Page 43 of Forging Legacy

I can't help but laugh. "Speaking of England, did you sort out your paperwork for the Rhodes fellowship?” Thora was accepted into the program because she’s a badass but hit some hiccups with her visa and passport.

Her face splits into a huge grin. “Nothing will keep me from Oxford, baby!" She takes a breath. “But I’m still working on the identity verification. Turns out when your parents are drunk when you’re born, they spell shit wrong on the paperwork.”

"Thora!" I throw my arms around her. “That’s a nightmare. I hate that for you.”

We ignore the line of customers for a moment. She grips my hands. “I’m on it. I’m not above asking everyone I know for help. We're going to tear up London together," she vows, eyes sparkling. "Different schools, not too far apart. We've got this."

I feel a rush of affection for my best friend. She's been my rock through all the drama with Wyatt, never judging, always supporting. Knowing she'll be with me in London makes the whole thing seem less daunting. “Please let me know if I can help.”

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our favorite bartenders." A familiar voice breaks through our conversation. I look up to see Wyatt's cousins grinning at us from the other side of the counter. I pinch my lips together and wave nervously.

"What can we get for you boys?" Thora asks all business. I don’t think she recognizes them.

As they place their order, I can't help but study their faces, looking for traces of Wyatt. The family resemblance is strong, but none of them have his particular brand of intensity. Which makes sense, since he’s not biologically related. But they all definitely have a similar swagger.

"Are you here to see Odin play?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual. Thora turns at that, brow furrowed.

Stellen nods. "Yeah, it's his last home game. He's hoping to make a big impression before the draft."

Thora groans audibly. “Odin fucking Stag. I should have put it together.” She smacks her forehead. Stellen, Gunnar, and I stare at her. “He’s in my arguments class. He’s the one driving me crazy, refusing to do anything on the final project.”

I glance at her. “I thought youwantedtotake over and do everything?”

She waves a hand. “I’m going to handle it. What do you other Stag assholes want to eat?”

They laugh and order a bunch of food, which I start to prepare as Thora takes their money.

Just then, a collective gasp rises from the crowd. I whip around to the TV screen just in time to see Odin crumple to the field, clutching his leg. The announcer's voice blares over the speakers. "Odin Stag is down. It looks like a serious injury, folks."

The Stags go pale, abandoning their food and rushing off to find their family. I turn to Thora, expecting to see relief that she won't have to deal with their antics anymore. But her face is stricken.

"Oh god, Fern. What if I cursed him? What if this is my fault for complaining about him?" Her voice shakes.

I pull her into a tight hug. "Hey, no. This is not on you. Injuries happen in sports all the time. It's a risk they all take."

She nods against my shoulder, but I can tell she's not convinced. The weight of the moment hits me - in the blink of an eye, everything can change. All those dreams, all that potential, can disappear in an instant. My heart aches for Odin and his family. But I can also see how the weight of Thora’s and my own dreams has impacted us. We both have a hair trigger when it comes to catastrophe. What’s that line fromDirty Dancingabout balancing on shit?

Odin will come out of this just fine, but Thora and I don’t really have people to pull us out if we start sinking. “Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s focus on this shift, and then we’ll take a look at your paperwork drama.”

We both finish our shift robotically, and I don’t even think twice about splurging for a ride share home rather than fighting the crowds on the train from the stadium. Mom is waiting for me with grilled cheese sandwiches, but her face falls when she sees me walking in the door.

I sink onto the couch with a groan and Mom walks over, handing me a plate. She perches next to me on the couch, waiting for me to spill my guts.

The scent of melted cheese and buttered bread wafts toward me, and my stomach grumbles in response. I take a bite, savoring the perfect blend of crispy, golden-brown bread and gooey, comforting cheese. I swallow, then tell her someone I know got hurt in the game today. Mom frowns. “That’s awful, dear. But you seem more upset than I’d expect for … something like that.”

I take another bite. She always gets the bread toasted perfectly. Crispy and brown, crackling with flavor. I swallow again. “It’s Wyatt.”

Mom raises her brow. “The person who took you on your getaway?” She nudges me with her shoulder, and I nod.

“He’s not justaperson, though, Mom. I think he’smyperson. And he left.” I don’t addbecause I told him to leave.She tilts her head to the side, listening. I set the plate down on my lap. “He left school, and I think he left the whole country. He was trying to get a job in Mexico … I haven’t looked.” I blow a raspberry with my lips. “I know it’s crazy, but I miss him, and I can’t imagine my life without him now.”

Mom puts an arm around my shoulders. “I didn’t realize you felt so intensely about someone. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrug. As I sit on the couch, the weight of Wyatt's absence settles heavily on my chest. It's like a piece of me is missing, and I can't shake the feeling that I've lost something precious. “It’s all very new. Or … it was. It’s all over now. And I guess I’m sad about it.”

Mom's brow furrows with worry as she listens to me, her hand gently rubbing my back in soothing circles. I can see the love and concern in her eyes, and it's a comfort to know that she's always here for me, no matter what. She’s my constant. But I still ache. Mom rests her head on my shoulder. "Oh, honey. Love is never easy, is it?” I shake my head, and she squeezes a bit tighter. “I think you just need to give it time. If you two are meant to be, you'll find a way to make it work."

As I lean into my mother's embrace, her words echo in my mind. Maybe she's right. Maybe Wyatt and I just need time to figure things out. But the pinch in my heart reminds me that waiting is easier said than done and that I’m not in a position to go where he is. Not for the next five years.

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