Page 13 of Forging Legacy

Odin rubs his palms together. “That means you guys won’t be at family dinner on Sunday, which means more of Aunt Alice’s chicken for me.”

I punch his shoulder. “I might show up Sunday, too. Just because my parents are out scouting or whatever doesn’t mean I can’t come.”

An hour later, my car has been stuffed to the ceiling with packaged snacks and then unloaded in a snow squall; I’m finally on my way to the soccer stadium to grab my mom. I wave at the parking attendant, who has known me since Mom got this job when I was four years old, and I pull into a spot right by the stadium offices.

I could text Mom that I’m outside, but I enjoy going into her office. As a kid, I used to run up and down these halls, sneaking into the locker room where my dad and the other guys on the team would let me score on them. Now, Dad’s retired from playing and is coaching the men’s team, and the city has added a women’s pro team to share the facility.

I start sweating when another message comes in from Nick—another number I haven’t blocked yet.

You know it’s slander for you to talk about me in the papers. I see these articles coming up. Big shot kid looking for a big contract, and the reporters gotta mention some bullshit from 20 years ago? Fuck you. I’m going to sue you.

A lump forms in my throat. I don’t know what slander means, really, but asking my lawyer-uncle about it would lead to more questions than I know how to answer.

How the hell could I be on the hook for some reporter looking up public information that half the world already knows? I haven’t let that man’s name cross my lips to a reporter. Ever. I need to figure some shit out before I can deal with any of this, so I block the number and go looking for my mom.

She steps through the door of her office just as I’m shaking away this current wave of dread. “Wyatt! Come here, you look freezing.” Mom wraps her arms around me and looks surprised that I’m taller than her, as if I haven’t been taller than her for ten years now. “Well, I thought I could warm you up, but I guess we’ll just blast the heat in your car. Where do you want to eat?”

I shrug, and Mom suggests we try the robot sushi place, where all the food goes by on a conveyor belt. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

I drive, and Mom talks about her roster leading up to the Olympics. She always played midfield, like my dad and me, and I like hearing her assess the women’s national team. We get to the restaurant, and Mom keeps talking.

I think this is going to be a pretty easy meal with her until Mom grabs two plates of California rolls and holds them out of my reach. “I talked to Brian.” I groan and she slides me one of the plates. “Why are you postponing a contract offer? And he said you turned down an endorsement opportunity?”

I take a bite of the sushi, but it all tastes like sand in my mouth. I can’t tell her I’m waiting to sign a contract until I figure out if Nick can really sue me. Suppose signing something so publicly will set him off bringing up lies about her and Dad. “I’ve got some complications at the moment. But I’m handling it.”

“That’s what Brian said you said. I just don’t know why you’d sit on something like that, honey. It’s not like our family lacks lawyers who can help. Whatever it is. Uncle Tim is a huge donor to your school. I’m sure whatever is going on, he could?—”

I snap at my mom. “I said I’m handling it.” Her head jerks back, her expression pained. I sigh. “I also need to figure out what I want and what my career is going to look like. I want to begin my professional career as I plan to continue. Brian is always talking about building a brand. Maybe I’m not a cereal flake ambassador. Maybe I’m more of a deodorant icon.”

Mom grins and shakes her head. My Dad and his brother Ty did a spot for Old Spice a few years ago, talking about Stag Swagger. “As long as you have a plan, Wyatt. But please know Dad and I are here for you. You can tell us anything.” A silence hangs between us, and I wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking—that I spent a ton of time in therapy telling first the psychologist and then Mom and Dad all the things that happened to me when Nick had visitation.

I’ve always walked around feeling like a stain on this family. The Stag family is full of massive success—professional athletes, incredible artists, and writers … I know they don’t mean to make me feel like the dark-haired stepchild, but that’s precisely what I am.

I drive Mom home after dinner, endure extra-long hugs from her in the driveway, and head to my place to get caught up on my schoolwork while the apartment is empty. Except it’s no use. I can’t concentrate on my history paper, and no matter what I try, I can’t figure out how to solve the practice problems Fern gave us to prepare for the exam on Monday.

I slam my notebook closed, and a piece of paper flutters out—the syllabus. I look at it as I go to shove it back in the folder and see an online forum for the recitation class. Chances are pretty slim that Fern or anyone would be on there at eight on a Friday night, but I log in mainly to satisfy my curiosity.

Sure enough, I’m the only student in the room; everyone else’s name is grayed out … except a bright green dot next to Instructor.

Fern.

Hey.I type in the chat window quickly, realizing I should elaborate.I’m stuck on the problem about filling the bags of sugar.

I stare at the screen for a few breaths. I’m about to slam my laptop shut and watch reality television instead when I see some floating dots appear in the chat window. Oh shit, Fern is typing back. I try not to imagine her in comfortable clothes at home, maybe not wearing a bra, perhaps those fantastic tits shaking a bit as she types furiously to help me.

Where are you stuck?

My lips part, thinking about her naked even as she’s trying to help me with math. Why is this hot for me? I’m seriously fucked in the head. She’s trying to help me with my math homework; it is her job. Fern seems perfectly capable of forgetting our night together, treating me just like any other student. Which is what I am. A student who is stuck on a math problem about weighing bags of sugar:I got the heaviest possible bag, but I don’t know how the equation can find the lightest possible bag of sugar.

Fern asks me a few questions, which initially frustrates me because wouldn’t it be easier if she just told me what I’m missing… but finally, I see what to do on my own. I actually feel the tension leave my shoulders as I type a formula into the chat box, and then when Fern types,perfect! You got it!I feel like I just scored a fucking goal in the last instant of a game.

Thanks so much, Fern.

I bite my lip.I mean Ms. Montgomery. Thank you for helping me on a Friday night.

My pleasure.Does she really mean that? Oh, god, I can’t think about pleasuring Fern.

I stare at the screen, unsure if I’m expected to respond if she’s still sitting there. My heart thunders in my chest, but I type,You’re really good at explaining this stuff. I mean it.

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