one he always wears on his wrist, now sliding snugly around mine. And fuck, I smile at it. It’s simple. But loud in its own way.

Yeah, I know it’s a statement. I know people might read it wrong, assume I’m just trying to be a good ally or whatever. But this? This isn’t performative. It’s not empty.

It’s the first fucking step. My step. In the right direction. Toward something bigger. Something true.

I’ve really made up my damn mind. This is my last college game. My final shot. My legacy moment. And I want to play it as me . Fully. Openly. Honestly. No more compartments. No more hiding.

If the recruiters, the scouts, the team agents are watching, then let them watch. Let them see me for exactly who I am. Because I’m not bending myself into something more “marketable” or “neutral” or “palatable” anymore.

I want to be picked by a team that knows me, really knows me, and still wants me. Not despite who I am. But including all of it.

So yeah. I’m going to do this. Scrutiny be damned. Jace will pull me through it.

I’m stepping onto that field as Tyler King. Quarterback. Leader. Queer as fuck . And not ashamed of a single second of it.

Oh shit. We did it.

I’m frozen, staring at the far end of the field where Lamar’s getting absolutely buried under a screaming, heaving pile of our teammates after that unreal touchdown. They’re yelling their fucking lungs out, celebrating like it’s the goddamn Super Bowl.

We did it.

In a daze, I rip off my mercifully vomit-free helmet and drag a hand down my sweaty face, lips catching on the rainbow band around my wrist. I press a kiss on it without thinking. That thing’s staying with me. Every game from now on.

We fucking did it.

A couple of my teammates spot me now and break away from the pile at the end zone, sprinting back this way. I barely take two steps before they crash into me, and not just the guys who played, even the benched ones. Then I’m the one at the bottom of a sweaty, screaming body pile.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know there’s a joke in here Jace would 100 percent make about a football orgy, but I can’t even think straight. I’m too busy getting crushed and gasping for air.

But shit, we did it!

I don’t even know who hauls me up, but suddenly I’m on my feet, bouncing and yelling, caught in the noise and energy of the team in what feels like only a second later.

This. This is what I’ve been working toward. What we have. And now I really get it, I get why Jace chased his dream so hard last year. Why he had to.

Because this? This is it. This is what I was meant to do. What I trained for, sacrificed for, fucking lived for all this time.

We fucking did it. We fucking won.

My grin is so wide, I swear the corners of my mouth might just burst.

“Say ‘quack!’” Lamar shoves his beefy arm around my shoulders and starts snapping a dozen selfies. No idea how he got his phone out that fast, but honestly, I’m all for it. I want to remember this moment, this feeling, for the rest of my life.

So I cling to my oldest, best friend, making dumb faces as he licks my cheek, bumps into me, and bounces around like the idiots we are.

It’s the best.

The crowd is roaring nonstop, the field’s filling up fast, confetti cannons blast shiny orange snippets everywhere, and the crew’s already setting up the stage where we’ll get the trophy in a bit.

I’m floating. I’m reeling. I’m fucking ecstatic.

But all the while my eyes fly over the stands because I just know he’s here.

I know he made it. He has to have made it.

I could feel his eyes on me. The last text I got was a couple of hours before the game.

He was stuck in LA traffic, but promised he would make it.

The last things that needed to be fixed with the label and Mick, are now officially done. One less thing to worry about.

The chaos rages around me, my grin refusing to fade, but I keep searching, scanning the crowd again and again. He has on-field access, I made sure of that, so he has to be here somewhere.

It’s Ava I spot first, her bright pink hair like a damn beacon in the sea of black and orange.

And shit, there he is, Jace , and people start noticing him too. Them , the band that’s currently still atop of the charts, the whole crowd drawn like magnets, eyes turning, whispers spreading. The spotlight seems to follow him wherever he goes, the kind of pull only someone like him can have.

But to me, he’s just Jace.

Jace who I love. Jace who’s my everything.

I don’t see the rockstar, the arrogant tease, the man the whole world seems to want.

I see the goofy, flirty, lonely guy with a teeny tiny heart.

The guy who carries poetry tucked deep inside but hides it behind a smirk and a joke.

The guy who’s wearing the bright-orange knitted sweater my mom made, my jersey over it, because he loves her and always wants to do her right.

The guy who’s my fucking sun , who makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, we’ve got a shot at something real.

