Practice had ended twenty minutes ago, but Wyatt Davis hadn’t moved from the sideline. He stood there, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt smudged across his cheek, tail wagging slow and steady behind him.

And there, walking across the track toward the bleachers, was Y/n.

Wyatt’s tail went into overdrive. Full, happy, betraying-everything wag. His whole body loosened, chest puffing out like someone had handed him a trophy.