Page 89 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Waiting feels almost unbearable.

When my phone finally buzzes, I jump as his name lights up the screen. He’s calling.

“Hey, Luce,” he says when I answer. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie softly, then exhale. “I just… needed to talk.”

“I figured,” he says gently. “What’s on your mind?”

I hesitate, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be written there. “Thanksgiving,” I say finally. “And everything after.”

He’s quiet, listening. Giving me space.

“I’m excited I’m going with you,” I say. “But I’m scared, too. Not about meeting your mom. About what happens after college. If football takes you somewhere else, I don’t know where that leaves us.”

Dylan is quiet for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“You have?”

“More than I should.” He exhales. “I don’t know where I’ll be next year, Lucy. And I don’t know what you’ll want after graduation. But I don’t want either of us making promises now that we might resent later.”

I trace a loose thread along the blanket. “I can’t promise to follow you wherever you go.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

The answer comes so quickly that I stop moving.

“I want you in my future,” he continues. “But I don’t expect you to erase your own plans to fit inside mine.”

“I don’t even know what my plans are.”

“Then we start there.”

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.

“What would you choose if football wasn’t part of the question?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Writing, maybe. Graduate school. Teaching. I haven’t figured it out.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out tonight.”

“What happens if what I need and what you need aren’t the same?”

“Then we tell each other the truth.” His voice is steady. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I can promise I won’t make decisions about us without you.”

Suddenly, the unknown feels like something we are holding together instead of something I have to carry alone.

“I want that,” I whisper.

“So do I.”

“I love you,” I say, the words landing with both comfort and weight.

“I love you, too, Lucy,” he says.

There’s a beat of silence, then his tone shifts, mischief and affection threading through it. “You know,” he adds, “I keep thinking about the last time we were alone together.”

Heat rises to my cheeks before I can stop it. “Oh yeah?”