Page 113 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

I’ve spent years building a life that doesn’t ask too much of me. Books, the library, helping Aunt Joss, staying close to home. I called it contentment because admitting I was afraid would have required me to change something.

Dylan didn’t create that restlessness. He only made it harder to ignore.

“It’s just hard,” I admit, my fingers gripping tighter around my coffee mug. “I see how much football means to him. It’s not just a career. For most of his life, it has been the clearest answer to who he is. And I love him. I really do. But what if I’m not built for that world? What if following him means losing myself somewhere along the way?”

Mom watches me closely, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t have to be someone else to love someone deeply,” she says. “You don’t have to be fearless or loud or endlessly adaptable. You just have to be honest. With yourself first.”

I swallow. “I keep thinking about Scarlett O’Hara,” I confess. “How she fought for Tara with everything she had. No matter the cost. No matter who she hurt or what she lost along the way.”

Mom smiles faintly. “Scarlett was strong,” she agrees. “But strength takes many forms.”

That thought stays with me long after breakfast ends.

It follows me all the way to the café with Gone with the Wind tucked into my bag, my mind drifting through the stories that have shaped me. The characters who’ve taught me what it means to fight.

I slide into my favorite corner seat at the café, the smell of coffee and the hum of muted conversations settling around me like an old sweater. I open my book, but the words blur as my thoughts circle back again.

What am I willing to fight for?

A love that could change everything?

A life that feels bigger than the one I planned?

Or myself?

Scarlett fought for Tara.

Elizabeth fought for love.

Jane fought for her worth.

Heathcliff mistook destruction for devotion.

But me?

I don’t know yet.

Maybe I don’t have to.

I turn the page anyway, letting Scarlett move forward for both of us while my own questions gather at the edges of the story.

Chapter Thirty

Dylan

The roar of go-karts cuts through the air as Darnell pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine. I grab my bag from the backseat, the buzz of a team hangout settling over me. But it doesn’t feel the way it usually does.

Lucy’s running late after taking her mom to a follow-up appointment.

I tell myself I’m just glad she’ll make it at all, but the truth is messier than that. Part of me is relieved. I want to see her, but I also know a conversation is coming. One I’ve been circling and bracing for.

And I’m not ready yet.

I’ve spent my whole life believing that if I worked hard enough, the path would stay clear.

Put in the hours. Hit harder. Study longer. Keep your head down and your goals in front of you.

That was always enough.