Her words eviscerated what little resolve I had left.
“The rest?” she said, taking a step back. “That’s yours to figure out. And if, when you strip everything else away, it’s me your heart wants…” Her voice wavered. “Then we’ll figure it out. No matter how impossible it feels.”
She held my gaze, steady despite the tears.
“But I won’t make you choose me,” she finished softly. “You have to decide if I’m something you’re willing to fight for.”
Emily
I’d been staring at my reflection since I was a little girl.
I remembered singing in the mirror with my parents before bedtime, the way we’d laugh and twirl until one of them picked me up in a fit of giggles and deposited me into my bed to sleep. Then, there were the dance recitals, the way Mom would carefully fix my hair and makeup, and we’d have stars in our eyes when the full look was put together.
In high school, that reflection felt like an enemy. I was critical, scrutinizing every flaw, and that carried with me into college. That was when I started to feel resentment toward my reflection — that the young woman staring back at me wasn’t enough.
Ever since, I’d struggled with accepting the woman staring back at me. I’d tried to fit her into a box that would make my parents proud, that would make people understand who I was, that would help me be more palatable.Don’t be so loud, I’d say.Don’t be so crude with your jokes.
Don’t tell them how much you love dance.
Don’t admit how much you long to spend your life bringing others joy through dance.
Don’t stay anywhere too long — they might see right through you.
Now, I was staring at my reflection in a bustling dressing room full of NFL dancers. My hair was curled and pinned to perfection, my makeup immaculate, eyes bright and edgy with the eyeliner and thick lashes that framed them. My lips were a bright glossy red, my nails the same, and the uniform I’d worked so hard to have the privilege to wear hugged me like a glove.
I should have been ecstatic. I was finally cleared to dance again — even if it was at a reduced level. I wouldn’t be tumbling or doing any crazy hand-intensive moves, but I would be on the field with my brothers and sisters. I’d be dancing with thousands of eyes watching.
I’d be home.
But the problem was that somewhere along the way in this crazy season, I realized that home for me wasn’t on the field at all.
It was with Braden.
Home was the way he made me feel safe, the way he made space to listen to me when I was at my most vulnerable. Home was how he laughed with me, how we lost hours in bed together, how my heart pitter-pattered every time I saw him. Home was his smile and his big warm body encompassing mine. It was the way he saw me for exactly who I was and saidyes. I want that. I need that. Give me more.
I loved him.
I knew before I ever admitted it out loud, but now that I had, it was like a scar or a tattoo — permanent and noticeable, impossible to ignore.
And perhaps what I loved most was how he’d believed in me, seen what I wanted, what I needed, even before I realized it myself.
I blinked out of my daze, tearing my eyes from my glittery reflection to check my phone. There were no texts waiting for me, though I longed for one to come through.
He was here. I’d seen him arrive with the team, watched him file into the locker room. Our eyes had snagged on each other for the briefest, most heartbreaking second before he tore them away.
I had a feeling he’d be on the first plane out after this game wrapped up, heading back to Baltimore to be with Ginny.
My heart ached so fiercely in my chest that I rubbed my ribcage through my uniform, desperate to soothe it. I longed to be with him, to undo the words we shared in that cold hospital, to go back to the bliss we’d existed in before everything came crashing down.
I wanted to be with him.
But maybe even more, I wanted to be thereforhim.
I knew he was tearing himself into a million tiny pieces, torn between the love for his family and the love for me. He didn’t see a way for the two emotions to co-exist, not with the weight of responsibility he’d put on his shoulders.
And I couldn’t make him see it, either.
He knew where I stood. He knew how I felt.
