Page 189 of Defensive Hearts
God, I love her.
I grin, my chest bursting with so much joy it feels like it can't contain it all. “You sure about that, dollface? ‘Cause you know once Catalina finds out, it’s game over. Baby Pinterest boards, matching onesies, probably a custom playlist.”
Amelia laughs, shoving my chest, but her nod is firm. “Yeah, baby, I’m sure.”
I grab her hand, lacing our fingers together, and then I fling the bathroom door open.
The bar's noise hits us hard—Carter grumbling about something, Catalina laughing too loudly, Layla and Reed pretending not to flirt. I don’t even hesitate.
“HEYYY!” I roar, slapping my hand against the doorframe to get everyone’s attention. “I’M GONNA BE A DADDY!”
Catalina screams so loudly I’m surprised the windows don’t shatter. Layla nearly falls off her stool. Carter mutters, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” but he’s smiling and shaking his head. Reed just stares, shock and something unreadable in his eyes, before he finally lifts his glass in a quiet salute.
Amelia’s cheeks flush as she presses against my arm, but she’s smiling through her tears, and that’s all I notice.
I’m standing there, grinning like a maniac, chest pounding with pride.
Because that’s the thing about me: I’ve always been a defender. On the field, it’s my team. Off the field, it’s her—my girl, my wife. And now? It’s our baby.
The bar's noise is a blur—Catalina crying into Carter’s shirt, Layla squealing, Reed raising a quiet toast. Amelia’s warmth against my side, her fingers tangled with mine, and I can’t stop staring at her. At us. At what we just learned.
And my brain… it spirals.
My entire life was football. Quarterback. The guy under center. Everyone expected me to be the golden boy, the one calling plays, throwing the ball, chasing glory. But what most people don’t get—what they never see—is that being a quarterback isn’t just about throwing touchdowns.
It’s about defense.
Yeah, the O-line does the blocking, but the quarterback? He’s gotta read the field, see the danger before it hits. He’s the one who takes the hit when the play breaks down. You hold the line. You protect the play. You protect your team. That’s what I always prided myself on—not the highlight reels, not the stats. The defense I could run for the people who counted on me.
When Mama died, that part of me was carved deeper. I cleaned obsessively, controlled everything I could because I couldn’t save her. And after that? I didn’t know who the hell I was without the helmet, without the job.
But now I get it.
Defensive hearts, that’s what I’ve always had. That’s who I’ve always been, not just on the field but off it too. And now, for the first time, it all finally makes sense.
Because it’s no longer about defending a scoreboard; it’s about her. Amelia. The woman who showed me I’m more than the game. The one who lets me love her loudly, who stays even when I fuck up.
And now, it’s about this baby. Our baby.
My new team. My whole world.
So yeah, I’m retired. I’m no longer QB1. But I’ve never had more to protect, more to fight for. And I swear to God, I’ll spend the rest of my life running defense for them.
THE END.
