The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(99)

“I don’t hate it. I just don’t think I love it as much as I love other things.”

“Other things, as in Hazel?”

I drag my hand over my cheek. “Yeah, football isn’t even in the same stratosphere as Hazel.”

“So, what are your options?” Hutton asks.

“Two,” I say, looking him in the eyes. “Life with Hazel and life without her.”

“I’m pretty sure I can guess which one you’re leaning toward.”

“More like jumping toward.”





Crew: Headed back to school today. You should come down and visit. Have you ever been to Georgia?

Hazel: Crew, after everything that’s happened, I’m just not sure if we should be talking.

Crew: You don’t have to talk to me if that’s how you really feel. But I’m going to talk to you because I promised I’d never leave you again.

Hazel: It hurts too much hearing from you.

Crew: Then don’t let it. I don’t understand what’s holding you back from being with me. It’s simple, Hazel, just you and me.

Hazel: It’s not that simple. Do you not have any regrets about the farm? No sentimental loyalty to the place you spent your summers? Or your parents, a place where they grew up? It’s going to be demolished, Crew.

Crew: I do have regrets about it, but my regret of leaving without making sure we were good outweighs that. If Pops didn’t want it sold, he wouldn’t have set up the investors.

Hazel: I can’t believe you’d say that.

Crew: Can we not argue, please?

Hazel: I really have nothing else to say to you at this point.





“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” River asks, talking to me on Facetime while holding his figurine I sent him from Germany. Hollis called him to discuss my “present.”

Keeping a straight face, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, where am I supposed to put this?”

“You got a tuba player,” Hollis says, “I got a violinist.”

“And what did you do with it?” River asks.

“Set it on my dresser.” Hollis shrugs. “The heartfelt letter explained it all.”

“My heartfelt letter said: ‘This cherub’s ass reminds me of yours,’” River deadpans, and I crack a smile. I forgot I wrote that.

“Ah, look, you got him to smile.” Hollis points at me. “Finally.”

River sets the figurine on the table next to him and then sits on his couch. Hollis takes a seat in the chair across from me, and I can feel both their eyes staring me down.

“What?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

River says, “I thought you were going to return in a better mood.”

“I’m in a fine mood.”

Hollis shakes his head. “False, man. The other guys are nervous to go near you.”

“I really don’t want to get into my issues right now. Can we talk about something else?” I hand the phone to Hollis, not wanting to stare River in the face, or either of them for that matter.

They fall silent, and then Hollis asks, “Did you try on any lederhosen?”

Sighing, I stand from the couch and head to the kitchen, where I grab myself a water bottle, and then head up the stairs to my bedroom. I hear Hollis shout, “I’m going to take that as a no.”

Once in my room, I shut my door and lean against it. Bags for the combine are still unpacked, sitting in the middle of my room, reminding me that I haven’t decided what the hell I’m going to do.

Dreams are a funny thing—you fixate on them for so long that they inevitably become a part of you. They mold into your being and become the driving force behind your actions, your attitude.

I’m going to go pro one day, Pops.

I declared it, put it out there in the universe.

And I trained. I missed three summers with Pops because of that training. I neglected the one person that matters the most to me because of football. And I lost time, time I can never, ever get back.

And for what? To say I became a professional football player? To play on the big stage, throw a ball for a living?

A dream for some. It was a dream for me, but I’m not so sure anymore.

I take a big gulp of my water and then go to my backpack. I unzip it and grab my laptop, and as I pull it out, a white envelope floats to the floor. I pause and stare at the familiar handwriting that says: “Crew – for emergencies.”

Confused, I pick up the letter and take a seat on my bed. Setting my laptop to the side, I open the letter and steel myself as I find a new letter from Pops.

Dear Crew,

If you’re reading this letter, it’s because your parents have decided you need it. They see you going through a life moment and believe you need to hear these words.

First, I need you to know something, I love you. I know I said it every chance I got, but I wanted to say it one more time. I love you, kiddo. You remind me so much of your father that sometimes I almost found myself calling you Porter. And not just because you look just like him, but the way you chase your goals. How you set your mind to something, and you don’t ease up until you have it.

But you also remind me a lot of your mom and her stubbornness. Which she gets from me, unfortunately. Why am I saying this? Because, if you combine your goal-driven self with stubbornness, you could possibly find yourself headed down the wrong path and too stubborn to admit to it.