Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

A small part of me wishes that I kept up with my messages last night. Ignoring them was good for my mental health at the time, but facing the reality of them right now feels like a major slide backward.

I rub my eyes as I sit up in Wyatt’s bed, his comforter clutched to my chest while his back rises and falls with the rhythm of his breathing. I don’t want to wake him. Not yet. He was everything I needed last night. And also, he made me feel things on my body that I didn’t think were real.

What we did wasn’t sex. It was love. The way he cared for me, put me first, and cherished me? I was beginning to believe those were fantasies in my romance novels. But they aren’t. They are real when you find someone worthy. When you find the right person.

As blissful as the thought is of snuggling up next to him and repeating everything from last night, I have to deal with the day ahead of me.

It’s Friday, and I am pretty sure I’m not going to school. The CALL ME text from my mom is a pretty solid indicator that I might lose the keys to the Jeep too. I take care of my messages from Lexi and Tasha first, assuring them that I am all right and I’ll update them when I find out what my punishment is. There’s a voicemail from Coach Nelson too. But as for my dad, absolute radio silence.

“Hey.” Wyatt’s voice is groggy. He sits up next to me and kisses my bare shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” I kiss his lips but hold my lips closed, not sure what state my breath is in. He chuckles and slips out of the bed, his bare ass on full display.

“Oh, hey! It’s daylight.” I chuckle, covering my eyes with my hand but spreading my fingers apart for an easy peek.

He shoots me a grin over his shoulder before slipping on his sweatpants.

“You want something of mine?” he asks.

I shrug and scan the room for my discarded clothes. He picks them up and sets them on the foot of the bed, then grabs a very large Buffalo Bills sweatshirt from his closet.

“It was my dad’s,” he says, tossing it to me.

“Oh, I shouldn’t take it, then,” I say, feeling the warn cotton in my hands.

“It’s fine. I have a lot of his things. And to be clear, I’m not giving that to you permanently,” he says through laughter.

I smile and slip it over my body.

“Fair enough,” I say.

I put on my shorts and wrap my bra and panties in my T-shirt before hunting down my shoes. I spot them near Wyatt’s dresser, so I get up to shove my feet into them and run my fingers through what feels like pretty crazy hair. I manage to work it into a bun, taking a pen from on his desk to push through the center and hold it in place.

I’m listening to my message from my coach when Wyatt steps back into his room, showered and dressed for school. He waits while I finish, getting the gist of what she has to tell me. I’m suspended for two days, today and Monday. And cheering next Friday is up in the air. Also, my dad wants to talk to me.

“Great. That’s settled,” I say, clicking my phone screen off and tucking my phone into my side pocket.

“Mom? Dad? Or?—”

“Coach,” I say, filling in the third option. I suppose it could have been the dean or the athletic director, but given how close everyone is with my dad, I figured everyone would pretty much defer to him on this mess.

“How bad?” Wyatt asks.

“Not as bad as I expected,” I admit. “No school today or Monday, though that doesn’t mean I don’t get all the work.”

“Ha, yeah, that’s not really a punishment. That’s more of a vacation.”

“ Hmm .” I nod in agreement.

“Technically, even though my game is at your school tonight, it’s not really your school’s event, so does that mean . . . ?” His hopeful eyes, all wide and puppy-dogged, are irresistible. I step into his open arms and give in, letting him kiss me and my bad breath.

“I will be at your game even if I have to break out of prison to do it,” I promise. I doubt that will be the case, though. I may, however, be stuck in awkward silence sitting next to my father. I really wish I didn’t invite him now.

“I guess I should go ahead and break the news to you now, then,” Wyatt says. I take a step back, a little nervous and also anticipating one of his usual jokes. I tilt my head and squint one eye.

“My mom’s in the kitchen. She got off early, and she’d love to meet you. Odds are high we’ll also get a lecture about safe sex, which will no doubt make both of us want to crawl into holes, but, well . . .”

“Oh . . . wow. ” My mouth hangs open as I pace his room and stop at the foot of his bed so I can flop down before I pass out.

“Really, my mom is amazing. And this way you’ll recognize her at the game tonight.” He’s trying so hard to spin this as a positive.

“This is not how I wanted to meet your mom, Wyatt. She’s going to think?—”

He steps in front of me and cups my chin, lifting my gaze to his.

“That you make me very happy. And that we are both eighteen and responsible young adults.”

“Minus the fact that one of us is now a delinquent with a two-day suspension?” My pulse races from my anxiety. It’s pushing against my eardrums and making it hard to focus.

Wyatt reaches for my hands, urging me to stand.

“When I tell her why you were suspended, I promise she’ll want to buy you dinner and celebrate. Theresa Stone has zero tolerance for bullies.” The serious look on his face sets me at ease, at least about my suspension. However, I’m still a ball of nerves about meeting his mom.

