“You want me to talk to you about Mae?” My hands curl around my frosted glass of water. The sharp, stinging sensation feels good.
“She thinks she’s saving you from swirling down the drain.”
I cock my head.
“God, am I talking to a caveman? Mae wants to be with you. She doesn’t want it to be the end for you two, but you let football get in the way.” Poppy shakes her head. “Nathan, I know you want to win the Super Bowl for your mom, but I’m here telling you that your mother would prefer you to be happy than lift some stupid silver trophy in her name.”
At the mention of my mother, my lungs tighten. “Her death can’t be for—”
“Nothing… I know.” Poppy releases a long breath. “I understand your logic. I do. But you’re throwing your life away for someone who’s no longer around. I know you think you’re nothing if you don’t have football, but that’s not true. You’re more than a football player, Nathan.” Her eyes fill with tears. “You’re my brother.”
Fuck. Seeing my sister cry breaks my fucking heart.
I step forward off my stool and wrap my arms around her. “But the photos. Mae’s career.”
Poppy pulls away from my chest. “If you two love each other as much as I think you do, it’s something you’ll be able to work through. Look me in the eyes and tell me you love her. Forget about being cringy and mushy for a second. I’m a girl. I love that shit. Just do it.”
I stare at her, eyes so starkly different to mine. “I’ve never met anyone like her, Poppy. Of course I love Mae. More than anything.”
“Anything?” She quirks a brow.
“Anything,” I clarify.
“Okay, good. Think about that last part for me, okay? Because that’s all I wanted to hear.” She takes a casual, loud sip of my water, blinking back her tears from seconds ago. “Be selfish for once. Please. No offence, but you’re in your thirties, Nathan.” A small smile marks her face. “Are you going to look back at this moment and be thankful you let Mae go? Be proud that you chose football over your happiness?”
I gulp. “No.” It’s a simple answer. I don’t even need to think about it.
“I’ve been in contact with a certain someone who works for a talent agency, too. I have a feeling she can help soften the blow if you two decide to let the photos go public.”
I shake my head at my sister. “Pops, what have you been up to?”
She grins. “Saving your ass. What are annoying little sisters for?”
I inhale deeply as I pull her back to my chest.
I love and hate how fucking right she is.
I’ve spent so long stuck on the fact that I need to do this for my mother. I kept pushing forward, hoping that if I won, everything would make sense. Everything would be worth it.
But now, even though I always knew it deep down, I see it for what it is—a dead weight pulling me down and stopping me from being who I want to be. Who I need to be.
My mom wouldn’t want this for me. She wouldn’t want me wasting my life trying to be something I’m not. I’m sure she would have loved to have watched me lift that trophy. Who wouldn't want that for their son? But she’s not here anymore, and I can’t let my life wither away trying to do something I know won’t make me feel better in the long run.
Because winning the Super Bowl won’t bring my mom back.
A strange sense of relief spreads through me. It feels like I can finally breathe.
I don’t know if Mae will be on the same page as me, but if I allow her to leave for Florida without telling her how I feel, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
There was a time when I thought cone drills were the death of me. Little did I know, they weren’t. Not even close.
Mae Bexley is.
And there’s nothing about it that upsets me.
I’m staring out at the wave of reporters before me in the Missarali stadium conference room as they flash their cameras and bombard us with questions. The playoffs are starting, and the only reason I’m here is because my team need me.
As of this second, football is all I have.
