Chapter 17
I Almost Do
Dylan
“Mac, we’ll be ready in about five more minutes,” the provost’s assistant announced, sticking her head in the door.
Mac. It had all started here. In this stadium. His career. His nickname. His legacy.
It started when he was still playing at MBU— the local media needed something snappy— and it stuck. His family never used it. Neither did Ali, not that she used his name much at all anymore. Not since she walked away ten years ago.
He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, half-listening as Kallie rattled off the event schedule from the corner of the VIP lounge. The room overlooked The Reef where the setting sun painted the bleachers in warm, copper light.
Kallie tapped her tablet. “Your speech is second, right after the provost’s welcome. I already emailed you the updated script, but your version is better— more heart, less institution-speak.”
He nodded, distracted, gaze drifting out the floor-to-ceiling window to the field where everything changed.
His last game at Magnolia Bluff had been under those same lights.
He’d thrown three touchdowns, won the Southern Coastal Conference MVP, and had Ali in the stands— her voice the only one he could always hear.
She’d worn his hoodie over her dress that night, proud and beaming.
Had told him she loved him. Had given him everything later that night in his dorm.
He swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.
And then came the party a few weeks later after winning the bowl game.
His stomach tightened at the memory. The glow of victory was still warm when everything fell apart.
Daisy. Her Kappa Nu sisters. That awful karaoke incident.
He should’ve stopped them. He still didn’t know why he froze, what made him hesitate.
He was a stupid kid and was embarrassed by what Daisy had done.
Ali misunderstood, taking his hesitation as shame of her. He still lived with the guilt.
He hadn’t even known how bad it was. Not until the next day, when guilt set in like a slow rot. He should’ve protected her. Should’ve stood up. Should’ve left Myrtle Beach immediately— to hell with the university’s rules.
But he hadn’t. And by the time he got to Honeyshore, his life as he knew it was forever changed.
“Earth to Mac.” Kallie snapped her fingers gently, smiling. “You good?”
He blinked, dragging his focus back to the present. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”
“About the speech or the donation?” she teased, setting the tablet down.
“Both.” It was a lie, and she knew it. He was thankful for her friendship.
She had been part of Daisy’s “big family” at Kappa Nu, studying Sports Management and Business.
They didn’t really know each other because she was a couple classes above him, but he ran into her at Greek mixers and formals when he was still a Freshman.
After going on to law school at Georgia University, she took on a full-time position at Summit Athletic Management in their Southern Division.
Signing Dylan had skyrocketed her as one of their top agents.
Kallie tilted her head, softening. “You sure you’re ready for this? It’s a big moment.”
“I want to do it,” he said simply. “For Altman. For the guys who are still here. For the ones we never knew struggled, and the ones we may not know are struggling even now.”
Kallie’s expression shifted— proud, but thoughtful. “You're a good man, Mac. You’ve always cared more than you let on.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t change the fact I couldn’t fix it back then.”
“No one expects you to fix the past,” she said, voice gentle now. “But you’re building something better going forward. That counts.”
He looked out over the field again, trying to believe that.
But all he could think about was the girl in the stands who once believed in him before anyone else…
believed in him other than his ability to throw a football.
The one person he wanted to see tonight, even if he knew she wouldn’t want to see him.
And then it hit him— that feeling. That spark of presence.
He didn’t know how, but suddenly, he knew.
She was here.
The crowd murmured politely as Dylan stepped up to the podium, the spotlight warming his features. His eyes scanned the room— faces blurred in the dim light, smiles polite, but none quite held his attention. Until, across the banquet hall by the windows, he saw her.
Ali.
She sat at a table with people he didn’t recognize, a tall redhead whispering to her, framed by the glowing stadium lights, the sequins on her dress catching the gleam like tiny stars.
For a heartbeat, everything else faded— the chatter, the music, the distant echo of a crowd long gone.
There was Ali, the girl he’d loved and lost, looking just as striking as the day she pushed him away.
His throat tightened. Years of anger and regret tangled with something softer, deeper. He wanted to cross the room, to say everything and nothing at once. But the moment was fragile, charged— and all he could do was hold her gaze, silently asking if she was still there.
Dylan stepped up to the mic, stadium lights glowing beyond the tall banquet windows. He paused for a breath, voice quiet but strong.
“Thank you Provost Kensington. Good evening. First off, thank you for being here tonight— for showing up not just in sequins and sneakers, but with heart, with purpose, and with hope.
Six months ago, we lost a senior running back— a teammate, a friend, and a brother to so many— who struggled with battles most of us couldn’t see. Altman Patterson was the kind of guy who lit up the field and the locker room. He ran with fire. He smiled big. And behind it all… he was hurting.
His passing shook us to our core. And it forced us to confront a painful truth: that mental health is just as vital to our athletes as physical strength. The weight of silence can crush even the strongest. We missed the signs. We missed him.
And now we carry that weight. But we’re choosing to carry it forward. To build something better.
That’s why tonight, your support means more than ever. The funds we raise tonight will go directly toward launching something we’ve been dreaming of— a new initiative we’re calling:
Project AP: Above the Break.
Named in honor of Altman Patterson. And created for every student-athlete who’s ever felt like they were treading water with no one on the shore.
This program will provide direct access to mental health resources— counseling, mentorship, early intervention, and education— designed specifically for the lives of student-athletes. Not just a hotline or a pamphlet, but real, ongoing support.
Because football teaches us about toughness. Teamwork. Resilience. But it also teaches us that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do… is ask for help.
We want our athletes to know: You are seen. You are heard. You are not alone. Not on this field, not at this school, not in this family.
