Page 75 of The Road to You
“So…are you going to tell me what’s gnawing at you?” I already know the answer, but I need him to acknowledge it too.
He leans back, tipping his face toward the sky. “You saw it. Marco showed up, acted like a dick, and I kicked him out. That pissed me off and put me in a foul mood.”
“That’s not what I meant.” My voice is soft but firm. I don’t want him to avoid the conversation again.
His jaw ticks. “Then what do you want me to say, Lena? That I’ve been lying to myself for months? That my body betrayed me? That the career I built from the time I was a kid might just be gone?”
The words are sharp, but not cruel. More like they’re cutting him open as he says them. And they are cutting me, too, deep and sharp and painful. My heart bleeds with him for what he has almost lost.
I don’t flinch. I reach out and place my hand over his. “Do you still want to play?”
He looks at me then, really looks. The fire in his eyes is dimmer than it used to be, flickering but not gone.
“Yes.” His voice cracks. “God, yes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s all I know how to do.”
“Then why does it feel like you’ve already given up?”
That hits him. He blinks and pulls his hand away, dragging it down his face. There is so much pain and exhaustion in his eyes that I know it’s not physical, that his soul is what’s carrying the weight of his accident.
“Because maybe I have.” His voice is raw now. “Do you know what it’s like to go from being at the top, having people chant your name in stadiums, watch you like you’re a god, to suddenly wondering if you’ll ever run without pain again? I didn’t planfor this. I never even thought I’d need to. I thought I had more time.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “But time doesn’t give a shit. Neither does a mangled leg.”
I shift, turning to face him fully. “You don’t have to be on top to still love what you do.”
He shakes his head. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s not. My whole life blew up back in LA, remember? I lost everything, my image, my credibility, my trust in people, and maybe my career. But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still trying. You don’t get to quit just because it got hard.”
His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, I see the storm behind them begin to settle.
“You have money. You have a name. You have people who love you,” I continue, softer now. “If you never played another match, you’d still be okay.”
He swallows hard, and for the first time since Marco stormed in, I see something real break through his armor. Not pride. Not anger. Just fear.
“I don’t know who I am without it,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “Football is the only version of me I’ve ever trusted.”
I slide my hand back into his. “Then maybe it’s time you get to know the rest of yourself while you try to go back. But you should play because it’s what youloveto do, not because you don’t want to discover who you really are.”
He doesn’t respond at first. His gaze drops to our hands, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“I think you should get the surgery,” I say gently. “If it gives you a shot, even a small one, then you owe it to yourself to try.”
He doesn’t argue. He just listens.
“It might take time. A lot of time. You might have to fight your way back from the bottom. But if you still love it, really loveit, you’ll find a way. Not for the fans. Not for Marco. For you. Think back to when you started playing. Was it for the money? For the fame? Or was it just because you loved it?”
A silence stretches between us. The night hums in the background. The stars blink down like they’re holding their breath, waiting.
Finally, he turns his face toward me. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” A small smile curves my lips.
“Cut right through the noise and say exactly what I need to hear,” he whispers.
I smile faintly. “It’s a gift.”
He laughs under his breath and presses his forehead to mine. “You’re not the reason I’m lost, Lena. You might be the reason I find my way again.”
My throat tightens. I lean into him, breathing him in, the faint scent of beer and soap and summer skin. His hand comes up to cradle my cheek, and his thumb sweeps across my skin like he’s memorizing me.
