Page 12 of Overtime with Orion
My heart stuttered. “What?”
“I came here to lick my wounds, to figure out what comes next after football.” His eyes were serious, intense. “But being with you…it’s made me realize there’s more to life than the game. More to me than just being a quarterback.”
“Orion…”
“I’m not saying forever,” he said quickly. “Not yet. But I’m saying maybe I don’t need to run away to find myself. Maybe I just needed to find the right reason to stay.”
The words hung between us, heavy with possibility and promise.
“And what would that reason be?” I whispered.
He smiled, that devastating smile that had turned my world upside down in less than twenty-four hours. “A curvy brunette librarian who reorganizes books and doesn’t know the first thing about football.”
My heart swelled so big, I thought it might burst. “She sounds like trouble.”
“The best kind of trouble.” He kissed me again, deeper this time. “The kind worth changing your whole life for.”
EPILOGUE
ORION
“Alright, quarterback,” Larkin said, her voice taking on that mock-serious tone that always made me grin. “Show me that perfect spiral you’ve been bragging about.”
I picked up the small foam football from our nightstand, weighing it in my hands. “You sure you can handle my arm, librarian? I don’t want to overwhelm you with my athletic prowess.”
She snorted, settling into position at the foot of our king-size bed. “Please. I’ve been catching your passes for ten years. I think I can manage.”
Ten years. Had it really been that long since I’d stumbled back into Maple Ridge—broken, lost, and convinced my life was over at thirty-five? I’d been so certain that without football, I was nothing. That identity crisis felt like a lifetime ago now.
The throw was gentle, a perfect spiral that landed softly in her waiting hands. She caught it with the same determination she’d shown that first night at Osprey Lake, when she’d been terrible at everything but refused to give up.
“Not bad for an old man,” she teased, tossing it back to me.
“Old man?” I caught the ball and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know the Maple Ridge High football team thinks their coach is in his prime.”
“That’s because you still run drills with them and beat half of them in sprints.” She grinned. “Show-off.”
She wasn’t wrong. Coaching had turned out to be everything I never knew I wanted. Teaching these kids not just how to throw and catch, but how to work together, how to push through when things got tough, how to find their own strength—it filled something in me that playing professionally never had.
“Your turn to be quarterback,” I said, settling back against our headboard. “Let’s see if you remember the grip I taught you.”
Larkin positioned her fingers on the foam laces, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration. She was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, still got that little furrow between her brows when she was focused, still made my heart race every time she looked at me.
“Like this?” She held up the ball, and I nodded.
“Perfect. Now show me what you’ve got.”
Her throw was wobbly but enthusiastic, landing somewhere near my left shoulder. We both started laughing.
“I think I need more practice,” she said, crawling across the bed toward me.
“Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.” I caught her hand and pulled her closer. “In fact, I think it’s time for some advanced techniques.”
“Advanced techniques?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Like what?”
“Well, there’s the proper tackling form.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and rolled us both over so she was pinned beneath me. “Very important to understand leverage and positioning.”
“Mmm.” Her hands slid up my chest. “What else?”
