Stick Your Landing (All In #3)

Epilogue Zach

One Year Later

Pride surges through me as I watch from the stands as Finley Harris’s life changes.

The gymnastics world is seeing what I already know: she’s a fucking star. Well, they knew it once, years ago, but her routines in UPC’s first regular season meet are putting an exclamation point on the reminder. No one can deny she’s back and better than ever.

Finley sticks her landing after doing the flippy twisty somersault off the vault I’ve seen her practice hundreds of times. She told me once she didn’t need to wait for the landing to know whether she’d stick it; she can tell based on how her hands block off the vault.

From the megawatt smile already on her face when her feet hit the mat, I can tell she agrees with the enthusiastic reception of the audience. I’m out of my chair, cheering at the top of my lungs along with them. I sit when Finley’s back with her teammates at the beginning of the vault runway.

This first meet is scheduled on a nongame day, unlike most this season. The contingent of us here for Finley goes rows deep, and from the way she glances up at our section every so often, I know how much it means to her to have this support.

It’s especially true about her parents, who made the trip from Maine yesterday to spend the weekend and see their daughter compete. They worked to heal their fractured relationships, fighting to get to a healthy place where they can support Finley’s decisions.

Jennings leans into me, arms draping over the seat rest separating us. “You’re going to be a meme, Briggsy.”

Like I give a shit. Other than me, the only person whose opinion holds sway over my actions is Finley. And Coach Pomroy.

I thrust a hand through my hair and flash a silly expression his way. “How does this look? Good enough to be commemorated for all eternity?”

Jennings laughs, but he’s also tugging me toward our seats to stop me from making too much of an ass of myself. “Explain to me again how you managed to make someone like Finley fall in love with you.”

I flick an invisible speck of dust off my shoulder. “Why? Need tips?”

“Fuck off, man,” he replies. “I want to make sure she hasn’t been brainwashed into this relationship.”

“No need. She loves me as-is, dude.”

“It’s a fucking miracle,” Jennings mutters under his breath.

“Tell me about it.”

“Zachary Briggs, don’t ever forget you're a catch,” Gemma says in an exaggerated mom voice.

Matt scoffs. “No, he’s lucky my sister gives this jackass the time of day.”

“Hey!” I say, playing into his act.

Matt quickly came around about our relationship when he learned I was willing to miss practice and get healthy scratched for a game to support her. His support has only increased as he’s witnessed our relationship grow this past year.

I hope it’ll make it easier for him to accept that Finley and I plan to move in together in the not-too-distant future. I mean, after she says yes, of course. After signing my $8.5 million, eight-year contract, I decided to buy a house I could turn into a home, one I want Finley to move into when she graduates college. Buying the right house will affect us both, so I’ve been putting it off until Finley’s part of the equation. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen.

Finley finishes the meet on bars, dazzling us with the ease with which she swings and flips and jumps between the low and high bars. UPC wins the meet handily, hopefully the first of many this season. By the time I maneuver my way to the gym floor to meet her, she’s talking to a middle-aged female correspondent from the ACC network. Her lips break into a broad smile when she spots me.

The reporter’s eyes widen with recognition. “Well, we have another sports star in our midst, Mr. Zach Briggs of the Palmer City Wolves professional hockey team. Come join us, won’t you?”

I wave awkwardly to the correspondent but focus my gaze on Finley, seeking silent permission to join the interview. This moment isn’t about me, and I don’t want it to be. I also don’t want to be rude.

Finley lifts one arm, beckoning me to her side. “I can’t believe you’re wearing that.”

I pause to glance down at my T-shirt which reads Finley Harris’s Boyfriend in bright red font so no one will struggle to see it. “What? It’s the title I’m most proud of. I want everyone to know it.”

“Aw, how sweet are you two?” the correspondent coos. “Tell me—”

I hold up the hand not wrapped around Finley’s shoulders. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, and I know I’m crashing the party. High-flyer, were you in the middle of saying something?”

She flashes me a grateful smile, transferring more of her weight to me. “I was talking about my journey back to gymnastics, and how the key to keeping healthy was finding a psychiatrist who was invested in helping me determine the right medication and lifestyle choices. Like so many people, I was resistant at first, but I’m glad I had people in my life looking out for me when I wasn’t in a place to do it myself.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head, so proud of my girl for sharing her authentic self with the world.

