Tim sighs and looks down. He kneads an old, worn football between his hands. Lyla watches him from across the kitchen island, her eyes moist. She sits down on a bar stool. Willing herself to stop crying. Do not do this, Lyla Garrity, do not do this.

"I thought we wanted the same thing," Tim finally speaks, haltingly, quietly. He looks at her, his deep green eyes reflecting a vulnerability that he has only ever let one woman see - the woman sitting before him now, brushing tears out of her eyes.

"We do, Tim," Lyla says. She hears her pleading tone and stops. She takes a deep breath. "We do. I just - how can I turn down this opportunity? I can't. It's everything that I've worked for - that you - that you pushed me towards."

"Because I thought we'd be together at the end of it, that you'd - that you'd go off and live your life and come back to me, be happy here, with me, with this," he gestures around them, his voice starting to break. He stops himself and looks back down at the football that he's pressing into. Almost desperately.

Lyla's eyes follow his gaze. It's true - he's done so much with this place. Built it from scratch. With Billy. For them.

"I never promised that I'd come back here," she says. "I never - you thought - I never promised you that -"

"Then what did we do all of this for?" he interrupts her, looking at her. Wildly, she thinks. Angrily. "This - you and me - everything. What the fuck are we here for?"

"Because I love you," she can't believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. "Because you love me. Because -" she splutters. "Because we have to be together."

"Do we?" he looks up at her. "I've always thought so," he speaks slowly, looking up at the ceiling and then back down at her. "But, you know, I think I've always wanted it more than you. And maybe that's the problem here."

Lyla stares at him.

"You want me to be something I'm not; you've always wanted that. You pushed me - you pushed me to go to college," he spits the words out as if they are venom. "When I didn't make it there, you made it very clear that we wouldn't have any future together unless I got my shit together, went back to school, went back to football. And I did. For you. To be good enough for you."

Lyla continues to look at him blankly - she doesn't know him right now.

Tim continues. "And now you're - now I'm supposed to - now that I'm finally almost there, I'm supposed to, what - follow you to Austin?"

Lyla pauses, staring at him like he's a stranger. "You're missing a few plot points there, Tim," she says slowly. "Like how I dropped everything to run back to Dillon when you were arrested, how I begged my dad to intervene with the state's attorney's office, how I pushed you," she mimics him, "to go back to San Antonio because the only alternative for you was prison." She stops and shakes her head, glaring at him. "For me? You did it for me?"

"I did," Tim replies, returning her glare head-on. "Because I would've been okay with prison. Billy and I fucked up, and I was prepared to - to -"

"Prepared to what, Tim? Spend a few years in an orange jumpsuit? Bullshit," she gets up, pushing herself away from the bar stool with such force that it clatters to the ground. Lyla doesn't bother picking it up. She doesn't even look at it. She can't look away from this beautiful boy - he's a man now, isn't he? - whom she has loved for so many years. She knows him better than she has ever known anyone, better than anyone else has ever known Tim Riggins. She knows that he had nightmares for months after Jason Street was injured in that first game of the long-ago high school football season (the Dillon Panthers State Champions!), that bittersweet season that changed everything for Jason, Tim and Lyla. She knows that, when he sleeps, if you catch him at the right moment, in the early daylight hours, when his eyes close extra-tight and he frowns and presses himself tightly against her, he's being abandoned all over again by his father, and then his mother. She knows that he's been let down by almost everyone he's ever loved, and that he loves her anyway. Intensely. Recklessly. Without boundaries. How can be so far away from her right now? Why is he being so cruel?

"Fuck you, Tim," Lyla says. Tim's eyes widen; his long fingers dig into the old leather of the football more deeply. Lyla grips the edge of the kitchen island tightly and takes a deep breath. "I have always believed in you," she finally says. "When people told me not to trust you, told me that you'd - that you'd hurt me, I didn't listen. I believed in you. I loved you. I love you. That's why I pushed you into going to college, into going back to college - because I think you deserve better than prison. I think you are worth something."

They look at each other in silence.

When Tim speaks, his voice is quiet again. "I'm sorry. I'm grateful for what you did for me, Lyla. I am. It was the right thing for me - going back to school. Playing football. I just - I feel like I built my life around this, you know? Being with you."

"I know," she nods. "I know that, and I - I love you so much."

He doesn't respond. The words ring in his ears. I love you so much. The words he'd spoken to her when he'd convinced her to leave him behind and go to Vanderbilt four years ago. And when she cried into his arms during their senior year, when her whole world was falling apart around her - her family gone, her father throwing away her college money on a lark. The words he'd never imagined that she'd utter to him when they first made love - fucked, really; it wasn't making love, not for her, at least - back when she was Jason Street's girl. I love you so much.

Lyla interrupts his thoughts. "Tim, it's three years. It's not a lifetime, it's three years," she crosses the seemingly miles-long divide of the kitchen island and takes the football out of his hands. She touches his cheek. His skin is warm, soft - it's so familiar to her.

"What about this place? Billy, Stevie, the twins?" he looks down at her.

"They'll be here when we get back."

"Are we coming back? Are you coming back?" he steps back away from her.

"Tim, yes, I - yes."

"Really? Because I thought you'd be coming back after you graduated, and here we are."

"Here we are," Lyla repeats. She can't believe this is happening. She tries again. "Tim - they want me to give them a three-year commitment. This can lead to bigger things."

"In Dillon?" he is incredulous.

"Maybe," she responds. "Maybe not," she finally adds.

He nods knowingly. "Maybe not," he repeats softly. He touches the granite of the island - it's smooth. Cold. Impersonal. He didn't want granite here. He did it for Lyla. She likes this sort of thing - trendy, yuppy. Professional. Something a college graduate would have in his kitchen.

He looks at her. "Go. You should go."

Her eyes are wide, blank. The reality of his words hit her. Hard. It's a punch in the gut. She shakes her head, as if to will away the meaning of those words. Go. She remembers like it was yesterday - the conversation at Billy and Mindy's wedding - go. Go to Vanderbilt. Don't let me be that guy. Don't let me hold you back. Tears start falling. She can't stop them now. She doesn't even try.

Tim looks away; he doesn't want her to see the tears starting to form in his own eyes.

"Tim, don't do this, please," she hears herself plead. She doesn't care. "Please, please - I love you. Please don't do this. How am I supposed to do this without you? Please."

"I can't," Tim shakes his head; he can't look at her. "I can't go with you. I don't belong in Austin. I belong here."

"You belong with me," Lyla says. She cringes at the harshness of her voice, hating how desperate she sounds right now. "Please," her voice breaks, and she can't hold it together anymore. She is sobbing.

Tim puts his arms around her and pulls her close. It's a reflex, he can't help himself. He holds her tightly. His strong arms close in around her to protect her. They have always protected her. From the first night, so many years ago, when she fell into his arms sobbing - that awful night in the rain - after Jason was hurt. He has loved her forever.

Lyla's fists grab at the thin, soft fabric of Tim's tee shirt. It's emblazoned with an old, faded Dillon Panthers logo. Lyla holds onto that tee shirt tightly. She feels the strength of his body - molded by years of football and weight training - against her. Lyla cries against him like her entire world is falling apart. It is.