Page 36 of Forging Legacy

I stare at the phone, reading his messages over and over again.

Wyatt

Are you okay? I wanted to check in.

Wyatt

Some big stuff happened to me this week. Can I call you?

Wyatt

You’re probably somewhere studying like a good student, aren’t you?

Wyatt

Seriously, though. Can we talk?

I squeeze my legs together, not understanding my reaction to seeing him refer to me as a ‘good student.’ I nearly miss my stop thinking through all the reasons I shouldn’t connect with him outside of class.

But none of those reasons account for the raw vulnerability he showed me telling me secrets about his past. Things he didn’t even tell his family for fear of costing them opportunities. I don’towehim a conversation, but I want to have one with him. I want to hear what happened.

We can talk. When’s good for you?

Chapter28

Fern

Wyatt drivesto my neighborhood the next morning to meet me for coffee. It’s strange to see him here, where I grew up. My neighborhood is much more focused on football and baseball, as a rule, so he doesn’t seem to be at risk for being recognized here as he would on campus with all the rabid college fans.

But when I peek in the window from the sidewalk and see him waiting at one of the tables, he actually looks a lot more relaxed than I’ve seen him anywhere outside of his family’s ski house.

“Hey,” I say, pulling up the chair opposite him and sinking into it.

He smiles, wide and bright-eyed, sliding a plate of pastries across the table toward me. “Hey. You hungry?” I shrug, reaching for one, and if possible, his smile widens. “I like that about you, Fern. The way you enjoy your food.”

I flush and dab at my mouth with a napkin. “You said some stuff happened? Also, what are you wearing?”

He’s got tight-ish black workout pants and a black jersey I haven’t seen before under a plain black zip-up athletic jacket. Usually, he wears university team gear.

He grins. “This is for the soccer combine later today.” He bites his lip, expression turning hopeful. “You want to come watch? It’s basically a bunch of pro hopefuls in the region doing skills and drills for some scouts from international clubs.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “International? Like the Mexican team you were looking at?”

Wyatt nods, pulling off his hat—plain black—and runs a finger through his hair. He doesn’t place the hat back on his head, and I hold back the urge to tuck his loose, dark hair away from his forehead. He seems youthful and content. “Did something change for you, Wyatt?” I take another bite of the pastry, and he leans forward, clasping his hands on the table.

“I talked to my dad. And my uncles. About everything.” He waves a finger in the air, and I take that to mean his entire situation with his name and the threatening texts and all of it. Wyatt grins. “Uncle Tim pulled a lot of levers. And my Aunt Juniper is a magisterial judge who happened to have night court last weekend.” He reaches into his pocket and procures a creased photocopy, which he slides across the table.

“What’s this?” I squint to read the fine print, but it’s all legalese I’d usually call Thora to interpret.

“My name change. It’s official.” He pulls the paper back, expression a blend of awe and disbelief. “As soon as I deal with the social security office, DMV, and passport people.”

“I just did my passport yesterday! I can help you with the forms.” I clap a hand over my mouth, not at all sure why I’d offer that when he’s apparently got a whole team of experienced lawyers and lawmakers shepherding him through this process.

But Wyatt reaches for my hand and squeezes it appreciatively. “I’d love that, Fern. Seriously.”

I want to bask in the warmth of his skin against mine, but despite his trying to keep a low profile, I can’t risk being seen intimately with Wyatt. I tug my hand free and reach for the pastry plate again. “So, you’re officially Wyatt Moyer?”

He puffs out a laugh. “Wyatt Stag Moyer. I ditched the middle name for a better one.”

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