Chapter 40
MILO
We sit high above the field, the turf a green sea far below us. Sadie’s cheeks are still flushed from laughing, from running, from being brave enough to feel again—and now her arms fold over my jersey like she’s trying to keep herself from shaking.
I hate the way she’s looking at me, because she’s right to.
I lean back and exhale. “When I was injured, it wasn’t just my knee.”
Sadie’s brows furrow, and I want to reach out and rub the tension from her face, but instead I continue.
“Things got dark for me. It sounds so superficial to say I didn’t know who I was without football, but I didn’t know who I was without football. I had built my identity around it, and when it was taken from me, I was lost.”
There were days I didn’t leave my bed. I lost fifty pounds, shadows slipping beneath my eyes when they weren’t haunting me in my dreams. Shadows of who I could have been and who I was becoming—wasted talent, wasted years, wasted sacrifices all in the name of love for a sport that was as quick to abandon me as it was to define me.
I sigh before continuing, “Caleb found me one day in my apartment, skin and bones. I couldn’t eat. I could hardly stand for more than two minutes. I felt like a shell of a human. I was there but I wasn’t.”
I remember Caleb beating at my door, yelling my name repeatedly.
I remember answering in a daze and seeing his face instantly morph from concern to fear, and that’s when I knew I looked as bad as I felt.
He said I was more ghost than person. He quickly put his arms around me, afraid I would crumple to the floor.
“It’s strange thinking about it now. The guys all still had practice and games. The season had just started. I told them all I was fine. Told them all I just needed some time to figure things out. But instead, I was angry, then ashamed, then I was just alone.”
Sadie’s brown eyes are now pooling with tears I don’t deserve. I reach out and wipe one before it can trail down her cheek.
“I didn’t know,” she says softly.
I smile and shake my head. “No one did. Anyway, Caleb got me some help. I started seeing a therapist, a nutritionist, and a physical trainer. Caleb did what he knew to do—train the body and mind. He checked in with me daily—in person so I couldn’t send a text and lie that I was fine. He’s a good guy.”
“He seems to be. I like him,” Sadie replies as she reaches for my hand. I let her take it, feeling the warmth of her seep through my skin.
“Dr. Jones, my therapist, was patient with me. I’d never seen a therapist before. At first, I thought it was stupid. My first sessions I barely said two sentences, but then I started to talk. Yell. Cry. Everything came out. My dad, my mom, my grandpa . . .”
“Joe?” she questions, her tone lifting slightly.
“I love my grandpa, Sadie. I do, and he did his best, but you know Joe.” I squeeze her hand. “Emotion isn’t something he knows how to do, and I had a lot to sort through as a kid that I never did.”
She nods. “I do know. Joe would have told you to suck it up.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Yes, he would have, and tough love wasn’t what I needed. Not after the injury.”
She nods again. “He does love you.”
My heart grows heavy thinking about Grandpa and Sadie spoon-feeding him. “I don’t like that I hurt him. I didn’t know you were having to take care of him.”
“I love Joe, too,” she says. “Did he know? That you were . . .”
“Depressed?” I say before I shake my head. “No. Did he know he was depressed?”
Sadie’s eyes glisten. “I’m not sure Joe believes in that kind of depression.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, then I add softly, “It’s also when I started to pick up your Bible. I used to flip through as a kid trying to find myself in the stories. Brave as David. Strong as Samson. Chosen like Joseph. I liked the heroes. The ones who won.”
I pause, staring down at the field.
“But when I got hurt, I wasn’t looking for a hero to model anymore. Or a comeback. I was looking for someone who didn’t win and still chose to live.”
Sadie’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I read about Elijah wanting to die under a tree. About Peter failing after swearing he wouldn’t. About Paul begging for something to be taken away and God saying no.” I swallow. “I’d never paid attention to that part before. The part where strength didn’t fix it.”
I turn to Sadie. Her eyes are gentle, and I know my words are safe with her. They always have been.
“For the first time, I wasn’t reading to measure up.
I was reading because I couldn’t. I didn’t open it to find myself in the victories.
