“Hey, man. How’d the appointment go?”
“Cleared to get back to it. Should be good for the bowl game.” I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the blackout panels Tanner had installed. “Couple more weeks.”
“That’s good news.” A pause. “You don’t sound like it’s good news.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“What’s going on?”
I rubbed my face, trying to find the words. Hunter had been checking in every few days since the hit—brief calls, mostly logistics, how are you feeling, when’s your next appointment. We hadn’t talked about anything real since before Thanksgiving.
“Tanner’s falling apart,” I said. “And he won’t let me see it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been taking care of me since I got home from the hospital. Perfectly. Managing my meds, keeping track of my symptoms, and making sure I rest. It’s like watching a machine operate.” I swallowed. “He cried in the bathroom the other night for an hour. Thought I was asleep. And when he came back to bed, he just…pretended nothing happened.”
Hunter was quiet for a moment. “That sounds like Tanner.”
“What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
The question sat with me. I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. What did I want? A month ago, the answer would have been simple: finish the season, graduate, move to Wilmington with Tanner, start the next chapter. Football was just the thing I did until I could do the thing I actually wanted.
But now, lying in the dark while Tanner made dinner in the kitchen, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it had cost him to watch me take that hit. What it would cost him to watch me take another one. What it would cost both of us if I kept playing a game that had already taken so much from him.
“When you decided to go pro,” I asked slowly, “how did you know it was the right choice?”
“I didn’t.” Hunter’s laugh was rueful. “I agonized about it for months. But then I realized I wasn’t choosing between football and not-football. I was choosing between the life I wanted and the fear of going after it.”
“And what life did you want?”
“The one where I got to play the game I loved while building something real with John. The one where I didn’t let fear make my decisions for me.” He paused. “Why are you asking?”
I closed my eyes. “Because I think I know what life I want. And I don’t think it has football in it anymore.”
The words hung in the air, strange and true. I’d never said them aloud before—not to Hunter, not to Tanner, barely evento myself. But sitting in that dark bedroom, cleared to play and dreading every minute of it, I couldn’t pretend anymore.
“Seth.” Hunter’s voice was careful. “Are you sure? This is your last chance. If you don’t play the bowl game?—”
“Then I don’t play it.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “I’ve already made it through the hard part. Admitting I didn’t want to go pro, changing my major, building a plan that doesn’t revolve around the field. Playing one more game isn’t going to change any of that. It’s just going to put Tanner through hell again.”
“Is that why you’re doing this? For him?”
“No.” I sat up, something clicking into place. “That’s the thing. I’m doing it for me. Because I watched him fall apart trying to take care of me, and it made me realize—I don’t want this life. The hits, the injuries, the constant risk of becoming another cautionary tale. I never wanted it, not really. I just didn’t know how to stop. I thought I needed to play to the very last down or I’d regret my choices.”
Hunter was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was warm.
“Lincoln told me something once, when I was trying to decide about the draft. He said the hardest part of walking away from something isn’t the leaving—it’s admitting you’re allowed to want something different.”
“Your dad’s pretty smart.”
“Don’t tell him that. His ego’s big enough.” A soft laugh. “Look, whatever you decide—I’ve got your back. John too. You know that.”
“Yeah.” My throat was tight. “I know.”
“Call me after you talk to Coach.”
