The parking lot of the Stormhawks stadium is nearly deserted when I pull my truck into a space and kill the engine. The last time I came to meet Coach Allen in his office runs through my mind.
Your time with the Stormhawks is over.
Coach Allen’s words don’t slice through me like they used to, but my chest still tightens as I glance up at the massive stadium. Concrete and steel rise against the skyline—the heart of the city.The red banners of the Stormhawks hanging proud. I was part of this once. For a huge part of my life, this was everything.
I step out of the truck, the noise of the city crashing in.Traffic, horns, and the drill from a construction site a few blocks away.A pang of longing for Oakwood Ranch hits me deep in my gut. I’ve only been gone an hour and already I’m longing to see the sun hitting the paddocks. The peace of watching the horses graze. I pull out my phone and fire another message to Travis to remind him to check on Fury. The kid is good, but he’s new and he’s no Izzy.
The longing for the ranch twists into a nervous energy. Is this how new parents feel leaving their child for the first time? The constant worry. The what-ifs. The feeling that I’ve forgotten something. Not at the ranch, but here with me, like a piece of me is missing.
My thumb hovers over Izzy’s number.
You’ve been kidding yourself this entire time, Dylan.
The nerves tangle; my pulse kicks up. It’s just one meeting. I haven’t decided anything. But even as I tell myself that, something still feels off. I just can’t figure out what that something is.
“Hey? Excuse me?”
The voice pulls me from my thoughts. A man in his forties waves at me from across the lot, a young boy bouncing beside him in a Stormhawks cap nearly too big for his head.
I smile, recognizing the boy. “Reece, right?” I say, remembering the kid from one of the Stormhawks outreach programs in the spring.A way to help kids from all backgrounds and walks of life get a taste of football.
Reece’s mouth drops, eyes bugging out. “You remember me?”
“Of course I do. You caught a twenty-yard pass like a champ.”
“It’s his birthday.” The dad beams. “We thought we’d drive by the stadium. Couldn’t afford tickets, but he still wanted to see it.”
I look up at the stadium, remembering what it was like to be a fan when I was Reece’s age, and Mama and Dad brought us to the games some weekends.
“I’m working on my throwing,” Reece blurts out.“I want to be just like you when I grow up.”
I smile at the kid. See myself through his eyes. This whole time, it has felt like getting injured then being dropped from the team was me failing. I couldn’t see past it to the seven good years I had playing at the top of my game. This, right here—this isn’t failure. It’s change. It’s moving on. The thought eases the tension in my chest.
“We’ll let you go about your day,” the dad says, starting to pull Reece away.
“Tell you what,” I say. “How would you like to come to Sunday night’s game against the Skychargers? You and your dad can sit in the skybox with my family. Meet the team after.”
The kid’s face explodes with joy. His dad looks like he might cry or hug me or both. We swap numbers, and I text their info to the team coordinator. “Just tell them who you are at the gates and they’ll let you right in. But any problems, you give me a call.”
As they walk away, I feel it settle inside me—a flicker of something solid. This… this is what I love. That moment. That connection. That hope.
I head inside the stadium. The halls still smell of cleaning products and old sweat.This is an all-or-nothing life, Izzy’s voice echoes.So do us both a favor and admit you made a mistake. Sell up and go back to your real life.
Except… what if this isn’t all or nothing? I don’t want to leave football behind, but I don’t want to live this life anymore, either.I don’t want to chase the noise or the spotlight. What I want is quieter. Closer. Real.
Coach Allen’s office door is ajar. I knock once and step inside.
“Dylan,” Coach says, heaving himself up from the chair, a broad smile lighting his face.
“Hey, Coach. Thanks for making the time.”
We clasp hands before he motions me to the chair opposite his desk.
“I hope you’ve come to tell me you’re ready to be part of the team again?” he asks with a smile.
I take a breath. “Coach, I appreciate the offer. Really, I do. But I don’t think the coaching team is the right fit for me.”
His brows lift, but he stays quiet, letting me talk.
