Page 22 of Game Face

“I’m not here to make some big play to get her back. I swear. But I am here to play football. I won’t apologize for that.”

I catch my bottom lip under my teeth as I take in his words. I start to nod, and the reality washes over me. Nothing is guaranteed—Peyton, this game—but I can’t lose sight of who I am as a man, the person I want to be. Todd Stone—my dad—he wouldn’t let anything pull him away from walking his line. That’s how I win.

My nostrils flare as I slowly let out the hot breath from my lungs. I lean to my right and hold out my hand, and Bryce grasps it firmly. We clutch each other, a little bit of a promise, and for me at least, a show of strength. Not who has the firmer grip, but who can rise above. We pull in unison until we’re on our feet,then dust the scraps of grass and dirt from our white practice pads.

“Dude, you fucking stink. You should really shower,” I say.

Bryce breathes out a quivering laugh that grows into a loud cackle.

“Says the man who smells like shit on roses.” He nods at me.

I flash him my middle finger, then step in line with him as we head the rest of the way to the locker room. I muster the emotional strength to briefly place my hand on his upper back, and he does the same. I think, for us, that’s as good of an apology as either will ever get.

Chapter Ten

Ithink I got used to the clutter.

Now that my boxes are unpacked and I’m looking at the stacks of clothes lying on our bed, at the plastic tumblers for margarita night in the kitchen—all eleven of them—and myperhapsexcessive collection of yoga mats, maybe I should have donated a lot of this stuff before Wyatt and Whiskey spent the morning moving it.

I finish tying up an extra-large plastic bag stuffed with a couple dozen competition sweatshirts from when I was fifteen as I hear Wyatt come through the front door. Not wanting to spoil the excitement of our first night inourapartment by asking for help hauling down to my Jeep three full bags of clothing and random fitness doodads I just had Wyatt move into this place, I push this bag to the far corner of the closet, along with the other two, and promptly close the door. I spin with my back to the door a second before Wyatt enters our bedroom.

It takes me about a half second to read the despair on his face.

“What happened?”

I move to him as he drops his gear bag at his feet and moves to swallow me up in his arms. His body is still damp from his post-practice shower, his T-shirt sticking to his stomach and chest, his hair damp and smelling of his cedar shampoo. He exhales a heavy breath into the crook of my neck, and then his body shakes.

“Baby,” I hum at his ear.

Wyatt doesn’t cry. Even when they had to cut his pads from his body when he broke his collarbone last season, he didn’t shed a single tear. His face went stoic. His jaw locked. He ate the pain, and he processed the setback almost immediately. This man in my arms right now is hurting in a different way, and I think I know why.

“Saturday’s game?” I swallow as I wait for his response.

His head nods against me, the cold tip of his nose burying deeper into my hair. I walk backward a few steps toward our bed. Wyatt loosens his hold on me, turning to sit on the mattress and scooting to the middle, pulling me to his chest and holding me between his legs. I lock his hands in mine against my chest, and together we breathe. Long inhale, then slow exhale. I wait patiently for him to feel ready, and eventually his chin lands on my shoulder, then his lips on my neck for a soft kiss.

“Coach is running two quarterbacks.”

His revelation isn’t as bad as I thought, but I’m sure it’s bad enough to him. I was prepared for the worst—for Bryce to fully get the start. After seeing him putting in the work this morning, I realize he’s here to fight for his legacy. Bryce’s dad never made it in anything, peaking on his high school football team. For Bryce, being a college quarterback is a major fuck you to the man who abandoned him. Getting drafted has always been his dream. Somewhere along the way, he realized he didn’t simply deserve it but would have to earn it.

“You’re still the best,” I say, wincing at my own words. His chest quivers against my back as a soft, breathy laugh tickles my neck.

“That was cheesy,” he says.

“I know. I’m not sure what to say. I mean it, though. You are the best quarterback my dad’s ever seen. This school has the program it does because you came here. Everything Coach is building is on your back. Bryce only came here because he knows where the competition is, and where he’ll get the looks. Those eyes are on Arizona because of you, Wy. Nobody else. And if he’s lucky enough to share a few snaps with you, he better not waste the chance to show off, because he won’t get many. We can’t afford for you to not be out there.”

Wyatt’s hands pull mine in tighter, his hold on me intense, almost desperate. I bend forward and press my lips on his knuckles.

“If it wasn’t Bryce, it would be someone else. You made this the place to come—tobe. The best want to follow the best?—”

“But it was Bryce. ItisBryce,” he interjects.

I suck in my bottom lip, thinking about my interaction with him today. Before I can mention it, though, Wyatt shifts slightly to his right, reaches into his pocket, and hands me his phone.

“One of those stupid campus gossip socials got a pic of you two at Catwalk.”

I twist my head enough that my nose touches his, and I blink a few times.

“You know it was nothing?—”

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