Page 69 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

I point toward the stands. “She’s right there.”

Darnell follows my hand, surprise crossing his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Because no one asked.”

“I’m asking now.” He lowers his voice. “Are you good?”

“I’m better than good. I just don’t need every night to end in a parking lot anymore.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” he says, softer now.

I don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is, it’s none of their business.

I’ve spent years equating focus with distance.

No parties.

No distractions.

No attachments that could pull me off course.

That mindset got me here. I won’t pretend otherwise.

But Lucy didn’t barge into my life demanding space. She didn’t compete with football. She fit alongside it, quietly challenging the idea that success has to be lonely.

I’m beginning to understand that focus and connection don’t have to cancel each other out.

And for the first time, I wonder if maybe the thing I was so afraid of—letting someone in—isn’t the weakness I’ve convinced myself it is.

I rake a hand through my hair, the weight of Darnell’s words more unnerving than I want to admit.

“Have you ever considered that after three years of locker rooms, parking lots, and postgame chaos, I might actually want to spend time alone with my girlfriend?”

Darnell exhales, lifting his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Fair point. I’ll talk to the guys—”

“No.” I shake my head, already done with the conversation. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

I turn and head for the locker room, irritation simmering just beneath my skin. All I want is a shower, some quiet, and Lucy. That’s it. That’s the priority.

Naturally, Greg chooses that exact moment to insert himself.

“Where’s the fire, Sharpe?” he calls, falling into step beside me and trying to sling an arm over my shoulders like we’re friends.

I duck out of his reach without breaking stride. “Plans.”

He snorts, flashing that smug grin I’ve wanted to wipe off his face more than once. “Man, I’d be in a hurry too if I had Library Girl waiting. Bet she’s all shy in public but—”

My hands clench into fists before I even realize it. I stop short and turn just enough to meet his gaze, my voice low and steady.

“Watch your mouth.”

Greg blinks, surprised, then laughs as though I’ve joined the joke. “Relax. Just joking.”

“Good game, Greg,” I say flatly, cutting him off before he can dig the hole any deeper.

I start jogging away.