Page 18

Chapter Twelve

I used to think I was good at keeping secrets. Turns out I never had a really big secret to keep.

This secret? Being pregnant? It’s hard to keep.

I’ve almost let it slip a dozen times to Tasha.

I kind of think she knows, though. She drops hints, like making comments here and there about me needing to buy more comfortable clothes for the fall football games now that I’ll be coaching cheer.

Comfort has never been a requirement for Tasha.

An outfit is either cute or trash. And she’s not shy about calling out the things in my closet that she thinks I should donate, or, as she likes to say, burn.

Between Wyatt’s physical tests and media interviews and my work setting up the competition season for cheer, we haven’t had much time to sit down and talk about the logistics of having a baby. In some ways, being busy for the first few weeks has taken the edge off my anxiety.

It’s July Fourth at the Johnson house, and that’s always a big deal.

My dad’s birthday is in August, and football camps are about to start at every level—at the high school and in Portland.

My grandpa always insists that July Fourth stands as a non- negotiable family day, and he always goes all out.

My dad took over the reins after Grampa’s last stroke, but Buck Johnson still calls the shots, which means everyone is here.

Everyone.

Probably makes it a good time to let the family in on my secret.

“How are you feeling?”

Wyatt takes the two strings for my bikini top from my hands and ties them behind my neck before kissing my shoulder.

“I haven’t thrown up again, so that’s a win.” I give him a tired, crooked smile over my shoulder.

“You think you’re going to be down to eat today? You know your dad puts out a spread, and Rose made carnitas. I’ve been smelling it all morning.”

“Ugh, me too,” I admit, holding my arm across my mouth for a few seconds as a wave of nausea passes.

“Okay, if that smell is making you sick then you’re really screwed,” Wyatt says with a laugh.

I groan as the feeling passes. He’s right.

I am screwed, because my grandma’s carnitas is pretty much the best thing on the planet, and the July Fourth spread is what I always say I would choose for my last meal.

This is damn near close to my favorite holiday simply for the food alone.

There is no way I’m going to be able to not raise suspicions if I don’t fill my plate.

“I think I have to tell them all today.”

“Thank God!” Wyatt sighs as he flops back on our bed in a giant letter X.

I shoot him a glare, then turn back toward the mirror on the back of our bedroom door to continue inspecting my belly. I feel like I can see a bump, but also, I’ve been checking for a bump every four hours for the last month.

“You know this means my dad is going to know we had sex,” I say nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I’m over that,” Wyatt says, waving a hand in the other direction. He sits up a few seconds later, though, with his brow pulled in tight.

“Over it, huh?” I say, moving toward the bed. I crawl over him, straddling him as he holds himself up on his elbows.

“Nah, your dad will always scare the shit out of me. But . . .” He flattens a palm gently over my belly. “Our baby? She’s worth it.”

I pucker my lips and tilt back.

“ She, huh?”

Wyatt’s hand moves around my waist, then up my back, his fingertips dancing along my spine.

“Yeah, I think it’s a girl.”

I hold his stare for a few quiet seconds, then nod. I have no feelings either way, and maybe that’s simply because I’m so focused on staying healthy and navigating the next several months. This family does seem to have a thing for producing girls, though, so maybe he’s right.

“Come on. Let’s let the cat out of the bag,” I say, patting Wyatt’s bare chest with my hands before sliding off him.

I grab two beach towels on our way out the door and stop to lock up out of habit. I giggle when I realize I don’t have keys with me.

“We aren’t in Portland,” Wyatt says, seeing my mistake.

“It’s just so different,” I say, and he nods.

Our home here is tucked behind gates and behind my family’s main home.

I wanted us to have our own place so badly, I didn’t stop to recognize the benefits of living on a large property with people around to look out for one another twenty-four-seven.

I definitely have a different sense of safety here than at the apartment.

I’m not sure the Portland place is supposed to feel like home, though, anyhow.

And if Wyatt lands a long-term contract next year and we put down more permanent roots there with a house, I’m still not sure that place will ever completely feel like home.

I tuck those thoughts away as we make our way along the path from the guest house to my parents’ home.

Their back patio is already filled with people, including a few guys from the high school team who have my family has sort of adopted for big occasions.

That’s what this family does. It grows with every person it touches.

“Hey, now it’s a party!” My aunt Sarah is revving the blender at the poolside bar, making margaritas, and it takes her about fifteen seconds to pour one and march it over to me.

“Happy Fourth of July!” She’s already had a few; I can smell it on her breath.

I take the glass from her but set it down on a patio table and proceed to make my way through the rest of our houseguests, doling out hugs and learning the names of my dad’s latest group of favorite players.

My aunt’s gaze keeps finding me as I weave through the group gathered inside, and I’m sure she’s wondering why I’m not gulping down my favorite summer drink.

I spot Wyatt talking to my dad near the side door that leads to the grill and join them, weaving my hand with his and hoping he can sense my nerves through my sweaty palm.

“Good afternoon, Coach.” My dad winks before hugging me and kissing my cheek.

He was thrilled that I took the job at Coolidge, and he keeps talking about how we can drive to work together in the mornings.

