Page 157 of The Defender
We grinned at each other, our foreheads still touching, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
Maybe our repeated confessions were cheesy and a little ridiculous, but I didn’t give a shit.
She was here, she was safe, and she was mine.
For the first time in my life, love didn’t feel like a risk. It felt like the safest bet I’d ever made.
EPILOGUE
BROOKLYN
One month later
“I can’t watch.” Scarlett gripped my hand on one side and Carina’s on the other. Despite her words, her eyes were glued to the pitch. “This is torture.”
I made a noise somewhere between agreement and terror.
We were packed into Wembley Stadium for the Champions League final between Blackcastle and Holchester. Blackcastle had eked out a win against Madrid in the semi-finals, but today’s match was something else entirely—raw, brutal, and nerve-shredding.
We were approaching the eightieth minute, and the score was Two-one with Holchester in the lead. They’d just been awarded a corner, and their fans were already on their feet, roaring loudly enough to shake the stands.
The mood in the Blackcastle box was grim, but I held on tight to hope.
Come on.
The whistle blew. The ball curled in. Holchester’s captain met it cleanly with his forehead, and the ball slammed into the net.
Three-one. Holchester.
The away section erupted while silence fell over the Blackcastle side like a shroud.
“No,” I breathed. It couldn’t end like this. Blackcastlehadto win.
My eyes sought out Vincent on the pitch. Like the rest of the players, he looked exhausted, his chest heaving and his skin gleaming with sweat. But even from afar, I could see the fire in his eyes.
The match wasn’t over yet. Until the final whistle blew, we still had a chance.
Vincent said something to the team before Blackcastle jogged back into position.
They were too far away for anyone off the pitch to hear them, but whatever Vincent said must’ve worked because when the match restarted, Blackcastle played with an energy they hadn’t shown since before half time.
Instead of crumbling beneath the pressure of an impending loss, they pressed like hell.
Adil to Asher.
Quick one-two on the wing.
Asher sprinted forward, weaving past the Holchester defenders with sharp, precise movements. He darted inside the box and unleashed a powerful strike. The ball flew past the goalkeeper and slipped into the bottom corner of the net.
“Goal!” I screamed a millisecond before the stadium went wild. “Goal! Goal! We made a goal!”
I sounded like an idiot, but I couldn’t contain my excitement. Scarlett and Carina were right there with me, screaming and cheering as Blackcastle surged forth on a wave of renewedenthusiasm. Every pass was precise, every run more determined than the last.
Time was ticking, but we were only one down, and we were no longer fighting to stay in the game; we were fighting to win.
Vincent drew my attention again. As a defender, he wasn’t the one people usually looked to for an attacking play, but tonight, everything was on the line. He pushed forward, running with the ball and joining the offense.
Stevens gained possession of the ball and passed it back to Vincent, who didn’t hesitate. He slotted it to Asher, who whipped a perfect cross into the box. The ball hung in the air for a split second, just begging for someone to finish it.
