Page 37

“This place looks like those Hallmark movies my mom loves,” Chance jokes as we weave through the old storefronts of downtown.

“Just wait,” I warn him, the best part yet to come.

When my mom and I moved out here, I remember the way the stretch of fields hit with the Coolidge stadium standing tall in the background.

It’s even more awe-inspiring at sunset, as is the long drive that leads into the Johnson property.

It’s still impressive in the bright of day, and the way Chance mutters, “Fuuuck,” as we pass through the tree-lined drive to the massive barn, horse arena, and stone-covered home pretty much says it all.

“I told ya,” I say, slapping his chest as I hop out of the SUV and take Peyton’s waiting hand.

“This was a surprise,” my wife whispers in my ear, kissing my cheek.

I meet her eyes briefly and shrug, lifting my brows.

“I couldn’t leave him there alone.”

She lifts on her toes and nuzzles her nose against mine.

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

“Chance, let me show you your room,” Nolan says, guiding my teammate into the house as his head rolls from left to right to take everything in.

I hang back with Reed while Peyton joins her mom. He puts his arm around my shoulders.

“I’m so proud of you. The way you played today. The way you’re helping that jackass punk. All of it,” he says the moment the front door shuts.

I shake with a quiet laugh.

“Thanks.”

“What you did today. You’re going to be able to write your own ticket, I hope you know that. And if you get the ball next week, and if you play like that? Wyatt, you’ll?—”

“I don’t know if I want any of that.”

The second I utter those words, Reed looks as though I’ve stabbed him in his gut.

“Wow, I—” He snaps his mouth shut again, speechless. I get it. I’m not sure I am ready to hear those words come out of my mouth either.

Before I can get into it with him, the crunch of familiar tires rolls along the gravel behind us, and we both turn as Bryce pulls his truck up the driveway.

“Shit,” I say in a hushed voice.

“Hear him out,” Reed says, patting my back and moving toward Bryce’s driver’s side door.

“Hey, what a game today, huh?” Bryce says with his arms outstretched.

He and Reed hug first, and when Bryce makes his way to me, Reed shakes his head from behind him and mouths, “Just listen.”

“Yeah, that was unexpected. Turned out pretty good, though, huh?”

“Good? Wyatt, you were the shit. You’re the only thing they’re talking about on the post-shows and the pre-shows before the evening games. Your name is buzzing in a lot of rooms right now. And if Portland wants to keep you, they better call me and fast, because?—”

“Bryce, I don’t really think Portland is where I’m supposed to be.”

His mouth hangs open, and his eyes shift to Reed for a beat, then back to me.

“Yeah, all right. I get it. Fuck Mickey. He hasn’t earned you. But let’s keep that to ourselves for now, see who calls. It’s a better bargaining position for us if the bidders think they need to pony up big.”

“Right. Bidders,” I utter, scratching at my jaw. I suddenly feel like cattle.

“Babe? Do you want to eat here or wait and get something at the street fair?” Peyton hollers from the front door.

“Uh, let’s wait, yeah? You like the fry bread.”

Her grin stretches wide, lighting up my whole world.

“I do like the fry bread. Okay, love you!” She shuts the door, and my gaze sticks to the space she filled for an extra second or two.

“You know, I got a text from Frisco,” Bryce says, pulling my focus back to him.

“Huh? Oh . . . yeah, Frisco. I . . . I don’t know.”

Bryce’s brow pulls in.

“ Pfft , it’s Frisco. Montana. Young. Rice. Legacy. We take the call,” he continues.

“Hey, I’m gonna check on Nolan and Chance. I’ll see you guys inside,” Reed says, his hand patting Bryce’s shoulder twice before he leaves us to have this talk alone.

“Chance is here?” Bryce asks, his face puzzled.

“Yeah, we’re flying out together tomorrow, and he’s on concussion protocol, and I figured . . . it’s shitty to be alone.” I shrug, and Bryce smiles on one side of his mouth.

“You’re such a goddamn nice guy. I would have been fine letting him stew and stress out about me taking his job. But not you. You want to make sure that kid is fed, has a good bed to sleep in, and gets a little love. Unbelievable.”

I know Bryce is joking on some level, but he’s not totally off base.

I am the nice guy. I like being the nice guy.

And yeah, I want to see Chance succeed. And I’m aware that means I might not get the nod from Portland when it’s all said and done.

It’s not that I don’t love to compete. I do.

I fucking thrive on it. It’s just that I’m not sure it’s worth selling the rest of life’s good stuff down the river.

“Bryce, I don’t want to talk to Frisco.”

His mouth snaps shut and falls into a frown, his eyes dim with confusion. He shakes his head.

“What’s going on, Wy?”

I gnaw at my bottom lip as I drop my hands into my pant pockets and glance out at the wide-open space that spans the vista.

This land is Peyton’s family’s, and it goes all the way to the edge of the mountain.

It’s where our kids are going to grow up exploring, learning about horses, about desert creatures, and a little bit about football too.

“I don’t want to miss this,” I finally breathe out.

My head pivots, and I meet his waiting gaze.

“So, you won’t. You’ll be home a lot. And Peyton will come to you, and maybe you guys buy a house when we land a longer contract, and?—”

“This is her home, Bryce. She wants to raise our kids here. She wants more. I want more. And I don’t want her giving that up for football. I don’t want to miss out on the little things that happen when I’m not home. I just . . . I can’t live that way.”

“ Ahh ,” he sighs, folding his hands behind his neck as he slowly spins in place, looking out at the same horizon I did.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“I’m so sorry, dude.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah, don’t be sorry. You’re not wrong. And I can’t argue with a damn thing you said because if I were you, I wouldn’t want to give up any of that, either.”

I swallow hard, glad he gets it. Doesn’t take away the knot in my diaphragm, though. I feel bad leaving him in a lurch. And Whiskey—I love playing with that guy. But I love Peyton more. And I love our son. And his future brother or sister. And my mom, and Jeff. And this place.

“What if?—”

Bryce stops mid-sentence, but I turn to face him and tilt my head, drawing his eyes to mine.

“Go on,” I urge.

“What if I get you the perfect storm?”

I marinate on his words, not asking exactly what he means.

“It’s not a money thing,” I say, though if he came to me with big money, it would be hard to walk away from that. I couldn’t. We couldn’t.

“I know what it is, Wyatt. I’m asking you . . . if I get it, does that change things?”

I match his stare and fast-forward through this potential life.

Football until I’m into my late thirties.

A home of my own, built exactly the way Peyton and I want it, but on this land.

Being able to watch my son grow up. His sister or brother grow up.

My mom retire and find happiness. To stay home, where my wife’s heart is and will always be.

“The perfect storm?” I ask him, our eyes locked in a silent agreement.

“Yep. All of it.”

I take a deep breath and let my mouth curve up on one side.

“Well, hell, Bryce. That changes everything.”