The idea warms my tummy, too, but right now all I can think about is how my aunt is going to blow my news before I get a chance to tell everyone myself.

“Tryouts soon. You got any players I can steal?”

My dad laughs at my joke but waggles a finger at me in warning.

My junior year, two of his players defected from football to join the cheer squad.

He was furious, though he tried to play the part of supportive adult.

One of them, Aiken, was a star receiver.

Turned out Aiken was also a phenomenal gymnast, and he ended up getting a full ride to UCLA for gymnastics thanks to his stunt team work.

I tug Wyatt’s hand and tilt my head toward the back hallway. He follows my lead, and we dip out of view.

“Hey, I need you to drink my margarita. My aunt gave it to me, and she seems very aware that I haven’t had a single sip.”

Wyatt’s mouth ticks up enough to dimple his cheek as his eyes scan over me toward the back yard.

“Why don’t we just tell everyone now,” he says, and he’s right, except I need to work up my courage. I don’t know why I’m so scared to say it out loud.

“Please? I need the perfect timing.”

He chuckles softly, then leans in to kiss my lips, smiling against my mouth.

“Anything for my baby mama,” he teases.

I swat his ass as he walks by, and he yelps playfully.

“Get a room!” Whiskey shouts from behind the kitchen counter where he is sampling one of everything my mom and Rosie laid out.

“Where’s your wife?” I ask. I suddenly decide to tell Tasha the news first, sort of for practice.

“She’s by the pool lathering up the girls with sunscreen.” He nods toward the sliding glass door, and I spot Tasha on one of the lounge chairs, slipping a pair of goggles around one of her six-year-old’s heads.

“Thanks.”

I drag Wyatt along behind me, making a stop by the patio table for my abandoned margarita before weaving through the extra chairs my dad put out on our way to Tasha.

I hand Wyatt my drink before sitting next to my friend, just as she sends her girls out to the pool with a final warning not to splash the adults.

Their giggles as their feet patter toward the steps tell me they’re breaking that rule right out of the gate.

“Were we that bad?” she asks.

I take in the innocent play happening on the steps, her girls already splashing the teenage boys in the pool.

“We were worse, but not by much,” I joke.

“So . . . I wanted to tell you something,” I say, my obvious lead-in clearly piquing my friend’s curiosity as she pulls her sunglasses from her face and situates herself on her chair to meet my gaze.

“I—”

“Peyton Johnson, why the fuck aren’t you drinking? Are you pregnant or something?”

My Aunt Sarah’s voice carries across the patio, her finger pointing at my husband as he stands behind me with the rim of my glass against his lips.

He’s frozen, like the drink was before I let it melt.

He didn’t even get a full sip in before my aunt called us out.

My body deflates, my shoulders sagging as I glance back at Wyatt one more time, then turn to Tasha.

All that’s left to do is give her a guilty shrug.

“I wanted to be the one to tell you,” I croak.

I’m not sure what my worries were about. The instant the news sinks in, my best friend’s hands cup her mouth and she lets out a piercing, joyous scream.

“Really?” Her eyes flash wide, and I nod as we both start to cry.

“Oh, my God, Peyt! I’m going to be an auntie,” she says, folding herself into me and wrapping her arms around me tight.

“It’s still pretty new. I’m not due until February.” Valentine’s Day, according to my doctor.

“Bitch, you’re serious?” My Aunt Sarah pipes in, pushing my uncle and a few of my dad’s assistant coaches out of her way as she climbs over seats to get to me.

I nod and get to my feet in time to receive Sarah’s attack of hugs.

“Peyton, congratulations, honey! Your mom is going to be so pissed I found out first,” she says at my ear.

My pulse races at the realization, and I spin around with wide eyes, ready to hunt my mom down.

I don’t even get a step away, though, before I’m confronted with a massive bouquet of pink and blue balloons along with a basket filled with what looks like pregnancy treats.

I blink a few times and realize my mom is the one holding the basket.

Her smirk gives her away.

“Wait . . . you knew?”

She shrugs a shoulder and sets my gift and balloons to the side before pulling me into her arms and rocking me side to side.

“Baby, a mom always knows. I could tell something was up when you were in Portland. Your voice had a tone.”

“I had a tone?” I really can’t fathom this super power my mom has. I don’t think I acted any differently with her, but I’ve also been in my own head a lot.

“And don’t be mad at him, but Wyatt confirmed the news. It’s not his fault. I made your dad call him and ask, and well?—”

“You told?” I swat at my husband, who backs away and downs the entire margarita out of panic and fear.

“Hon, I can’t lie to your dad. And you know he can’t say no to your mom. It was a well-oiled machine. I’m afraid today isn’t just a Fourth of July celebration. It’s a baby shower.”

And as I glance around the patio, taking in my aunt’s gloating grin as she claps, my Uncle Jason’s belly laugh, Rosie’s teary eyes, my sister’s hand over her mouth, and my dad’s raised beer as he stands in the back and tries not to cry himself, I realize I’m not in this alone.

I rush to my dad and am swallowed up in the world’s best hug.

This massive Johnson family that only seems to keep getting bigger is all a baby needs in this world.