Page 109 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

This.

Football has always felt like destiny.

When you’re good at something early, people start shaping your future for you before you even understand what it means.

So I did what everyone expected. I worked harder, trained longer, and skipped parties and dances everyone else seemed to have time for.

Football didn’t leave room for much else.

A life built from quiet mornings. Shared routines. Someone who sees you when you’re not performing.

Lucy rinses the last of the soap away and turns so we’re face to face, her hair slicked back, her cheeks flushed from the steam. She smiles up at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I can’t believe I’m volunteering with Gemma this morning,” she says. “I’ve never volunteered at a food bank before.”

“You’re going to love it,” I tell her. “You two already act like you’ve known each other forever.”

“It feels nice. Being included. Doing something that matters.”

Her words stick with me.

Included. That’s what this feels like.

“I wish I could come,” I admit. “But I’m glad you’re going. I think you’ll enjoy doing something with Gemma that’s yours.”

She reaches up and cups my face gently. “You get some much-needed time with you mom. That matters too.”

I nod, even though part of me hates the idea of the day pulling us in separate directions. Everything here feels temporary—like the second we leave Dallas, reality is waiting.

“It’s been really good being home,” I say quietly, pressing my forehead to hers. “I haven’t felt this close to my family in a long time.”

There were years when this house didn’t feel like home at all.

When dinners ended with slammed doors and long silences.

When Gemma and I learned to disappear into our rooms whenever Mom and Dad started circling the same arguments again.

When they finally ended the marriage, I spent years living out of a suitcase between two homes. Ever since, stability has felt less like comfort and more like something I have to build for myself.

Lucy studies me for a second, then smiles. “Maybe that’s not a coincidence.”

Maybe it isn’t.

The water continues to fall around us, hot and constant.

And for once, my future doesn’t feel like a spotlight.

It feels like a question.

One that might have more than one right answer.

Lucy pulls back just enough to search my face, her eyes steady but curious.

“You don’t want to go back, do you?”

I shut off the water and reach for a towel, wrapping it around her shoulders before grabbing one for myself. Steam lingers in the air, but the warmth between us shifts into something quieter—heavier.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go back,” I say slowly. “It’s just… being here. With you. With my mom and Gemma.” I exhale. “It feels like something I didn’t realize I’d been missing.”