Page 178 of With the Assist

“I made it,” I choke out, hands flying to my face. “I made the team. Oh my god. I fucking did it.”

He crosses the space between us in two strides, pulling me into his arms like he’s afraid I might float away. “You did it,” he says, voice thick. “Holy shit, you did it.”

I laugh and cry at the same time, words tumbling over each other. “I tried to stay calm and professional, but I blacked out a little and…”

He kisses my forehead, then my cheek, then my lips, grounding me. “I am so proud of you.”

Emotion swells in my chest, too big to contain.

I picture little-girl me, dreaming of the U.S. Women’s National Team as if it were something magical and far away. All of the sacrifices, the tunnel vision, and the belief that I had to do it alone or not at all brought me right here.

And then I look at Nathan.

At the man who chose me despite my mistakes. The man who chose me for me alone. He makes this feel bigger, brighter, sweeter.

Having him here doesn’t take anything away from the dream. It completes it.

I lace my fingers through his. “On to the next big dream.”

He grins. “Good thing I’ve had a lot of practice chasing after you.

Nathan’s Epilogue

Three Years Later

There are very few places in the world where I feel out of my element. Between NHL arenas and press rooms, I’ve learned how to carry scrutiny and attention without letting it crush me. If anything, over the past three years, it’s only gotten louder, more relentless, but even still, it doesn’t rattle me anymore.

This, though, is something else entirely. I’m halfway across the world in one of the largest stadiums I’ve ever seen. It’s completely sold out, with the kind of crowd that makes even my biggest games feel small by comparison. The roar is loud enough that it feels like it could carry for miles.

I tug at the hem of my jersey, trying to mask my nerves, reminding myself that it’s Miller stretched across my shoulders, not Wilder. Somehow, that makes it worse, not better. I have no reason to be this anxious on her behalf, and yet, here I am anyway.

The roar of the fans in the stands pulses overhead as I creep through the tunnel Wesley pointed out to me yesterday. I’m not supposed to be here, but even the World Cup can’t stand in the way of our pre-game traditions.

For the past three years, every game I’ve attended has started like this, with Wesley sneaking out of the locker room to find me. Itstarted because we couldn’t seem to keep our hands off each other, and if I’m being honest, not much has changed.

So, World Cup rules be damned.

I try to look like I belong as I pace the hallway. Just as I’m about to give up, thinking we’ve missed our window, the door finally opens.

My beautiful wife squeals and bolts straight into my arms. I don’t hesitate, scooping her up and spinning her with equal enthusiasm.

It’s the kind of excitement that refuses to be contained, which makes sense considering it’s the World Cup Final and the U.S. is favored to bring home the win.

Once I get her feet back on the ground, I give her a slow once-over. Her hair is pulled into her signature game braid, her jersey already tucked in, shin guards strapped on and ready. Some people love it when their wives dress up, but I love mine like this.

There is nothing sexier than seeing Wesley ready to go kick ass on that field. It’s a shame we’re not at Harborlight Stadium, or I could try my luck sneaking her off to our custodial closet to remind her just how hot she is when she’s focused.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a snack,” Wesley teases, her eyes bright with excitement.

“You’re the whole damn meal.” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully.

“You’re ridiculous.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me tight, and while she’s at it, she taps my back right where her name sits. “My name looks good up here.”

“Well, considering you wouldn’t take mine when we got married, it’ll have to do.”

I’m just egging her on. I knew from the moment we started doing this thing for real that Wesley would always be her own person. Taking my last name, for a woman building her own legacy in her sport, was never in the cards. It’s just one more reason I love her.