Chapter 62

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Chapter 62: Locked In

Jon's Perspective

Jon stood on the edge of the field, cleats biting into the turf, helmet under one arm. The late afternoon sun was blazing, but inside, he was ice-clear. No more nagging thoughts. No more restless pacing. Sam and he had talked. Really talked. And whatever weight had been pressing on his chest for weeks—it was gone.

The break was over. They were good again.

"Alright, wideouts, on me!" barked Coach from the sideline.

Jon jogged to the line, muscles already loose from warm-up, blood pumping with clean, focused energy. He felt sharp—faster, smoother, lighter on his feet. Each step had purpose. No wasted motion. Every cut, every burst felt synced to something deeper than instinct.

Practice began with routes—simple stuff at first. Hitches. Outs. Slants.

Jon ran each one like it mattered. Like every route was a message. He wanted his teammates to feel it. Wanted the coaches to see it. More than that—he wanted to feel it in his own bones. And he did.

Then came the one-on-ones. Jon lined up across from Marcus, the team's top cornerback.

"Let's go, Hale," Marcus grinned, cocky.

Jon didn't grin back. He just nodded.

At the snap, Jon exploded off the line. Two hard steps, a jab inside, then a cut back out. Smooth. Precise. Gone.

He created two yards of separation and snatched the ball out of the air with one hand, tucking it in stride. The team hollered from the sideline.

"Whew!" Terry called. "He's playing like he is possessed today."

Jon jogged back, tossing the ball to the QB with a grin now tugging at his lips. He didn't feel possessed. He felt free.

As the drills rolled into team scrimmage, Jon kept dominating. Deep posts. Comebacks. Quick screens he turned into ten-yard gains. He blocked like a man twice his size, planted his feet with perfect technique, and refused to let defenders through. The whole field felt slower, like he was seeing it all a split-second ahead.

Coach blew the whistle. "Alright! That's what I'm talking about, Hale!"

Jon just nodded, calm and steady, but inside, it felt like something had unlocked.

He'd always had the reflexes, the strength, the skill.

But now—he had peace.

Practice wrapped, and Jon walked off the field dripping with sweat, adrenaline still fizzing in his veins. He sat on the bench, pulled off his gloves, and glanced at his phone.

One new message.

Sam: "I hope you lit it up today. I'll be at the game Friday… I wouldn't miss it."

Jon stared at the screen for a second, then smiled. Not the polite, controlled one he used in crowds. A real one. Unfiltered.

He wasn't playing for the crowd. Not for the scoreboard.

He was playing for that girl.

And damn, did it feel good to have her back.

Sam's Perspective

Sam waited outside the school, leaning casually against her car, eyes fixed on the exit to the field. The sky had turned golden, the light softening everything it touched—except the storm in her chest. A good storm, though. The kind that hummed with anticipation, not fear.

Then she saw him.

Jon stepped through the gates, hair damp from the shower, that easy smile on his face. He hadn't spotted her yet. For a moment, Sam just watched him—watched the way he moved, the calm confidence in every step. Her heart did something strange in her chest. Something good. Something loud.

He saw her and waved, jogging over.

"Hey," he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Hey," she echoed, trying to sound casual, but her voice felt like a live wire.

The drive to her home felt like the stillness before a summer storm—warm, humming with tension, sweet in its anticipation. Jon sat beside her, relaxed in his seat, still glowing from practice. His damp hair curled at the ends, and the soft grin on his face made her want to forget how to drive straight.

They didn't say much. They didn't need to.

The moment Sam unlocked the front door and realized the house was empty, something inside her clicked into place. Like she had been waiting at a red light in her own heart and it had finally turned green.

She turned to Jon. He raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what she was thinking.

She answered by taking his hand.

Up the stairs. Down the hallway. Into her bedroom.

She shut the door behind them and stood there for a second—watching him, hearing nothing but their breaths. Her room, with its soft lighting and familiar scent of lavender and books, felt transformed. Like the world had drawn its curtains and left just the two of them behind.

Jon took a step closer.

She met him halfway.

Their kiss was slow at first, careful. But it deepened quickly, urgency threading through it. Sam felt herself dissolve into it, every brush of his lips pulling something unspoken from inside her. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. He caught it before it hit the floor, still somehow gentle in the chaos of their want.

Clothes fell in a trail, like breadcrumbs leading to the center of something neither of them could quite name.

The bed caught them.

There was laughter at first—a quiet, giddy kind that filled the space between kisses. But it faded, replaced by the heavy quiet of closeness. His fingers traced the edge of her jaw, down her neck, over her shoulder like she was something precious to be learned, not just touched.

When his hands moved lower, when his lips followed—she forgot her own name.

Her breath caught. Her back arched. The world vanished into sensation.

She'd expected warmth. Craved closeness. But this—this intensity—Jon looking at her like she was the only truth in the world—this knocked the wind out of her.

Again and again.

She clutched him like he was an anchor. She whispered his name like a secret she didn't want anyone else to hear. She felt like she was breaking open and blooming all at once.

Time lost meaning.

Later, her head on his chest, limbs tangled with his, Sam stared at the ceiling and felt the quiet buzz of euphoria under her skin. Jon's arm was around her, his thumb absentmindedly drawing circles on her shoulder.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't have to.

Her heart was full. Her body was worn. And in the curve of his arms, she felt like she was home.