Page 129 of Fighting Fate

Again.

She reaches out to poke me, missing slightly and tapping my abdomen instead. It's a gentle nudge, but it reinforces her inspiring message. She gazes up at me, her eyes filled with a fierce determination. "You don't have to let fate be the boss of you. You can be like a superhero and fight it!"

Despite her small stature, Harper packs a mighty inspirational punch. Her conviction is infectious, leaving me with a newfound sense of resolve to take control of my own destiny.

"What do you mean you don't want to play in the NFL, Miles?" Dad asks, his intense gaze locking with mine across the dining table.

I let out a heavy sigh, absently pushing around my green beans, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. My fork slips from my hand, clattering loudly on the plate and drawing all eyes to me.

Well, this is it.

I interlace my fingers, pushing my plate aside and resting my hands on the table. Looking around, I see the faces of my steadfast supporters—my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, and Luke. The absence of one person, though, feels glaring. Milli, who could have made this easier, is not here, and I know it's on me to handle this. Part of me wishes the Suttons weren't here for this, but seeing everyone's expectant looks, I feel it's right to address this now, with everyone present.

My eyes drift to our Christmas tree, twinkling behind Dad. There's Milli's handmade ornament from the year I was battling cancer. That ornament, and the memories attached to it, make my chest tighten. I've let things go wrong with Milli, and her absence now is partly my fault. Luke and his parents sense the reason behind her absence, too.

Staring at the ornament labeled, "Warrior," I gather my thoughts, then meet Dad's gaze again.

You're a warrior, Miles. This is your fight, I tell myself silently.

With a deep breath, I start to unravel my truth—the early knowledge of my cancer, my newfound desire to pursue medical school over the NFL dream, and my treatment plans. After I finish, a heavy silence descends on the table. I immediately regret exposing all this in front of everyone. Luke then breaks the silence with a light chuckle and ruffles his hair.

"Didn't see that coming from you," he comments, giving my back a light tap. "You sure know how to talk when you're fired up."

I give him a quizzical look. Seriously? I just laid out my entire life, and he's cracking jokes?

Luke squeezes my shoulder, realizing his mistake. "It was just a joke, man."

I nod, shifting my focus back to Dad. His gaze locks onto mine with piercing sharpness, yet there's a moment when his demeanor softens, revealing a trace of capitulation. He briefly closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh, one that carries a hint of disappointment.

Well shit, did I just make a mistake choosing this path over the one we had always envisioned since I was young? But inside, a reassuring voice counters, No, Miles. You're doing the right thing. This is your life, your choice.

I bolster my resolve, determined to stand my ground for my future and my dreams. Oddly enough, it was a seven-year-old's wisdom, Harper's, that spurred me into action these past weeks. Her influence has been a surprising catalyst. Motivated by our encounter, I immersed myself in studies and it paid off—I aced all my final exams.

I used to think the thrill I felt was exclusive to football, but the rush of pride and empowerment after completing Professor Huggins' exam was something else. It pushed me to go further, to keep striving. I ended the school term on a high note and even made it back to the football field, supporting the team as they prepped for the Grey Bowl.

Looking ahead, I'm focused on the spring. That's when I'll take the MCAT and make serious strides toward starting medical school in the fall. I've come this far on my own, not letting fear, future uncertainties, or my treatment schedule hold me back.

"Why'd you keep this from us, Miles?" Dad's voice cuts through my thoughts, his finger pointing accusingly between him and Mom.

As if confessing this would have been easy. His reaction, maybe shaded by the recurrence of my cancer, makes the NFL dream seem even less important now.

"Do you really think this was easy for me?" I spit out, the frustration boiling in my voice. "Confessing I don't want to play football? It's far from simple." My hands fly up in exasperation. "Fuck."

"Miles Chasen, watch your language," Mom scolds from across the table, her arms folded in disapproval. I meet her eyes briefly before returning to Dad's intense gaze. "Choosing to become a doctor over an NFL player wasn't a walk in the park," I continue. "Especially knowing how much you wanted that for me."

Dad looks confused. "Me?"

I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the tension at the table. Everyone's watching us, like they're spectators at a high-stakes game. But this isn't a game; it's more intense, more real.

"Yes, you," I affirm.

Dad's expression becomes gentler, a glimmer of comprehension momentarily crossing his features before he conceals it. He speaks again, his tone more tender; the sharpness of anger dissipates. "It was our dream, Miles."

My heart sinks. This is harder than I thought.

Suddenly, Mom reaches out to Dad, trying to ease the tension. "Maybe we should?—"

But Dad cuts her off, standing abruptly. "No, we'll talk about this now. He brought it up, so let's deal with it."