The moment the final whistle blows, the entire stadium erupts into chaos. Tommen’s won. We actually fucking won. The lads are screaming, bodies crashing into each other, arms thrown around shoulders. I barely register it, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins.

And then I see her.

Like something out of a film, she’s pushing through the crowd, past security that doesn’t even try to stop her. Same way Shannon’s already in Johnny’s arms, wrapped around him like she never wants to let go. But I don’t have time to process that because she’s already running straight for me.

I barely have time to brace myself before she crashes into me, arms winding around my neck, knocking the air outta my lungs—not from impact, but from her. Just her.

“Jesus, woman,” I rasp, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. “Tryin’ to bloody tackle me?”

She’s laughing, all breathless and happy, and it does something to my chest. “You won,” she says against my ear, voice thick with emotion, like she’s barely believing it herself. “You did it.”

I pull back just enough to see her face, her eyes bright with pride, with something softer that makes my heart do something it shouldn’t be able to do after eighty minutes of running.

“Course we did,” I grin, tipping my forehead against hers. “What, did ye think I was gonna let Johnny have all the glory?”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t let go, and honestly, neither do I. The whole pitch is chaos, people shouting, hugging, crying—but in this moment, it’s just us.

And I swear to God, winning this match is grand and all. But this? Her in my arms, looking at me like I’ve done something worth celebrating?

This is the real victory.