He’d finished the stir-fry, had two servings plated on the counter, but he was just standing there staring at them when I came through the door. Lost somewhere inside his own head.
“Hey,” I said.
He startled, spinning to face me. “You’re back. I didn’t hear the door.”
“I was quiet.” I crossed to him, stopping close enough to touch. “I need to tell you something.”
The wariness crept into his eyes—the same guarded expression he’d worn since the hospital, the one that said he was bracing for impact. My chest ached with how much I wanted to take that look away.
“What is it?”
“I went to see Coach Bradley.” I reached for his hand, laced our fingers together. “I told him I’m done.”
Tanner went very still. “What do you mean, done?”
“No more football. No more games. I’ll suit up and be on the sideline for the bowl game, supporting the team, but I’m not playing.” I squeezed his hand. “It’s over.”
His face did something complicated—shock, confusion, and then something that looked almost like terror.
“Seth, you can’t—the clearance, the bowl game?—”
“I can. I did.” I brought his hand up, pressed my lips to his knuckles the way I had that night after Thanksgiving. “This isn’t about you, Tanner. Or it is, but not the way you think. I’ve been watching you fall apart trying to hold it together for me, and it made me realize something.”
“What?”
“That I’ve been playing a game I stopped wanting years ago. That every time I stepped on that field, I was choosing something I didn’t even want over the life I could be building.” I held hisgaze. “You showed me what that life could look like. Wilmington, grad school, working on equipment that actually protects people. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m choosing.”
Tanner’s eyes had gone glassy. His hand trembled in mine.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he whispered. “I never asked you to?—”
“I know you didn’t. That’s why it matters.” I cupped his face in my hands, brushed my thumbs over his cheekbones. “You never would have asked. You would have watched me play until it destroyed you because that’s who you are. But I’m not going to let that happen. Not when I can choose something better.”
A tear slipped down his cheek. I caught it with my thumb.
“I love you,” I said.
The words came out simple, certain. I’d been carrying them since that night after Thanksgiving, holding them back because I wanted him to hear them right. Not in the heat of the moment, not when he might think I was just caught up in something.
Now. Like this. When he could see how much I meant it.
Tanner’s breath caught. His eyes searched my face—looking for doubt maybe, or hesitation. Whatever he found made his expression crumple.
“Seth—”
“I love you,” I said again because he needed to hear it twice. “I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.”
He stood frozen for a long moment, tears sliding down his face. Then he made a sound—half sob, half laugh—and pulled me into a kiss that tasted like salt. His hands fisted in my shirt, draggingme closer, and I wrapped my arms around him and held on while he shook against me.
“I love you too,” he breathed against my lips. “I love you so much, Seth. I’ve been so scared?—”
“I know.” I kissed him again, softer this time. “I know you have. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
He laughed, wet and broken. “That’s not how fear works.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
We stood there in the kitchen, holding each other, the stir-fry growing cold on the counter. I could feel the tension draining out of him—ten days of vigilance, of holding himself together, of pretending he was fine finally releasing its grip.
