And something is dangerous because something makes you want more.
My chest feels too full.
I keep my voice steady through sheer force. “Okay.”
Carter’s brow lifts. “That’s it? Just ‘okay’?”
I shrug, because I don’t know how to be anything else. “What do you want me to say?”
Carter’s grin turns wicked. “How about ‘thank you, Carter Hayes, savior of my future’?”
Beck makes a choking noise from the corner. “Please say that.”
Coach Harding groans. “Beck, why are you in my office?”
Beck spreads his hands. “Support system.”
Coach Harding points at him. “Get out.”
Beck pretends to be wounded but backs toward the door anyway, still grinning at me like he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“Call me if you cry,” he says, then slips out.
Carter watches Beck leave, amused, then looks back at me. His voice goes more serious.
“I’m not promising you anything,” he says. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“But,” Carter adds, leaning forward slightly, “I’m telling you they see something worth talking about. Even with the injury. Even with the timing.”
Timing. The draft.
Two weeks. The clock that never seems to stop.
Coach Harding folds his arms. “You want it, Brooks?”
The question is simple.
The answer isn’t.
Because wanting football has always been easy.
Wanting football while Pops is dying and Sloane is breaking and Cameron is trying to hold the house together…that’s complicated.
Because if I chase my dream and miss something with Pops, I’ll never forgive myself.
Because if I stay and sacrifice football, part of me will always wonder.
My throat burns.
“I want it,” I say finally.
Coach Harding nods once, satisfied. “Good.”
Carter’s grin returns, smaller this time. “Then take the call.”
I exhale. “Okay.”
