Page 56 of Home Game

“Don’t punish her,” I say.

She sighs again.

“I have to,” she says.

I nod again.

I’m still not sorry for what I did. But I don’t want it exploding like this, turning into such a scar. And if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want Stephanie to have another reason to hate me so much. I’m not sure what that says about my self-worth.

“Can I go home?”

Her expression has softened a lot, and I almost think when I leave her alone, she might cry on my behalf. And I hate that. I hate being a burden.

“Go on,” she says. “I’ll talk to your dad after his practice.”

“Okay,” I say, currently not wanting to talk to my dad ever again. That will pass. It always does. But how could he be so short-sighted? Good place or not, I should have been a part of this decision.

I gather my gym bag. The gym is empty, though I’m sure my teammates are all sitting in the locker room talking about whatever the fuck just happened. I can’t go in there. Instead, I exit through the main door and leave my change of clothes in my locker for, well, whenever I’m allowed back in there.

I make it to the Jeep without catching anyone’s attention. Practice is still going strong on the field and my teammates are just starting to exit the locker room. I check my phone, seeing a text from Lexi, asking if I’m okay, and write her back.

ME:I’ll be fine. I’m really happy that you get to be queen.

I don’t want my friend suffering with guilt she doesn’t deserve, but that text is a lie. I’m not fine. And I’m not happy about it. I probably should be. A better person would be. But I wanted the moment. And now, it’s gone.

I peel out of the parking lot, sure my dad heard the squeal of the familiar tires. I hope it sinks in and simmers for a while until practice is done and he talks with my coach. And maybe he’ll head home and get some better advice from Mom.

I don’t go home. I simply can’t face it. More than anything, I need someone who is all in on me. I pull up Wyatt’s driveway and kill the engine, shutting my phone off to avoid the texts coming in asking about my meltdown. I hug my knees to my chest and stare in the rearview mirror for the next hour until his headlights light up the inside of the Jeep.

I get out as he pulls into his driveway, and when my gaze finally hits his, I cry for the third fucking time today. And these tears? They aren’t stopping for a while.

Wyatt rushes to me and scoops me up in his arms, carrying me through his garage, which he closes behind us, and down a dark hallway to what I presume is his room. He holds me in his lap even as he sits on his bed, and when my tear-stained strands of hair stick to my face, he pulls them away.

He doesn’t say a word for an hour, and when he finally does, it’s to ask me if I want to stay. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than in his strong, supportive arms. I turn my face and murmur into his neck.

“Yes.”

Chapter Eighteen

For the last hour, we’ve done nothing but sit in my bed like this—my back against the wall, Peyton curled up between my legs, her body against my chest, head in the crook of my neck.

My mom is working the overnight shift at the hospital. She’s an admin, so she has been taking on any overtime she can to get us caught up on bills. I wish I could work to help her. I’ve offered, but it only makes her mad when I bring it up. My football practice is the priority, she always says. It would kill me to quit, but I would if it ever came down to it. I told Peyton that, and she simply shook her head and said quitting would kill my mom, too. She’s probably right.

I let Peyton talk about what happened when she was ready. And now she keeps apologizing as if she did something wrong. I’m the one fucking up her life . . . but I don’t think I can walk away. My dad always said I would know when I met someone who made me want to beall in.I thought he was corny, but he swore the feeling is real. It’s how he felt about mom the moment he met her.

You were right, Dad.

“I’m sorry about this.” She keeps saying those same words.

“Shh,” I hush, my mouth at her ear.

“Would it help if I said you could ride on our float with me? It’s just a Ford F-450 with a bunch of hay stacked in the back and Christmas taped to the sides, but I think it’s the tallest thing in the parade.” I’d have to kick Whiskey off, but I bet he’d step down for Peyton.

Her head rolls against my chest as she gazes up at me.

“You think me riding on the rival float is going to cause less of a stir?”

I smirk and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

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