Chapter Twenty-Six
Dylan
I pause outside the bathroom door, my hand hovering inches from the wood. The tension from breakfast still clings to me—the forced smiles, the clipped responses, the way the room shifted the moment Dad walked in. And now Lucy’s locked herself in here, probably carrying more of it than she should.
I knock softly. “Lucy?”
Water runs for a second, then stops.
“I’m okay,” she calls, though she doesn’t sound convincing.
“Can I come in?”
The lock clicks.
Lucy stands at the sink, gripping the counter. I close the door behind me but stop a few feet away.
“I knew things were complicated,” she says. “I just didn’t expect the whole room to change when your dad walked in.”
“Neither did I.” I lean against the door. “They’re usually better when they only have to be civil for five minutes.”
Her expression softens. “I’m worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“That’s not how loving someone works.”
The answer catches me off guard.
I hold out my hand, and she crosses the space between us.
Holidays used to sound different in this house.
When Gemma and I were kids, Thanksgiving meant noise—football blaring from the TV, Mom shouting at Dad for sneaking bites of stuffing before dinner, and neighbors drifting in and out of the kitchen like it was open territory.
Back then the tension was playful.
Now it feels like everyone is carefully stepping around invisible cracks in the floor.
“We can leave if you want.”
“No,” she says. “I just needed a minute.”
“Take as long as you need.”
She rests her forehead against my chest. “Am I making this harder?”
“No. This family was complicated long before you arrived.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“For being you.”
I kiss her softly.
“I should go back before they turn breakfast into a negotiation.”
She gives me a grateful smile, and I slip out alone.
I close the door and take a steadying breath. I thought bringing Lucy here would help her understand that I see her in my future.
Now, I’m not sure this trip is showing her what I hoped it would.
When I return, the kitchen feels different from before. Mom and Dad sit across from each other, plates barely touched. Mom looks up first, worry written all over her face. Dad pretends his phone is more interesting than the room.
“Lucy okay?” Mom asks, glancing toward the hall.
“Yeah,” I say, sitting down. “Just needed a breather.”
Mom looks toward the hallway. “I’m sorry if we made her uncomfortable.”
Dad sets his phone down. “So am I.”
Mom’s gaze flicks toward him. “Then perhaps we can act like adults for one morning.”
“That was the plan,” he says.
The temperature in the room drops another degree.
“Okay,” I cut in. “Let’s not test that plan before breakfast is over. Dad and I are going to put on the game. You okay in here?”
Mom nods. “Gemma and I have it handled.”
I push back from the table, already planning how to keep the peace.
And when Lucy comes back out, I’ll make damn sure she knows she’s not alone in this—not for a second.
Some of the tension leaves Dad’s face. “It’s been a while since we watched a game together.”
Dad starts toward the living room just as footsteps sound behind us. Lucy walks back into the kitchen, looking more composed now, though there’s still a trace of hesitation in her eyes. When she looks at me, I give her a small, comforting smile.
“Lucy,” Mom says gently. “How are you feeling, honey?”
“I’m okay,” Lucy replies. “Just needed a breather.”
Mom winces slightly. “I’m really sorry about earlier. That wasn’t how I wanted the morning to go. I just thought it would be nice for you to meet… everyone.”
Lucy lets out a light laugh, easing the tension. “It’s okay. Families can be complicated.”
Gemma has been hovering near the pantry, pretending not to listen.
“Lucy,” my sister begins, “I was actually hoping you’d help me with some of the Thanksgiving prep. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, green bean casserole—the good stuff. Want to join me?”
Lucy’s face brightens immediately. “I’d love to.”
Gemma hands Lucy a potato peeler, and within minutes, the guardedness leaves their conversation. Gemma’s always been good at smoothing rough edges, and I’m grateful she’s stepping in without making a big deal out of it.
I stop worrying about whether she belongs. She’s already making her own place.
Away from Mom, some of the tension leaves Dad’s posture. He nudges me as we walk toward the living room.
“You picked a good one,” he says.
I grin. “Yeah. I know.”
We settle onto the couch, Dad grabbing the remote and flipping through channels until he lands on a game. The familiar sounds—crowd noise, commentators, the thud of pads—fill the room. It’s distracting in a way I didn’t realize I needed.
After a few minutes, Dad speaks without looking away from the screen. “Any updates from the scout?”
I lean back, staring at the TV without really seeing it. “Not yet. Upton said he wants a few more games before he circles back.”
Dad nods. “Hard part’s the waiting.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Feels like everything’s riding on it.”
Gemma says something that makes Lucy laugh, and the sound eases the tension in my chest.
Dad mutes the TV and turns toward me. “Have you thought much about what happens if you get a real shot at the next level?”
“All the time.”
“Have you asked Lucy what she wants?”
My gaze finds the kitchen. “We’ve talked about it.”
“Talking about it isn’t the same as making a plan.”
“There’s nothing to plan yet.”
“Exactly. Let the opportunity become real before you ask either of you to reorganize your lives around it.”
He smiles and turns the volume back up.
The game resumes. The house hums with activity.
I glance toward the kitchen.
Part of me wants to walk back in there, wrap my arms around her, and pretend the future doesn’t exist beyond this house and this weekend.
But football has never been something I could pretend away.
I thought coming home might make the future feel simpler. Instead, Lucy’s laughter drifts in from the kitchen while football fills the room, and I realize simplicity was never really the goal.
I want a life with Lucy and football.
I want both.
The question is no longer whether that’s possible.
It’s whether I can stop trying to control every step long enough to build it with her.