Page 145 of Shut Up and Score
Ty groans. “If they start making out mid-race, I’m forfeiting.”
Will shrugs, unbothered. “Free win for me.”
Micah snorts and finally tears his gaze away from the screen long enough to glance at me, eyes glinting. “You hear that, princess? We could win by default.”
“Or,” I counter, smirking back, “we could just destroy them the old-fashioned way.”
His smile sharpens. “You’re on.”
The next second, the race launches, and we’re both leaning forward as if it’s life or death—shoulders still pressed together, knees still bumping in time, and me realizing that even if we lose, I’ve already won.
EPILOGUE
Micah
Six years later
The apartment smells like cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee, sunlight spilling across the hardwood while laughter drifts from the kitchen. Colton’s perched on the kitchen island, pretending to “help” his sister frost the rolls, which mostly means stealing the corner piece when she’s not looking.
Our place isn’t big by any means—two bedrooms, just enough space for both of us and the life we’ve built—but it’s full. Full of family, friends, noise, the kind of warmth you can’t fake.
Luke’s here with his fiancé, camped out on our couch like they own it, arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza. Ty and Will showed up with their partners and a ridiculous amount of pastries, because apparently, brunch isn’t complete without enough sugar to kill a man.
It’s chaotic in the best way.
This is the group we’ve built, the one that’s grown with us—more inside jokes than I can count, more history than I can explain to anyone outside of it.
My phone buzzes on the counter, and I grab it, grinning when I see the name. “Hey, city boy,” I say into the receiver.
“Micah!” Caleb’s voice comes through loud and bright, the familiar background noise of New York traffic in the distance. “Just calling to check in before rehearsal. We open in a week.”
“Break a leg, superstar,” I say, leaning back against the counter. “You coming home anytime soon, or is Broadway life too good?”
He laughs. “I’ll make it back. Eventually. Give Colton my love—and tell him to send more pictures of the dog.”
I glance across the room where our golden retriever is sprawled belly-up in the middle of the rug, blissfully ignoring the chaos around him. “You got it.”
After we hang up, I watch the scene for a second longer—Colton laughing so hard his shoulders shake, Luke stealing a cinnamon roll, Will pretending to referee an argument no one’s actually serious about.
Six years ago, I couldn’t have pictured this. Six years ago, I didn’t know if we’d make it through the mess, the history, the fear. But we did.
I cross the kitchen and hook my arms around Colton from behind, pressing my mouth to the curve of his jaw. He leans back into me without hesitation, warm and familiar.
“This is good,” I murmur against his skin.
He turns his head just enough for our noses to brush. “Yeah. It really is.”
And with the people we love crammed into our apartment, our life stretched out ahead of us, I can’t imagine ever wanting anything else.
I grin against his skin and whisper just for him. “Still my Golden Boy?”
His mouth tips up slowly, and his eyes soften in that way that still floors me. “Only if you’re still my forever.”
“Always,” I say, sealing it with a kiss.
With the scent of cinnamon in the air, and his hand tightening over mine, I know we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
The apartment’squiet after everyone leaves—Luke, Ty, Will, their partners, his sister, my parents and Colton’s, even Caleb’s video call from New York still playing in my head. It’s the good kind of quiet. The lived-in, safe kind that smells faintly like shared food and laughter. Colton’s sprawled on the couch beside me, one foot tucked under my thigh, sipping the last of the wine like we’re not going to bed any time soon.