My guy.

And then he notices me.

It’s almost like the crowd senses it. People instinctively step aside when he comes closer, parting as if they know something’s about to happen. As if they feel the pull between us just as much as I do.

He looks so fucking amazing. Wind-tossed hair, flushed cheeks, wearing that ridiculous knitted sweater like it’s couture. His smile cracks wide the moment our eyes lock, and it’s over for me.

The chaos around us blurs. The teammates cheering, the confetti still falling, the music blaring… None of it touches this bubble we’re in. It’s just him and me. Smiling at each other.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he breathes, eyes alight, as he plucks a stray piece of confetti from my hair.

And we both know exactly what’s about to happen. It feels choreographed, like a moment we’ve rehearsed a thousand times in our heads. But we didn’t. This is just us, following the pull of us.

I see it in his smile, in the shine in his eyes, and I can’t help but gravitate toward him. I reach for him, cup his exquisite face, and let my nose nudge against his in a silent promise of what’s coming.

He grabs my wrists, one hand around the rainbow-band, grounding me as I press my lips to his, right here, right now, for everyone to see. The reporters, the cameras, the fans, my team, the whole damn world.

Because I don’t care anymore.

I only care about Jace.

It doesn’t matter that everybody knows, that the whole damn world knows, because they should know. The team that drafts me should be a team that knows exactly who I am, right down to the core. I want them to see me , the real me. Including my Jace. I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not.

So fuck them all.

Jace melts against me, completely oblivious to the cheers, the flash of cameras, the sound of Lamar cackling as he slaps me on the back like a maniac.

And I let him. I let all of it happen, because none of it matters. Not compared to this.

I press in closer against my everything.

My world.

My entire fucking universe.

All I feel is Jace. All I see is him. And when I finally pull back, just enough to breathe, my euphoria is mirrored right fucking there.

“So,” he says, lips barely an inch from mine, his voice low and private, meant only for me, “you thought we should come out with a bang, huh?”

He’s beaming, cocky and soft all at once, like only Jace can be.

I can’t let go of his exquisite face. I know I should, people are watching, yelling, clapping, but I don’t care. I need this right now.

I nod before kissing him again and again, slow, deep, unapologetic kisses. Like we’ve earned this. Like the entire world can wait a little longer. And damn, that tongue ring will be my undoing someday.

“Ty? Babe?” Jace breathes against my mouth, tightening his fingers on my wrists when my lips move from his mouth to his cheek.

“Hmm?” I murmur against his skin, soaking up the delicious scent of him, coming home again.

“I think you need to go get your trophy.”

“In a bit,” I pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, and fuck, there it is, everything .

My whole damn heart staring right back at me.

I didn’t plan to do it here. Shit, I really didn’t.

But I can’t hold it in anymore. Hell, I spent an hour today carving a proposal on the damn bench.

Our bench. With permission from Lam’s mom, of course; it’s handy sometimes to know the mayor.

It couldn’t wait until tomorrow, because after this morning, this perfect morning, everything in me screamed to make sure it’s there for our next run.

It’s romantic as hell, the perfect spot for us. But I guess… this? This moment?

Might be even better.

And he sees it. Oh, fuck, he sees it all running wild through my head.

“Say it. Ask it.” His voice is soft, full of hope, full of knowing.

I know exactly what he wants me to ask. I just fucking know . I hear it again, his words from last month, when we sat by the ocean, the waves our only witnesses, everything glowing orange and gold.

But I don’t say those words. Not yet.

“Tell me something new.” I say instead.

He takes a deep breath, and I can tell by the glint in his eyes, that spark of challenge, that he knows exactly what I’m doing. Making him say it first. Making sure he’s all in .

And he is. Oh, how he fucking is .

“I'm ready to say yes.”

It knocks the wind out of me in the best fucking way, but I can’t help myself. I have to tease.

“Yes to what, babe?”

“Fuck you, dude. I said I’d say yes the next time you asked. So ask .”

I nudge his nose with mine, my smile wide enough to hurt, brushing his lips as the butterflies in my stomach throw a goddamn rave, still ignoring the surrounding chaos.

And I say it. I say the words he wants to hear, because they’re the words I’ve been dying to say.

“Will you marry me, Jacie?”

A breathy exhale. An exhilarating grin.

“Of fucking course I will.”

— THE END —