Chapter Thirty-Three
Braden
The day after the game, I sat at Ginny’s bedside, one hand holding hers and the other holding my phone. My eyes were fixed on the screen, on the unanswered text from Emily the day before.
Em: Thinking of you today. I hope Ginny is doing okay. No need to respond, I just know it must be hard to be here, and I want you to know you’re not alone.
I’d changed her name in my phone. She wasn’t trouble — not anymore.
And maybe she never was to begin with. Or maybe if she was, it was the good kind of trouble, the kind that makes you live a little, that wakes you up from a lifeless survival, that makes you smile and laugh for what feels like the first time.
Her words made my chest ache, and the longer I stared at them, the more I wanted to punch myself right in the face.
She was there for me.
Even after all that was said, after I’d let her walk away… she was still there.
It’d killed me to be at the game and not talk to her, not run to her, not throw myself into her arms and take back everything I’d said before. But I could feel Coach’s eyes on me, could hear Claire’s warning ringing in my ear.
Combined with my nightmares of what’d happened to Ginny, they were powerful enough to hold my restraint.
It was the right thing to do.
Just because it killed me didn’t change that fact.
And that was what I held onto. I reminded myself how my parents depended on me, how Ginny needed me, how I’d worked so hard to get to the NFL, and now had to work even harder to stay there. I had a contract to secure, a life to set up, and I couldn’t throw it all away.
Every time I reminded myself of those truths, my heart would scream that it didn’t have to be all or nothing. It thrashed against my rib cage like a prisoner, raging over how I was hurting Emily, hurting myself, when there had to be a way to have it all.
But I just couldn’t see it.
Did you sleep in a garbage can?
My sister’s mechanical voice startled me in the soft hum of her hospital room, and I hastily tucked my phone away, finding her eyes open, the hint of a smile behind them.
She looked so much better than when I’d arrived after the initial scare. She was no longer intubated, her chest rising and falling on its own now, her skin more flushed with color. She was still recovering, and it wouldn’t be a quick or easy road, but she was back to talking.
Back to ribbing her older brother like it was her job.
“Might as well have,” I answered, running a hand through my hair as I sat back in my chair. “Took a red eye flight after the game last night.”
You didn’t need to rush back here.
“I wanted to.”
The way she was looking at me, I knew she’d flatten her lips or suck her teeth at me if she could. Instead, she stared a long moment, her eyes searching mine before she asked:
Braid my hair?
I smiled, chest aching as I stood. “I’d love to.”
A comfortable silence passed between us as I maneuvered to the side of her bed, careful of all the wires and tubes still hooked to her from machines. I untied her curls from the thick scrunchie it was currently tamed by, massaging her scalp as she hummed contently.
My fingers moved on autopilot, just like they had for years.
But my brain instantly ran to Emily.
I thought about the day I braided her hair, the day everything between us shifted. But maybe it had been before then.
Maybe it had been all along.
And now I’d lost her.
What’s wrong? Ginny asked when I was done with her hair.
I sat beside her bed again, trying to force a smile. “Just a little tired. I’m okay. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat?”
I need you to stop avoiding my question. You look like shit and you were staring at your phone like you’d locked one of your precious hats inside it. What’s going on?
I blew out a breath, shaking my head. Ginny had always been able to see right through me, through all of us. She was so perceptive. So in tune.
Is this about Emily?
I smirked. “You remember her?”
The only girl I’ve ever seen you alone with when I call? Obviously, I remember her. And I don’t believe for one second that she’s just your friend.
“She was far from just a friend,” I admitted on a long breath.
Was?
I nodded.
You idiot. What did you do?
I chuckled. “Of course, you know it was me who fucked up.”
Ginny was still weak, but she held up her hand, waving it in a way that told me she was getting impatient and that I’d better start talking.
It was painful, tearing open that fresh wound when it’d still yet to heal.
But I did it for my sister, sparing no details, save for the ones I knew she definitely would not want to hear.
I told her how Emily and I met, how we’d become friends, how we’d had an undeniable connection from the start.
