Epilogue
Ava
There was sweat beading up on Channing’s brow, catching the impossibly bright studio lights while I watched him from my place near the stage as he walked up to the podium.
“First and foremost, I’d like to thank the people that kept me going these past three years,” he smiled at me. “There were so many times when I thought I was just ready to die, and had it not been for the people that I love, I probably wouldn’t be here today.”
He looked around the room, to the recruiters, his coach sitting in the back, and all the players sitting at their respective tables.
“When I was a little kid, I couldn’t think of anything better to do than running. That wasn’t because I was bored. I had everything I wanted, but I loved the idea of escaping, and that’s why I love football. It was my escape.”
He was looking at me now. “I didn’t like the world I came from. It was shallow and materialistic. Everyone was always trying to make me fit into their perfect model of what I thought I should be, so I ran. I didn’t see my world getting any better. My future was always laid out in front of me. Football was the only thing I could control.”
He looked around the room and paused for a moment. After a moment, he began again. “I always knew I’d be here standing up in front of this exact podium looking down at all of you. And I knew I’d be holding this contract. It used to be the only thing that mattered. But over the past few years, I’ve come to see the world in a different light.
“I don’t have to run from it anymore, because I have somebody that I love, that cares about me and supports me in whatever I do, even now. I don’t need an escape, because I have her, and it’s done something to me.
“I want to learn more about the world, and see what it has to offer, and I simply cannot do that if I have to plan my life around football season. What would be the point? I have all the money I could possibly want, and the game doesn’t interest me the way it used to. Life interests me. So that is why I’m formally rejecting my contract with the NFL.”
The room erupted in quick bursts of light, and a million voices all scrambling at once, people swarming around the both of us. Channing’s head got lost in the sea of people, and I was already being pulled away by security. They took me to the back, behind the stage where Channing was waiting for me.
I hadn’t been back there before. I figured it would just be a bunch of lighting equipment. Instead, it’d been turned into a living garden with rows of roses, and trellises with honeysuckle lined up on the back wall. The scent was intoxicating, but not as much as the sight of him pacing back and forth around the room.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I—should’ve.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been the same. Channing…”
“It’s okay?”
“A life of freedom? No practice? No nasty jocks summing up my cup size? It’s heaven. This is more than I could possibly ask for.”
He nodded his head. “Ava.” He got down on one knee, and I started shaking. “When I met you, I was just a kid, mad at the world. I didn’t care about anything, not even myself. I was so angry that I was ready to give my whole life up for nothing. Now all I can think about is how to better myself, and how to be a better man for you. I love you, and I don’t want to spend another day without you.”
I was crying so hard I could barely see.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
We collided. That was the only word for it. We were already on a trajectory towards one another, and maybe we always were. But until that moment, we were traveling down different paths. There was always something that could come between us. Now, nothing could stop us. The world was a place of possibility.
That’s the end of Quarterback’s Virgin.
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MR PRESIDENT
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan