Page 102 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Every smile looks forced. Every silence feels louder than the last.

Eventually, my nerves win.

“Excuse me,” I say softly, pushing my chair back. “I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

No one objects. If Dylan notices how quickly I leave, he doesn’t call attention to it.

The hallway feels cooler and lighter. I close the bathroom door behind me and lean against it, letting out a slow breath.

I stare at my reflection—hair slightly rumpled, apprehension clouding my eyes. This wasn’t how I imagined meeting Dylan’s dad. I expected awkwardness—maybe nerves—but not this undercurrent of unresolved feelings and heavy emotions.

I grip the edge of the sink and inhale deeply.

It’s just one breakfast, I tell myself. One moment.

But the unease doesn’t fade the way I hoped.

I love Dylan. I want to be here with him.

I just didn’t realize that he was dealing with something this complicated.

Suddenly pieces of Dylan fall into place.

The way he pushes himself so hard. The way he talks about football like it’s more than a game.

Maybe ambition isn’t the only thing driving him. Football gave him rules and structure when the rest of his life felt divided.

The realization makes my throat sting.

Dylan’s life already carries so much pressure—scouts, expectations, the future everyone seems to have mapped out for him.

Sitting through one strained breakfast makes something clear. Dylan doesn’t need another person asking him to hold everything together.

He needs someone willing to see the fractures and stay without pretending they’re not there.

I love him.

I hope I’m brave enough to do that.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dylan

I pause outside the bathroom door, my hand hovering inches from the wood. The tension from breakfast still clings to me—the forced smiles, the clipped responses, the way the room shifted the moment Dad walked in. And now Lucy’s locked herself in here, probably carrying more of it than she should.

I knock softly. “Lucy?”

Water runs for a second, then stops.

“I’m okay,” she calls, though she doesn’t sound convincing.

“Can I come in?”

The lock clicks.

Lucy stands at the sink, gripping the counter. I close the door behind me but stop a few feet away.

“I knew things were complicated,” she says. “I just didn’t expect the whole room to change when your dad walked in.”