Page 37 of It's Only Ever Been You

“That’s… huge,” I manage to say, my voice cracking.

He nods, his smile fading slightly as he looks at me. “I wanted to tell you first. I mean, you’ve always been there, Em. Through everything.”

I bite my lip, my chest tightening as the finality of it hits me. “So, when do you leave?”

“In a couple of weeks,” he says, his tone softer now. “Training starts right after the semester ends.”

I nod, my throat burning as I struggle to keep it together. I’ve always known he was meant for something bigger, something I could never keep upwith. But hearing it out loud makes it real in a way I wasn’t ready for.

“I’m happy for you,” I say, forcing the words out. “Really. This is everything you’ve worked for.”

He reaches across the table, his hand brushing mine. “You mean that?”

“Of course,” I whisper, even though my heart is shattering.

That night, I sit alone in my room, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation over and over in my head. I always knew this day would come. I just didn’t think it would feel so…final.

Ethan is leaving, moving on to a life that doesn’t have room for late-night talks and shared walks home. He’s going to Portland, to a future so bright I can barely look at it. And I’ll still be here, trying to figure out who I am without him.

Tears slide down my cheeks, but I don’t wipe them away. This isn’t something I can fight or fix. It’s just… life. And I have to accept that we’re over—whatever we were, whatever we could have been, it’s done.

For the first time, I let myself feel the weight of that truth, the ache of losing not just my best friend but the future I always thought we’d have. And somehow, in the middle of it all, I realize I have to let him go.

Because he’s already gone.

Chapter Thirteen

Missed Calls

Ethan

6 years later

Istep off the private jet, the late-night chill of the city biting at my skin as I tug my hoodie tighter. The flash of cameras in the distance sets my teeth on edge, but I keep my head down and push forward, my duffel slung over one shoulder. My PR guy keeps telling me to smile more, to give them something they can print, but tonight, I just don’t have it in me.

It’s been six years since I walked off that college field and straight into the NFL. Six years of packed stadiums, endorsement deals, and the kind of life I used to dream about. And yet, every time the crowd roars or a reporter shoves a mic in my face, I can’t help the feeling that something’s missing. Like I left a part of myself behind a long time ago.

Back at my apartment, I scroll aimlessly through my phone, the soft glow of the screen the only light in the room. I should be sleeping—I’ve got practicein the morning and a game this weekend—but instead, I’m here, staring at her name in the search bar. Emma Blackwood.

I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the screen before I finally hit enter. Her profile pops up—she’s smiling in her profile picture, holding a book in her hands, the kind of smile that used to make my chest tighten. The kind of smile I haven’t seen in person in years. She looks beautiful.

She doesn’t post much, but every now and then, there’s a picture: her at a book signing, a cup of coffee on a wooden table, the sun streaming through a window. It’s like looking at fragments of her life, pieces I’ll never fit together. I scroll further, catching glimpses of her world—places she’s traveled, people she’s met—but it all feels so far away. Like she’s living on a different planet.

My phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me out of the trance. It’s a text from Natalie, one of the women my agent introduced me to at an event last week. I stare at it for a second before locking the screen without replying.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her—she’s gorgeous, funny, and exactly the kind of person I should want to spend time with. But every time I try, every time I even think about letting someone in, my mind drifts back to Emma. To her laugh, to the way she used to nudge me with her shoulder when I made a bad joke,to the nights we’d sit under the stars, talking about everything and nothing.

And no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the feeling that no one else will ever measure up.

I toss my phone onto the coffee table and run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling in my chest. This is stupid. I should be over her by now. Hell, she’s probably moved on—found someone who makes her happy, who doesn’t screw things up the way I did.

But even as I tell myself that, the memory of our last conversation creeps in, uninvited.

“Ethan, this isn’t fair,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re leaving, and I’m supposed to just… what? Pretend like this doesn’t change everything?”

I clenched my jaw, unable to meet her eyes. “It doesn’t have to change anything, Em. We’ll figure it out.”

She shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “You don’t get it. You’re going to Portland. You’re chasing your dreams, and I’m just… I’m here. We’re not the same anymore.”

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