Right at one, she lifts her brown paper bag and glances my way. A truce, wrapped in wax paper. “Wanna share?” she asks. “It’s gotta be better than whatever Fred’s cooking.”
Relief hits sharp and fast. “Yes. Please.” I grin, letting it linger. “I trust your judgment.”
She arches a brow, eyes flicking over me with a hint of challenge. “You should.”
Progress.
We step into the sun and climb onto the tailgate of Drew’s truck. The metal is still warm, holding the heat of the day against my palms. Dust hangs in the air, thick with hay and dirt, clinging to everything so deeply that even the sandwiches smell like the farm.
Val unwraps hers, shoulders tight, like she’s chewing on something heavier than bread and cheese.
I watch her longer than I should before I speak. “You look like you’re trying to solve world peace.”
She huffs a laugh, short and tired. “I got a few things on my mind.”
“Want to talk about them?”
“Sure.” She twists until her leg is resting on the truck bed and she is fully facing me. “How about you start by telling me why you were such a dick after our almost kiss?”
Well, fuck.
Her eyebrows lift in anI’m waitinglook and I push down a laugh that is threatening to explode. I don’t think she would appreciate that. Here we go. Let’s be blunt together. “Because I thought you deserved better than me.”
Her brow creases, confusion mixing with something else. “Why would you think that?”
“You have to understand. You were and still are one of the smartest people I know. You were always headed somewhere big.” I rest my hand on hers. My thumb rubs slow circles over her warm skin. “And I thought I’d weigh you down.”
Her eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking.
“I grew up hearing I only mattered if I could play football,” I go on. “Nothing else counted. If that was all I had to offer you, it didn’t feel like enough. Football could’ve taken me somewhere, sure, but it was never guaranteed. And if I failed...” My throat tightens. “I was scared you’d stay. That you’d give up your dreams for me.”
Silence hits hard.
Then her expression shifts. Confusion burns into anger. “That’s... impressively dumb,” she snaps. “You know that, right?” Her glare could crack stone. “I am fully capable of choosing who I want to be with and how I want the relationship to go. It’s small-minded of you to think I would simply throw away my life for some guy. Give me a little more credit than that, Shaun.” She turns her face away from mine.
I catch her jaw gently, turning her back. I need her to see this. To hear it without question. “I know,” I say quietly. “I do now.” My voice drops. “I’m sorry I took that choice from you. I thought I was protecting you.”
Her eyes narrow, searching my face. “And now?”
I lean in just enough to feel her breath against my lips.
She doesn’t pull away.
“Now,” I say, sure even though my chest feels too full, “I know better.” I hold her gaze. “When you walked through that barn door, something lit up in me. Something I thought was gone for good after the doctor told me football was over.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I never asked fate for another shot at the game,” I continue. “But I did ask for another shot with you. And I’m not screwing that up.” I take a breath. “I still think you deserve better than me. That part hasn’t magically disappeared. But I finally get that it’s not my call to make.”
The quiet stretches too long. She goes very still, like she’s weighing something fragile. Val always thinks with her whole face, brows pulling together, lips pressing into a line like she’s sorting facts into neat columns.
My pulse kicks up. I brace for the hit.
After a beat that feels like it could split me in half, she says, very softly, very Val, “You know only about five percent of high school relationships survive the transition to college.”
For a second, I can’t tell if that’s a warning or a verdict.
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out. I huff a laugh. “Not surprising.”
