I read about Sophie’s first smile and her first taste of baby food. I read the joy of milestone moments like crawling and her first steps. I read about late nights studying, then wakingto a crying baby. I relive scrimping and saving to throw her a first birthday party. I relive the day I found the lake house and solidified my dream. Doctor’s visits and work and laundry and meal prep.
I fucking did it all.
Me.
Not only did I bring the most beautiful, sweetest, intelligent little girl into the world, but I did it with a fucking smile. I worked and saved money and went to school. And, yeah, it was hard, but I proved I can do hard things.
By the time I close the journal, I’m so fucking proud of myself, my heart is bursting.
This whole time, I’ve never given myself any credit for what I’d done up to this point, and maybe I was lucky. I have wonderful parents who supported me every step of the way, but that doesn’t negate my hard work. It doesn’t take away from the sacrifices I had to make to get to where I am now.
I inhale, breathing through the swelling in my chest as I remember the first time I met Teagan. The spark of interest in his eyes and the way he flirted made it clear he was interested. And then he asked for my number and I immediately wrote him off. In my mind, he didn’t stand a chance because there was no way he’d want me?a single mom with a messy life.
But he did want me.
And now I can see why.
I’ve always known Sophie was a blessing and anyone I welcomed into her life was lucky to have her, but what about me? It’s beenfouryears, and I still haven’t forgiven myself for not being perfect. The problem with self-criticism is it blocks out the ability to see all the good because you’re so focused on the flaws.
And I have so much to offer someone.
But now I might’ve lost the man I love, all because I couldn’t believe in myself enough to tell him the truth.
Because we accept the love we believe we deserve.
I stand, clutching the journal to my chest, my heart pounding. “Our story can’t end like this,” I murmur to myself. “It just can’t.”
Chapter 49
TEAGAN
The future looks prettydismal from this angle.
Brynn is gone, having left after hovering over me for four excruciatingly long days, my parents left last night, too.
Tommy is at class, which will bleed into practice. If I’m lucky, I’ll see him tonight, which means I’m alone for the next eight hours.
I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
I lie in my bed, far later in the morning than I’m used to—but then, I have nowhere to fucking be—and stare at the wall while my thoughts churn.
Come summer, this room will no longer be mine. It’s a hard pill to swallow, one I’ve tried to choke down during the handful of days since I left the hospital on Sunday.
As of this moment, my name on the roster for the Cumberland Wildcats is merely a technicality. I’m no longer a college football player. My days as a Wildcat are over.
Finished.
I’ve worked so damn hard for so long to get to where I am. Most guys dream of playing at the college level, and though I’m grateful for the time I had, it wasn’t nearly long enough. I might not have had dreams of playing beyond college, but it still stings to have it end so soon.
In the blink of an eye, I lost something I loved, and there’s no getting it back.
What will I do without football?
Living the normal life of a college student without athletics was never something I pondered, but one I’m now being faced with.
No more scholarship. No more football.
Next year, I’ll have to figure out financial aid, not to mention changing my living arrangements. I’ll be forced out of the athlete dormitories into regular student housing, unless I got an apartment off campus. My mornings will no longer be filled with conditioning and training. No more afternoons watching game tape. No more two-a-days in the summer or practices into the early evening. What the fuck am I supposed to do with my time?