Page 67 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

The word should reassure me.

Instead, all I can think about is how little Dylan and I have discussed what his dream might require from both of us.

Ray nods toward the dining room. “For what it’s worth, he talks about you differently than most players talk about the people waiting at home.”

“How?”

“Like you’re part of the future he’s working toward, not something distracting him from it.”

Before I can answer, he gives me a polite nod and returns to the table.

I remain in the hallway for another moment, staring at the closed restroom door.

Ray didn’t tell me to leave Dylan.

He didn’t tell me to follow him either.

I’ve never chased anything that required me to abandon who I am. I’ve built my life carefully around books, quiet, and belonging.

The idea of becoming an afterthought in someone else’s story terrifies me more than distance ever could.

And I wonder if loving Dylan means risking that.

Dylan is laughing with Bill when I return, his whole face alive with possibility.

I love seeing him like this. That’s what makes the fear so difficult to admit.

His dream is not asking me to disappear. Not yet.

But I’m finally beginning to understand that loving Dylan will eventually require choices neither of us can make alone.

Dylan reaches for my hand as I sit.

I give it to him.

And I wonder when holding on is no longer the simplest answer.

As I arrange my expression into something that might pass for calm, a quiet, unwelcome fear follows me through the rest of dinner.

Loving him might not be enough.

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan

A week after the scout dinner, Lucy is finally here. Somewhere in the stands, tucked into the blur of faces and team colors, she’s watching me—cheering for me. Knowing she came makes everything feel more important.

Between snaps, my gaze keeps drifting upward, searching for a flash of red curls or the green sweatshirt I gave her. I want to see her. I need to see her.

“Eyes on the field, Sharpe!” Coach barks from the sidelines. “Lock it in!”

I grit my teeth and refocus. We’re demolishing the Blackbucks, no question about it. The score isn’t even close. And for once, Greg’s actually playing within the system. No rogue audibles. No reckless hero plays. He’s disciplined. Controlled.

It’s unsettling.

I can’t help but wonder if Coach tipped him off that a scout is in the stands tonight, watching every snap, every decision. Watching me.

I roll my shoulders and listen for the defensive call. This game feels different. Bigger. Heavier. Maybe it’s Ray Upton somewhere up there with his clipboard. Maybe it’s Lucy. Maybe it’s the way the future suddenly feels close enough to touch. It’s no longer hypothetical, no longer something I tell myself I’ll get to someday.