“Not done yet.”
“No. But you’re standing. That counts.”
Then he turned to Seth, and I watched them measure each other—Lincoln with the steady assessment of a man who’d spent decades reading players, Seth with the quiet stillness he always got when he wanted to make a good impression. Lincoln extended his hand.
“Landry. I heard about the bowl game. Standing on that sideline while your team played without you—that took guts.”
Seth’s hand tightened on mine. “It was the right call.”
“It was. Doesn’t make it easier.” Lincoln’s expression softened. “You’ve got good people in your corner, Landry. That matters more than most guys realize until it’s too late.”
Seth’s throat worked. “Thank you, sir.”
After dinner, while everyone scattered to help with dishes or collapse on the couch, Lincoln caught my eye and tilted his head toward the back porch. I followed him out.
The night air was cold but not bitter. Lincoln leaned against the railing, looking out at the water.
“I talked to David Holloway last week,” he said. “He’s excited about your work.”
“The consulting position?”
“More than that. He mentioned bringing you on full-time once you finish your master’s. They want to build a research division focused on impact reduction, and they want you to lead it.”
The words didn’t quite land. They hovered somewhere above me, too big to absorb.
“That’s—” I had to stop. Start again. “That’s years away. I haven’t even started grad school.”
“He’s thinking long-term. So am I.” Lincoln turned to face me.”Your father would have been so proud, Tanner. Everything he wanted for you—the work, the recognition, the chance to actually change things—it’s happening. You’re making it happen.”
I looked out at the water, trying to breathe past the pressure in my chest. “Sometimes I forget he’s not going to see any of it. And then I remember, and it’s like…”
“Losing him again.”
“Yeah.”
Lincoln was quiet for a moment. “When Patrick and I played together, we used to talk about what came after. The things we’d do when our bodies gave out and the game moved on without us. He always said he wanted to make sure it was worth it. That all the damage—” His voice caught. “That all the damage led to something.”
“It didn’t though. He didn’t get to see it lead anywhere.”
“No. But you did.” Lincoln put a hand on my shoulder, the weight of it grounding. “You’re his legacy, Tanner. Not the wayhe fell apart at the end. The way you’re putting things back together now. That’s what matters. That’s what lasts.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Lincoln squeezed my shoulder once and left me alone with the stars and the water and the impossible weight of loving someone who was gone.
The door opened again a few minutes later. I knew without looking that it was Seth.
“Hey,” he said, coming to stand beside me. “You okay?”
“Getting there.”
He wrapped an arm around me, and I leaned into his warmth, letting myself be held.
“Lincoln talked to me inside,” Seth said. “About transitions. About knowing when to walk away from things.”
“What did he say?”
“That the hardest part isn’t leaving. It’s figuring out who you are when the thing you’ve been doing doesn’t define you anymore.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “He said when he retired, he spent a year feeling like a ghost in his own life. Like he’d lost the only version of himself that mattered. And then he found the advocacy work, and Nixon, and a new way of being useful.”
“That sounds like Lincoln.”
