Page 104 of Fighting Fate

"Alright, let's go," I say, grabbing my jacket and wristlet, ready to take on the night.

Arm in arm, Payson, Brooke, and I stride through the dorm hall, drawing curious glances. Tonight's gala at Gridiron Glory Hall is an exclusive event, and our glamorous attire stands out amidst the typical Sunday evening of studying and dorm life.

As we step outside, a crisp autumn breeze envelopes us, carrying the promise of change. I pull my jacket closer around my shoulders, disentangling my arm from the girls as we make our way to my jeep. There's a tangible buzz of excitement in the air, anticipation building for an evening that feels destined to be unforgettable.

Miles

"Hey, Miles, it's Dr. Reynolds. We're reaching out for the last time. We get it; this is a lot for you to take in. We've done everything possible on our side. Remember, you're in charge now; you're an adult, and the decision about your treatment rests with you. We're hoping you'll decide what's best. Please, when you're ready, give me a call back."

"Fuck, this is the fifth time this week they've fucking called me," I mutter to myself, a simmering frustration brewing as I listen to the voicemail. His words reverberate through the phone, casting a shadow of dread over me. There it stands, stark and undeniable—my health, my decision. It's a burdensome realization, grappling with the fact that the choice rests solely on my shoulders.

In a moment of annoyance, my phone slips from my grasp, landing with a soft crack on the bathroom vanity. "Perfect, just what I needed," I groan, spotting a new crack on the screen. As if I don't have enough on my plate.

My reflection in the mirror looks back at me, a mix of anger and helplessness in my eyes. I try to steady my racing heart, gripping the counter as if it's the only thing keeping me grounded. This tremor in my hands, it's like my body's betraying me, revealing the turmoil I'm fighting so hard to hide.

I slam my fist against the countertop, a wave of frustration washing over me. "Fuck, get it together, Miles. You've got to pull it together," I whisper to myself, trying to muster some semblance of control.

Tonight's gala is more than just another event. It's my senior year, the year when everything's supposed to fall into place. My future, my career, it all feels like it's hanging in the balance. I need to show up, not just for my dad or the NFL scouts lurking in the shadows, but for a cause that's bigger than all of us.

Splashing water on my face, I try to wash away the frustration, the fear, the uncertainty. "You can do this, Miles. It's showtime," I tell myself, trying to drum up some enthusiasm.

As I step out, my eyes instantly find her—Milli. She's making her way to the bar, probably for her usual Shirley Temple. I can't help but smile; she's always been so predictable in the most charming way. Payson and Brooke are somewhere in the crowd, but it's Milli who holds my gaze.

The woman who effortlessly has my heart in her hands.

She's stunning tonight, in a pale pink dress that makes her glow, her hair down in a way I haven't seen for ages. She looks like a dream. My fingers itch to touch it, to feel its softness, to pull it, just to hear her response.

I watch her, my heart skipping a beat as she casually twirls her hair, a telltale sign of her nerves. But she has no reason to be nervous, not looking as breathtaking as she does.

Then, I notice the Converse on her feet—those special ones from her tutor. Classic Milli, blending elegance with a touch of rebellion. She catches me looking, our eyes locking in a moment of silent understanding. She turns away, but not before giving a twirl and a bow, like she's the star of her own show.

I laugh, the tension and worries of the past hour melting in her presence. She's heading my way now, and I move to meet her, eager for just one dance, one moment where it's just us and nothing else matters.

As we come face to face on the dance floor, everything else blurs into the background. I lean closer, my voice a soft murmur. "You look like a dream, baby." I observe the gentle shift in her eyes as she processes my words. And I truly mean it—she's breathtaking. Amidst all the uncertainties surrounding us, they seem insignificant now. What counts is here and now, with Milli in arm's reach, tangible, real—someone I can immerse myself in.

But our moment is short-lived. Luke's voice cuts through our bubble, and she tenses up. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, trying to ease her worries. It's just Luke, after all.

Reluctantly tearing myself away from Milli, I head toward my father, each step weighed down by the burden of his expectations. The thought of facing him, knowing what he wants from me tonight, tightens a knot in my stomach.

Cam's hand lands firmly on my back, jolting me back to the present. His gesture, simple yet grounding, redirects my focus to the here and now—the gala, its purpose, and the community it supports.

In moments like this, I'm reminded that life isn't just about the game on the field or the battles within. It's about something far bigger, more meaningful. We're here not for personal glory or to settle internal conflicts. Tonight, we're part of a collective effort to make a real difference, to bring a ray of hope into the lives of those fighting battles much harder than any football game.

Navigating through the crowd, I let my eyes roam over Gridiron Glory Hall. This place, steeped in memories, is like a vault of my college life. I remember my first walk through these doors as a wide-eyed freshman. We'd heard stories from our parents about these events—Dad and Mr. Sutton, immersed in the football world, always talked it up. But nothing prepared me for the sheer opulence of it all.

The hall exudes a kind of elegance that's hard to put into words. Those chandeliers, cascading light from above, always cast a warm, golden glow over everything, making the whole place feel like a scene from a classic film. I recall being a bit star-struck by the servers in their crisp uniforms, ferrying drinks and gourmet appetizers around.

The gold tablecloths glittering under the lights add to that sense of grandeur. And there, always at the center of it all, is the sign: "A Touchdown Against Breast Cancer." A powerful reminder of why we are all there, a beacon of hope in the fight we are all part of.

Every visit here has felt like a journey into a world where elegance meets purpose. I know these experiences will stick with me long after I leave NorthRidge University.

Distractedly, I mutter, "Mmhm," to Cam's comment as he pats my shoulder and moves on. Spotting my dad across the room, I give him a subtle nod toward the bar. He seems reluctant but joins me, anyway. We order beers, and while I know Coach wouldn't mind, I can almost hear Dad's gears grinding in disapproval.

"You sure that's wise, Miles?" Dad questions as I take a swig, the cold beer a small comfort against the unease his presence stirs in me.

I just shrug, leaning back against the bar. The familiar buzz of pre-event chatter fills the air, a tapestry of anticipation and excitement. My gaze drifts back to Milli. She's still with Payson and Brooke, looking like a radiant beacon in the crowd. Dad's voice fades into background noise as I catch her eye and she flashes that smile—the one that always sends my heart racing.

"See Coach Lockhart over there?" Dad's words pull me back. I nod, following his gaze to the unmistakable figure of the NFL coach. Dad's texts, always laced with reminders of the looming Panthers' Day game and the scouts' watchful eyes, echo in my head. I get it, Dad—no need to hammer it home.

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