I throw the truck into reverse, backing out of the lot and taking the familiar route back to the football house, my fingers tight around the wheel. I try to picture it, what my life is going to look like in six months.
Option One:
I go first round. I end up on the East Coast, with one of the teams that’s been after me since the season started.
New city. New apartment. New everything.
I wake up, go to practice, and grind every damn day to prove I belong there, that I deserve the spot I was given. I go home to an empty place. I eat dinner alone. I stare at my phone, wondering if she’s thought about me, wondering if she even cares where I ended up.
Wondering if she’s still here, on campus, finishing her last semester, pretending we never happened.
Option Two:
The exact same thing—except Madison is there.
Except she’s waiting for me after practice, curled up on my couch, stealing my hoodies like they belong to her.
Except we’re cooking dinner together, laughing as she burns the garlic bread, sneaking kisses while the TV plays in the background.
Except she’s in the crowd at my first game, wearing my number, her hands tucked into the sleeves of my oversized sweatshirt, proud of me.
Mine.
I blink hard, forcing my grip to loosen on the wheel.
But that future? It doesn’t exist.
Because she left. She sat in that hospital waiting room and still chose to walk away from me. No matter how much I want her, no matter how much I’ve always wanted her?—
She doesn’t want me the same way.
I exhale slowly, shaking my head as I pull onto my street.
The football house comes into view, and I instinctively scan the driveway, half-expecting Carter’s truck to be there, half-expecting the guys to already be celebrating the end of the season with too much beer and a busted speaker system.
Instead, my gaze snags on something I don’t expect.
Someone.
Sitting on my front steps, arms wrapped around herself, dark hair spilling over the shoulders of a hoodie that’s too big for her, is Madison.
My chest tightens.
She hasn’t looked up yet, hasn’t realized I’m here, but she’s here.
Waiting for me.
For a second, I just sit there, staring, afraid if I move too fast, if I breathe the wrong way, she’ll disappear. I worry my mind made her up, like she’s just another daydream—another piece of the life I wish I had.
But then, she shifts slightly, tucking her knees closer to her chest, and I know she’s real.
I pull into the driveway, my pulse hammering in my ears, my hands suddenly damp against the wheel. I have no idea what she’s doing here, no idea what she’s about to say.
But what I do know?
No matter how much I try to tell myself I should be angry, that I should make her feel the ache of missing someone like she forced on me, I already know I won’t.
Madison Blake is sitting on my front porch, and I still want her more than I want my next damn breath.
