29. Wyatt

Chapter 29

Wyatt

I feel fucking fantastic. I had an incredible morning and Brian pulled me aside the second I stepped off the grass to let me know today is going to be an offer day.

For the first time, the idea doesn't fill me with dread. I've got my mom and dad in the stands, my legal shit sorted out, and a signed document from the courts ordering my biological scum rag to stay the fuck away from me and my entire family.

Plus, my girl is in the stands watching. I know I can't really call her my girl … Fern is my professor–instructor if we're being technical. And I'm moving to Mexico, and she's moving to London. But she's here. She came over to watch me because I asked her to, and that means the world to me.

I'm practically floating when I step outside the locker room to catch my breath and calm down while I wait for Brian to call me up to the conference room to sign paperwork. I lean against the brick of the stadium exterior, smiling at the train going past, and the barges on the river. This stadium has been my home base for almost my entire life. I spent hours here after school, running around while my parents finished work. Once Dad retired from playing and started coaching, I spent even more time here, running drills alongside the team like some bratty kid. Except, I could always keep up.

I hear a shout and glance toward the sound. I see a woman hurrying toward the light rail station and a crusty man with a camera in hot pursuit.

It's … Fern. What the fuck? "Hey!" I push off the brick and start following them, my cleats loud on the sidewalk. I shouldn't run and risk stumbling in my awkward footwear, but I will if I need to. Fern hears my voice and whips around. Her eyes are wide with concern until she sees me, and I watch as she immediately seems to relax. "Fern, is this guy bothering you?"

"Fern, is it?" The guy pulls out a notepad and starts writing shit down.

"Who the hell are you? Don't say her name."

He smiles and shrugs. "I'm just doing my job, kid."

"Moyer, I've been looking everywhere for you." My agent's voice appears over my shoulder, and I see him approaching from the corner of my eye. He stops beside me, hands on his hips, glowering at the cameraman. "Fuck you, Pella. You trying to get another libel suit? I will sue you before you get to your car."

The man—Pella, apparently—grins and shakes his head. "I just do what I'm told. Take it up with BuzzTalk."

He stalks toward the parking lot, chuckling, and I glare at Brian. "Who is that guy? He was following Fern." I gesture at her.

Brian scowls. "Do I know Fern?"

She opens her mouth, and I place a hand on her shoulder. "She's my fucking friend, and I don't want that guy bothering her. He wrote her name down and took her picture."

Brian nods. "I'll take care of it. This is what you pay me for. I thought we went over that when your dad called me about the name stuff." Brian shakes his head, fingers flying across the screen of his phone. My Uncle Tim appears on the sidewalk with us like he could smell another opportunity to dismantle someone legally. Fern looks like she's going to pass out.

"Hey, can we get her inside? Fern, come on, let me get you some water." I put an arm around her shoulder, but she shakes it off, eyes glittering like she's on the verge of tears. I nod and gesture for her to walk ahead of me and through the door into the stadium offices. We bypass the locker room and head for the elevator, Brian and Uncle Tim whispering about the gossip website, takedown notices, and defamation lawsuits.

They both seem totally casual about this situation, but I can tell that Fern is freaking out that someone is going to write about her and put her photo on the hottest celebrity gossip site around. I walk her toward the conference room, thankful there aren't yet any team reps in here and grab a bottle of water from the bowl on the table. "Tell me what happened," I ask, sitting in one of the chairs and bending to unlace my cleats. I'm done for the day, regardless of what the teams might still be looking for. There's no way I could play right now, all worked up about Fern and the press.

She swallows. "I was cheering for you. He took your picture on the field and then mine and … asked me things." She takes a big swig of water. "I tried to leave and he followed me. I thought he was going to get right onto the train with me."

I reach for her arm and she yanks it back. I close my eyes, remembering again that while I might have solved all my shit and gotten my ducks in a row, Fern still has everything to lose if people find out she and I are involved. "My family won't let them print anything, Fern. Okay? Do you trust that?"

She rolls her eyes. "The internet is forever, Wyatt. There's probably already a story on TikTok."

"There are always fucking stories about me on TikTok. Why do you think I worked so hard to change my name?"

She stiffens and I lean forward before I remember that she isn't comfortable being touched right now. I hold up my palms. "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to understand what happened."

Brian pokes his head in the door and says abruptly, "Pella filed some gossip piece already, but there's nothing there." He shrugs. "Just says you're the kid of soccer legends Hawk and Lucy, you've got a girlfriend from school, lists her name and the university." Brian squints at his phone. "Okay, it was just updated that … aw! You guys met in math class?"

Fern turns white.

I stand up and yank Brian's phone from him. "They have to take that down, Brian. There's a situation."

