“It is.” She turned toward me, eyes flickering with defiance that didn’t quite mask the hurt. “Don’t your parents ever do that?”
For a second, I considered brushing it off, making a joke, throwing her a shrug. But she was looking at me like she wanted the truth. Maybe needed it.
“My dad left when I was young,” I said quietly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s just been my mom and me ever since.”
Her expression softened, like I’d handed her something fragile. “So, it’s just the two of you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She works hard. She’s tough. But it’s always been a lot of weight on me too.”
Everyone expects me to be perfect, the quarterback, the guy who has it all together. Truth is…” I let out a breath. “Most days I feel like I’m holding my whole world together with duct tape.”
Silence stretched for a beat, and then she reached over, her hand resting gently on mine.
“You don’t have to be perfect,” she whispered. “Not for me. Football, no football. Winning, losing. You’re…you. And that’s already enough.”
The words hit me harder than any tackle I’d ever taken. No one ever said things like that to me. No one ever gave me permission to not be the golden boy.
Before I could answer, she laughed softly, trying to lighten the moment. “Anyway, it’s my friend’s birthday tonight. She invited me out, but honestly? I’d rather just stay here. With you.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Go. Be with your friends. You need that.” We both needed the space before we combusted. Already, we were toeing the line of imbalance.
Her nose wrinkled in protest. “But?”
“No buts.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m not your warden, Maddison. I don’t want to control you. I just want you to be happy. And part of that is living your life, not locking yourself away with me every second.”
Her eyes glistened in the dim light, like she’d never heard that from anyone before. Like maybe no one had ever given her the freedom just to be.
And in that moment, I realized something that terrified me. I wasn’t just falling for her. She was becoming my safe space, too—the only place in my world where I didn’t have to be perfect.
Then headlights flooded the rearview mirror like a searchlight.
“Oh shit,” she breathed. “That’s his car.”
Before I could move, her dad’s silhouette stepped into view. A sharp knock on the glass made me jump.
I fumbled the window down, heart in my throat.
“We weren’t doing anything, sir,” I said, voice cracking like a kid caught skipping class. Fuck.
He didn’t look at me at first. His eyes went straight to Maddison.
“Get out of the car, Maddi. We’re leaving.”
No yelling. No anger. Just quiet authority you don’t argue with.
She opened the door, climbed out slowly, and walked to his car without looking back.
I stayed frozen.
Then he leaned in, face inches from mine, voice low and lethal.
“You stay the fuck away from my daughter.”
No theatrics. Just cold truth.
Then he was gone.
The door shut. Tires crunched. Taillights disappeared down the road.
