The stadium was still shaking from the cheers, the kind that echoed down to your bones. The scoreboard glowed in his team’s favor, and confetti fluttered like snow across the field. Drake Maye stood among his teammates — helmet tucked under one arm, sweat still glistening down his neck — when his gaze caught yours in the stands.

It happened in a split second. His grin broke wide and unguarded, the kind that could outshine the floodlights. The world around him — cameras flashing, fans screaming, teammates celebrating — all seemed to fade as his focus zeroed in on you. Without a second thought, he jogged toward the sideline, still half in disbelief that you were really there.

You barely had time to react before he was through the gate, closing the distance between you in a few long strides. His arms wrapped around you in one effortless motion, lifting you clean off the ground as you laughed into his shoulder. The air was thick with the smell of grass, sweat, and victory — and all of it was drowned out by the warmth of him holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Drake’s breath hitched with a quiet laugh as he spun you once, just enough to make you squeal. His voice, low and breathless from the game, rumbled against your ear. “Told you I’d find you after,” he murmured, the words carrying more emotion than celebration ever could.

For a moment, you could feel the pulse of the crowd, the cameras still flashing, the announcers’ voices booming — but none of it touched the bubble of peace between you. His arms stayed locked around your waist, his heartbeat still racing from the field. When he finally set you down, his forehead lingered against yours, grin soft and eyes glowing with something even brighter than the win.

Victory felt good. But seeing you again — that was the real highlight of his night.