I blow out hard enough that a few stray hairs that were tickling my nose blast away from my face. I follow Wyatt out of his room, my keys, phone, and wallet clutched to my stomach, my body now sweating bullets under this Bills sweatshirt. The blunt smell of strong coffee hits my nose, but so does the alluring scent of bacon. My senses are definitely weakened, and then my gaze lands on the small woman with short dark brown hair and chocolate eyes.

“Breakfast?” She pushes a plate to the center of the table, then pulls her hands back to cradle her coffee mug in front of her. She arches a brow at Wyatt.

“Thanks, Mom,” he says, doing his best to ignore her, I think. She reaches forward as he sits down, though, and shifts the plate in my direction.

“You can make your own plate. This is for our guest.”

He laughs softly through his nose and shuts his eyes before moving into the kitchen and making himself a plate of bacon and what looks like quiche, I think.

“They’re frozen, so don’t feel guilty like I spent hours slaving in the kitchen,” she says to me. She likely noticed the way I eyed the very nice meal with curiosity.

“Thank you,” I cough out. I slide back the heavy wooden chair, squealing it along the tile. I wince and mouth, “Sorry,” but take my seat and immediately spear the egg dish with my fork. It oozes cheese, and it smells incredible. I carve out a bite and blow on it to cool.

“So, Peyton, yes?”

“ Mmm hmm ,” I say, nodding and glancing up as I eat my first bite. My hunch was right. This is so good .

“I’ve heard . . . a little about you. Though, I have to say, most of my conclusions are based on the fact when I grill my son for information, he turns bright red and runs away. But it’s nice to meet you. You must be special to him.”

I suck in my lips, my cheeks balling tightly with my desire to smile, but I also want to crawl under the table and hide. Hard to say which urge is winning.

“Thank you,” I say, dropping my gaze back to my plate. Thank you? Was that the right thing to say?

“I assume you will not be moving in with us, and this was a . . . rare occurrence.”

I choke on my bite, coughing as I bring my eyes up to hers. Wyatt tried to warn me.

“Yes. I mean . . . no? I don’t know what the right answer is, but no, I’m not moving in. I had a terrible day yesterday, and?—”

Wyatt’s hand lands on my shoulder, shutting off my verbal spigot.

“She came over after practice. We know about being safe. I was a gentleman, and she needed someone to listen.” His foot slides into mine under the table, and I have a feeling it’s a warning for me not to question that gentleman part. Though, he was a gentleman. I wouldn’t have felt the way I did if he weren’t.

“Okay.” His mom nods. She sips her coffee but eyes both of us over the rim. Her gaze dips briefly to the sweatshirt I’m wearing.

“She’s coming to my game tonight,” Wyatt says, pulling her attention back to him.

“Oh, yeah? Have you been before? To one of his games?”

I swallow hard, and I’m pretty sure I just heard Wyatt do the same.

“Not a Vista game. No. I’m usually busy. I cheer.”

Her brow lifts in interest.

“At . . . Coolidge,” I croak out.

Her brow lifts more and her gaze slides to Wyatt. He simply smiles and shovels food in his mouth.

“Oh, you go to Coolidge. Aren’t they sort of?—”

“Our rivals,” Wyatt barks out, his mouth full. He’s so comfortable with this.

“Ah, yeah. That’s what I thought. You all don’t have a game tonight, Peyton?”

“No, ma’am,” I say, shaking my head. I probably shouldn’t have called her ma’am . I know my mom hates that. But I’m petrified of fucking this up, and I want her to like me.

“They have a bye week. And we’re using their field. It’s . . . a long story,” Wyatt says, somehow already scraping the last dregs of food from his plate.

I’ve barely nibbled at mine, so I try to catch up. I don’t need them both watching me eat. I’m not even that hungry.

“Well, since you’ve probably seen a lot of football games, I’m guessing you won’t be surprised when I stand up and yell in the bleachers. I can be kind of loud,” she admits.

Wyatt gets up and moves behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She glances up with an adoring expression. My heart stretches at the sweet sight.

“She is downplaying that. She can be very loud. I could hear her over my dad sometimes. It’s not even a competition,” he says. His mom reaches up and pats his cheek.

“I won’t be surprised. Believe me. I’ve seen it all.” I instantly regret letting that slip. I pour my focus onto my plate, stuffing half of my quiche into my mouth, the tip of my tongue singed from the melted cheese.

“I bet you get a lot of flak as a cheerleader. I’m sure you’ve seen a lot,” she says, and I relax into my seat, glad she drew her own conclusion. I’m pretty sure Wyatt hasn’t discussed who my father is with her yet, given that she’s been grilling him to no avail about most everything about me.

“We should head out. Save the dishes for me for tonight, Mom.” He snags a backpack from one of the chairs and helps me scoot my chair back, leaving half of my breakfast still on the plate. Grandpa hates waste. I almost want to ask for a box, but I’ve done enough damage this morning.

