“If you do that, you’ll make it worse.” She shakes her head. “They’ll say you’re being manipulated. That I have you wrapped around my finger. It’ll just fuel the narrative.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do!” Her voice rises, frustration bleeding through. “I care about your career, your legacy, everything you’ve worked for. And I won’t let you destroy it for me.”
“You’re not destroying anything—”
“Yes, I am!” Tears stream down her face now. “Don’t you see? Everything they’re saying, I’m a distraction, I’m bad for you, I’m ruining your focus, maybe they’re right.”
The words hang between us like a death sentence.
“You don’t mean that,” I say slowly.
“Don’t I?” She wraps her arms tighter around herself. “You got benched today, Carter. Because of me. Because Mark thinks I’m a liability. And maybe he’s right.”
“He’s not—”
“When’s the last time you had a good practice?” she interrupts. “When’s the last time you weren’t distracted by this, by us? When’s the last time football was your only focus?”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because she’s not wrong. The last few weeks have been chaos. My head hasn’t been in the game the way it should be.
But that’s not her fault.
“Football isn’t my only priority anymore,” I say carefully. “You are.”
“That’s the problem.” Her voice breaks. “I can’t be your priority, Carter. Not when it costs you everything.”
My chest tightens. “What are you saying?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, tears sliding down her cheeks. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
“I think we need to take a break.”
The words hit like a blindside tackle. “No.”
“Carter—”
“No.” I step closer, desperation clawing at my throat. “We’re not doing this again. We’re not running just because things got hard.”
“This isn’t running. It’s being smart.” She wipes her eyes roughly. “You need to focus on football. On finishing your season strong. And I need to figure out how to salvage my career. We can’t do that if we’re together.”
“Yes, we can—”
“How?” She looks at me, and I see the exhaustion in every line of her face. “How do we make this work when being together is what caused all of this?”
“We fight for it. That’s how.”
“I’m tired of fighting, Carter.” Her voice cracks. “I’m tired of feeling like I’m drowning. Like every choice I make is wrong. Like—” She stops, shaking her head. “I just need space. To think. To breathe.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
The uncertainty in her voice terrifies me more than anything else. Because I hear what she’s not saying, this might not be a break. That this might be goodbye.
“Please don’t do this,” I say quietly. “Please don’t push me away again.”
“I’m not pushing you away. I’m trying to protect you.”
