Page 158 of Hometown Halftime

Megan throws herself into my arms next, crying and laughing at the same time.

“We almost had them!”

“You absolutely terrified them,” I tell her.

Across the field, Riley gets swarmed by players while Brooke sobs into his shoulder.

“You changed our lives,” she cries.

“Oh no,” Riley says, already panicking. “Please don’t say sentimental things to me right now.”

I stand there in the middle of the muddy field, watching this entire beautiful mess unfold around us while flurries begin to fall from the dark sky overhead.

And I remind myself that losing doesn’t mean failure. Not after watching these girls walk onto this field believing in themselves, or seeing this town show up for them so fiercely. It happened so quickly, but Cedar Falls rugby stopped feeling like a new experiment and became something the whole town loves.

I watch the girls laughing and crying in equal measure while the town celebrates around them, and an unexpected ache settles in my chest. Because suddenly I realize this version of my life is ending too. The practices, the bus rides, the wonderful chaos of building something from nothing alongside Riley. We've been so busy living it that I never stopped to think about what it would feel like when it was over.

Riley reaches me through the crowd a minute later, looking emotional and overwhelmed while the girls continue celebrating around us.

“We did good, huh?” he says, beaming down at me.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “We really did.”

Chapter sixty-three

Riley

Christmas morning starts with Kinsey insisting we watch Rudolph for the ninth time this week. It’s her favorite, so I let her hit play without complaint.

Snow fell sometime overnight, covering Cedar Falls in a white blanket while golden morning light stretches across the tiny tree sitting in the corner of the living room. The whole duplex smells like coffee and cinnamon rolls because Kinsey woke up an hour ago and declared Christmas breakfast “a sacred event.”

Right now, she’s curled against my side beneath a blanket on the couch, wearing pajama pants and one of my old Roanoke Pride hoodies.

Everything about this feels dangerously close to domestic bliss.

The tree glows while we watch the ending credits. Wrapped presents sit scattered beneath the short branches, most of the packages look a little disheveled because Kinsey absolutely sucks at wrapping gifts.

“You’re judging my wrapping skills again,” she accuses me.

“It’s just so…special. You’re especially skilled with tape. Lots of tape, very secure,” I say over my coffee cup.

She blows out a breath. “I was fighting for my life wrapping those things.”

A laugh slips out of me as I pull her closer against my side.

Kinsey tilts her head up toward me. “Okay, presents. Before I die from anticipation.”

She reaches for one of the gifts and practically shoves it into my lap.

“Open it,” she says excitedly from beside me on the couch.

I set my coffee aside before tugging at the copious amount of tape and pulling away the paper. Inside the box is a scrapbook.

On the front cover is a picture of me standing with the rugby team after our second game, every single girl grinning wildly while covered in mud. Beneath the picture, stamped neatly across the bottom, are the words: Cedar Falls Rugby.

I open the cover, and my breath catches because inside is everything.

I flip through the pages slowly. Photos from practice are taped beside shots of the team muddy from practice, there’s others capturing the girls frozen mid-tackle or grinning with grass stains streaked across their knees. Team selfies crowd the corners alongside printed screenshots of Haddie Carmichael’s unhinged Facebook updates and dramatic captions. Newspaper clippings overlap Cedar Falls High sports posts, while blurry phone pictures capture moments I didn’t even realize anyone noticed. The entire thing feels messy and perfect, like Kinsey was able to somehow bind this season together between paper pages.