She steps into me and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry but sometimes I have to play boss at work.”
“I finally got one your legendary speeches. I don’t expect you to go easy on me.” I say feeling a smile stretching from ear to ear.
“Good.” But Sutton adds in a softer sisterly tone, “We can have drinks later and talk about your relationship. I don’t know if you know my story, but sometimes getting out of a situation is all an abused person can do. Sometimes it’s all you can do to save yourself.”
I take in her words. All of them. All Annika was doing was saving herself. I fucked up.
I glance back toward the field, keeping an eye on Matt in case he puts me back in the game.
“It’s taken me a while, but I realize something, like literally just now.”
“Yeah?”
I roll my shoulders back, forcing myself to reset and acknowledge it.
“I’m me.” I say, “Not J.D. or Greyson.”
Sutton awards me with an approving look that a momwould give her son. “About time. Because you’re more athletic than either of them. But that’s between you and me.”
She throws her head back, laughs and I can’t stop the grin desperately trying to break free.
Because whatever happens next in football or life—I’m not letting it break me. I’m Parker O’Ryan, and my legacy will be determined by me.
Not my brothers.
Not my dad.
The legacy that matters will be determined by Annika—the woman who made me whole again and now I need to beg for forgiveness from the woman I love.
THIRTY-FOUR
ANNIKA
I stare at the final score longer than I should, like if I look hard enough I can feel what it was like to be there. Imagining running into his arms after the game and him twirling me around in victory.
Now who’s the hopeless romantic?
Parker would think I was a body double if he heard my thoughts. I’m not the romantic one.
But when I close the computer and the noise is gone, my thoughts race to what I wish I would’ve said. “I love you Parker.” I wish I could rewind time.
But I never would have met Parker if all these bad things didn’t happen. I wouldn’t even be in America.
My thumbs hover over my phone before I give in and text him.
Me: Great game. Wish I was there.
The message sits there, stretching the seconds intominutes until I regret sending it at all. This is what vulnerability feels like—quiet, exposed, and entirely out of my control.
And I despise being out of control.
Sometime later…
Parker: Thanks…
Well that was short. He’s playing it safe, keeping his distance.
I force the knock against my chest to stop by breathing. I’m not backing down. Not this time.