Page 8

Chapter Eight

I don’t feel bad at all for leaving the boys to do the heavy lifting. And I don’t feel bad for not feeling bad. I tried to tell them that we should get up early enough to beat the morning heat and so I could help before practice, but Wyatt wanted to sleep in. And Whiskey was snoring so loudly, it woke Tasha through the walls, and she went home to sleep off the rest of her hangover.

For having had a few drinks for the first time in weeks, I feel surprisingly wired. And I think it’s because I know when I get done with practice today, I’m going to walk into Wyatt’s place and call it ours.

My phone buzzes in the Jeep’s cupholder as I pull into a spot just south of the track, near the gym. I pull it from the charging cord and wake up my screen to a message from Tasha.

TASHA: What am I supposed to do with these two?

My palm buzzes with the incoming picture. It’s Wyatt and Whiskey standing shoulder to shoulder in her doorway as if they’re stuck. Their hair is tussled like third grade boys who’ve just woken up from a sleepover, and Whiskey is already holding a beer.

I cackle, then thank myself for not feeling guilty about missing this.

ME: You put boxes in their hands and wave them on their way.

TASHA: This.

I chuckle at the mental picture, which I’m sure is exactly how Tasha executes my suggestion. And I bet Whiskey and Wyatt obey her every order, because my best friend has a way of being heard and minded.

I’m early to practice, the only car in the small lot next to the gym besides a familiar truck parked on the opposite corner. Bryce isn’t inside it, so I don’t think he’s stalking me. But it’s weird that he’s here, and at eight in the morning. They don’t have practice until four.

Pulling the straps of my bag up over my shoulder, I hop out of the Jeep and lock it behind me before heading toward the track. It’s already nearing a hundred degrees out, the Arizona fall behaving a lot more like summer. It’s what makes our desert football teams so formidable. People come play us here early in the season and simply can’t hang in our heat.

I lean into the fence, spotting Bryce running on the opposite side of the track. His pace is steady, and his shirt is off. He may be my ex but I’m human, and the man has kept up with his fitness. I’d still take the feel of Wyatt’s abs under my hand any day, but Bryce, he makes a good case for calling attention.

His run slows to a jog when he spots me. He peels off the track after a few more steps and walks across the field where our soccer team practices. His hands are linked over his head, his elbows out, and I can see how hard his chest is working to catch his breath as he nears.

“You know it’s better to show off where people will see you,” I tease.

I back up a step as he meets the fence, hooking his fingers through the links and resting a foot near the bottom as he lunges into a stretch. He lifts his head and squints from the sun as he looks at me.

“You saw me.”

His mouth curves in that half grin he still wears well. It’s a glimmer of the cocky fifteen-year-old I fell for as a kid. Man, was I an easy target.

“Yeah, but I have zero say over the starting quarterback slot.” I shrug, and he laughs out hard, letting go of the fence and backing away a few steps to stretch his quads one at a time.

“You know, I still have shit balance,” he proclaims as he holds his right foot behind him while he wiggles on his left.

“You’ve gotten better, though. A few years ago, you’d be on your ass by now.”

He chuckles and lets his foot fall to the ground.

“That’s fair.”

He stretches the other leg, glancing up at me with his lips parted as if he has something to say. It makes my chest tighten.

“I know why I’m here early. We hit the mat today, first time with the new routine. Unless you’re switching it up and coming to be a base, why are you putting in overtime?” I nod out toward the track, which is devoid of anyone else and looks fucking hot. The red all-weather rubber appears on the verge of melting, and I swear I see heat radiating from the concrete lip around the edge.

Bryce drops his other leg and licks his lips, shifting his weight, then running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He’s been at this a while.

“Honestly? Wyatt kicked my ass on the treadmills the other day, and it made me realize my cardio is shit.”

Huh. Wyatt seemed to think Bryce was on par with him. I won’t tell Bryce that Wyatt was worried about the same thing, but he was. And he’s been running a lot more on his own too. Granted, Wyatt likes the trails. He gets up at dawn and scales the mountain and back.

Bryce’s head tilts to the side as his hands land on his hips, his breathing back to normal.

“Hey, you got a minute?”

I glance behind me, the lot still empty. I like to be early, but I guess I can handle not being the one to flip the lights on.

“Yeah, shoot.”

He flashes a tight-lipped smile and holds up a finger, jogging to the edge of the track where his gym bag sits. He pulls out a towel and a white T-shirt that he slips over his head before jogging back toward me. I follow along as he makes his way to the gate between the track and the lot, near his truck.

