Page 173 of The Sweetest Return

Young Dre would have wanted the lights. The cameras. The chair with his name on it. He would have heard national platform and thought proof that the dream had survived in another form. The man in front of me had apparently looked at everything other people assumed he should want and decided the bright thing wasn't necessarily the right thing.

“You’re different.”

His attention shifted from the television. “From what?”

“From who you were.”

Something guarded moved behind his eyes.

“I loved who you were,” I said before he could hear criticism where I did not mean any. “I loved that hungry version of you who wanted everything and believed he could earn it. Even when you were arrogant, aggravating, and entirely too pleased with yourself.”

His mouth curved. “That sounded like several compliments disguised as insults.”

“They fit you.”

“Keep going then.”

I smiled before letting the humor fade. “But this version of you feels settled in yourself differently. You don’t need everything to look like victory for it to matter.”

His gaze stayed on mine before dropping toward his wine.

“That took some losing.”

My chest tightened. “I know.”

He nodded once, and neither of us forced the conversation farther than it needed to go.

When we moved to the couch, I sat close enough that the next time Dre lifted his arm, I slipped beneath it without either of us making the gesture important by commenting on it.

The game got ugly quickly.

The Sentinels’ quarterback picked the Forge apart, and their offense kept dying near midfield. Dre's body changed beside me in ways most people probably would not have noticed. His jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed on every missed block and poorly timed cut. He shifted once as though the instinct to stand had reached his muscles before his mind reminded him where he was.

“Stop running into the teeth of it,” he muttered. “They walking that safety down late every damn time.”

I followed his gaze. “You saw that before the snap?”

“Yeah.”

The Forge did almost exactly what he'd warned against on the next drive and lost four yards.

His mouth tightened.

I smiled into my glass.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You laughing at me?”

“No.”

“Bad lie.”

“I like how you watch.”

His eyes came to me.