I wanted to claw back everything I’d said at the stinging pain in her eyes. Every fiber of my being shouted that I should wrap her up in my arms and tell her I was sorry, the same voice telling me this was a mistake and I was an idiot. What did any of that matter? The cheering stadiums, the fans, the draft. This was what had stopped my dad dead in his tracks. I wasn’t going to live a life of regret. I couldn’t do that to myself, and I couldn’t do that to her. This was for the best. This was what we’d both decided in the beginning.
