Page 28

“Peyton, what the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” I whisper to myself as I touch up my lip gloss in the visor mirror. I’m not sure if I’m saying that in my own voice or my mother’s.

With the same gusto it always took me to hype myself up for a tricky tumbling pass, I focus my thoughts and suck in a deep breath before getting out of the Jeep and marching up to the Sommers’s front door.

I press the button for the bell and take a step back when I hear the deep growl from the other side of the door.

Of course they have dogs. That woman probably has attack canines trained on my scent.

“Sugar, down!” I recognize Adrian’s voice through the door and smile on one side of my mouth hearing her dog’s name. I would never guess that sound came from something named Sugar.

It’s quiet and still for a few seconds, and I lift my chin and smile, figuring she’s probably checking to see who’s here through the peephole.

I’m not sure whether she considers me a solicitor or not, so I adjust my feet and hold my ground while she works the locks.

Our eyes connect the second she opens the door.

“What could you possibly want?” I figured she would come out hot. Frankly, I’m relieved she doesn’t pop the screen open and poke me in the chest.

“I was hoping we could talk for a minute,” I say, ignoring the acid crawling up my esophagus.

“Mom, who is it?” Alissa’s voice sounds from the distance.

Adrian drops her gaze to the floor as her shoulders lift, then suddenly drop.

“Come in,” she finally says, pushing open the security door for me and holding the front door wide while an overweight basset hound lies at her feet.

“Huh,” I say, glancing down as I pass.

“Yeah, I know. She sounds worse than she is. That bark is all deterrence,” she explains, her tone almost light, maybe even pleasant.

“It’s effective,” I say as she guides me into the living room.

“Not that effective. You still stuck around,” she mutters.

I snicker at her burn, but she doesn’t laugh with me, so I swallow down my amusement. Clearly, we aren’t going to leap right to the less hostile, shit-talking level of our previous relationship. She’s probably still hovering around the lawsuit territory.

“Oh—” Alissa stops between the kitchen and living room, a plate of crackers and cheese in her hands. She looks petrified.

“Hi, Alissa.” I drop my hands into the side pockets of my leggings and do my best to relax my stance.

“Hi, Coach. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you myself, but . . . I quit the team. That’s why I’m not at practice.” Her eyes dart around the room, periodically meeting mine.

“I figured it out,” I say. “I was hoping the three of us could talk about that. What do you think?”

“ Umm ,” Alissa says, her focus going to the stack of cheddar in her hands, then flitting to her mom.

Adrian shrugs, then drops herself into the corner cushion of her sofa, pulling a pillow into her lap.

“I told you that quitting things doesn’t mean you can just stop cold turkey. You have to be professional about stuff. People depend on you, even when you don’t think they do,” Adrian says.

I blink a few times, shocked to hear her words. It wasn’t her decision to pull Alissa from the team? Alissa quit on her own?

“I know. I’m sorry, Coach. I didn’t mean to cause any inconvenience. I can bring my uniform in tomorrow and leave it with the equipment manager, if that’s all right.”

I shake my head and move to the chair across from her mom, still mentally working out what she’s telling me. I pop my head up to meet her worried-looking expression, her eyes squinted as her taut mouth pulls in even tighter.

“Alissa, do you mind me asking why you want to quit?”

She glances toward her mom.

“Don’t look at me,” Adrian says, throwing her hands up.

I grimace because, well, she could show more grace.

Alissa brings her hands up over her face and groans before moving to the other end of the couch to sit. She uncovers her face but keeps her gaze on the floor, her knees pulled in close and the toes of her shoes pointing inward. She’s making herself small.

“Is it the attention?” I ask.

Her eyelashes flicker as her gaze flits up.

I nod slowly, understanding her more than she’ll realize.

While being the center of attention doesn’t scare me— unless, of course, it’s when being attacked for a paparazzi photo— the idea of everyone looking at her never held much appeal for my mom.

She and my father are an opposites-attract story in that way.

Not that my dad loved the limelight. He simply didn’t give a shit.

He was loud and who he was, regardless of other people’s opinions.

It took my mom years to feel comfortable in her own skin. Everyone’s journey is different.

“I have some news from the team. I’m wondering if I can share that with you, and if you’d be willing to think about it and see how it aligns with your comfort level?”

I can feel Adrian’s heavy brow looming nearby as she stares at me suspiciously, but I keep my focus on Alissa. This needs to be her choice—quitting, or coming back and leading. She gives me a timid nod.

