He grabbed a sandwich in town and then hit the road, driving the slow-winding route down the Cape, through villages and trees. It was a familiar road, nothing but him and the radio, until he crossed the Sagamore Bridge to the mainland, and suddenly, the sandy highway became five, six lanes wide, and the flow of traffic thickened all the way up the coast, until the Boston skyline came into view on the horizon. It wasn’t far, just a couple of hours if you timed it right, but the city felt like a world away from the sleepy Sweetbriar streets, thick with traffic and bustle and pedestrians. Jake navigated his way downtown, then parked on a side street a couple of blocks back from the big medical center.

He’d spent enough time in hospitals to last him a lifetime, but the smell still hit him, every time: a mix of disinfectant, and air freshener, and something that reminded him of despair.

“Can I help you?” the woman on the main desk called over as Jake was scanning the listing on the wall.

“I’m looking for Dr. Lashai’s office.”

“Third floor, to the left.”

“Thanks.”

Jake got into the elevator, trying not to look at the guy beside him in a wheelchair. That had been him, only six months ago—hating every moment and feeling trapped in his body. This time, at least, he wasn’t on the surgical floor, or the in-patient wards; he followed the nurse’s instructions until he found himself in a quiet, bright wing full of private offices, far away from the chaos downstairs.

“Jake, hi, come on in.” His new physio was younger than he was expecting, a smiling woman in her thirties, with long, dark hair.

“Dr. Lashai?”

“Please, call me Padma.” She waved him in, opposite a wall covered in certificates. He took in the framed achievements and relaxed a little. His coach back home said she was the best in the Northeast, and Jake wasn’t about to pull any punches, not with his career on the line.

“So I’ve reviewed all your files and progress,” Padma began. “And I’ve talked with your physicians back home, and the team doctor, too. Do you mind if we run through some basic movements, so I can get a look?”

“Sure thing.”

Jake followed her sequence of movements, stretching and pivoting as she made notes and felt around his knee. The pressure from the exercises made him ache, but Jake grit his teeth and did his best to hide his discomfort. Finally, she gestured to the couch by the window, and Jake took a seat.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Jake asked, suddenly nervous.

“You’re right on track.” Padma smiled. “Exceeding it, even. ACL injuries can be tricky, recovery isn’t a set path. But from your last scans, and the way you’re moving now, I’d say the reconstructive surgery is looking good.”

Relief flooded through him.

“So when can I start training with the team again?” Jake asked eagerly.

Padma’s smile dimmed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said gently. “You’ve still got a long way to go.”

He bit back his frustration. It was the same story he’d been hearing for months now. “But how am I supposed to get back in shape if I can’t train?”

“The most important thing right now is not putting any stress on the tendons while they’re still healing.” Padma sounded firm. “The rigor of a pro football routine is the worst possible thing you could do.”

Jake took a deep breath, controlling his temper. “So how long will it take?” he asked. “Another three months? Six? Longer?”

Padma looked apologetic. “I’m afraid there’s just no way of knowing. The body heals in its own time. I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she added with a warning look. “I know your progress has been encouraging, but there’s still no way of saying how your mobility and endurance will develop.”

Jake felt a shard of panic, ice-cold. “But I will get there, right?” he asked, not realizing how much was riding on that question until he let himself ask. “I can make it back onto the field?”

Padma paused. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I’m sorry, I know you want answers, but you have to understand your recovery has already been miraculous. To be walking, pain-free, with the kind of mobility you have right now—it’s incredible. And any other patient would be thrilled.”

“But I’m not any other patient,” Jake said grimly.

She smiled. “No. Professional athletes don’t judge themselves by normal standards. I understand you want to resume your career, but Jake, maybe it’s time to start thinking about alternatives.”

“Alternatives to what?” He stared back at her.

“A professional football career always has a lifespan.” Padma seemed to be picking her words carefully. “You’ve been playing now for ten years. You always knew there were limits to what your body could take.”

Jake shook his head. “Guys on the team go for longer than this. Peyton Manning won a Super Bowl when he was thirty-nine.”

“At what cost?” Padma asked. “Look, I’m not saying this to challenge you. We’re going to keep working, rehabbing that knee, and who knows? Maybe you’ll find your way back onto the field. But you’ve put your body through hell for the past decade, you’ve pushed yourself to the limit. Sooner or later, it has to stop. Why not now? The next time you take a hit—and believe me, there will be a next time—you might not be so lucky.”

Jake heard his blood pounding in his ears. He knew her words made sense—he’d heard them many times over the years, from his parents, coaches, even former teammates—but after everything he’d been through that year, every painful moment of dogged determination, he didn’t want to hear it.

He couldn’t.

“That all, doc?” he asked, getting to his feet.

Padma looked like she wanted to argue, but she just pressed her lips together instead. “For now. I’ll send over a new set of exercises, you can rotate them daily. And rest. I mean it,” she warned him. “No running, no standing on it for long periods—”

“No line dancing?” Jake joked.

“Not this month.” Padma smiled. “But hang in there. You’ve come so far already.”

Jake knew he had. He could tell they all thought he was ungrateful. After all, his surgery had worked perfectly. Still, it had been a grueling road to recovery, long hours at the rehab center pushing through the pain, until he’d come so close to giving it up and saying “no more.”

But he hadn’t. He’d stuck with it, no matter how much it hurt. He wasn’t about to quit on his dreams, he’d worked too hard for that. Because he knew, if he just kept trying, he’d be back on the field soon enough, with his teammates. Where he belonged.

But soon enough wasn’t coming any time soon. And now, feeling that familiar needle of pain in his knee as he made his way back down to the street, he wondered if it was on the horizon at all.

