The roar of the crowd echoed through Lambeau Field as I jogged onto the turf, my mind locked in game mode. But even with thousands of fans screaming, my eyes couldn’t help but find her. Ronika stood on the sidelines, her dark curls bouncing under the stadium lights, a Packer-green jacket pulled tight against the December chill. She waved, her smile brighter than any scoreboard, and for a moment, the pressure of the 49ers’ defense felt like nothing.

Ronika Stone wasn’t just my girlfriend—she was a force of her own. A standout volleyball player, she knew the highs and lows of sports better than anyone. Whether she was smashing kills on the court or hyping me up for a game, she had this energy that made you feel invincible.

“So ur not gonna give ur girlfriend a kiss Jordan??” she said as I passed, her voice somehow cutting through the loud crowd as I took off my helmet and gave her a kiss

The game was about to start, but knowing she was there, cheering me on, made the cold and the pressure fade away. Win or lose, having her in my corner made everything feel like a victory.

(Ur Jordan love)