Ginny winced when I told her about Emily’s injury, about how we’d become closer after that, and how I’d thrown caution to the wind, fraternizing with her when I knew it was against my contract.
By the time I got to the part about the podcast clip going viral and our subsequent punishment, I was running on steam, unable to look my sister in the eye. I stared at my shoes when I told her about how Emily came here, about what happened when she did.
When I ran out of words, a heavy silence fell between us, just the soft hum and beeps of machines filling the quiet.
So she came to be with you and you sent her away?
I nodded.
Wow. You really are an idiot.
I tried to smile, but it fell flat, my heart sinking into the pit of my gut. “I did what I had to do. Trust me, it killed me, but… there’s no other choice.”
I’m sorry, big brother, but if you truly believe that, then I think you need to be checked for CTE. More than just a few brain cells damaged in that noggin of yours.
“All right, all right, I get it. You think I’m dumb.” I grabbed the back of my neck. “Can we maybe lay off on the razzing for a bit? I could use some understanding from my sister.”
Which I normally would be happy to provide, but in this case, I do not understand.
I frowned at her. “Ginny… I can’t risk my position with the team. No matter how much I love her.”
The words tumbled out of me, and Ginny’s eyes widened just a fraction.
You love her?
My throat was thick when I nodded. “I do. God, I love her so much…” My heart squeezed painfully. “But I love you, too. And Mom and Dad. And maybe one day things will be easier for me and Emily.” If she’ll wait, I thought, but didn’t say out loud. “But right now, it’s just…”
Do not say impossible.
“But it is.”
Ginny sighed, her eyes tracking up to the ceiling before she pinned me with a gaze that looked almost… annoyed?
You took the wrong lesson from all of this.
“Gin—”
I’m okay. Look at me.
She waited until I did.
I’m okay. But one day, I won’t be.
Tears stung my nose, my eyes, my throat wobbling. “Ginny.”
It’s the truth. And newsflash, but you don’t get to live forever, either. None of us do.
My chest burned. “I hate this for you,” I admitted, voice croaky and raw. “It kills me, Gin. I love you and I don’t want to see you hurting.”
Ginny’s expression softened. I’m okay.
She paused, thinking.
We’re not all handed the same cards in this life. It’s not always fair. But it’s the one we’ve got. And I love you, too, big brother, I do, but I’m so mad at you right now.
“Why?”
You did not break up with her for me or for football. You broke up with her because you were scared.
My heart stuttered in my chest before kicking back with force.
You’re scared of choosing yourself after a lifetime of convincing yourself you’re not allowed to. Stop using me as the reason you stay unhappy.
I knew it was taking so much effort for her to talk to me even this much that she wasn’t going to beat around the bush. I wasn’t going to get some flowery speech from her.
She was just going to let me have it — brutal and honest, like she always was.
“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded. “I am scared. But it’s more than that. I literally can’t—”
Stop.
Ginny rolled her eyes, using her device feverishly now.
Mom, Dad, and I are okay. We are a family, Braden. I know how much you do for us, how you provide for us, but it doesn’t have to be all on you. We lean on each other, yes, but we do not need your sacrifice. Do you think if you hadn’t gone pro we wouldn’t have figured it out? We always do.
My chest tightened.
She was right.
I hated that I knew it all along, but she was right.
Of course, that money I brought in made things easier.
But there were always going to be other ways to make ends meet if we had to.
I’d majored in business. I had backup plans.
Mom and Dad could have applied for financial help. We would have found a way.
When did I put it all on me to save us?
Ginny kept typing.
And do you really think they are going to fire you for being with Emily if you tell them the truth? That you love her?
She raised a brow, waiting.
“They could,” I argued, but it sounded weaker now. “They warned us. They said if it happened again, someone could lose their job.”
Ginny didn’t even blink before she started typing again.
Could is not the same as would.
“But could is still a possibility. They could cut me,” I said, my thoughts picking up speed now that I’d finally said them out loud.
“If they decide I violated conduct policy, if they think I’m a distraction, if this becomes some PR nightmare— They could pull my guarantees.