“Thank you! It was really nice to meet you,” I manage to get out before the door closes.

Wyatt walks me through his garage and to my Jeep, holding the door open for me and kissing me before stepping back and pushing it shut.

“So, are you heading home or . . .” He shrugs.

I chuckle, but inside, my chest lights up with nerves.

“I have to see my mom. That’s first. And then I guess I’ll go from there. I need to text my coach to see if I need to do anything or sign something. I don’t know, Wyatt. I’ve never been suspended before. I suppose at some point, I’ll need to see my dad. I’m kind of planning on going to your game about seven hours early and just sitting in the bleachers.”

He laughs and drops his gaze to the ground, where he kicks his toe into the roadway.

“I’m really sorry you’re going through this. Truly.” His gaze lifts to mine, his eyes soft.

“I know. But I’ll be fine. I’m Peyton Johnson. Grandpa built us strong.” Of everyone in my family, my grandpa is actually the person I need most right now. He has a way of saying the perfect thing, of putting trouble in order and showing me the reason for it all. Some people have church. I have Buck Johnson.

Wyatt leans in to kiss me one last time before jogging up his driveway to his truck. I take off and am around the corner before he has a chance to catch up to me. I have to pull the Band-Aid off what’s coming, and I need to start with Mom.

I send her a text from the stoplight about two miles away from home, and she tells me to come find her in the barn. She might have me shovel shit today, and I’d take the penance gladly. Anything not to have to talk about what set me off or to face my dad for a while. I’m still not sure I’m ready to face him. I’m still hurt.

My mom is saddling one of our oldest horses, Otis, when I reach the barn, and it looks as though the space has already been cleaned for the day, so no shovels for me. She has me wait by the door while she finishes up and walks Otis out toward the arena. She must have a new client today. Otis is gentle, and when someone hasn’t ridden before, he’s a good start.

“I’m guessing Coach called you?”

My mom nods. I try to read her face, and I can’t tell whether I need to brace myself for crushing disappointment or one of those slow-to-boil rage-outs. She hasn’t really yelled at me since I crashed the Jeep, but I think I prefer that to crushing disappointment.

“I let my emotions get to me, Mom, and I’m really sorry.”

She halts us, Otis stomping to a stop in the dirt as he snorts and kicks up dust.

“Peyton, as a parent I should probably be angry and discipline you, and I still might, but not because you stood up for yourself. I would have given anything to be able to do that when I was your age. It took me years to find my self-confidence. To know my worth. So, yeah, you shouldn’t hit people. But also . . .” Her lip raises on one side, and I match her half smile with my own.

She guides Otis forward again, and I trail along at his other side. I move ahead when we reach the arena, holding open the gate so she can bring him in and let him run a little. Running for Otis is more of a trot.

“You said I might still be in trouble?” I ask as I latch the gate behind me.

“ Hmm , yeah. I get being hurt, Peyton. But when you don’t come home, and you don’t call, I get really worried. If it weren’t for Lexi picking up and letting me know you stayed at her house, I might have called the sheriff.”

She gives me side eyes in warning, and I’m not sure what to react to first—the amazing lie my friend told for me or the fact the sheriff could have been cruising around town with a spotlight in search of me.

“I understand,” I say.

She holds my gaze for a few paces, then turns her focus back to Otis, running her palm along his neck. I’ve always loved the way his gray color reflects the sun. He’s my favorite.

“Coach Nelson said to call her during her prep hour. She’ll make sure you get your assignments. You won’t have to miss next Friday’s game, and let’s just call that a gift from your mom, who can be quite convincing when she wants to be.”

My lungs open up, a weight falling away from my shoulders. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to join my squad.

“Thank you.”

My mom nods, but she keeps her gaze fixed on Otis.

“I am sorry,” I say, my chest tightening. I need her to look at me, I think. She pauses after a few seconds and finally levels me with a heavy look, her eyes slightly red, like she’s been crying. The invisible rope around my chest pulls.

“Mom?” I step into her and she pulls me to her chest, hugging me tight. Her hand cups the back of my head, and her body quivers but only for a second. She sniffles before letting go.

“I know it’s hard to live with this last name. Your dad meant well.” So she knows the full story. That’s . . . good, I guess. It saves me from having to tattle on my father.

“It’s fine,” I say, that word I keep trying to sell still not coming out true.

She shakes her head.

“It’s not, and I know it won’t be until that parade is well in the past. But I’m asking you to give your dad some grace when you see him. I want you to give him grace, but be honest. He says he’ll see you at the game, whatever that means.”

I shake, partly in fear of having hard conversations but mostly because I want to hug my dad, too. I’m so mad at him, but I love him.

“I will. I’ll give him grace. I promise.”