The last few weeks have flown by and we’ve settled into the new life schedule that we’ve created: class, basketball practice and games, doctor appointments, study groups, photo edits, and photo shoots. I have to admit, I expected Mr. Cocky Badass to flake out on me, but he’s done everything he committed himself to do.

When Kyle says he’ll do something, he damn well does it. And, I might add, does it damn well. Of the more notable items on his list of things he’s promised and delivered: breakfast in bed, countless orgasms, evenings spent watching bad movies, and a never-ending supply of funny jokes and antics. I’m at the point where I challenge everything he says just to see if he’ll commit to it. He and his promises are now golden in my book.

I’ve taken a shit-ton of photos of him, and the best part is that he’s smiling in most of them. I’ve had to separate the personal ones from my business photos, but this man is mega-photogenic. Many times I catch myself staring at his pictures because I’ve captured something on his face or in his eyes: sincerity, vulnerability, empathy, admiration, or tolerance. I’ve never been more aware that the inward workings of humanity manifest themselves visually. In spite of my oath to the contrary, I’m falling for him.

My brain keeps telling my heart to pump the brakes, but my heart tells my brain that he feels the same way about me. He must; a man can’t treat a woman with such reverence and not feel something. Then my brain reminds me that he’s leaving for the draft. One day soon he is leaving— it’s as set in stone as the color of my eyes. To be fair, I can’t complain because he set forth the terms before we even became involved; I just need to find a way to reconcile my heart with the facts.

Focusing on my life plan needs to be my top priority. My brain is on track—I just need to get my heart on board. I will have my photos in Sports Illustrated one day. My pictures and my name will be featured on those glossy pages. If our worlds collide later, then so be it. But I need to prepare myself for the fact that they may not. I am young. The one thing I know for sure is that life is unpredictable and Murphy’s law usually applies.

The doorbell rings and interrupts my thoughts. It’s my brother; he’s here to take me to one of my many orthopedic follow-ups. I grab my crutches and purse and we set off to the appointment.

“You’re being awful quiet today, sis. What’s wrong?” he asks.

“When did you know that Jenna was the love you were searching for?” I ask him.

“Oh god. So that’s what’s on your mind,” he retorts, clearing his throat. “Well, I fucked up when I yelled at her because I was worried about her. You know that part.”

“Yes. But that can’t be when you knew you loved her, can it?” I ask.

“No, but it started the whole chain reaction of internal, thought-provoking questions. Why am I so mad at this situation? Can I walk away and leave it like this forever? What will my life look like in five years without her? You know, those kinds of questions,” he says.

“Do you ever feel like you settled, when you answered those internal questions?” I ask. He gives me a confused look. “Don’t look at me like that. I mean, since you were the one answering your own questions, do you ever wonder if you gave yourself the wrong answers? That’s what I’m afraid of. That my answers are geared toward what I want right now and not what’s actually right for me. Does that make sense?”

“Aran, do you think you love Kyle?” he asks, cutting to the heart of the issue.

“I know I love the way he makes me laugh. I love the way he takes care of me—thinking of everything I might need. I love the quiet time we spend just being together, like when I’m editing photos and he’s studying. I love how during practice or games, he looks over to make sure I saw something great that he’s proud of. We share, innately and infinitely. We just feel right together,” I explain. “I imagine it to be the definition of soul mate.”

“Have you communicated these feelings with him?” he asks.

“No,” I confess. “And I won’t. He’s declaring for the draft in April, and graduating in May. He doesn’t want to stay around here and he told me that up front. That’s my dilemma.”

“What I’m about to say is really gonna suck, because you know I’ve been in his shoes, sis,” he says. “But here’s my two cents, so just listen.”

“Okay, I’m all ears, big brother,” I tease.

“I’m being serious now. I know you remember when I went through the combine and draft. But what you don’t know is it’s pretty intense. Your dreams are dangled in front of you, but just out of arm’s reach. It’s mentally and physically draining. Every cell in your body is focused on the prize—a professional contract. You can see the money, the cars, the mansion, the fame and notoriety or whatever your goal is, but you can’t touch them. You know you’re good at what you do, but you’re not sure how good, or if you’ll even fit into an organization’s philosophy or plans for their future. And every statistic of your performance is challenged by another guy chasing the same dream.”

I bow my head and anxiety creeps up into my chest.

“I was also lucky enough not to have a girl to have to worry about. The females in my life at that time were temporary, at best. I guess what I’m trying to say is to let life run its course. If it’s meant to be, it will be. If not, then life has other plans for you that you need to pursue. You’re so young, Aran. Don’t feel like you have to know right now what your future holds. It’s okay to take a peek at the mountain summit to keep yourself focused, but enjoy the many different views you’ll experience going up the mountain,” he states.