Release me. And if they do, that shit follows me.
Every team talks. Every front office hears some version of it.
They don’t hear I fell in love. They hear liability.
Distraction. Bad judgment.” I dragged a hand down my face.
“And if Emily gets caught in the fallout, too? If she loses everything she worked for because of me?”
The room went still after that, the only sound the faint mechanical hum of Ginny’s device as she typed.
So, you are making decisions based on the worst thing that might happen, not the most likely thing that will.
The words impaled me like a bullet.
That is fear, Braden. Not logic.
I exhaled hard through my nose, but I couldn’t argue with that, either.
Because she wasn’t wrong. I had been dressing fear up as responsibility for so long, I wasn’t sure I remembered the difference anymore.
For the first time since I’d walked away from Emily in that hospital, I let myself consider something I hadn’t wanted to admit.
Maybe I hadn’t ended things because there was no way through.
Maybe I’d ended them because I was terrified of what it would cost to try.
Ginny’s fingers moved again.
Also, let’s be serious. Coach is trying to avoid bad publicity, not launch you into the sun.
Despite myself, a short laugh escaped me.
Her mouth tipped at the corner, pleased she’d gotten it.
Then she typed one more thing.
And even if the worst happened, you would still be okay. It might be messy. It might suck for a while, but you’d be okay. You are not some guy bagging groceries because you kissed a girl behind a stadium.
I barked out a real laugh at that, shaking my head. “But it could still blow up. With the podcast clip still going off, all eyes on us… they could start to dig.” I swallowed. “You and Mom and Dad might be brought into it. I don’t know, people are crazy.”
Ginny nodded once and typed:
Maybe. That’s life, big brother. We’re all scared sometimes. But we can’t live in the maybes and let fear drive. We have to let hope take the wheel.
Her words sank in deep, and I quirked a grin. “Wow. That was actually very nice.”
It was exhausting. I’d like to go back to making fun of you forevermore.
I chuckled, but then scrubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t know what to do.”
Talk to her, you idiot. Make things right. And stop trying to be a martyr. We love you and we are fine. We want you to be happy, too.
“She’s right, son.”
Ginny and I looked to Dad, who’d apparently been listening with Mom at the doorway. I hadn’t even noticed them.
Mom had tears in her eyes.
“Aw, Mom,” I said, standing to pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing at her nose when she pulled back. “Honey, your father and I never wanted you to feel all this pressure. Ginny is right — we are fine. Play football if you love it, or leave it all behind. Whatever makes you happy.”
“Football does make me happy,” I said. “I don’t want to lose it — not just for the comfort it provides us, but for the purpose it gives me.” I paused. “But Emily makes me happy, too. Happier than I’ve ever been.”
“Then don’t lose her,” Dad said, as if it were that easy.
“Imagine this with me: Ginny, your mother, and I are all just fine. We go home and get back to life as normal. You tell your coach what’s going on and he says it’ll all be fine.
Your job is safe. Emily can still dance for the team. You two can be together.”
He paused then, smiling at my mom and tucking her under his arm before turning to face me again.
“What’s the best that could happen?”
His question was the exact contrast to the one I’d been living under all year — maybe all my life. For so long, I’d only been asking myself what was the worst that could happen.
What if I lost my job?
What if I failed my family?
What if loving Emily cost too much?
But somewhere along the way, I’d stopped asking the only question that actually mattered.
What if she was worth fighting for anyway?
What if the life I wanted wasn’t on the other side of sacrifice, but courage?
My heart was thundering in my chest now, beating a steady rhythm that had me leaning dangerously into hope.
I looked at Ginny, who blinked with the slightest nod of her head to tell me what I already knew.
I had to make this right.
I bent to kiss her on the forehead. “Thank you for talking some sense into me.”
Thank you for loving me so fiercely.
I smiled, squeezing her shoulder before I wrapped Mom and Dad each in a hug, too.
And then I was out the door without a word. I didn’t need to tell them for them to know.
I was going to get my girl.