18. Wyatt

Chapter 18

Wyatt

The last thing I expect to see when I get back to my apartment after my workout is my sister curled up on my couch. "Birdie? What the hell? Why aren't you in Michigan?"

Our entire family was shocked when my sister begged to move away for high school and play for an elite academy soccer team. Family has always been so important to us, and lord knows we have enough resources here in Pittsburgh to support professional sports aspirations. But Birdie was insistent.

Which does nothing to explain her presence here on my couch. She doesn't respond to my question until I shake her. Gunnar, entering the apartment behind me, pauses by the couch and swats her ass with a pillow. "Birdie Moyer, is that seriously you? Don't you have spring training or some shit?"

She groans and rolls over, her forearm draped across her face. "We're on break, and Mom and Dad are in Texas with the national teams."

I scratch my chin, trying to remember the last time I talked with my parents. "Wouldn't their house be quieter? A more logical place to get a nap?" She grunts. I glance past her to my open bedroom door, and concern settles icily in my stomach. "Hey, where's, um … was someone here when you got here?"

Birdie sits up, grinning. "Oh, your lady-friend? She was in your bed when I got here. And then she took off."

"Shit."

Gunnar looks at me, eyes wide. "That chick from last night stayed over? Damn, son." He holds a hand up for a high five.

"Don't be a dick, Gunnar. Come on." I pull my phone out of my sweats and see a few messages from Fern. "I have to check on her."

I head into my room and slam the door, calling Fern's number, but the phone goes right to voicemail. I check the time—it's just past eight, so she wouldn't be in class yet. I scrape a hand down my chin and read her messages. She's worried my sister will, I don't know, call the math dean or something. As if anyone here even knows that Fern is my TA.

I fire off a series of messages to her.

I'm so sorry about my sister. She's … a handful.

And then I remember Fern's concerns and add

She's not going to say anything. I swear. But I do want to follow up with you about the thing you mentioned.

About the student clinic.

I am about to send another message, like an absolute psycho, when Fern writes back.

Fern Montgomery

I'll grab the clinic info from Thora ASAP. It's probably best if we don't text apart from academic matters.

Shit. She's got to be freaking out about her scholarship. I realize that my concern for Fern is overpowering my concern for all the shit with my career and my name and deadbeat Nick. Which should feel like progress, but doesn't. It's strange to be worried about something other than my own crap. And that gets me thinking more about how much these concerns are taking over my life. I try to ignore this and return my thoughts to Fern, who is amazing and so smart and listens to me even when I talk about all my darkness.

I try to respect her boundaries and avoid sending her hourly text updates asking if she heard anything, telling her my family won't say shit to anyone. I want to send her filthy things, telling her how sexy it was the way she came for me, plush thighs wrapped around my waist, amazing ass in my palms as I drove into her. Shit. I don't know if it's hotter that she's sort of forbidden or if she's just fuck-hot, but there's no way I'm concentrating on class this morning with those sorts of memories so fresh in my mind.

When my phone pings with an email, I see it's from Fern and immediately open it. The student law clinic is every Tuesday and Thursday morning, so basically, right the hell now. I change into a nice shirt and slacks—a big change for me since I'm usually wearing athletic stuff—and step into the living room to whistles and jeers from my cousins and my sister, who is now fully awake and playing video games with Odin. "Where the hell are you going?" She sniffs, like I'm wearing ripped clothes and a grease-stained shirt instead of business casual.

"I have a thing," is all I give them. I grab a pea coat from the closet and slip it on, immediately realizing it must belong to Odin because it's fucking huge, but I don't pause to change. I head directly to the clinic, and mercifully, there are only a few people in line ahead of me. One of the clinic workers seems to be the bartender friend Fern mentioned. I frown—I don't know if undergrads are equipped to handle the kind of shit I am here to discuss. But it seems like Thora is mostly handling registration, so I relax a bit.

"Oh," she says, making eyes at me. "It's you! Name, please?"

I hesitate. "Um, that's sort of why I'm here…"

She squints. "I need a name to put on the case file. What's your current legal name?"

I look over my shoulder. "Can I just write it down?" I don't think there is anyone here who might recognize me. I don't have my signature hat pulled over my face, but we're also not really in an area full of undergrads. Everyone mulling about the clinic seems to have shit they're distracted by.

Thora shrugs and slides me her electronic tablet. "We're in the age of modernity. You can type it."

I'm sitting outside staring at my official petition for a confidential name change. The law student had access to all the old court records, and it was super uncomfortable rereading those documents. I had sort of suppressed the court appearances from when I would have to go to his house for visitation, and he would refuse to feed me if I cried or made noise, and Mom kept trying to change the custody order.

I'm a little twitchy remembering all the incidents my mom never found out about because the police never got involved. But the supervising lawyer at the clinic today said we didn't even need to get into all that because there was enough paperwork from custody court paired with the threatening texts.

I was embarrassed to tell them that I initiated contact, but I think the law school folks understand what it's like to hope your parents will raise you.

I gave them a check that was less than a tank of gas in my Range Rover, and they're going to file all this stuff for me with the magistrate.

All I want to do is call Fern and thank her, properly. But she's spooked about my sister. Fern and I never seem to get enough time alone. I realize I have just the way to overcome that obstacle, in a place where Fern won't worry about us being seen or anyone reporting our relationship to her boss.

I look at my watch. I have no idea what her schedule is like on Tuesdays, but I do know she has a mailbox in the math department. I form a plan and scrawl a note to her on the back of the law clinic flyer Thora handed me outlining their services and fees.

As I make my way to the math building, I hope I run into Fern in person, but I don't hold out much hope of that. I slip the folded flyer into the pigeonhole above her name and head home to prepare while I wait for her response.