Page 93 of Let You Love Me

My father doesn’t question me; I’ve never given him a reason to, or at least not one he knows about. “He did okay yesterday. Didn’t see the ball much,” he tells me.

I stare down at my hands, playing with a piece of loose thread on the hem of my T-shirt, unable to stop myself as I ask, “Do you think he has a chance of going pro?”

I know what Teagan said Friday night, but I can’t help but wonder if he was being modest. Or maybe he was saying what I wanted to hear.

“Nichols is good, damn good.” My father’s mouth turns down. Most would think it’s a frown, but I recognize it as his thinking face, and so I wait. “I’ve only just started coaching him, but Teagan is a dark horse. Not a lot of buzz around him. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. If you ask me, the kid has everything it takes to rise to the top. He’s quick. Smart. Thinks on his feet. Has the hands of some of the best tight ends in college football. I think if he wants it, he can earn his shot. I guess time will tell how badly he does.”

My father’s words sober me.

It reminds me of what Teagan said about drive.

It also reminds me of why I need to be careful.

A dull ache blooms inside my chest at the warning.

Teagan is only a freshman. He has four seasons to prove himself on the field and determine what kind of player he’s going to be. Four years to dictate his future and potentially earn himself a spot in the draft.

His life is in a state of flux; he has his whole life ahead of him, and like most people our age, he has no idea where the path might take him. A lot can happen between now and then. I, on the other hand, already know where I’ll be. My life will look the same today as it will five years from now.

The thought sobers me.

No matter how good he is with Sophie or how much he makes my heart leap inside my chest, he’s a wild card. He has zero responsibility to anyone other than himself, which means he can afford to be selfish.

He’s an athlete first and foremost, which means he and I would never work.

I need to remember that.

I find Sophie in the kitchen with my mother, dropping big balls of cookie dough onto a lined cookie sheet. “Having fun?” I ask, smiling, despite the heavy weight taking up residence in my chest following the conversation with my father.

“Yeah! We added extra chocolate chips!” Sophie says, dropping another ball of dough to the sheet.

My mother glances up at me, her eagle eyes taking in my expression. “Uh oh. Your father talked your ear off about the game, didn’t he?”

“I may or may not have sat through a thirty-minute play-by-play of Chance’s performance in the game.”

Mom winces. “Well, at least you missed the mini strategy session at brunch.” She rolls her eyes, and I laugh.

I don’t tell her I’ll have the joy of hearing it next weekend. If I have any say in it, I’ll find a way out of brunch with Chance.

Stepping forward, I take a little piece of raw dough and pop it in my mouth. “You’ll get sick!” Mom swats at me, but I dodge her easily.

“I’ve never heard of one person getting sick from raw cookie dough.”

“You say that now . . .” The corners of her mouth curl in amusement. “Gosh, you’ve done that since you were a kid.”

“And we’ve had this argument ever since.” I laugh.

“Old habits die hard.” Mom smirks and pats Sophie’s head. “My sweet girl here is as patient as the day is long. It’s remarkable, really.”

Sweet Sophie.

A private smile tugs at the corners of my mouth at the thought of Teagan’s nickname for her, then I groan and run my hands through my hair.

Is everything always going to remind me of him? Am I destined forever to think of him every single time he’s not around?

“Everything okay?” Mom asks, arching a brow as she turns to put the pan of cookies into the preheated oven.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Sorry. Just thinking about something.”

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