He frowns. "You're supposed to tell me about situations, kid. This is how it works. You tell me about the situations, and I handle them ahead of time."

I drag a hand through my hair. "It's only a situation for Fern."

Her face hardens, and she stands up. "Well, I'm so glad you see it that way. God, I can't believe I came here." She moves toward the door.

Brian holds up a hand, urging her to stop. "Hey, kiddo, a situation for you is still under my purview. What's going on?"

I open my mouth to tell him that our tryst on New Year's Eve became a huge liability for Fern's future career, but the rest of my family appears in the doorway. Mom, Dad, Odin, Stellen, and even Birdie shove into the room, shouting that the team from Guadalajara is on their way up to the conference room with a contract for me.

Fern shoves through all of them, and I follow her into the hall, feeling ridiculous in my socks and soccer gear while my life is both falling apart and coming together. "Fern, can you just wait?"

She whips around to face me. "For what? The press to publish more about me while you're signing? I have to figure out what I'm going to do, Wyatt. This is serious."

"Brian is going to take care of it. This is going to be fine."

She throws her hands up in the air. "You're so naive if you really believe that they can help me now." She snaps her lips together, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, they're cold and distant. "Please don't reach out to me or contact me apart from class. I'm so happy for you and the contract you're about to sign. Thank you for helping me unwind. I hope you can understand why I regret ever trying to do that."

She turns on her heel toward the stairs. I want to follow her, but I'm literally pulled back by sets of arms. My family shouts congratulations that feel hollow and empty as Fern marches away from me.

I stare at the pen in my hand that I just used to check off a major life goal. I signed Wyatt Stag Moyer on a professional soccer contract, in black ink, with a boring ass ballpoint pen covered in teeth marks. Who even knows whose mouth was gnawing this Bic.

I should feel … better. I asked my family to give me a minute alone. We're all going out to celebrate later, but I need to calm down. I don't need to look up when I hear a knock on the door–I know it's my dad. I keep staring at the pen as he makes his way to the black leather seat next to me and squeezes my leg. "Hey, kid. Will you sign my jersey?"

I look over to see him holding a Guadalajara jersey. It looks way too big for him. "Where did you get that?"

He laughs. "Brian has a few things in the trunk of his Bugatti."

I sneer at my dad. "Since when does a Bugatti have a trunk?"

Dad ruffles my hair. "Okay, smart ass. The back seat then." Dad pulls a Sharpie from his track pants pocket. "You gonna sign it or what?"

The silky material feels smooth and cool in my hand, a tangible reminder of the dream I just achieved. I don't hold back the grin as I scrawl my name on the back of the jersey, which Dad slips over his Forge polo, a huge smile blooming across his entire face. "I'm really proud of you, you know." And then he sighs. "And I can see that you're upset about the reporter."

I nod and briefly close my eyes, picturing Fern's face. The hurt in her eyes when she left the stadium, the fear of losing everything she's worked for. It tears me apart, knowing that I'm the cause of her pain. "Fern has so much to lose. She … I hate that her knowing me exposes her like that."

Dad nods and taps on the table. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes searching mine. I can see the worry etched in the lines of his face, but there's also a fierce determination, an unspoken promise there. "I had a similar conflict when I first got with your mother." His mouth tips in a small grin, like the memory is mostly pleasant now. "I don't need to remind you it's important to protect the people you love. Or that you have my full support and any help I can offer to do that."

I swallow a lump and twirl the pen in my hands. "I don't want Fern to suffer because of me, Dad. She's worked so hard for her future, and I can't be the reason she loses everything."

Dad pulls me in for a hug like I'm a kid instead of a grown-ass man who keeps acting like a child. Dad says, "Son, you've got a good heart. We'll figure this out together. Fern's part of the family now, and we take care of our own."

I shake my head against his shoulder. "She asked me to give her space. I want to respect that."

He hums, low and long. "That's a good instinct. But are you sure that's what she's really asking for?"

I nod and sniff through my nose, grounding myself, finally setting down the chewed-up pen. "Yeah. And I think I know how to offer her that distance and still make sure she's okay."

Dad arches a brow and rubs a hand across his stubble. "How's that, son? Want to run your plan past me? Or Uncle Tim?"

I shake my head and stand, clapping him on the shoulder. "I know what I need to do. I'm ready to go find everyone now."

Dad stares down at my feet and I remember that I'm standing around in my socks, and that I came up here right from the field. We both laugh, and he walks me to the locker room to get changed. I know what I need to do, and it's going to piss off my parents, but I know it's the right thing to do–for Fern. For her future. I'll sacrifice whatever I can to make things right for her.