I opened it because I needed help sitting in the loss.
” I shift in my seat. “It took me time, Sadie. I didn’t want to come to you broken.
I didn’t want you to feel you had to fix me. ”
“I wouldn’t have—”
I shake my head. “You would have. You abandoned everything for your family. I knew you’d have done the same for me.”
“But I could have helped. I could have been there for you if you’d let me be,” she argues.
“I was embarrassed, Sadie,” I finally say, the words more of a whisper even though they’re a declaration. “You had such big faith in me, in my dream. At the time, all I could see was my failure. Every time I pictured coming home, I pictured your face when you realized I wasn’t who you thought.”
My gaze sweeps back to the field below us, but I can feel hers on me.
“I knew you were more than football, Milo,” she says.
“But I didn’t. I was twenty-four. I had just spent six years of my life dedicating every minute of my life to it.
” I pause to take a breath before trying to tell Sadie a story that might make her feel what it was like.
“Football wasn’t a hobby. It was 5 a.m. lifts when the sky was still black.
Protein shakes before sunrise and ice baths before bed.
It was weighing in every Monday morning and being told exactly how much muscle I’d gained or lost, like my worth could be measured in pounds.
It was film until my eyes burned—rewinding the same missed block ten times because Coach said the difference between good and great was in the details.
“Stadium lights ready to highlight your mistakes or glorify your success. Playbooks thicker than textbooks and memorizing audibles like they were Scripture. Trainers stretching muscles I couldn’t feel anymore and taping joints that never fully healed.
“It was being told since I was seventeen that I had a gift—and then structuring my entire life around proving I deserved it.
“So when it was gone . . .”
“Your life was this field,” she murmurs. “Or a field.”
I nod, still looking at the turf. “When the field disappeared, I didn’t know how to make a decision without it.”
My body had been on a schedule so strict I knew exactly what I’d be doing at 3:17 p.m. on a Wednesday. And then suddenly I had nowhere to be. No one checking my weight. No playbook to memorize. No teammates banging on my locker.
Just silence.
“You still love it, don’t you?” she asks.
“The game?” I tilt my head back toward her.
She nods.
“I’ll always love the game. I think there are some ways it could be improved, ways I could have done things differently.
” I sit up straighter. “Dr. Jones suggested I try something new.” I stop and squeeze her hand as her eyes widen.
I’d been surprised when I plucked that piece of paper from her pocket weeks ago.
“I had a history degree, but I never thought I’d use it, so I pursued teaching. ”
“And TikTok with the fake glasses?” Her mouth curves up in a smirk.
“Yes, and TikTok—with what I believe you called sexy glasses.” Her smile widens before I add, “I also tried golf, swimming, and I took a culinary course.”
“Culinary? You can cook?” she asks, surprised.
I shrug. “Sort of. My chopping skills are fantastic, but I tend to cook everything on high heat.”
She laughs, and the sound is light in the midst of what feels heavy.
“I wasn’t sure what else was for me. I just knew I had to try, but more than that I had to heal, and I had to forgive myself for the choices I’d made.”
She swallows hard and blinks. “And then you came back.”
“And then I came back when I was ready, with a wild hope that you’d let me back in,” I say.
Her lips lift gently. “And here I thought I was the only one who was struggling.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “There were days I didn’t even want to wake up, Sadie. I’ve struggled. We all struggle. But I’ve had help and I’ve found forgiveness. I can thank you for part of that.”
“I wouldn’t have been so hard on you if I had known,” she says softly. “When you came back.”
I lean over, running my hand down the side of her face before I pull her toward me and press a kiss on her forehead. “I didn’t need you to be easy on me. I needed you to be honest.”
She nuzzles in beneath my chin. “Thank you for telling me.”
I breathe her in—the aroma of warm vanilla and memories of what matters most. I press another kiss to her temple before I pull away slightly. “We better get back to the hotel so we can get ready for tonight. Are you sure you want to go?”
She looks up at me, her lips spreading into a wide smile. “You’re not talking me out of it, Hot Shot.”