Page 48 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

She tugs at my hand. “I like having you here.”

We settle on top of the blankets, a movie playing softly in the background. When the lights go out, she curls against me, resting her head on my chest.

It’s been a long night and I’m exhausted. I’ve always stuck to my schedule obsessively. Normally, I’d already be calculating how many hours remain before training. Tonight, the thought barely registers.

Suddenly, everything inside me shifts.

Lucy believes love takes courage.

But holding her like this and feeling her breathe, something else is true.

Love doesn’t just require courage.

Sometimes, it creates it.

While the house settles quietly around us, I realize I’m no longer afraid of falling for her.

I’m afraid I already have.

Chapter Eleven

Lucy

“Lucy, right?”

The voice cuts through my concentration, pulling me out of Dylan’s dog-eared copy of The Alchemist.

The café is caught between the lunch rush and evening crowd, leaving half the tables empty and the pastry case picked nearly clear. Late sunlight dances across the floorboards, illuminating crumbs, abandoned sugar packets, and the steam rising from my neglected tea. Gretchen stacks clean mugs behind the counter while an acoustic song drifts quietly from the ceiling speakers. It should feel peaceful.

My fingers stop midway down the page. I look up.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me.”

The woman standing in front of me has chestnut hair that gleams in the late afternoon light and a smile that feels… practiced. She gestures to the chair across from me.

“Mind if I sit?”

I hesitate, then slide a bookmark between the pages and close the book. “Sure.”

She lowers herself into the seat with ease and extends her hand. “I’m Meredith. I think we had astronomy together freshman year.”

I glance at her hand. I never took astronomy. I chose environmental science instead. This must be about Dylan.

I give her hand a brief shake. “Maybe.”

Her expression remains perfectly composed. If anything, it sharpens. She curls a strand of hair around her finger like we’re sharing a secret.

“You’re probably wondering why I came over,” she says.

I tilt my head. “What is it you want?”

That throws her. Just a little. Enough that I notice.

“Well,” she recovers quickly, arranging her features into something meant to resemble sympathy. “I heard about your mom.”

My spine stiffens. “How?”

“My mother ran into your aunt at the hospital,” she says, although the slight pause suggests there may be more to it. “Small town. My mom wanted to pass along her well wishes.”