So let this be our rally cry. Not just for Altman— but for every Shark who comes after him.
At the Bluff, the tide don’t break.
We fight.
We finish.
We rise.”
The lights were warm on his face, but Dylan barely noticed. Applause washed over him, but his pulse was stuck on something else entirely. Her.
Alison Katherine Presley.
He hadn’t expected her to come. Hadn’t even dared to hope. But there she was— just like she used to be and somehow completely different. Her hair had changed, it was lighter now, no longer a dirty blonde. But it was definitely her. That energy. That gravity.
Kallie had warned him not to get distracted tonight. But the second their eyes locked across the room, he wasn’t standing at a podium anymore— he was back at The Reef, heart pounding, scanning the bleachers for her smile.
"Magnolia Bluff gave me everything I never knew I needed— a team, a future… and a place to belong. Tonight, I get to give something back.”
He nodded toward the screens flanking the stage. “We’ve got ten incredible live auction items lined up for you tonight in addition to the 4 tables of silent auction items in the back that y'all have been bidding on all night. All proceeds go directly to fund Project AP: Above the Break.”
Applause again—louder this time, heartfelt.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Let’s kick it off with something close to home.” He gestured to the first item on the list: “Dinner for six at Coach Busby’s lake house, with private film night on the dock.” That got a laugh from the former players in the room.
He walked the crowd through the next few items: a weekend retreat at a vineyard near Athens donated by an alum, signed memorabilia from MBU’s 2015 White Oak Bowl championship season, a local artist’s one-of-a-kind painting of The Reef at sunset.
But it was the final item that made the room buzz.
“And for our final package,” Dylan said, letting his smile tug just slightly wider, “I’m offering four box suite tickets to a home game with the Orlando Tritons— including full VIP access, a postgame meet-and-greet, and dinner in the team lounge.
I’ll be there. So will Kallie. She made me include her in the package. ”
The audience chuckled.
He looked out over the crowd, eyes scanning instinctively— though he tried not to. Was she still watching?
“I’m proud to offer this tonight,” he finished. “Because this place— this school— made me who I am. And maybe if we keep showing up for each other, it’ll make someone else whole again, too.”
As he went to retreat from the stage, Provost Kensington stopped him and took to the mic.
“On behalf of myself, AD Jackson, the MBU athletic department, and our student athletes, we would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to Mac for his generous donation to help found Project AP. He has graciously offered to match tonight’s funds raised during the live auction. ”
Another round of applause erupted. Building to a standing ovation for one of their own.
He stepped back from the stage now, handing it off to the professional auctioneer brought in for the night— a fast-talking alum with a booming voice and a toothy grin who’d clearly done this before.
“Alright, folks,” the man boomed, “let’s make some noise and open those wallets! First up, dinner and a movie with none other than Coach Busby!”
The crowd laughed and hollered. Dylan smiled, hands clasped loosely in front of him as he moved to the side of the stage, just out of the spotlight. Kallie joined him, iPad in hand, already tracking bids in real time on the donor app.
“Nice delivery,” she murmured. “You didn’t even look like you were scanning the room for her.”
He shot her a look. “Subtle, Kallie.”
She winked. “I’m pretty damn good at my job. I get paid to notice things, Mac. Nothing gets by me.”
He rolled his shoulders back, trying to refocus. But it was impossible to shake the knowledge that Ali Presley was here— maybe watching. Probably avoiding him entirely.
The first few items went quickly, laughter and friendly competition bubbling through the crowd.
The Coach Busby dinner racked up a respectable $3,500.
The vineyard weekend went even higher, a bidding war between a pair of former teammates now married and clearly out to one-up each other.
Dylan forced a smile for the photos, posed with a donor or two. But his eyes kept drifting.
The auctioneer’s voice cut through again. “Now let’s talk football. Let’s talk the NFL. Let’s talk box suite tickets to see the Orlando Tritons on their home turf— four of them. All access. Private dinner. VIP passes. And a night hosted by Magnolia Bluff’s own Mac McKenzie!”
A cheer rose from the crowd.
Dylan gave a tight nod and stepped forward again, this time only for effect. He let the energy build.
“Do I hear two thousand?” the auctioneer called. “Yes— three? Four? We’re at five now!”
Kallie leaned in. “You should smile. You’re about to break eight grand.”
He tried. “You think she’s still here?”
Kallie didn’t need to ask who he meant. She scanned the crowd casually. “Back left. Near the windows.”
His breath caught. He didn’t dare look. Not yet. Not while standing in front of hundreds of people.
“Nine thousand!” the auctioneer roared. “Do I hear ten?”
Another cheer. A chant stared. “The tide don’t break! The tide don’t break!” A hand shot up near the stage.
“Ten thousand it is! Anyone going to top that?”
Silence for a beat.
“Going once… going twice…”
Dylan let his gaze drift— just barely. Just enough to catch a shimmer of navy sequin near the edge of the crowd.
Then someone shouted from the back “Fifteen thousand!”
Dylan’s eyes shot to the back. Waving her brochure like she was at a rock concert, the redhead next to Ali. Ali was staring at her like she’d lost damn her mind.
“Going once… going twice,” the auctioneer did one last scan. “Sold! To the lady in gold!”
“Thank you ma’am— and thank you, Mac McKenzie, for donating what just became our highest bid of the night!”
More applause. Flashbulbs. Kallie tugged him back toward the shadows as the auctioneer queued up the next item.
But Dylan wasn’t listening anymore. Not to the bidding. Not to the music. Not to the well-wishers.
She was still here.
Ali.
And this night had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.