Page 3 of Game Face

What was my routine for physical therapy?

Do I feel ready for our first game against Northern Iowa?

And then they hit me with it. Well, Jency hits me with it.

“So, are we to presume Coach told you you’ll be starting next Saturday?”

I take a beat, which I always do, but this time I give it an extra breath. I have to be careful here—show I’m ready but also respect the process. Never mind the raging voice inside, screaming at me tofuck the process!

“Jency, I think you know all too well that nobody speaks for Coach Byers but Coach Byers. What I can tell you is that I feel great. My reps are up to the same levels they were before the injury. I’ve somehow gotten a little faster, maybe from all the PT, who knows. And if he puts me in the game, I’m going to be ready to execute.”

Phew.

“A follow up for you both?—”

I exhale, and it irritates me that I don’t hear Bryce do the same. Instead, he sits up tall, ready to take on more. I nod.

“It’s been mentioned here and there that you two were rivals in high school. Is that correct?”

“Oh, I don’t know that—” I stop short, my smile instantly tight, holding in the lie as I glance to my left, meeting Bryce’s similar expression. He spits out a short laugh, and I exhale again, this time letting my lips flap. Fuck it. “Yeah, I mean, sure. We were rivals.”

I hated this motherfucker.

“Do you think that rivalry will rekindle? And will it make you both better or worse?” The pregnant pause that fills the room sparks a few chuckles from the other reporters.

I glance back to Bryce and hike my shoulders along with my eyebrows.

“You want this one?” I prod. If he’s going to be the funny one, might as well let him put out fires.

“Uh, sure. Well . . . I mean, there’s only one quarterback in the game at a time. And do we both want to be in? Yeah, we wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t the case. But we’re both grownups now, and it’s probably fair for me to admit that Wyatt’s always been a little more mature. Historically, our rivalry didn’t paint me in a very good light. I mean, hell, Wyatt even got the girl.”

Everything suddenly moves in slow motion, beginning with Bryce’s hand as it gestures toward Peyton in the back of the room, and continuing all the way through every head swiveling to stare in her direction. Her eyes grow wide and remain that way, and the room is so quiet I swear I hear her hard swallow. A few cameras snap and Peyton’s eyes flutter, snapping my world, and perhaps everyone else’s, back to regular speed.

Somehow sensing the instant chokehold that revelation left in the room, Sonia steps in before Jency has a chance to monopolize the press room and ask yet another follow-up.

“All right, everyone. I need to get these guys to the film room. If you have additional questions, I’ll be around for another hour to fill in any gaps you might have. In the meantime, please refer to the QR code on the screen for the materials we’ve posted.” Sonia flips on the large presentation board, and Peyton ducks out during the distraction.

“Dude, I’m so sorry,” Bryce says as I get up to leave. His hand grasps my shoulder, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to shirk him off.

“You put a huge target on her, Bryce. Not cool. And I’m not the one you should apologize to,” I bark over my shoulder as he follows me down the steps and back into the green room.

“I know. I got carried away, and I didn’t want people to think I was only in this to beat you.”

“You’re not?” My response surprises me, but the way saying it out loud soothes the raging fire in my stomach means it needed to be said.

I stop in front of my backpack and gear bag, dropping my hands into my pockets and turning around to face him. His mouth is slack, and he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek with his brow drawn in tight.

“I meant what I said, Wyatt,” he finally says. “I came here because it’s where I’ll become the best quarterback before the draft. And if it means learning some shit from you before I get my shot, then I’m ready to do it.”

We stare at one another for a few long seconds, sizing each other up, perhaps, and maybe feeling each other out. Eventually, we turn away from each other, grab our shit, and leave the media center. I let him get a head start to avoid more conversation.

It’s hard to tell what’s bullshit and what’s real with him. It’s not like I ever knew the guy well. I know what Peyton has told me about him, and I know what I saw of him in high school and after we parted ways for college. I know there was always something in him that Reed respected, and I have to accept that. But it doesn’t mean I have to like sharing my space with him.

And I sure as shit don’t have to like him talking about Peyton.

Chapter Two

Tate’s Steakhouse is my father’s favorite place on earth. He says our home is his favorite, and then the high school field, but I’m pretty sure this old barn-looking joint complete with sawdust on the floors and never-ending hot rolls with butter has his heart. I’ll admit the food is good. But for my dad, I think it’s that literally every person who steps foot in or works here knows him. Intimately. As if he’s a godfather—that kind of godfather.

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