Page 92 of Verdict

I swallowed.

He took another drink. “You think five years is a long time. It’s not. It’s the blink of an eye. And when it’s over? You’ve got the rest of your life staring back at you.”

I stared at the condensation sliding down my glass.

“I told myself I was staying for love,” Drake went on. “That I was choosing happiness. Choosing my relationship. But if I’m being honest?” His jaw ticked. “I was afraid to start over somewhere else. Afraid to admit things weren’t as solid as I wanted them to be.”

“You think that’s what I’m doing?” I asked quietly.

“I think you don’t know what you’re doing,” he said bluntly. “And that scares you.”

He wasn’t wrong.

I scrubbed a hand across my jaw. “Boston is a sure thing. Five years. No-trade. Competitive roster. It’s the smart move.”

“Is it what you want?”

“I don’t know,” I answered quietly, eyes casted back down at the table.

Drake watched me for a long beat. “When you picture signing that contract… what’s the first thing you feel?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Because I had pictured it. The press conference. The handshake. The jersey swap. The headlines. Legacy secured.

But what came after that?

An apartment overlooking a new city. A city where I didn't know a soul. Video calls with Ellie instead of bedtime stories. Watching her lose teeth through a screen. Holidays scheduled around road trips.

And Ava.

Her standing in the doorway of her office, arms folded like she was bracing for impact. Her pretending she was fine… because she always did. Her telling me she understood.

She would find out soon enough, when they would tell her to draft an offer for me. I thought back to Christmas when she finally let me see over the wall. The hurt reflected in her eyes as she detailed her past. Never chosen. Never first choice. And the fucked-up part? Ava would be the one to put together a contract to get me to stay. To get me to choose Austin. To choose her.

Or at least that was how I was sure she would see it.

I lifted my eyes back to Drake. “Loss,” I admitted.

Drake’s expression shifted. “Loss?” he repeated.

“It feels like…” I hesitated, trying to articulate the tightness in my chest. “Like I’d be winning something but losing something bigger.”

He nodded once, slow. “That’s the part nobody can calculate for you.”

I blew out a breath. “And staying feels like gambling.”

“On what?”

“On her. On us. On something that isn’t even guaranteed.”

Drake leaned forward, forearms on the table. “You’re not gambling if you know it’s what you want.”

“That’s the problem,” I shot back. “It’s what I want, but will it ever be what she wants? She’s terrified of crossing that line. If I stay and she never—” I broke off.

“Never loves you back?” Drake finished.

I looked away. Love. Is that what this was about?

“Cohen,” he said carefully, “you can’t make a career decision hoping someone else might change. Trust me. I did that.”