He opens the front passenger door and tosses his bag inside, then props a foot on the running board while he leans against the side of the seat. He picks at a hangnail on his thumb, a nervous fidget it seems because he quickly stuffs his hands in his pockets after not getting anywhere with the random grooming. His gaze remains focused on the asphalt between us.

“I came here for you,” he says, words spilling out all at once, landing at my feet like a pile of hot vomit.

What the fuck!

“Bryce—”

“At first,” he cuts in, finally lifting his head to meet our eyes.

The churn in my stomach pauses, but the bubbling is still there. At first might make it better, but this still feels bad. On instinct, I scan the parking lot and nearby street for Wyatt.

“I know, I probably should have kept that to myself.”

“You definitely should have kept that to yourself,” I pile on, hugging myself with my arms and nervous energy.

Bryce lets out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really bad at timing. I know. But I just have all this . . . stuff . . . on my chest.” He runs his fingertips around the center of his body in circles, his mouth twisted like he’s going to be sick.

“Did Bryce Hampton grow a conscience?”

He grimaces.

“Sorry, continue.” I clear my throat and grab the sides of my T-shirt tighter. I need to hold on to something.

“It wasn’t only about you. I wasn’t getting time on the field, and nothing was going right for me with football. I felt like I kept making bad decision after bad decision. And Wyatt had this great year, and then he got hurt. And I’ll admit, at first, I thought about the opportunity. Stepping in and filling his shoes. And yeah, you were here. And the idea of you seeing me at my best, maybe feeling . . . something . . . for me—I entertained that fantasy for a little bit.”

“Key word—fantasy.” I need to make sure he knows where the line is between us.

He nods and shoots me a quick, crooked smile as he holds a palm up.

“Okay, yeah. I got it, Peyton. No need to totally demolish my ego.”

My nerves settle, and I warm with a touch of guilt for making him feel bad. I don’t apologize, though.

“I’m not sure what Wyatt told you about camp workouts or the first week of practice, but Peyt . . . he’s good for me.” There’s a tiny quiver to Bryce’s bottom lip, almost like he’s scared. I think maybe he’s embarrassed to admit this. I won’t poke fun because I get just how big this is. But I’m blown away hearing it.

I take in a long breath and hold it in my lungs, my gaze flitting down before rising back up to meet Bryce’s.

“Wow, that’s . . . kind of you to say. Have you told Wyatt?”

“Ha! I mean . . . in little ways. Mostly when he looks like he wants to punch me. I try to let him know that I’m grateful to him. That I’m learning a lot.”

I nod, honestly flabbergasted at how different this Bryce is from the one I used to know.

“He’s not going to let you have the starting job. If you want it, you’ll have to take it.” This is the part I’ve been dreading since word of the transfer hit—the battle to be on the field. I have all the faith in the world that Wyatt is the best man for the job, and that he’ll keep his position. But there’s that lingering sting in the back of my mind that whispers, “What if?”

What if Bryce knocks him out of starting QB?

“I know I need to earn it. And I’m not going to just let him have it. I’m going to work my ass off and fight for it. But if it shakes out that I’m his number two, I just want you to know I’m good with it. Better than good. And maybe you can let him know, if that time comes.”

“ When that time comes,” I say, making sure Bryce gets where my loyalties lie on the field.

His mouth quirks up with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

He pushes off the truck and steps toward me, chewing at the inside of his mouth for a few seconds before looking at me through his lashes.

“I’m sorry.”

I blink a few times, taking in the non-verbal cues from his tight-lipped expression, the heaviness in his eyes, the sincerity of his stare. He means about me—about us, and how he was back then.

“I know.” I won’t say it’s okay. He should know that about me.

He nods and steps closer, stretching his arms out with his head tilted a hair.

“Friends?”

I draw in a sharp breath, and without thinking too hard, I give in and hug him back. It’s a quick embrace, but the way his hand drags against my back when we part, as if he’s clinging to some kind of hope, sticks with me. I get this strange sense that a part of him wanted to kiss me just then.

“Friends,” I echo.

The childlike smile makes its way back to his mouth. He looks lighter, too.

“Go kill it in there. Hope they’re letting you fly,” he says, remembering how much I love the gymnastics of what I do.

I start to walk backward, wanting to end on a high note with him.

“I fly a little. But mostly, I’m there to throw other people in the air. It’s the damn Johnson muscles. My parents made me strong,” I say, flexing a bicep.

“Apples and trees and all that,” he says through a chuckle.

“Something like that,” I say, spinning as I continue to walk away. I hold up a hand to wave bye. I don’t hear anything more from him in return, but I can feel it without looking—he watches me all the way to the gym.