Page 57 of Hometown Touchdown
“Go for it. Live your truth.”
“You?”
He closes his menu and leans back slightly. “I was thinking of pancakes. But now I feel like that’s boring.”
“I won’t judge you.”
“That’s a lie and you know it,” he says with a smirk, and I realize how easy this could be if we let it. How natural it still feels to sit across from him and tease each other about breakfast foods. The waitress takes our order and I curse her for taking my emotional support menu.
We begin with small talk, but it doesn’t last long. We both know that we didn’t come here to pretend nothing happened.
“I don’t want to waste this,” Knox says, voice low and even. “I know we’ve got a lot to say.”
I nod. “We do.”
He doesn’t speak right away. Just watches me with those steady eyes that always knew how to wait me out. Our food arrives, untouched as he finally leans forward, forearms resting on the table.
“When you left,” he says quietly, “it felt like everything shifted. One minute we were us, talking about the future like it was set in stone—and the next, you were gone.”
I press my palms against the edge of the table, grounding myself. “I didn’t know how to stay.”
His brows draw together, a flicker of pain tightening his mouth. “Why not?”
I exhale shakily. “Because I didn’t feel like enough. You had the draft coming, a real shot at the life you always dreamed of. And I—I felt stuck. I didn’t know what I wanted, just that it couldn’t compete with your certainty. I told myself I was doing the right thing, giving you space to become who you were meantto be. But really…I think I just didn’t think I belonged in that version of your life.”
Knox doesn’t speak for a long moment, but when he does, it’s not with anger. Just quiet, steady truth.
“You were never a footnote in my story, Brynn. You were the whole damn plot. I didn’t want that life without you beside me.”
Tears pool in my eyes before I can blink them away. I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.
“I know that now,” I whisper. “And I hate how long it took me to see it. You were the best thing in my life, and I walked away. I thought I was protecting myself—but I was just scared. And I’m so sorry, Knox. For not trusting the love we had. For not trusting you.”
He reaches across the table, fingers brushing mine before he takes my hand in his.
“I would’ve walked through anything with you,” he says, voice thick. “I wanted your mess, your doubts, your dreams—even the ones you hadn’t figured out yet. I didn’t need you to be certain. I just needed you.”
The tears fall then, hot and unrelenting, and still—he doesn’t let go.
I nod, throat tight. “Thank you.”
Something in the air shifts. The heaviness lingers, but it doesn’t choke. We’re not dragging old wounds into the present. We’re letting them breathe, laying them down between us like offerings.
“I think about who we were back then,” I say, “and I don’t regret us. But I also see now…we weren’t ready.”
“No, we weren't,” he agrees. “But maybe we are now.”
His hand is still on mine, thumb moving across my skin. Warm. Steady. Wanting. And for a moment, I let it linger.
Then I pull back, my heart thudding like a warning bell in my chest. Because there’s still something he doesn’t know.
I shift, folding my napkin again and again, just to give my hands something to do.
“I need to tell you something,” I begin, my voice careful, cautious. “It’s not easy. And I didn’t want to drop it on you like this, but…if we’re even thinking about trying again, you need to know.”
Knox straightens, brows pulling in. “Okay.”
“After I moved to Seattle, I started having some health issues. Fatigue, irregular cycles, symptoms I thought were just stress. But it wasn’t stress.”
