Page 66 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“What are the next steps?” Dylan redirects.

Ray leans back. “We’ll be watching the next few games closely. If you keep playing this way, postseason all-star scouts will notice. I’d be surprised if your name isn’t already circulating.”

Dylan’s eyes widen. “Wow.”

“We’ll keep evaluating the film, talk to your coaches, and learn what we can about how you work when no one’s watching,” Ray adds. “We look at the whole picture.”

“Is there anything I should be doing differently?” Dylan asks.

Ray smiles. “Keep showing range in coverage and finish the season healthy. Your instincts are helping you. Now we need to see consistency.”

The private room begins to feel smaller with every answer. I excuse myself, needing air and space.

In the restroom, I lock myself into a stall and brace my palms against the door. I close my eyes and try to separate Ray’s questions from my own fears. An hour ago, the biggest thing on my mind was intimacy, closeness, the thrill of being seen. Now everything feels bigger. Scarier.

I’ve always believed love should expand you, not shrink you. That it should feel like stepping forward, not disappearing into someone else’s shadow.

But what if supporting Dylan means slowly rearranging myself until I don’t fit the outline I once knew?

I picture cities I’ve never seen. Stadiums filled with strangers. Unfamiliar apartments where my books are the only things that recognize me. Weeks spent alone while he travels.

Would I be brave enough for that life?

Or would I slowly resent it?

After a few steadying breaths, I head back out.

And nearly collide with Ray.

“Sorry,” I say, moving aside.

“No, that’s my fault.” He pauses, studying me for a moment. “Are you doing okay?”

The question catches me off guard. “I’m fine.”

His expression suggests he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. “These conversations can make the future feel very immediate.”

I glance toward the private dining room. Through the glass, Dylan is listening intently as Bill speaks, his entire posture focused.

“He’s wanted this for a long time,” I say.

“He has,” Ray agrees. “And he has a legitimate chance. But professional football is unpredictable. Players move. Schedules change. Careers take off quickly or end before they have time to settle.”

I fold my arms loosely across myself. “I would never ask him to give it up.”

“I didn’t think you would.” His voice remains calm. “Supporting someone’s career doesn’t mean surrendering every part of your own life, either.”

I look at him then.

Ray motions to the table. “I’ve watched young players make promises before they understood what they were promising. Their families do the same. Everyone says they’ll figure it out later, but later usually arrives faster than expected.”

A knot forms low in my stomach. “What are you saying?”

“That the two of you should talk honestly.” He gives me a measured look.

Ray stands straighter. “Dylan’s future may take him away from Willow Creek. That doesn’t mean you automatically follow, and it doesn’t mean he automatically leaves you behind. It means the two of you will eventually have choices to make together.”

Together.