Page 123 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

We sit in silence for a minute, the party carrying on like nothing’s wrong. Like I’m not standing in the middle of a life that just cracked apart.

“So,” Darnell says carefully, “any updates from the Larks?”

I take a breath. “Yeah. They told my agent they want to sign me as a priority free agent if I go undrafted next month.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re actually doing it.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” I snap. “I can’t have Lucy. So, I might as well go after the thing I’ve been working toward since I was eight years old.” I take another drink. “What’s the point of holding back now?”

Darnell studies me. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah,” I say flatly.

“Isn’t this what she wanted?” he presses gently. “For you to take it?”

I shrug. “She told me not to give it up. Said it’s everything I worked for.” I stare ahead at the flashing lights. “But it doesn’t feel like everything anymore.”

He claps my shoulder. “Maybe space is what you guys need. You get settled, she realizes you didn’t give it all up for her… maybe it works out.”

“Maybe,” I say.

But deep down, I know something shifted the night she walked away. Signing with the Larks doesn’t fix that. Staying wouldn’t have either.

Darnell turns the bottle between his hands. “I keep wondering if I made everything worse.”

“You’re the one who told her.”

“I thought I was protecting your future.”

“Yeah. So did she.”

“Whatever happens,” Darnell says quietly, “don’t forget she cared. That doesn’t just disappear.”

I nod, but the ache in my chest only sharpens.

Because caring isn’t always enough.

The lights brighten slightly as the crowd starts to quiet. Coach Littlestone steps up onto the stage for the awards portion of the night. Trophies gleam under the auditorium lights.

I tuck my hands into my pockets, half-listening.

I should be thinking about the season. About the Larks. About contracts and travel schedules.

Instead, I’m thinking about Lucy.

About the way she looked at me when she said goodbye. About how sure she was that she was doing the right thing.

“Alright, gentlemen!” Coach’s voice booms. “Let’s wrap this season up the right way.”

The first few awards blur together. Offensive Player. Rookie. Most Improved. The guys who win are grinning, slapping hands, soaking it in.

I clap when I’m supposed to and smile when someone looks my way.

“And now,” Coach says, scanning the room, “this one goes to a guy who’s shown discipline on and off the field. Focused. Reliable. A leader.”

I barely register the words.

“The Most Disciplined Player award goes to… Dylan Sharpe.”