Page 7

Chapter Five

I hope when I’m in my fifties, I can move half as well as my father-in-law.

I was mostly kidding when I slapped the ball in my hand and told him to go out for a pass.

When he took off in a slow jog, I figured I’d drop one in for an easy catch, and that would be the end of it.

But now it’s been thirty minutes, and his legs don’t seem tired at all.

If anything, that fucker is getting faster—and my throws are going deeper.

Reed crosses the end zone as I drop back and sling the ball thirty yards to hit him in the chest. He palms the ball over his head as he runs toward the field goal, leaping to dunk it over the bar.

The ball barely clears it, and I laugh out hard, a bit relieved that he’s finally not great at something—jumping.

Peyton’s whistle from the sidelines sells the move, and Reed picks up the ball then jogs over with a proud grin on his face. He may as well have hurdled the goal post himself based on the wide-ass toothy smile he’s sporting.

“You still got it, Daddy,” Peyton says, hugging her dad sideways.

His T-shirt is soaked with sweat, and his cheeks and forehead are red. Thirty minutes going hard is a lot for him, so I snag the half-filled gallon of water I left on the bench and hand it to him. He wastes no time peeling the cap off and chugging about half of it down.

“I’d better hit the showers, too. I’m supposed to talk to the state athletic board in an hour about easing up sponsorship rules for high school sports. If I show up like this, I doubt they’ll let me in the room.”

He hands me back my gallon, then leans into Peyton, kissing her cheek and giving me a wink before heading up the hill to the locker room.

“He’s gonna need two showers after that. Your dad put me through it this morning. I think he’s in better shape now than when he won his last Super Bowl.”

I ignore the invisible weight that showed up on my shoulders the second Peyton arrived.

It’s only grown heavier now that we’re alone.

I knew we’d have to have this conversation, that I would have to tell her I want to try to do this thing.

I just figured I’d be able to work up to it in my head, maybe couple it with a nice dinner—and a foot rub.

“How mad do you think he’s gonna be when you break his Super Bowl passing record?” Peyton says, instantly drawing my eyes to her.

I blink, a little dumbfounded and not quite certain I heard her right. She simply tilts her head to the side, pursing her lips as she gazes at me with a knowing smirk.

“I haven’t decided yet. Not completely anyhow,” I say, though I’m ninety percent there.

Maybe ninety-eight percent. I don’t want to make this decision on my own, though.

It’s not just me in this life. We’re a team for everything, forever, from the moment I met her until I die.

And that includes the act of entering into pro football contracts.

“You know, I had you pegged as a quarterback the second you walked into Jack’s.” Her lips pucker slightly into that sassy smile she puts on when she’s feeling confident.

“You did, huh?” I hold her gaze, tilting my head to match hers.

Peyton’s never told me this, and a part of me wonders if she’s making it up.

I don’t care if she is. I like it when she looks at me like I’ve got something special.

And right now? She’s eying me as if I’m some famous movie star she used to keep pictures of pinned to her wall.

Five years of marriage, she still acts like, of the two of us, I’m not the lucky one.

My gaze drops to the ground, and I kick at a worn spot on the turf. That’s part of Reed’s sponsorship discussion today—he wants to replace the turf for Coolidge High and Vista. But he’s tired of footing the entire bill himself.

“Come here,” I say, moving to the bench.

I sit down and hold my arms out, inviting Peyton to sit on my lap.

She loops her hands together behind my neck and sits on my left thigh.

She’s the epitome of a country girl, her cut-off denim shorts that, now that I look closer, were once a pair of my jeans.

She’s still wearing her work boots from the arena, and her hair is pulled up into one of those messy buns she wears when the temperature starts to climb.

There’s a pink smudge on the center of her T-shirt, and I nod at it.

“It’s a long story, but basically, Ellie has the coolest big sister in the world. That’s me, by the way. I’m the cool big sister.” She waggles her head with play bravado, and I chuckle before kissing the tip of her nose.

“You’re the coolest lots of things.”

She shrugs, pulling her mouth into a tight smile.

“I know.”

I hold her gaze for a few quiet seconds, long enough that her cheeks blush. I love that I can still make that happen.

“And why are you here now?” I lead.

Her mouth closes into a soft smile.

“You want this,” she says.

I squeeze her and nip at her ear.

