Page 37 of Home Game

Surprisingly, my father holds the door open for Wyatt, though maybe it’s simply because I’m trailing behind. I’m just glad our vehicles are parked far away from each other so we don’t have to continue making small talk in the parking lot. I can’t wait to fill my mom in on everything when we go out for our ride.

“Well, good luck with your tradition thing. Whiskey’s a good teammate. Take good care of him,” my dad offers. It’s the nicest he’s been, and of course it’s about one of his old players.

“I will, Coach. Thank you,” Wyatt says, his gaze passing over me before he spins around and heads toward his truck.

I twist my lips and shoot my dad a glare. He laughs out hard, not even hiding his feelings about all of this.

“I’msorry, Peyton, but that? You are ditching Bryce forthat guy?”He chuckles as he adjusts his keys in his palm and presses the unlock button.

I shake my head and bite my tongue, but when I get into the Jeep, all of the words I’ve been eating for months bubble to the top.

“You know why Bryce and I broke up every summer?”

My dad shrugs, almost indifferently.

“You’re young. It’s what young people do,” he says. He’s not so naïve that he assumes every relationship is like his and my mom’s, but he’s not exactly savvy on teenagers, either.

“Because Bryce wanted to sleep around while he was at camp. We broke up because he knew he wouldn’t be faithful. I knew he wouldn’t. It was this understood contract, and we’d break up so he could go have guiltless fun in California, or upnorth, or wherever y’all sent him for camp that year. And then every fall, I’d take him back.”

My dad hasn’t moved his hands from the wheel since I started talking, and his eyes study the leather wrap between his palms. A pathetic laugh slips from my lips.

“I guess I liked the hype as much as everyone else did. I liked being Bryce’s girlfriend. At least, I thought I did. The last time we got back together, it just made me sad. And then I realized that I was sad a lot. He might be a great quarterback for you, Dad. But to me? He’s just a shitty boyfriend.”

I breathe out a soft cry, mostly out of relief for finally getting things off my chest.

My dad’s lashes bat, his gaze working overtime as he burns a hole through his steering wheel. He breathes in long and slow through his nose before shifting his attention to the gear shift on the center console.

“That thing on his lip. He didn’t get that during a game.” It doesn’t come out as a question because my dad doesn’t need to ask. He simply wants to confirm.

“You know how he got it,” I say, giving him just enough.

My dad nods once, then shifts into reverse to take us home. He doesn’t mention the jersey I’m wearing or our special guest for breakfast for the entire trip.

Chapter Twelve

The first Sunday swim went well, I think. The guys might hate me for it a little when winter months roll around, but that’s when the toughness comes out.

Truth is, I was motivated when Whiskey took me by the old campus and I saw how much work the guys put in above and beyond regular practice and drills. But there’s something about having an organic thing happen that starts with the players. I wanted Sundays to be a thingwestart and that Coach finds out about. It’s a gift to him in that way, I guess. It’s gotta feel good seeing your players put in overtime on their own. But beyond the pats on the backs, if we can get to a point where most of us—at least the nucleus of the team—show up for laps on Sundays, our bond is going to be unbreakable.

As it is, I swear my cardio is better today because of the hour straight swim about twenty of us did on Sunday. Now, to put in the work for my passing. I’m not in sync with Jody yet. I can lead Tony and Dillon deep downfield, but Jody needs to be my top target at running back. He has the speed, and from what I could tell when we watched the Coolidge game, they struggledefending the short pass. It’s their weakness. And in a few weeks, I need to exploit it.

Coach Watts is still in his office when I finish dressing out, so I lean into his open door and knock to get his attention.

“Got a minute?”

He nods, so I take a seat in the metal chair on the opposite side of his desk.

“I got something for you,” he says, opening his side drawer. He tosses a key on the desk, and I stare at it for a moment.

“That way you guys don’t have to hop the fence to get in laps at the pool.” His mouth is a straight line, and I’m not sure if he’s impressed or irritated with us.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Hmm,” he grunts, and nods.

I slide the key into my pocket while he goes back to reviewing something on his iPad. He’s always studying film.

“That the Marcos game from Friday?” I crane my neck to get a better view and he turns the tablet a tick.

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