Page 121 of Love at Second Down

“What can I say? Last semester, I had no idea how long I’d be at AAU. This year, I know I’m not coming back,” she explains, reading my expression. “Christmas and spring break, I’m staying with you. I already spoke to Jackson, my father’s driver, and as long as he’s still employed, he promised to bring Katie for visits. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

“Of course it is,” I say, more than happy to be her rock to lean on.

The weight of her decision settles between us. It’s bittersweet, another bridge burned with her family but another step toward our future together.

We work in tandem, carrying her life out to my truck piece by piece. I handle the heavier boxes while she manages the lighter ones, and our movements fall into an easy rhythm. With eachtrip, the bed of my pickup fills, along with my heart, because after this, Avery and I never have to be apart.

“Last one,” I announce, sliding the final box, markedBooks & Journalsin Avery’s precise handwriting, into the remaining space in the truck bed. I secure the tarp over her belongings, tugging the bungee cords tight against the gathering breeze.

Avery stands by the passenger door, her gaze lingering on the mansion. There are no tears, just quiet contemplation. When I approach, she turns to me with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You okay?” I ask, brushing a blonde curl from her face.

“I’m perfect,” she says, and I know she means it despite everything. “Let’s go home.”

We climb into the pickup, the familiar creak of the doors a welcome sound after the oppressive silence of the Astor estate. The engine rumbles to life, and I ease down the driveway, watching the mansion shrink in the rearview mirror. Avery doesn’t look back, and as we turn onto the main road, her shoulders visibly relax. She kicks off her sandals and tucks her feet beneath her, settling into the passenger seat like she’s claiming it as her territory.

“Do you regret not requesting an early release to enter the draft?” she asks in the silence.

I glance over at her to find her eyes on me.

“And miss out on spending our senior year together?” I reach across the center console and take her hand and brush a kiss over her knuckles. “Not for a second.”

She squeezes my hand, her touch warm and familiar. “Even if it means waiting another year for your big NFL dreams?”

“Those dreams can wait,” I say firmly. “Besides, the scouts already know who I am. One more season of college ball isn’t going to hurt my chances.”

The truth is, I’d give up football entirely if it meant keeping Avery in my life. After everything we’ve been through—the separation, the pain, the secrets—I’m not taking any chances. Some things matter more than a career, more than fame or fortune. I learned that lesson watching her father throw it away all for the almighty dollar.

“You know,” Avery says, her voice soft as her thumb traces circles on the back of my hand, “my therapist says I need to stop worrying about being a burden to you.”

I frown. Avery’s been seeing Dr. Coleman since the day her father was arrested, and it’s helped her immensely, but I hate hearing that she thinks she’s anything but a blessing. “You’re not a burden, Avery, and you never could be.”

“I know that’s what you say, but sometimes I wonder if you realize what you’re signing up for. The trial, the media circus, the way people will look at us—at you—when they find out you’re with Reginald Astor’s daughter.”

“Avery,” I say, my voice firm but gentle as I navigate the winding road away from her past and toward our future. “Look at me.”

She turns, those hazel eyes catching the late afternoon sun.

“I’m not signing up for anything. I already signed. Full contract, no take backs.” I manage a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “And for the record, I don’t care what anyone thinks. They don’t know you like I do.”

The corners of her mouth lift slightly. “And how do you know me, Damon Huhn?” she asks, a hint of playfulness returning to her voice.

“I know you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” I say without hesitation. “I know you did the right thing even when it cost you everything. I know you light up when you talk about Katie. That you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating,and you hum Taylor Swift songs in the shower when you think no one’s listening.”

A blush spreads across her cheeks. “I do not.”

“You absolutely do. ‘All Too Well’ extended version.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the truck cab like sunshine, warming every corner. “Fine, guilty as charged.”

“And I know you’ve forgiven my father, even though he’s partly to blame for tearing us apart, for hurting your family.”

She sucks in a breath, knowing he’s still my least favorite topic of conversation. “Speaking of your father . . .”

“I’d rather not.” The muscle in the corner of my jaw flickers as my thoughts drift to the man who raised me.

Avery might have found it in her heart to forgive him, but I’m not there yet. I know I’ll get there someday—that people say time heals all wounds. Blood is blood, after all. But right now, the wound is still too raw. Every time I look at Avery, I remember those years without her—the emptiness that consumed me, the person I became in her absence. I think of what might’ve happened had she not returned, and I’m angry and hurt all over again at what he did to me—tous.Even if he had the best of intentions, a choice between Avery and football was never his to make.

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