15. Fern

Chapter 15

Fern

Thora and Mom flank me as we walk up Forbes Avenue in the fading daylight. I was excited that the timing worked so they could both be in the neighborhood to celebrate with me as soon as I got the note from Imperial College. Thora points at the bougie new chain restaurant with a bright sign. "This calls for milkshakes," she says, tugging us inside.

I try not to look at the price tag for three shakes—they don't even have alcohol stirred in, so why on earth do they cost this much—and we find a high table to sit. Mom's eyes water as she holds up her plastic cup brimming with whipped cream and cherries. "To my hardworking girl, who never takes her eye off the prize."

"Cheers to that!" Thora plucks a cookie from the top of her treat and bites into it.

I click my cup against each of theirs and savor the sweet drink. "It all feels surreal," I say after swallowing. "Like … this has been the goal for so long. What's the goal now?"

Thora rolls her eyes. "Getting the damn degree, Montgomery. That's the goal. Do you have your student visa yet?"

I shake my head. "No, I needed the acceptance letter first."

"Oh, right." She taps her fingers on the table. "Not gonna lie, I'm anxious about my own acceptance letter now."

Mom squeezes both our forearms. "I just know you'll both be heading off to London together. Thora, what makes you want to do a law degree over there, though?"

Thora's eyes widen, and she waggles her brows. "International business, baby. I want to go everywhere. I want clients in Tokyo. I want to facilitate deals in Delhi. London is a starting place."

I set down my milkshake and squeeze Mom's hand. "Don't worry. I plan to come back stateside after my degree. I'm just looking for a very specific program expertise."

Thora laughs. "Only about 30 people in the world understand what you do with your math, babe. And that's fine because you're a beautiful algebra wizard."

Mom's eyes watery as she sips her shake. "Fern, you've always seen numbers differently from other people. I don't know where that comes from, but it's very special, and I know you've worked so hard." She dabs at her eye with a napkin.

I draw in a shuddering breath. "Mom, you've been supportive. Always. We did this together. I wish you could come with me!"

She waves a hand. "Maybe someday. For a visit." We share a grin until I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. Frowning, wondering who it could be, I glance down. It's Wyatt. I forgot I had given him my number at lunch. I press my lips together and send the call to voicemail as Thora and Mom talk about how nice it would be if Mom flew first class to see us both in London. Thora snorts. "It's not like anyone from my family will be coming over."

I slurp the last of my shake. There's no way I'll be hungry for dinner after this. "Never say never, Thor."

She squints and points at the ceiling. "The only way my parents are coming to London is if they're on the run from the law." Thora's purse begins to beep. "Ah, shit. I gotta get to the arena. I'm working the hockey game tonight."

Mom glances at her watch. "I should ride with you. I don't like to take the train too late." She looks up at me. "How long are you staying on campus, sweetheart? You said you have TA work to do this evening?"

I nod. "I want to get a head start on grading these exams alongside the other folks, get a sense of the routine and all that."

Mom frowns. "But you won't stay too late? Or splurge for a car if you do?"

There's no way I'm splurging on a ride share after we just had expensive milkshakes, but I nod my head to appease her. Public transportation is perfectly safe if you know how to use your elbows, which I do.

Mom and Thora wave and head to catch a bus toward downtown. They sandwich me in a hug on their way out of the shop, and once they're gone, I fiddle with my cup, deciding it can't hurt to listen to Wyatt's voicemail. His voice comes through the phone in a broken, muffled torrent about threats from his father and demands for money.

It's hard to ignore the undercurrent of panic in Wyatt's voice as I listen to his message, and I head instinctively toward his apartment a few blocks away, worried.

I knock on the door, hoping it's the correct one, and am greeted by a giant who shouts something about food delivery. "Sorry," I mutter. "I must have the wrong apartment…"

But then I see Wyatt over the man's shoulder. He sits on his couch, staring at me wide-eyed, face pale. He looks so vulnerable; I want to rush over and wrap my arms around him. The guy who answered the door looks at me, turns over his shoulder, and says, "There's a chick here for one of you." He snaps his gaze back to me. "What's your name?"

"She's here for me." Wyatt appears in the doorway, shoving the man out of the way and reaching for my hand.

He tugs me wordlessly through the apartment and straight into his bedroom. I worry there will be a chorus of teasing, but the entire production is met by awed silence by his roommates, who all seem too tall and too muscular for any of the furniture. I begin to understand why the athletes get their own apartment buildings—everything is bigger in here. They probably have reinforced box springs under their mattresses.

