4. Noah

4

After Elle picks up Peyton, I slip into some running shorts, sneakers, grab my ear buds, and head for the door. I pause in the hallway and look at myself. It seems I've forgotten a shirt. I think about heading out without one. The likelihood that I need to go into a store or something is nil, but you never know. On closer inspection, I spot a love bite from my wife.

"Yep, definitely putting a shirt on," I say to our empty house. She wouldn't let me make love to her this morning, no matter how hard I tried. As much as the rejection stings, I accepted her reasoning. Some medical professional will be doing uncomfortable things to her today and the last thing she wanted was for some tech to ask her if she had sex this morning. I really didn't buy her excuse but didn't push further. I respect her boundaries, just as much as I respect the fact that she wanted to take care of me and satisfy my needs. The damn hickey is another story.

With a T-shirt on, I head back toward the front door, open it, and find my father standing there, poised to knock. I slip one of the ear buds out and say, "What are you doing here?" My question is snotty and not meant to be rude or insulting. My parents can visit whenever they want. But they normally give us a heads up.

"Hi, son." My dad smirks. "May I come in?"

I shake my head, clearing the instant fog, and step back to let him in. He has an overnight bag, which he sets down near this table Peyton found at some desert antique shop last summer. The person who sold it to us gave my wife some song and dance about its history and then instantly charged us a hundred less than the price shown on the tag. History my ass.

"Not to sound like a broken record, but seriously what are you doing here?" It's not that I don't want to see my dad, it's that he's incredibly busy buying up dilapidated buildings in Beaumont and turning them into either affordable housing or office space so businesses can come to town. Most of us in the family think he's gearing up to run for mayor. Which is a bit comical. Sure, the prodigal son returned home, but he's a musician. Even though 4225 West hasn't toured in a few years, every album they've released has gone platinum. I think Liam Page would have a hard time sitting behind a desk every day, stamping his name on documents.

"Can't a father visit his son?"

I scoff and eye him suspiciously. "Sure, he can. Where's Mom?"

"With your sister. She's on vacation for another month."

Ah yes, no more traveling without Miss Betty Paige. At least not since Mack asked my dad permission to take her on a date. Mack confided in me that he kissed Paige. I had a hard time not wanting to wring the boy's neck and hers. The problem is, I can't be in the middle of this relationship. I love them both but will always side with my sister. I was a teenager once. I'm not even playing stupid when it comes to those two. Which reminds me, I want Peyton to talk to Paige about protecting herself. I can't do it because . . . hello, embarrassing. And I'm not mentioning it to my parents.

"Anyway," my dad sighs. "I thought we'd hang for the weekend."

"Okay," I say, still suspicious. "Want something to drink? Eat?"

Liam shakes his head. "Were you about to leave when I got here?"

I nod. "I was going to head out for a run. Peyton went to an appointment with Elle. I need to clear my head or keep it clear. I hate this entire process."

"Let me change and I'll go with you."

Before I can protest, he's grabbed his bag and disappeared down the hall to the room he and my mom stay in when they're here. I sigh. The last thing the streets of Malibu need to see is Liam Page running.

"Fuck my life," I mutter as I head into the kitchen for a glass of water. My dad joins me minutes later and helps himself. He drinks heartily from the glass and then sets it in the sink.

"Ready?"

"Yes, but don't be embarrassed when I kick your ass," I tell him.

The ever-charismatic Liam Page grips my shoulder and bends over in laughter. He heaves, feigns being out of breath, and fans his imaginary tears away. "Son, you slay me."

"Who taught you that word?"

"Your sister."

I shake my head. "Come on, old man."

"Who are you calling old?"

We get outside and begin to stretch.

"Hi, Noah," one of my neighbors from down the road waves as she power walks by wearing those incredibly tiny workout shorts. I have no idea what her name is though. I wave, being a friendly neighbor and all.

"Who's that?"

