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P eyton slept in my arms from four a.m. until I woke her to drive her to the Pancake House for breakfast with her family.

It’s hard to let her go. We won’t be in Arizona until game six, and next week’s final preseason game is in Detroit—nowhere near home.

I’m sure Reed will come out for it. He’s well-loved in that city and has a standing invitation to join the broadcast booth there anytime he wants.

I’m not sure I’ll be the quarterback on the field, though, and that’s a tough pill to swallow.

“I’m sure we’ll make it to the Vegas game, so it won’t be so long,” Peyton says, running her cool hand along my jawline. I close my eyes and roll the weight of my hand into her palm.

“Not so long, but still too long.”

“ Mmm , I know,” she says, lifting on her toes and kissing me.

I hold her head in my hands and rest my forehead on hers, letting out a sigh.

“This is getting very real,” I say. I don’t just mean football, either. I mean all of it—being apart, her carrying our child, the moments I’m missing.

“What do you want to do?”

A breathy laugh slips through my nose.

“I don’t know. I hate that I’m missing this,” I say, dragging my palms down her arms and her hips before covering her belly with one.

“No matter what, we’ll figure it out. And everything will be okay,” she says, covering my hand with hers.

We stand frozen in time for a few long seconds, the demands of the day finally forcing us apart.

I kiss her one last time, then hug her mom and shake Reed’s hand as they all climb back into the tour bus that also looks very much like an RV.

I smirk to myself with that thought as they pull away, then return to my truck to drive my tired ass to the stadium, where some hard conversations are waiting for me.

Coach Elgin asked me to come in this morning to chat.

I wish we could skip this part because I’m pretty sure I know what’s on the agenda.

They need Chance to start next week so they can get him ample time before the first game of the regular season, which means they want him starting game one.

I figured that would be the case when I got here, but damn if I didn’t let my mind wander into fantasy territory for a little while.

I’m good with this team. I have what it takes.

But I also have an entire life away from this place that fills me completely.

I get to Coach’s office ten minutes early, because I can’t help myself, and I rap on his half-open door before stepping inside. His head pops up as I enter and he waves me inside to sit down.

“Wyatt, maybe you can help me with this,” he says, pushing his iPad across his desk.

I pull it up to see a frozen video from our game.

“I think you just need to reboot or something. Are you pulling from the cloud?” I quirk a brow as he stares at me with a blank expression.

“Fuck if I know. That’s why I ask the young guy,” he laughs out.

I chuckle and nod, then press the reset button on his device to reload things for him.

When the dashboard pops up again, I download the video he was looking at and tell him to give it a few minutes, then try again.

It looks like he’s focusing on the defense today.

Whiskey’s out of position in this frame.

I make a mental note to give my friend a heads up.

It always looks better when you call out your own errors and get to work on them.

“Thanks, Wyatt. I miss the days of video cassettes.”

I laugh with him but hold my tongue. I can’t imagine doing this job before modern technology. There are so many more nuances that get caught digitally, and coaches can sift through more data and information. It’s made the game more complicated, but it’s made it more exciting and safer, too.

“So, I called you in to let you know Chance is getting the ball Saturday,” he says.

I nod.

“I figured.”

My mouth pulls into a tight smile, and my skin buzzes with awkward discomfort as the two of us stare at one another. He doesn’t like having this meeting as much as I don’t like being here for it. I can tell by the way he keeps tapping his fingers on the desk and shrugging his shoulders.

“He’s the starter . . . right?” I finally just say it.

Coach’s body deflates with his exhale, his shoulders dropping as he rolls his neck. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Wyatt, I’m not going to lie to you. This isn’t really my call, which in all my years as a head coach .

. . Well, let’s just say it’s always been my call.

But Mickey, he sees that kid as the future.

And hell, he probably is. He’s young and flashy, and that’s what this sport is doing right now.

But I gotta tell you, there will always be a place for those quiet heroes. ”

My mouth curves a hint.

“Is that what I am? A quiet hero?”

I feel like an asshole.

“Wyatt, you’re the kind of quarterback I dream of coaching.”

I swallow the instant lump that forms. I didn’t expect to be hit so hard emotionally. It’s nice to hear him voice positive thoughts about me. Somehow, it makes the sting hurt less.

“I knew what this was when I said yes,” I admit. I hoped I could change things, but also, I knew. I know.

Coach looks off to the side as he chews at his lips. He takes a deep breath, then leans back in his chair, leveling me with a hard look.

“This kid, Wyatt? He needs a mentor. And I don’t have the right to ask you to step up and do it. Shit, I’m not even sure I want you to waste your time. But if you’re the guy I think you are?—”

“I’ll do it. I can swallow my pride, believe me.” I chuckle.

“Bryce said you were better than most out there when he first met with us, and I had a feeling he meant more than just the arm. He was right. You’re a bigger man than I am.”

Coach rocks to his feet and rounds the desk as I stand and meet him halfway. We shake, but before we pull apart, he covers the back of my hand and holds on for a beat.

“Keep competing out there, though, showing up, doing your thing. Don’t just push Chance, push yourself. Because you never know . . .”

I hold his stare for a few seconds, reading into any hidden message he may be telling me.

I decide he’s simply making this a coachable moment, though.

It’s like the stuff I tell the high school kids.

Be proud of the product you put on that field, every time.

It’s the only thing you can take with you when the game is done.

And I’m starting to think my time is coming soon.