"Fern." Wyatt's voice is gravelly, pained. "You came." He sinks onto the edge of his bed and props his elbows on his knees, cradling his forehead in his palms.

I stand in front of him and rest a hand on his shoulder. "You sounded so upset. Want to tell me what happened?"

He shakes his head and I begin to stroke his shoulder, tracing a fingertip from his ear, down his neck, along the firm swell of muscle. He seems to lean into my touch, so I continue, and eventually, he says, "I feel like I'm putting my entire family at risk, like I'm just some outsider exposing them to trash and scandal."

I sink next to him on the bed and pull him into my arms, resting his head on my shoulder. His body shakes. My mouth is right by his ear as I whisper, "I know they don't feel that way about you. I can tell they'd want to fight this guy alongside you, Wyatt."

His voice is muffled by my shirt. "You haven't even met all of them. The Stag family is intense."

I rub my palms along his back and his arms, just holding him close to me. "From everything you've said, I think they'd get intensely protective of you."

He shakes his head. "That's the problem. They'd drop everything and go wild. And they probably would lose endorsements. I can't be the reason any of them lose an opportunity." He draws back to look at me, and his eyes are red and watery. "I'd never forgive myself if my parents got pulled from coaching the national team."

I swallow, looking around for water and not seeing any. I soldier on, voice thick. "What makes you think the team wouldn't rally around them?"

He sighs and pulls back further, reaching for his aunt's book on his nightstand . "This is all about corruption in the national office. My cousin Wes? His girlfriend was the woman who got grabbed and kissed on television. Did you read about that?"

I frown. "It sounds familiar … didn't she start a whole movement? And a clean sweep in the management with a vow to do better by their players?"

Wyatt seems to collapse, like he can't let himself trust that anyone would possibly be on his side in all of this. "Hey," I tell him, kicking off my shoes and curling up in the bed beside him. I let my hand rest on his face, and he turns toward my palm like a plant angling for sunlight. "I know it's hard to trust people when you're used to going alone. I get it. I was raised by a single mom."

He nods, cuddling closer to me. I've never felt this before, another person relying on me for comfort like this. Let alone a man I find attractive. A man who made me come harder than my expensive (and totally worth the cost) vibrator. I cannot think of Wyatt's bedroom skills right now. He's upset. I knock his baseball hat off his head and bury my fingers in his dark hair instead, gently stroking his head. It's intimate and soothing for both of us. His breath begins to slow, and I can feel him calming down.

"Okay," I tell him. "If this feels like too much, I'll shut up. But you know my friend Thora?"

He nods. "You've mentioned her."

I continue to stroke his hair and tell him about Thora's pre-law adventures and some of the case studies she's described to me. "There's a clinic on campus for legal aid. You see a law student, but it might be more confidential than talking to an official person who might know your family."

Wyatt draws back, frowning up at me. "What good would a student clinic do? I have an agent…"

I nod, bracing myself for him to not want to hear any suggestions. "I just remember Thora talking about petitions for confidential name changes. So, you wouldn't have to advertise it. I'm thinking a student could at least help with that."

Wyatt is quiet for a long time. Just as I worry he's fallen asleep, he curls a little tighter against me and says, "That could be something."

"It could," I whisper. "I'll get the clinic info from Thora. I can go with you if you want or not—whatever you need."

He looks up at me again, brow furrowed. "Why would you help me like that?"

I shrug. "I like you. We're friends. I think?"

His lips tip up in a small smile. "Yeah, something like that."

He burrows back into my shoulder, and I stroke his hair some more. "What were you going to do tonight? Before you came here, I mean?"

I smile against the top of his head. "I was drinking a milkshake, and then I'd probably read."

His voice is muffled against my shoulder. "What flavor milkshake?"

I laugh and swat at him. "It was hazelnut with little chunks of pretzel. And cherries, of course."

"You're into cherries."

I shrug against him. "I guess so. Sometimes."

I like this cuddly side of him, even as I begin to remember that he is off-limits in this regard. But my urge to help him overpowers my doubts, so I ask, "Want me to read to you since I'm here?"

He pulls back, meeting my eye. "That would be amazing."

"Yeah?" He's unexpectedly enthusiastic, so I disentangle myself from him and crawl toward his bookshelf, studying the spines. "Is that Megan Rapinoe's memoir?"

He stretches out on his back, grinning. "Yeah. I love that one. I know she has a version for adults, but that one's signed."