"Dunno," I say, shrugging. "They all say hi when they go by. It's not like I'm standing out there introducing myself."

"Who else lives around here?"

I look around at the houses. Some you can see because they're perilously perched on cliffs. Others you can only see gates or driveways. "Uh, Cyrus, Streisand, Leo, the Hiltons, and that tequila maker, what's his name . . ."

"Mr. Crawford," Liam says, fanning his face.

"No, that's not it."

My dad rolls his eyes. "Randy Gerber. He's married to Cindy Crawford." He lets out a low whistle.

"Does Mom know?"

He shrugs. "She has her freebie list."

"What the fuck is a freebie list?"

"You know a list of people you can sleep with and can't get into trouble for."

I stare at my dad as rage boils. "You fucking kidding me with this bullshit?"

"What?" He shrugs as if he didn't just admit he has a list of people he wants to sleep with.

"I'm going to kick your ass, old man."

He holds his hands up. "Your mom has a list, son. Not me. I did all that shit a long time ago, found the error of my ways and haven't looked back. Your mother is the only woman I want to be with."

"Then I'm going to have words with her."

He shakes his head. "It's just a thing. No one actually acts on it. It'd be like you finding another celebrity attractive."

"Never gonna happen," I tell him as we head toward the street. "And if Peyton thinks like you do, we'll have words." We start with a slow jog. "Is this really a thing?"

"It was back in my father's time. Must have died out."

"Thank god for that. I can't imagine my wife having a list of people she wants to be with, and if she does, I better never learn of it. No, I take that back. The list better contain ten Noah Westburys."

"Jealous much?"

I shake my head. "It's not about being jealous, Dad. I love her far too much to let another woman touch me, and if another man touched her . . ." I trail off. I honestly don't know what I'd do, but I'd likely end up in jail.

We run in silence for a mile, both of us huffing and puffing thanks to the heat and air quality. While I like being in California where the sun shines almost every day, there is something to be said about cozying up on a gloomy day by the fire with the love of your life nestled next to you. Those are the days in Portland that I don't want to give up. My thoughts on the job aren't always about football, but about the life Peyton and I have built there. While I know my friends can travel to wherever and vice versa, relationships change when people move away, just as priorities change when a couple has children. Once Julius and Autumn welcomed their third child, Autumn considered quitting her job. Julius instead, took over more of the parental duties, except during the season, so Autumn could continue to do the job she loved. This all meant the time Julius and I spent together lessened. Honestly, I sort of look forward to hitting up the park with our kids.

We hit a two-mile mark and slow down to a jog. "Want to sit for a minute?" Dad asks. I'm breathing just as hard as he is, otherwise I'd call him old. For his age, he's in damn good shape and I can only hope I look the same. We walk until we find an empty bench and sit down facing the water, which surfers have taken over. I bet that if I squint, I'll find Quinn out there or even Ben. They seem to spend a lot of time together when Ben's here. I don't mind that I'm not included, surfing really isn't my thing.

"Wanna talk about what's going on with Peyton?"

"Not really," I tell him. I doubt he'll understand. I know my mom struggled getting pregnant after she and my dad married, and at one point were adopting a baby until the mother changed her mind. As a family, we never discussed this or how I felt. One day I think I'm about to get a sibling and the next I'm not. For a young kid that's a tough pill to swallow. But then, Paige comes along, and everyone is happy, and all is right in the Westbury house.

"I figured, but I thought I'd give it a try."

"It sucks," I tell him. "I didn't imagine things to be this way, even though I knew the accident did a number on her body. She's so strong though and never lets anyone see when she's in pain. You know, she keeps her office at eighty degrees because the cold affects her. She rarely stays on the sideline, which I get, but still. Peyton wants a baby, one she gives birth to, and I'm doing my best to support this decision. I want it too, but at what cost to my wife?" I look off into the horizon, fighting back a wave of emotion. I can never say these things to her, not in a million years. It's not about communication. These are my fears, and mine alone. I refuse to burden her, she has enough to worry about.