“So, you’re telling me that life is a journey and I just need to take it as it comes?” I ask. “I don’t like that. What happened to being in control of my life?”

“Aran, you can’t control everything,” he declares. “Especially Kyle or his life. You can only control the decisions that you make, and your responses to life’s events. You need to come to terms with that.”

“I get it, but I don’t like it,” I admit.

“Are you still focusing on your dreams? Have you put yourself out there for what you want?” he asks. “I’ve learned that when you work on you, and make sure you’re the best version of yourself, you attract what you need in life. Not necessarily what you want, but what you need. Make sure you aren’t lying to yourself about what you need.”

We pull into the parking lot, and I’m suddenly nauseous. The thought of Kyle leaving overwhelms me, and the butterflies in my stomach are going crazy. Mentally I want to put a plan in place that keeps him here, but know that’s not what he wants. I can’t control the situation, and I don’t like feeling helpless. Planning, maneuvering, and taking action—those are my strongest attributes.

We shuffle into the doctor’s office without speaking another word about it. I love my brother with my whole heart. He’s experienced so much tragedy and self-destruction that I know he’s right. He came out the other side of it all, so I know I’ll survive, too—I just don’t want to experience the inevitable heartbreak that I know is coming.

Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to take from this relationship with Kyle. He’s one of the many views from the mountainside on my journey, and maybe—just maybe—if fate allows, he could be my view from the summit. I need to start living my life, and if that means we’re together, then it will be. If not, at least I got close to him and I’m a better human being for it.

A nurse calls my name and I jump up enthusiastically. My first order of business is to heal this damned ankle. Let’s get to it.

A third-year resident performs my evaluation, and concludes that everything appears to be healing well. I advise him of the tightness that I’ve been feeling lately in my calf, explaining that it’s not consistent but it’s definitely painful. He explains that my muscle is experiencing atrophy that could create slight twinges of pain with the nerve damage caused by the injury itself and the subsequent surgery. He advises me to stay hydrated, and to keep moving as best I can because immobility is not good for leg injuries, and can cause blood clots to form in the veins.

We leave the office and Nick offers to take me out to lunch, but I decline. I’ve got scores of edits to work on. They want to start releasing some of the photos for recruitment purposes, so I’m on a deadline. Plus, Kyle’s been out of town in Los Angeles for a few days and comes back this afternoon. I’m going to start enjoying my mountainside views today.

He helps me back into my condo. “Hey, Nick—thanks for the big brother talk and advice today. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, but it’s only advice if you take it. If not, it’s just me blathering on about life,” he says before kissing me on the cheek and leaving.

I set about starting dinner and working on the photo edits. Kris, my intern, has taken some excellent shots from the floor. Even the remote pictures are starting to work out better than planned, especially for the basketball team as a whole. I’m proud of the work that’s gone into making this contract a success. Day 1 of living for me is working out well so far.

I send off the photo edits to Matt, the AD, for his approval. I browse through my emails and come across a solicitation for a sports photo contest for Photo District News (PDN) Magazine. Normally, I would just ignore these having learned in school the unspoken rule that ‘real’ photographers ignore contests. After all, who could judge your own eye’s perspective? But if you have hopes and dreams of having your work showcased for a major photography institution like I do, you have to put your work out there to be judged. This is fate talking to me.

Starting a new folder in my edits of my best pictures, I instantly know which soccer and football photos to include. I chuck in a few of Kyle and the Golden Bears that I love so far. The contest deadline isn’t until April 1st, which leaves plenty of time to round out my collage of photo submissions.

Nick is right. I already know what my passion is and why I do it. I love capturing the indelible moments in life. I need to work on how to use my passion in order to live my life to its full potential. The rest will come into my life at the moment that it’s supposed to. I have to believe in that. My mind is jumping in a million different directions with possibilities.

I settle myself onto the couch and turn on Anita Baker’s Rapture CD. It was my mom’s favorite. It calms the chaos in my mind, and always leaves me with perspective. It’s like she’s here with me, having a musical heart-to-heart about life and love. I lean back and close by eyes, letting the lyrics wash over me.

I fall asleep, but wake up to find Kyle is gently tucking a blanket around me. He brushes a soft kiss on my forehead. When he sees that I’m awake, he smiles. “Hey, Blaze. I’m here,” he whispers. He says the same thing every time he walks through that door. Never, I’m home, but always I’m here. It’s another reminder that we’re temporary, just like Nick’s life before the draft.