Page 58 of Hometown Touchdown
I force myself to meet his eyes.
“I was diagnosed with premature ovarian insufficiency. It means the chances of me ever getting pregnant naturally are pretty much zero. There are treatments, but they don’t change the core truth—I most likely will never conceive or carry a baby.”
His face stills, lips parting slightly like he’s about to speak. But I rush on.
“I know you, Knox. I know what family means to you. You always talked about it like it was sacred. I don’t want to take that away from you.”
“Brynn—”
“I’m not telling you this for pity,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I’m telling you because you deserve the truth. And I deserve someone who chooses me fully, knowing all of it.”
He blinks like he’s still trying to find the words, but I’m already moving, sliding out of the booth and grabbing my purse.
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” I say, voice trembling only slightly. “But I want you to think about this. Really think. Because I don’t want to be someone’s compromise. And I don’t want you to resent me later for choosing me over your shot at having a family.”
His jaw works, eyes stormy.
I offer a shaky smile. “So I’m going to give you time. And when you’ve made your choice, you can let me know.”
I hesitate for only a second longer, then add, “Take your time, Knox. This is really important to me.”
And then I walk away.
My heels click across the tile like punctuation marks. My chest aches. My eyes blur with tears. But my head is high. Because for the first time, I’m not running away, I’m walking toward something honest.
Chapter twenty-nine
Knox
Thebelloverthediner door jingles behind her, and then she’s gone.
I sit there in the booth, her napkin still folded neatly on the table.
She left, and for a second, I consider letting her go. Giving her the space she asked for. Sitting in this booth like a coward with my damn waffles, trying to talk myself into waiting.
But I don’t need time. And this time I need to fight for her.
Because the second she said the words—I most likely will never conceive or carry a baby—I didn’t flinch. I didn’t falter. I didn’t suddenly see someone I couldn’t love.
I saw the woman I’ve loved since I was seventeen. I saw strength. I saw the pain behind her eyes and the courage it took to lay that truth out for me like a gift and a test all in one breath.
And I saw my future. With her.
I love her. Even throughout the pain and the distance, I don’t think I ever stopped. If six years of silence didn’t make me fall out of love with her, a medical diagnosis certainly wouldn’t.
I don't love Brynn because of what her body might someday give me. I love her because of the way she laughs when she doesn’t want to, and how she over-explains when she’s nervous. I love the way she looks at me like I matter, even when I’ve messed everything up. I love her stubborn streak, her fire, the soft heart she keeps under her rib cage that she thinks no one sees.
I love her because she’s Brynn. And I’d take her a hundred times over a hypothetical family tree.
Kids? A family? That dream’s never been about DNA or biology. It’s about love. And if life looks different than we imagined back in the bleachers of Cedar Falls High, then so be it. I’d rather build a future with her than cling to some idea of one without her in it.
I toss down enough bills to cover the check and stand.
I don’t hesitate.
The drive back to Cedar Falls is a blur of headlights and pounding heartbeats. I don’t overthink it, I just go. Every mile between us feels like a minute too long.
By the time I pull into the driveway, her side of the duplex is dark, save for the porch light glowing soft and golden. Like maybe she left it on. Like maybe she hoped I’d show up.
