“But I could have helped. I could have been there for you if you’d let me be,” she argues.
“I was embarrassed, Sadie,” I finally say, the words more of a whisper even though they’re a declaration. “You had such big faith in me, in my dream. At the time, all I could see was my failure. Every time I pictured coming home, I pictured your face when you realized I wasn’t who you thought.”
My gaze sweeps back to the field below us, but I can feel hers on me.
“I knew you were more than football, Milo,” she says.
“But I didn’t. I was twenty-four. I had just spent six years of my life dedicating every minute of my life to it.” I pause to take a breath before trying to tell Sadie a story that might make her feel what it was like. “Football wasn’t a hobby. It was 5 a.m. lifts when the sky was still black. Protein shakes before sunrise and ice baths before bed. It was weighing in every Monday morning and being told exactly how much muscle I’d gained or lost, like my worth could be measured in pounds. It was film until my eyes burned—rewinding the same missed block ten times because Coach said the difference between good and great was in the details.
“Stadium lights ready to highlight your mistakes or glorify your success. Playbooks thicker than textbooks and memorizing audibles like they were Scripture. Trainers stretching muscles I couldn’t feel anymore and taping joints that never fully healed.
“It was being told since I was seventeen that I had a gift—and then structuring my entire life around proving I deserved it.
“So when it was gone . . .”
“Your life was this field,” she murmurs. “Or a field.”
I nod, still looking at the turf. “When the field disappeared, I didn’t know how to make a decision without it.”
My body had been on a schedule so strict I knew exactly what I’d be doing at 3:17 p.m. on a Wednesday. And then suddenly I had nowhere to be. No one checking my weight. No playbook to memorize. No teammates banging on my locker.
Just silence.
“You still love it, don’t you?” she asks.
“The game?” I tilt my head back toward her.
She nods.
“I’ll always love the game. I think there are some ways it could be improved, ways I could have done things differently.” I sit up straighter. “Dr. Jones suggested I try something new.” I stop and squeeze her hand as her eyes widen. I’d been surprised when I plucked that piece of paper from her pocket weeks ago. “I had a history degree, but I never thought I’d use it, so I pursued teaching.”
“And TikTok with the fake glasses?” Her mouth curves up in a smirk.
“Yes, and TikTok—with what I believe you calledsexyglasses.” Her smile widens before I add, “I also tried golf, swimming, and I took a culinary course.”
“Culinary? You can cook?” she asks, surprised.
I shrug. “Sort of. My chopping skills are fantastic, but I tend to cook everything on high heat.”
She laughs, and the sound is light in the midst of what feels heavy.
“I wasn’t sure what else was for me. I just knew I had to try, but more than that I had to heal, and I had to forgive myself for the choices I’d made.”
She swallows hard and blinks. “And then you came back.”
“And then I came back when I was ready, with a wild hope that you’d let me back in,” I say.
Her lips lift gently. “And here I thought I was the only one who was struggling.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “There were days I didn’t even want to wake up, Sadie. I’ve struggled. We all struggle. But I’ve had help and I’ve found forgiveness. I can thank you for part of that.”
“I wouldn’t have been so hard on you if I had known,” she says softly. “When you came back.”
I lean over, running my hand down the side of her face before I pull her toward me and press a kiss on her forehead. “I didn’t need you to be easy on me. I needed you to be honest.”
She nuzzles in beneath my chin. “Thank you for telling me.”
I breathe her in—the aroma of warm vanilla and memories of what matters most. I press another kiss to her temple before I pull away slightly. “We better get back to the hotel so we can get ready for tonight. Are you sure you want to go?”
