Page 216 of The Sweetest Return

His mouth almost smiled. “You eavesdropping now?”

“You were on speaker in a room full of trophies. I assumed privacy had been waived.”

That got a little smile from him.

Then it faded.

“They need an answer.”

“What do you want to do?”

He looked toward the ring again.

“I don’t know.”

I believed him.

Mostly.

But I had watched him watch the Forge. I had felt his body tense under my palm every time a running back missed a lane he saw from a couch. I had heard the frustration when he said they didn’t see it.

“You do,” I said softly.

His gaze came back to mine.

“I think you do.”

His jaw tightened.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I know.”

“If I take it, everything changes. My schedule. My travel. My time. Coaching means being there. Facility. Practice. Film. Road games. Injuries. Young men carrying too much ego and not enough fear.” His voice lowered. “It means going back into that building and not being who I used to be.”

My hands slid up his chest until they rested near his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be who you used to be.”

His laugh came once, quiet and rough. “Everybody says that like it’s easy.”

“It isn’t.”

“No.”

“But it might still be true.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then my own fear rose.

He must have seen it in my face.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Mani.”