Was he kidding himself believing he could make it back? Or was the doctor right: was it time to give up the ghost and stop pushing so hard just to put his body through hell all over again?

He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Jake found himself walking past the intersection, farther out, all the way to the river. There was a path that wound along the waterfront, and he sat himself down on a bench there, watching the crowds. A rowing crew was out on the water, pulling hard, even in the autumn chill, and farther up the path a group of runners kept pace, sweaty and determined.

That had been him, ten years ago. Workouts and training, drills, and routine. Ever since he’d picked up a football and thrown that first, spiraling pass, he hadn’t paused for breath. His body had become his weapon, fine-tuned and fueled just right. Sure, he knew how to let off steam with the guys, but they never let it get in the way of their real work. Five miles on the clock every morning, the right foods for lean muscle and speed. His world revolved around training, and those precious moments out on the field come Friday night. Day after day, year after year, the same grueling workouts to get the same all-star results.

Now that he thought about it, this was the longest he’d been off the field since high school. Eight months and counting. Jake hated to admit it, but it felt . . .

Good.

Like he could finally breathe.

He slowly exhaled, watching the water. It was a betrayal, even thinking it. Coach would probably kick his ass if he knew. But the past few weeks back in Sweetbriar Cove had almost been a relief.

The worst of rehab was behind him, with nothing to take its place. No five a.m. alarm calls. No watching his glucose intake like a hawk. No falling into bed every night with an exhausted ache he felt all the way to his bones.

He’d had no choice but to take it easy, doctor’s orders, and although his body was itching to get back out there again, he couldn’t deny the part of him that recoiled from the idea, too.

Imagine, not putting himself through it again.

Imagine, he could just be.

But be what?

That was the other side of the blade, the thing that had kept him pushing for so long. If he wasn’t Jake Sullivan, all-star player, who was he? This was his life—his team, his passion—and no matter what the doctors said, he’d fought way too hard to just walk away.

Jake impulsively pulled out his cellphone, scrolling through his contact list until he found DeJay Yate’s number. DeJay had been a teammate, close to three years on the frontline together until a brutal tackle had sent him off the field on a stretcher. His ankle had been shot, and he quit that year and switched to sportscasting instead: running commentary from the box in a sharp suit every Sunday.

Now, Jake could hear the kids in the background when DeJay picked up. “Jake!” He sounded happy, that big voice booming. “What’s up? How’s that knee of yours?”

“It’s getting there,” Jake said. “You know the doctors, they’d have me on bed rest if they could.”

DeJay laughed. “Yeah, I remember. You must be climbing the walls by now.”

“Almost.” Jake looked out at the water. “What about you? Things good with the family?”

“Can’t complain. The youngest picked up a football the other day, I said, ‘No thanks,’ and steered her over to a science kit.”

“Don’t want her following in your footsteps?” Jake teased.

“Lord, no. Can you imagine me on the sidelines? I got banned from Little League last year, they said I was causing a ruckus. If anyone laid a hand on my baby girl . . .”

Jake laughed. DeJay always did have the loudest voice on the sidelines, and racked up a half-dozen reprimands for trash talk every season. “I saw you commentating the game last week. Very smart.”

“Thanks man. We’re renegotiating my contract, my agent’s pressing for a wardrobe allowance this time around.”

“You ever miss it?”

Jake didn’t even realize the reason for his call until the question was out there, in the chill of the cloudy afternoon.

DeJay paused. “Sometimes,” he said at last. “You love something that much, you can’t just give it up overnight. But I don’t miss the travel, or Coach screaming at me every time I missed a throw,” he said, sounding rueful. “I get to spend time with Mindy and the kids instead of training, and that commentary box isn’t the field, but it’s close enough.” He paused again, his voice turning sympathetic. “You thinking about calling it a day?”

“I don’t know if I’ll get the choice,” Jake said quietly. “My whole life’s been football.”

“But you have your exit plan, right?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he sighed. He hadn’t blown his money on fast cars and big mansions like some of the other players. He’d been careful with his paychecks, and made solid investments. He and his family were set for life, but that wasn’t the point. “Not as good as some people,” he added. DeJay had bought into an energy drink a few years back and watched the company skyrocket.

DeJay laughed. “You’ll figure it out then. And any time you want a game-day spot on air, just holler. The network will go crazy for your baby blues.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Not all of us want the spotlight.”

“That just leaves more room for me!”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. It was getting darker out now, but the crew were still on the river, rowing back and forth with hard, steady strokes. Maybe they were training for a big race, or maybe this was just a regular afternoon session. If Jake was back in Miami, they’d just be wrapping up right now. Hit the showers, head out onto the town. He’d be in the VIP section of a new, hot restaurant, basking in the glory he’d worked so hard for.

All year, he’d been wishing he was back there, and he could still feel that restless burn. But it had faded a little, with distance and time, and now that world seemed more than a few hundred miles away—it was a different lifetime. Now, he pictured Sweetbriar Cove instead. A warm fire burning, a cold beer, a quiet night.

A redhead curled up beside him, with that tempting smile.

Jake shook his head, pushing the image aside. Where the hell did that come from? Mackenzie wasn’t his to go home to, and he wasn’t about to risk their friendship on his mixed up emotions, not when she deserved much better than him.

This injury was temporary—and his time in Sweetbriar was, too. He would get it all back, no matter how long it took. This doctor didn’t know him, didn’t know how determined he could be. A few months more recovery and rehab, and he’d be back on that field where he belonged.

He finally got to his feet and left the river behind.