Page 77 of The Backup Plan

“Yes. No. Never mind.” I take a step back. “It’s stupid.”

“No. What is it?” he asks. “I want to know.”

Ugh. Why did I say yes? “It’s nothing really.”

“But it is. C’mon. Tell me.”

“I guess I just wanted to thank you again. For that first night.”

His brows narrow slightly. “Em? Everything okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. I just realized something tonight.” I fiddle with the strap of my purse. “You saved this whole experience for me. The living part. You did that from the start, and I guess it just hit me tonight how grateful I am for that.”

He studies me like he’s listening to more than just my words. “Do you want to come in?”

I bite my bottom lip. Every instinct wars inside me—stay, go, don’t blur the line, don’t build something you’re afraid to hold.

I breathe in.

“No, I’m trying to keep things where they need to be kept,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.

His mouth curves. “So am I, but the offer still stands.” He steps back and motions that I’m still welcome.

It’d be so damn easy to just walk inside.

“No,” I say. “I’m tired. But . . . thank you.”

“Of course.”

He doesn’t reach for me or try to change my mind. Rather, he just watches as I step back and head toward my door.

And I feel it then—how much harder it is to walk away from someone who never tries to restrict you. Who respects you and your lines and the parameters, even if they’re starting to feel more like a punishment than a protection.

Inside my apartment, I lean against the door and close my eyes.

Safe doesn’t mean simple.

But it means something.

And that scares me more than anything else.

Lucas

“Coach told me I’m getting some reps in tomorrow’s preseason game,” I say into the phone.

I’m sitting on a low, grassy hill overlooking a field at the edge of town, watching a Pop Warner game. The kids are little and the helmets look too heavy for their heads as they trip over their own cleats and run in a swarm after the ball without any regard for positions. Parents line the sidelines with folding chairs and umbrellas and shout words of encouragement that’s a little too loud and invested.

“He did?” Brendan says. “Seriously?” I can hear the grin in his voice and the sound of it reminds me of all those years ago when it was us on a field like this.

Is that why I came here? Because I needed a small reminder of why I love this game?

Or maybe I just needed to step outside the bubble I feel like I’m in.

“Yeah. He called me into his office after practice today and said I’d get a couple of series at least. It’s preseason but—”

“Well, damn.” He laughs. “Guess you’re proving you’re not as washed up as you like to pretend you are.”

“I never said I was washed up.” I roll my eyes.