"As a father, there's a lot about a woman and her desire for motherhood that we'll never understand. Women have a time limit on their bodies, where men can produce children into their seventies and eighties. None of it will ever make sense. What Peyton's going through . . ." He trails off and then sighs. "All you can do is be her support and let her know when you're hurting too. Bottling it up and combining it with this contract shit isn't good for either of you."

"I do support her," I tell him. "I hate that I'm not getting the job done for her, giving her the one thing she wants most right now. It destroys me to know our child will be created in a dish and maybe her body will reject carrying it. I also know, if I had come clean about how I felt about her from the jump, none of this would be happening. If I hadn't cared about what our families would say about me wanting to be with her, she wouldn't have been in that car."

My dad sits there, knowing he can't deny my logic. I will forever regret that I didn't have the balls to tell Peyton how I felt and act on my feelings. She should've been mine from the night of her prom. Hell, even before that, but I was scared. Scared of what my parents would think, what Katelyn would think, and how I'd look to the NFL. The headlines would've done me in, and I'd forever be known as the quarterback dating an eighteen-year-old. My agent would've canned my ass. And because of my ego, the love of my life almost died in a car accident.

Dad and I walk back to the house. The old man finally admitted he had a cramp and then jokingly said the cramp was me. Once we enter my neighborhood, he brings up the contract.

"I can't tell you what to do because I bailed on this part of my life, but if Portland is where you want to be, push for it. If it's not, leave. Don't wait for them to show you they care. If they did, you wouldn't be going through this right now."

I nod. He's not wrong. Neither is Peyton. Deep down, I know the reason I want Portland is because of her. I don't want to be away from her. Right now, I have the best of both worlds. When we travel, she goes with us. If I'm with another team, she'll be home, taking care of our baby. Sure, she can go to the away games, but will she? It's hard to say.

We're standing at the edge of my driveway when I blurt out, "What if I quit?"

Dad's eyes bug out. "What?"

Shrugging, I look down at the ground and toe a loose pebble. "The Stars want me," I tell him. "They've asked me to come in, throw a few."

"You know you can do both," he tells me. "Bo Jackson and Deion Sanders played football and baseball successfully."

"I've researched them. Game film, that sort of thing. I'm interested," I say. "I miss baseball. I never thought I would, and I think I only pursued football because there was an opening at Notre Dame, and I could walk on. I never gave baseball a second look."

Dad rests his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "Maybe we should hit the batting cages and see if you still have some heat before you go out there, embarrassing yourself. Some of these kids these days are smoking the ball in."

"Like Mack."

My dad laughs. "Definitely like Mack. That boy is going places."

"He's fun to watch."

We go inside and find Peyton sitting on the couch, reading the book I'd suggested she stop. She works herself up over things that may or may not happen to her. When she hears us, she looks up, closes her book, and comes toward us. I hold my arms out for her, but my wife goes to my dad first. I don't even bother to try and stop my eyes from rolling.

"Ouch," I say to them as they hug like long lost friends. "You guys suck."

Dad snickers.

They follow me into the kitchen. I go to the sink, turn the water on and let it run for a second under the filter before filling my glass. My wife's arms wrap around my waist. My free hand instantly finds hers. Once I finish drinking, I turn in her arms, glide the back of my fingers under her cheek to lift her face to mine and kiss her.

"How did it go?"

"Okay," she tells me. "Preliminary results say I'm a good candidate, but I'll know more once the scans are read."

"Shots next then?"

She nods. "Then extraction."

I lean down and kiss her again. "Then a baby."

She nods and I kiss her again, not caring that my dad is in the room. He can deal. I need my wife to know I am with her, her constant support. I'll be her cheerleader no matter what, even when I know there could be a time when I'll want to beg her to stop. She'll never know the fear I have deep within, or how I feel about the things her body puts her through because of me.

Those secrets will go with me to the grave.