“I gave Lily and Kyra a responsibility, as the seniors on the team. I asked them to choose who should serve as our cheer captain this year.”

“Okay?” Alissa says, her voice wavering.

Her mom sits up tall, moving to the edge of the cushion as she discards the pillow she was clutching and instead folds her hands together at her knees.

I don’t like the idea of Adrian feeling vindicated, but I don’t want Alissa to sell herself short because of this.

“They selected you, Alissa.”

“Oooooh,” Adrian coos in a drawn-out sound. I flash her a warning look but quickly soften my expression. I don’t need to poke the bear and stir her up again.

“Oh, that’s really . . . nice, I guess?”

“Alissa, that’s a big deal!” her mom pipes in.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes, shaking my head. I have to steer this thing.

“Your mom is right. It’s an honor. But—” I give Adrian a pointed look, risking ticking her off.

“This absolutely needs to be your decision, Alissa. You should only take on the role if you truly want it. Also, a few things you should know. One, the entire squad supports this. In fact, one of your teammates referred to you as the heart and soul.”

Alissa tilts her head, and her mouth inches up on one side.

“They did?”

Miraculously, Adrian doesn’t speak.

I nod.

“They did. And . . . you should also know that you are not expected to be on the mat for competitions. I firmly believe that you do not need to be the best athlete to be the best leader.” My gaze drifts to Adrian again, and when I do not sense her opposition, my muscles relax some.

“Okay, so I could, technically, come to competitions but not have to, you know, perform?”

She’s really considering this.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Her gaze dips down again as she fidgets with the edges of the small plate. I stand, and her mom quickly stands to match me.

“I don’t want you to feel you have to decide now. You can think about it. Let me know tomorrow, maybe?”

I move toward the center of the room while her mom balls her hands together as if she’s about to plot how to take over the world.

Alissa’s gaze lifts, and I hold out a hand to shake on our deal.

She chews at the inside of her mouth for a few seconds, then shifts her plate to the center cushion and stands.

We shake on it, and her firm grip gives me hope. I lean in before we part.

“And if you have questions or need to talk, without . . .” My eyes glance to my left, toward her mom. “You have my number.”

She giggles silently and nods.

“Thank you, Coach.”

“No. Thank you , Alissa. I appreciate you weighing your options.”

I head to the door, but Adrian rushes ahead, opening it for me. Sugar is snoring in the same place she was when I arrived.

“Thank you for stopping by,” Adrian says. Her tone would make anyone eavesdropping think we’re old pals, but I know that’s not the case. Just as I know she doesn’t feel bad about putting me through a little hell or judging me.

“Have a good night,” I say, leaving her with a polished smile that I keep in place until I climb back into my Jeep and pull away.

I roll the window down at the end of the block, the late August humidity and harsh afternoon sun cooking me.

I reach across the seat and point the air vents in my direction so I’m being blasted by all four at once, and when I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my hair is blowing like a pop star in a music video.

I yank my water bottle out from the tight-fitting console and flip back the lid, holding the spout to my lips.

And that’s when the cramping begins.

I’ve dealt with this a lot since my accident.

Spasticity is triggered so easily for me, and dehydration and stress are both culprits.

I’m sure that’s part of the problem now.

But the way my arms and legs are tightening feels somehow different, and I can’t help but worry it’s because my body is different.

Because I’m pregnant. And the litany of worries that follow that thought sends a rush of adrenaline down my spine.

I press my mom’s contact button on my phone screen and flip the Jeep around to head toward the medical center. I know she’ll panic, but I also know she’s home and has her phone on her. And of everyone that will panic, she will remain the most level.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s?—”

“I don’t feel right, Mom. Meet me at the hospital,” I say, leaving her on speaker as I drive.

“I’m on my way. Do you need me to drive you? Should you pull over?” I can hear her hands flailing around the kitchen counter for keys and probably her handbag. Her SUV rumbles to life within seconds, which means she’s probably sprinting.

“I’m okay to drive. My muscles are just acting up. Can I just keep you on the phone and not talk?” Unless, of course, I need to yell and scream.

“Of course.” Her steady voice moves in. It relaxes me enough to stop the thundering pulse sounding in my ears.

This is a panic attack, and I will win against it. I’m certain of it. I’m also certain of something else. This baby is a boy, because no female would stress out another woman like this.