My jaw drops. "Seriously?" I glance inside the cover, where I see the book is indeed signed and personalized. "Well, we have to read this one, I guess." He nods, and I crawl back to him, sliding under his head so it's on my lap as I open the book. I begin to read, brushing his hair off his forehead with one hand while I recount young Megan's struggles with teachers who didn't like her, with anger she wasn't sure how to contain until she got a soccer ball at her feet.

Each time I glance down, Wyatt's eyes are closed, and I worry he's asleep until he grunts in laughter at the Rapinoe tradition of cleaning out the fridge. "Leftovers don't exist in this apartment, either," he tells me. He waves a hand toward the door. "Those monsters eat everything. Everything."

I close the book and set it aside. "My mom and I eat a pot of soup for like an entire week. It's just us."

He smiles. "Some pros and cons to both those refrigerators, I guess."

I feel warm, happy, and relaxed. I know a crisis for him brought me here, but even if it's forbidden, I'm glad to be right where I am.

"Where were you tonight? Other than milkshakes?"

I glance down at him, and I can't contain the smile that tugs at my mouth. "I was celebrating." He raises his brows, questioning. "I got into my grad program … with funding."

Wyatt draws back, grinning. "That's incredible, Fern. You rock."

A flush builds from my core to the tips of my ears. "It feels pretty damn good."

His gaze heats, and he sits up. "Did you feel all celebrated out? Cuz I can think of some pretty good additions to your milkshake experience."

He licks his lips and snakes a palm onto my hip, tugging me tight against him. I inhale sharply, feeling him fully erect, hard and hot.

I glance down at his sweats, noting the outline bulging between us. "A celebration, hm?"

He nods, splaying his long fingers wider against my butt, digging in and squeezing. "Are you interested in that?"

I close my eyes. "Nobody will know?"

He looks over his shoulder toward his bedroom door. There isn't a sound from outside the door, not even the video game. I have no idea what time it is or how long we've been in here. "They're not going to tell anyone, trust me," Wyatt says with a small smile. "We know better than to blab about who goes in and out of the bedrooms here."

I lick my lips and, rather than prolong the conversation, lean forward to kiss him.

He's familiar and exceptional, warm lips pressing against mine while a tiny moan escapes his throat. I love the feel of it, the sound of his wanting. I rock my hips against him as his hand stays on my ass like all he wants in the world is to feel me pressed into his crotch.

"Fern," he whispers and sucks on my tongue, sending spirals of sparks along my spine. I nibble on his lower lip and explore his mouth with my own tongue, wriggling until my nipples feel the friction against his chest.

I move a hand from his head to his waistband, fingers finding the smooth, taut skin of his abdomen. I trace along the top of his sweats, where his stomach is hairless and firm and so, so warm. In a flurry of elbows and muscular forearms, he whips his shirt over his head and throws it across the room, leaving me with the magnificent sight of his torso. When he rolls onto his back, I can't help but straddle him, pulling off my own shirt and then returning my palms to his chest as he settles me onto his erection.

Even through my jeans, the friction feels perfect. I can tell I'm wet, all the way through my underwear, and Wyatt confirms this when he reaches between my thighs and grins, finding the evidence of my arousal. "Oh, Fern, you gorgeous thing."

I bite my lip and reach behind my back, unclasping my bra. The straps fall from my shoulders, and Wyatt reaches up to slide my hands away. He cups my breasts greedily, squeezing and kneading. "Your body is so fucking incredible," he rasps as I continue wriggling on top of him. In an athletic move I can't comprehend, he sits up without using his hands, and his mouth is back on mine as he continues to touch my boobs, eventually moving to pinch both nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "Beautiful," he murmurs, never taking his eyes off me.

"That feels so good," I manage to moan, and then I gasp when he dips his head to lick first one nipple and then the other. He leans back, admiring the wet nubs in the dim light from his nightstand. I think about a book Thora gave me once and I stiffen, wondering if Wyatt would be interested in recreating one of the spicy scenes.

He licks and rubs, seeming to enjoy himself immensely as I sit with my hands on his shoulders. Eventually, he looks up, rubbing his cheek against one breast like it's a satin pillow. "What's on your mind, Montgomery?" He arches one eyebrow as I bite my lip. Sensing my hesitation, he straightens. "What's up?"

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, then drop a hand between our bodies, causing him to hiss when my palm rests on his cock. "I was wondering if you'd want to try something …"