Chapter Thirty
Dylan
The roar of go-karts cuts through the air as Darnell pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine. I grab my bag from the backseat, the buzz of a team hangout settling over me. But it doesn’t feel the way it usually does.
Lucy’s running late after taking her mom to a follow-up appointment.
I tell myself I’m just glad she’ll make it at all, but the truth is messier than that. Part of me is relieved. I want to see her, but I also know a conversation is coming. One I’ve been circling and bracing for.
And I’m not ready yet.
I’ve spent my whole life believing that if I worked hard enough, the path would stay clear.
Put in the hours. Hit harder. Study longer. Keep your head down and your goals in front of you.
That was always enough.
Even when things got complicated at home, football made sense. It gave me structure. Momentum. A future that felt measurable.
But there’s nothing measurable about this.
No drill for how to tell the girl you love that the dream you’ve been chasing might take you thousands of miles away.
No playbook for what to do when the thing you want most suddenly comes with a price you’re not sure you can pay.
I keep thinking maybe if I wait a little longer, the answer will feel obvious.
It doesn’t.
“You look like you’re about to get cut from the roster,” Darnell says as we head toward the entrance. “This is supposed to be fun, man. Try smiling.”
I huff out a breath that almost passes for a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll work on that.”
We fall into step beside each other, the noise growing louder as the smell of rubber and fuel thickens around us. My chest feels tight. I’ve been holding everything in for too long.
Coach got a call yesterday afternoon from Ray Upton. If draft weekend passes without my name being called, the Larks want to pursue me as a priority free agent.
“The Larks are interested,” I say finally.
Darnell slows. “What did they say?”
I stop walking. “They want to pursue me as a priority free agent if I don’t get drafted.”
He freezes, then spins toward me, eyes wide. “That means they’re serious.”
I nod. His hand comes down on my shoulder hard enough to jolt me forward. “They’re interested.”
“Holy shit, Sharpe. That’s it. That’s the dream. West Coast. Big league. You did it.”
I swallow. “Not yet.”
He grins, already picturing it. “Man, I knew it. I knew it.”
“I don’t know what it would mean for Lucy and me.”
The words sound heavier than I expect.
“It means you made it.”
“It means I might end up three time zones away from her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. And I mean, long distance isn’t horrible.”
“She’s not just someone I’m dating,” I say, heat creeping into my voice. “She’s… everything.”
Darnell scrubs a hand over his face. “Man, I get loving someone. But this? This is once-in-a-lifetime.”
“So is what I have with her,” I fire back.
He goes quiet for a second, then shakes his head. “You’re thinking with your heart instead of your head.”
“Maybe,” I say. “I don’t know what I’d choose if it came down to that.”
He sighs, clearly frustrated. “There are guys in that building who would give anything for one team to say their name. Don’t turn a possibility into a sacrifice before Lucy even knows it exists.”
That’s the worst part.
I know how much everyone wants an opportunity like this.
We stand there in the noise and chaos, neither of us moving. Finally, he claps my shoulder again.
Inside, the team’s already gathered. Marcus and Derek are messing around at the counter, helmets in hand. When they spot me, Marcus grins.
“Sharpe! Ready to embarrass us again?”
I force a smile. “I’ll go easy. Maybe.”
They laugh, the normalcy a welcome reprieve. This—competition, adrenaline, the guys—it’s always been my anchor.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Lucy: Almost there.
Relief arrives tangled with dread.
No matter what happens with football, she’s the variable I can’t calculate. The one thing that doesn’t fit neatly into playbooks or projections.
And standing here, surrounded by noise and motion, the truth I haven’t said out loud yet reveals itself.
For the first time, the future I’ve always wanted no longer feels like the only one available.
Marcus opens his mouth to fire back, but the door swings open before he can get a word out.
Everyone turns.
Greg and Meredith walk in already fighting.
“I told you not to bring that up here,” Meredith snaps.
“Then stop pretending everything’s fine,” Greg fires back.
The room shifts around them. Darnell looks at me and jerks his chin toward the track. “Let’s get geared up.”
As we walk away, their voices follow us, sharp, resentful, familiar in a way I wish they weren’t.
And I hate that a small part of me recognizes it.
The unspoken tension. The spite. The feeling of two people pulling in opposite directions.
It reminds me of my parents. Of the awkwardness Lucy had to endure in Dallas.
Some relationships are built on mutual respect. And some on mutual resentment.
Whatever their mess is, I’ve got my own.
Like how I’m going to tell Lucy about the Larks.
Like how I’m not sure whether chasing my dream means losing the person who feels like home.
I’m reaching for a helmet when the door opens again.
I don’t even have to turn around.
“Dylan?”
Her voice hits me straight in the chest.
I spin, and there she is—Lucy—standing just inside the doorway, smiling like the world hasn’t been chewing me up all morning.
