Page 81 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“I apologized to Dylan earlier, but I really owed the apology to you,” he says. “About what you overheard. The stuff about Dylan going pro and… you know.”

My stomach knots. I hadn’t expected this.

“We weren’t thinking,” he continues. “We joke about everything. Sometimes we forget it’s not just us listening.”

I nod slowly.

“It probably sounded like we thought Dylan had to choose between football and you. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to either of you.”

Dylan stays back, giving us space, which I appreciate more than he probably realizes.

“He’s serious about you,” Darnell continues. “We can all see it.”

“Thank you,” I say honestly. “I needed to hear that.”

And for the first time since that hallway conversation, I believe it.

I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself all evening, waiting for one mistake to confirm I’m only being tolerated.

But Darnell doesn’t look guarded. He looks sincere.

And behind him, I can see Dylan leaning against the booth, pretending not to watch us while absolutely watching us.

Maybe this world isn’t closing around me.

Maybe it’s opening.

“Good. I don’t want you thinking we’re all a bunch of assholes. We really do like you, Lucy. And, more importantly, you make Dylan happy.”

His apology reaches the part of me that has been waiting for proof.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Darnell says, fist-bumping Dylan as he passes. “See you tomorrow.”

“Later,” Dylan replies. He turns back to me, his expression easing. “Ready to go?”

I nod, and together we step out of the diner into the cool night air. The parking lot is mostly empty now, the noise and chaos replaced by the quiet hum of neon lights and distant traffic. The moon hangs low in the sky, washing everything in pale silver.

Dylan falls into step beside me, close enough that our shoulders occasionally brush. We don’t rush. We don’t talk much either. It’s the kind of silence that feels earned. The kind that doesn’t need filling.

When we reach my car, he leans back against it, drawing me in until my hands rest naturally at his waist. I look up at him, my heart doing that traitorous flutter.

“Thanks for tonight,” I say softly. “I’m really glad I came.”

“I’m glad you did, too,” he says quietly. “You fit in more than you think, Luce.”

I smile, searching his face. “You really believe that?”

“I know it,” he replies without hesitation. “You’re not just my girlfriend. You’re part of my world now. And the guys are starting to see that.”

His words settle deep, filling a space I had no idea was empty. I rise onto my toes and kiss him, letting myself linger there for a moment longer than necessary. He melts into it, his hands firm at my waist.

When we pull apart, his forehead rests against mine. “You sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

I hesitate, tempted. Then I shake my head. “I’m sure. But I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Deal,” he says, opening my door for me. “Drive safe.”

“I will.” I slide into the driver’s seat, then pause, looking back at him. “I love you.”