“Your story is inspiring to many of us chasing dreams,” the correspondent says. “You shouldn’t give up. You can defy the odds.”

“Exactly, but sometimes not by yourself. It’s okay to ask for help. It doesn’t make you weak.” Finley grins, and her pink cheeks puff out adorably. “Okay, now I can answer your questions about us. What do you want to know?”

The correspondent straightens, her posture relaxing after Finley opens the door to personal questions. “Can you tell us how y’all met?”

Finley laughs airily, shifting her wide-eyed stare to me. “Can I tell this one?”

I gesture toward the camera with my free arm. “Go right ahead. You’re a better storyteller than me.”

Her head tilts. “A more efficient storyteller. You’re more fun.” Finley sucks in a breath. “Zach and I met at my brother’s wedding.”

“Your brother, Matt Harris, captain of the Palmer City Wolves?”

“That’s right,” Finley sings.

The correspondent leans forward, hanging on Finley’s every word. “That must’ve been quite the stir?”

“You could say that, but not until they all found out about us.”

“Ooh, a secret relationship,” the correspondent says.

I lean into Finley and fake-whisper, “We were obvious about it though.”

“ We ?” she erupts with glee. “ You were the one always staring at me from across the room.”

“And you know that because you were staring at me .”

The correspondent steps toward us until she’s beside us facing the camera. “Well, I think it’s safe to say you two make a wonderful pair, and I’m sure you’ve gained a lot of fans today. Finley Harris, Zach Briggs, thanks for being here with us.”

“Thanks for having us,” we both say.

And then the camera cuts off and the reporter says in her regular voice, “Seriously, thank you both for making my job easy today. Best of luck!”

Finley’s friends and family wave to us from the bleachers, and I know we’ll be with them soon, but I want a moment alone with her before I have to share. I’m grappling for something to say, a phenomenon that happens only around Finley, but she beats me to the punch.

“You’re the best boyfriend, Zach.”

I shrug, pretending those words don’t send a beam of happiness to my chest. “I warned you I’m very coachable, Finley.”

She squares her body to me, a playful smile on her lips, and drapes her arms over my shoulders. “Oh, yeah? What else do they say about you?”

“I’ve got great hands,” I say, placing them on her hips.

“Mm-hmm, can confirm,” she murmurs. I helplessly watch her mouth form the words. “Shockingly, neither of those reasons are why I think you’re the best boyfriend.”

I put a finger to my lips like I’m thinking hard. “I skate pretty fast. Oh, and I can make a mean scrambled egg and a passable budget.”

“Not those either,” she says, her smile fading into seriousness. She puts me out of misery and kisses me. It’s not long enough, but it’s all I’ll get in this setting. “You’re the best because you let me pick what we watched last night, knowing I was nervous for today. Because you arranged for everyone to be here to support me. If I fell during every single routine, you’d still look at me like I amaze you. You’d still be proud of me.”

She grabs the seam of my sleeve. “And it’s because you’re wearing this shirt, wanting the world to know you belong with me.” Her voice catches, emotion overwhelming her. She pauses a moment before adding, “It’s all of those things and none of those things.”

I tilt my head. “So it was a trick question?”

She laughs through her tears, dabbing the corners of her eyes. “It’s you. If I were to design someone for me, it’d be you.”

“You mean you wouldn’t change how I still don’t load the dishwasher perfectly?”

She twists her mouth in fake annoyance. “Be serious.”

I kiss the tip of her scrunched nose. “I’ll always have your back, High-flyer. It’s you and me first, then everyone and everything else. And for the record, it’s easy to be your boyfriend. You’re easy to love, Finley.”

She stares at me, one tear rolling down her cheek. I look back, not moving a muscle, enjoying the sight of her. The rest of the world falls away, and it’s like we’re waking up in bed together, communicating love without words.

And then she throws herself into my arms. I clutch her to me, lifting her off her feet, letting her rest all her weight on me.

It’s what we do. It’s why we work. We take the weight of the other person when needed without fail, without expectation, without conscious thought.

We pick each other up so we can keep going, hurtling toward our dreams. Never forgetting the ultimate dream stands in front of us. This woman wrapped in my arms—my top priority—will never face anything alone again. We’ll hold hands through every good, difficult, and wild experience in our lives, as we do now, walking toward our friends and family.

And I’ll love every moment with her by my side.