I cross the space between us and pull her close. The kiss starts soft, but the relief of seeing her makes it linger.
She leans into me, her hand pressing flat against my chest.
“I missed you,” I murmur against her lips.
“I missed you too,” she says, cheeks flushing the way they always do.
For a second, nothing else exists. Not the Larks. Not Darnell’s disappointment. Not the knot in my gut.
“Get a room,” Greg’s voice cuts in, sharp and mocking. “Or are you two gonna keep putting on a show?”
I turn slowly, irritation flaring hot and fast.
Lucy’s fingers curl slightly into my shirt—keeping me from losing it.
“Chill out, Greg,” I warn. “We’re just saying hello.”
Greg smirks. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t let her get in your head, Sharpe. Wouldn’t want you losing focus.”
Before I can respond, Meredith appears at his side, rolling her eyes. “Ignore him,” she says to Lucy. The gentleness in Meredith’s voice surprises me almost as much as Greg’s silence. “He’s in one of his moods.”
“I plan to,” Lucy replies easily, her smile polite but cool.
Darnell claps his hands loudly. “Alright! Enough soap-opera drama. Let’s race.”
The tension breaks just enough for us to move on.
I take Lucy’s hand as we line up, giving it a squeeze. Her eyes are bright now—competitive and excited. I forget, sometimes, that she has this side.
The engines roar.
And then she takes off.
I blink as Lucy clips the first turn clean and fast, body leaning instinctively into the curve.
Where the hell did that come from?
We chase her, but she’s smooth and confident. When I pull alongside her, she grins and darts ahead again, leaving me eating dust.
The race ends with Lucy crossing first.
Darnell throws his hands up. “No way. Absolutely not.”
Lucy climbs out of her kart laughing. “My dad used to take me to a track outside town,” she admits.
“You’ve been holding out on us,” I say, draping an arm over her shoulders. “That was impressive.”
“I aim to surprise,” she says lightly.
Greg snorts as he walks past. “You letting your girl win, Sharpe?”
I don’t even look at him.
“Hey,” I say to Lucy instead, my voice softer. “Can we talk for a minute?”
Her smile fades just a touch. “Yeah. Of course.”
I lead her away from the track, somewhere quieter. The walk feels longer than it should.
I’ve imagined telling her in a dozen different ways.
In the parking lot after a game.
On the phone late at night.
Maybe sitting somewhere calm, where the words wouldn’t feel like they had teeth.
Not here, with the smell of exhaust in the air and arcade noise buzzing through the walls.
But maybe there’s no perfect place for a conversation like this.
Maybe there’s only the truth, and the moment you stop pretending it can wait.
I look at her and feel everything at once—love, hope, fear, the sharp ache of knowing that this might be the first time we say something to each other that can’t be softened once it lands.
I take a breath.
“Coach heard from Ray yesterday. If I don’t get drafted, the Larks want to pursue me as a priority free agent.”
Her face brightens. “Dylan, that’s incredible.”
“It is. But it could also mean California.”
Her smile slowly fades.
“I need to ask you something,” I say. “And I’m not asking for a promise. Could you ever see yourself coming with me?”
Her eyes widen—not in shock, but under the weight of the question.
“I’m not asking you to decide today,” I clarify.
She looks down at our hands, fingers fidgeting.
“I don’t know, Dylan,” she says quietly. “I love you. But that’s a lot. I’ve never lived anywhere else. My family’s here. My whole life is here.”
Each word lands carefully. Honestly.
“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” she adds.
I nod, even though something inside me aches.
I knew this wasn’t going to be easy.
But hearing it out loud makes it real.
Part of me wants to tell her it’s okay. That I understand. That she doesn’t owe me some dramatic leap into the unknown just because I love her.
And I do understand.
That’s what makes this hurt.
Lucy isn’t refusing me. She’s being honest. The same way she always is.
Asking her to leave everything behind isn’t a small thing.
Her life is not something she can fold into a suitcase simply because I ask. I understand that. I just hate that understanding does nothing to make the distance smaller.
“I’m not sure I want to play for the Larks. And I don’t know if I want a future that puts three time zones between us.”
Her expression falls. “You can’t turn it down because of me.”
“I’m not saying I am.”
“You can’t walk away from everything you’ve worked for because I’m afraid to leave home.”
“This isn’t only about what you’re afraid of.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “It’s about what I want now.”
“And what do you want?”
“You,” I say. “Football, too. But not a version that means losing you.”
Her eyes shine, but she shakes her head. “I love you too much to let you decide this before you know what you’d be giving up.”
“And I love you too much to pretend you aren’t part of the decision.”
Neither of us speaks.
The track roars beyond the wall, people moving and laughing while our whole future seems to press into the space between us.
Finally, I understand that there may be no choice that leaves everything untouched.