Page 101 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

It’s the kind of chaos that only happens when people are completely comfortable with each other.

I try to imagine Dylan growing up here—running down these same stairs, arguing with his sister over the last pancake, his mom calling him to the table after practice.

The thought makes the house feel fuller somehow.

The walls hold years of memories I’m only just beginning to understand.

For a moment, it’s easy to picture myself fitting into that history.

Not replacing anything.

Just becoming part of it.

Then the doorbell rings.

Kate’s hand stills over the stove.

Just for a second, but it’s enough.

“That’ll be Bruce,” she says quietly, wiping her hands on her apron.

Dylan’s jaw locks. “He’s coming this morning?”

“Couldn’t we finish breakfast before the tension started?” Gemma groans.

“It’s Thanksgiving, and both of you wanted him to meet Lucy.”

Gemma leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. “This should be interesting.”

Dylan shoots her a look, but Kate is already heading for the door.

I sit a little straighter, unease curling low in my stomach. Dylan’s hand finds mine beneath the table, squeezing gently, but the shift in the room feels sudden and unavoidable.

Kate returns moments later with Bruce.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his graying hair neatly combed. His eyes sweep the room carefully, landing on Dylan first. Then on me.

“Morning,” Bruce says. His expression warms when he looks at Dylan. “Good to see you, son.”

Then his gaze shifts to Kate and the warmth disappears behind something guarded.

“Dad,” Dylan replies, neutral.

Bruce nods once, then looks back at me. “You must be Lucy.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, my voice polite but tight. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Dylan’s told me a little about you.” His smile is brief but genuine. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I kept breakfast warm,” Kate says. “There’s a plate for you.”

Bruce takes the seat across from Dylan, and the air is tense—thick, heavy, and charged. Whatever history exists between them hasn’t stayed in the past. But at least they’re trying to give their kids something normal. Even if neither of them seems to know what that looks like.

Conversation resumes, but it’s awkward now. Kate asks about Bruce’s drive. His answers are clipped, as though even her questions irritate him.

Dylan tries steering things toward football, but the energy doesn’t recover. Each exchange feels carefully measured, like everyone is afraid of stepping on something sharp.

I focus on my plate, appetite fading. I feel like I’ve wandered into the middle of a story I don’t know how to read.