Page 105 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“There’s nothing to plan yet.”

“Exactly. Let the opportunity become real before you ask either of you to reorganize your lives around it.”

He smiles and turns the volume back up.

The game resumes. The house hums with activity.

I glance toward the kitchen.

Part of me wants to walk back in there, wrap my arms around her, and pretend the future doesn’t exist beyond this house and this weekend.

But football has never been something I could pretend away.

I thought coming home might make the future feel simpler. Instead, Lucy’s laughter drifts in from the kitchen while football fills the room, and I realize simplicity was never really the goal.

I want a life with Lucy and football.

I want both.

The question is no longer whether that’s possible.

It’s whether I can stop trying to control every step long enough to build it with her.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lucy

I pace the length of Dylan’s childhood bedroom with my phone pressed to my ear, the carpet worn soft beneath my feet. The tension from breakfast still clings to me, heavy and unsettling.

I thought Dylan’s parents were on good terms, but the way they barely looked at each other and the clipped tones in their conversation made the air feel uneasy.

“Lu-Lu Bear!” Aunt Joss’s voice bursts through the line, bright and warm as ever. “How’s Dallas treating you?”

A smile tugs at my mouth despite myself. “It’s good. I just wanted to check in before dinner.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” she laughs. “Your mom and dad are here with me. We’re doing our own little Thanksgiving spread.”

I can picture it perfectly. “Let me guess, Dad’s already eating dessert.”

“Two slices of pie,” she confirms proudly. “Minimum.”

I laugh, picturing Dad guarding the remaining pie.

Then Mom’s voice slips in, gentler. “How are you doing, Lucy? How’s everything with Dylan’s family?”

I hesitate, my gaze drifting to the closed door. Dylan is somewhere downstairs, giving me time to call home.

“It’s been good,” I say honestly. “But breakfast was… awkward.”

A pause.

“Awkward how?” Aunt Joss asks.

“His parents had breakfast with us,” I explain. “They’re divorced, and being in the same room brought out a lot of tension.”

“And Dylan?” Mom asks softly.

“He’s handling it,” I say, though the image of his tense jaw and quiet frustration flashes through my mind. “But it made me realize how different families can look.”