“I mean, I always want this, but?—”

She laughingly pushes my chest, her palm flat over my heart, arm stiff, holding me away enough to meet her gaze. I know what she means. I want to go for it, take Bryce’s offer, see where it goes.

I nod.

“I know I shouldn’t, but yeah . . . I do.”

Peyton shakes her head.

“Uh uh. Don’t do that. There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” she scolds.

I pull my mouth in tight, still feeling guilty despite her insistence.

“The timing isn’t ideal,” I say.

Peyton’s soft laugh makes her wiggle in my lap, which also isn’t ideal—not here anyhow.

“Wyatt, the ideal timing was about six years ago. But there’s nothing we can do about that.”

She’s right. But also, maybe not completely, because I’m not sure how I would have handled leaving her right after saying our I do’s.

It would have been hard then, as newlyweds, to navigate setting up our new life together in two different places.

If she had moved to another city with me, she wouldn’t have been as happy.

At least, I don’t think so. I’ve seen the strength being home, having her family around, has given her throughout her recovery.

And the Arizona weather doesn’t hurt when rain and cold are hard on her nerves and joints.

Peyton moves from my lap, walking backward a few steps on the turf until she’s standing on the hashmark in front of me.

She pulls the tie from her hair and gathers it into a tighter ponytail before tucking her T-shirt into her shorts—aka my former pants.

I’m about to tease her and ask what she’s up to when she smirks and launches into a back flip that ends with her feet flat on the ground and in nearly the same place they started.

“Ha! It’s so cool you can still do that,” I say, watching her with wonder as she winks and holds up a finger.

Turning around, she leans forward until she’s in a handstand, and she walks toward the center of the field on her palms. Her legs wobble in the air, the right one always struggling a little more than the left to help her find her balance.

She possesses greater strength and muscle control than most normal humans, but it’s still not up to her standards.

It probably won’t ever be completely. But it doesn’t stop her from trying.

She bends back until her feet land on the ground again, and she rubs her temples while squeezing her eyes shut tight.

“Head rush?” I ask.

“Ohhhhh yeah.” She laughs, taking slow shuffled steps back in my direction. I open my arms and pull her back to my lap the second she’s close enough, and it takes her a few seconds to get her focus right. When she does, there’s nothing clearer than the warm, golden brown of her eyes locked on mine.

“If I could do it again, be on a squad, fly through the air? I would do it in a heartbeat, Wyatt. I wouldn’t even flinch.

I’m not scared of falling. I’m not afraid of someone slipping.

And in my head, I can still do all of it.

But in reality, I can’t. And there isn’t really a place for that.

ESPN isn’t streaming women approaching thirty hitting the mat to tumble. ”

She laughs softly at her joke, but there’s a touch of melancholy in the sound, the way it trails off, and her mouth fights to keep her slight smile in place.

She never got to finish her senior year of competition, and that’s something she’ll never get back.

This opportunity I’m being given is as much hers as it is mine, at least vicariously.

“I guess we’re going to Portland?” My stomach drops like it does on those thrill rides Peyton likes so much.

Peyton’s smirk widens, and her forehead lands on mine as her cool hands press into my cheeks.

“We’re going to Portland.”

The words are out there now. Peyton’s called it, and when she decides for us, it sticks.

I just hope like hell I don’t disappoint her.

I was never nervous about the game before, but this is different.

I’m not coming at this from the top. Hell, I’m not even coming at it from the same field as the other guys.

I’m coming out of the woods, under-prepared and unsure of myself.

If I’m going to make the most out of this—for us —I need to get my ass in shape.

“I guess I gotta call Bryce back, huh?”

She nods, then presses her lips to mine.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says against my mouth.

I chuckle.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” I say, sucking her top lip in and holding on to it for a beat.

I don’t want to fail her. She deserves for me to be the man she thinks I can be.

It’s a high standard; one set by a goddamned legend.

But I know Reed’s story. He didn’t exactly start from the top, and he didn’t always stay there.

“You’ve done a lot more than you think, Wyatt Stone.

A lot more,” she says, holding my stare for several quiet seconds.

Her focus shifts from my left eye to my right, and I sense the weight in her words, the meaning behind them.

She thinks I sacrificed for her. But I would do it again in a heartbeat.

This life with Peyton? I wouldn’t change a thing.