Page 34 of Forging Legacy

Gunnar flicks him on the cheek, and Odin barely flinches. Wes rests a hand on my heart, the gesture is warm and surprisingly soothing. Wes says, “Did you honestly think we’d kick you out or something? I’ll tattoo my name on your chest right now if that’s what it takes, bro. We Stags stick together. No matter what.”

Gunnar nods. “No matter what.”

The four of them manage to hug me tightly and slowly, the adrenaline works its way out of my system. We start breathing in unison, probably because Odin is loudly conducting a breath symphony with his nose, but the impact is huge.

As my dad shouts for Uncle Tim to read things, I expect to feel another panic attack brewing. But … I don’t. I feel a sense of calm. Like, I’m finally, actually, in good hands. Thatcher walks around picking up empties for recycling. Uncle Ty shoos Odin and Gunnar to bed. They protest but listen to him. Wes agrees to leave when Uncle Tim announces that he’s going to handle this immediately.

“What does that mean,” Dad asks. “Handle it?”

Uncle Tim scoffs. He’s a sports attorney and usually handles contract issues, but I know he has a long history of getting involved when his pro-athlete clients get tangled up with the law. “We will have a restraining order on file by morning,” Tim says. “Nicole Kennedy Brady will oversee a media statement in collaboration with your agent.” He looks at me. “Where is Brian in all this? Did you at least loop in your agent?” I shake my head. Tim rolls his eyes so hard I’m worried he’ll fall over. “We will control this narrative so tightly, Wyatt. What on earth led you to believe you didn’t have the full support of the entire Stag family when this first happened?”

Dad places a hand on Uncle Tim’s shoulder, calming him before he launches into a Tim-Tirade. “Thank you, brother, for handling the legal and PR details.”

Tim’s head recoils in shock. “Of course, I’ll handle this. Wyatt, you’re my nephew. Nothing is more important than family.”

I close my eyes and hear the soft voices of my uncles, and then I hear my apartment door open and close. When I open my eyes, I’m alone in the living room with my dad. And I can’t handle the look on his face. “Son,” he whispers. I break down in tears.

A sob rips from my throat, the stress of months of these threats and not knowing what to do. Dad is next to me on the couch again, his arm around my shoulders. “Son, your mother and I should have noticed that you were struggling. We should have had your therapists from before on speed dial … or at least kept their cards.”

My jaw drops. “Dad, no. You and Mom have been incredible. My whole life, you’ve been—” A sob catches me off guard as I think about how I loved my dad from the day I met him when I was four. I worshiped him, not just because he was a pro athlete, but because I could tell immediately that he really enjoyed spending time with me. I didn’t have words for this stuff as a young kid, but I do now. I see how this family Mom and I found is the real deal, and I’m part of it. For good.

He wraps me in a hug and kisses the top of my head. It’s easier for me to talk to him when I’m not looking at his face, so I tell his shirt, “I wanted your name. I wanted it so damn bad. To officially and legally be a full part of this family.”

“Wyatt, you’ve always been my family. You know that.”

I nod. “At first, I sort of wanted to surprise you. To sign with a team as Wyatt Moyer, to see my name in ink with a pro team, as the son of the great Hawk Moyer.” We both inhale a shaky breath.

He kisses my head again. “You said you made progress on that front?” I nod and explain to him about the student law clinic and how I have a petition for an emergency name change. Dad chuckles, his voice calm and deep, his chest rumbling against mine in this hug. “I’m sure your uncle will get that fast-tracked along with the restraining order.”

Dad grins, matching mine. Then his smile fades. “I hate that you know the official terms for these legal situations.” We separate but remain next to one another on the couch. Dad lets out a long breath. “I want you to know that you are always more important than anything in my career, son. We’re financially secure forever at this point. You know that, right?”

“Ugh. Yeah, Dad. I know.”

“Well, then, you have to make me a promise that you won’t face anything like this on your own ever again. We move as a herd. Or something like that.”

I laugh and stare at the ceiling. “I promise I’ll tell you all my troublesome shit from now on.”

Dad hums and crosses his arms. I can feel him waiting to say something, practically feel him trying to form the words until he finally asks, “Want to tell me about the woman Birdie and your mother caught you canoodling?” He nudges me with his shoulder. “Or is that a secret, too?”

I cough and wrinkle my nose. “Dad. Come on. Canoodling?”

He shrugs. “Lolly says she’s smoking hot.”

I drop my head against the back of the couch. “She is. She’s really smart, too.”

I sit with my father late into the night, telling him about Fern, how I’m not supposed to be with her, how she’s moving to England, and I’m hoping to move to Mexico anyway. He listens, squeezes my thigh, and tells me I’ll know the right thing to do when the choice arrives.

“Nothing has to be forever, son. Unless you want it to be.” He fiddles with his wedding ring, smiling like a sap freshly in love. It should be gross, but I’ve always appreciated how into each other my parents are. I wish this message had been the one that sunk in rather than the poison Nick always spewed. I wish I had realized sooner who my real family is.

Dad drapes an arm around my shoulder and rests his head against mine. “Do you know how weird it was finding this family as an adult? I spent my entire life with a father-sized hole in my identity, only to learn I had three brothers.”

I smile, trying to imagine what it looked like when Hawk Moyer showed up at a Stag family dinner for the first time. “That must have been a shock to your system.”

“Ha! Your Uncle Ty made me go running with them. After a full day of training.”

I smile at the thought, even as my thighs ache in sympathy. The four of them still go running together at least once a week, making laps around Highland Park, squabbling. I swallow another lump of nerves and ask, “When did you … accept that you were part of it? Like, really part of it?”

Dad hums and smiles. “They had to force me.” He squeezes me. “But I think it was when they all showed up together in court for you and your mom. That was when I realized they were here with me for my dark times as well as my happy sports star moments. You know?”

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