Page 39 of Game Face

“Peyton, you are already the center of our world. And nothing about this is chaotic. It’s life, and we’re here for it. For you.” I know people think he was just a dumb jock, but damn, my dad—he says the right things sometimes.

“Hey, I need a favor,” I say, pulling my mouth to one side. My dad seems to be reading my face, and he sits back in his chair again, folding his arms over his chest.

“You know I can’t make that boy do something he doesn’t want to,” he says, sensing where I’m going.

I nod.

“I know, but can you just talk to him? He can’t shut down because of this. He’s already traveling behind the team tomorrow. And Coach probably said he understands, but you know how that world is—you know that coach. Every little thing is one checkmark against him and in Bryce’s favor. And Dad, he can’t lose his way because I veered off course. With what I’m facing, I can’t carry his regret on top of holding up my own resilience. I just can’t.”

I swim in my father’s understanding gaze for a few quiet seconds before he blinks to break our stare, looking down at his legs as he flattens his palms on his thighs. He nods, his jaw flexing, probably because he’s in a mental war between what I am asking and what he knows he would do in Wyatt’s shoes.

“I’ll have a talk with him. And I’ll do my best to hold him up, no matter what he decides. I’ll make sure he knows how important his success is to you; how much you want it for him. But baby girl, if that man wants to be here, trust me—ain’t no defensive line keeping him away from you.”

He’s right. And it’s because of what Nat said. I’m a lucky girl. I just wish I felt like one right now.

Chapter Seventeen

It’s been eons since I’ve had a Happy Meal.

“I’m a little excited about the toy. I can’t lie.” I carry my box to a booth near the back corner of the restaurant, the only section with tables and moveable chairs instead of booths. McDonald’s seats can be a bit tight for Reed and me.

“If we get different ones, maybe we can strike a trade,” Reed laughs out.

Peyton’s been in surgery for five hours, and I was getting a little stir crazy. Reed was starting to drive Nolan nuts, so she gave him a twenty and told him to buy me dinner. This place is the closest to the hospital on foot.

“Let’s open them together . . . ready?” Reed props his elbows on the table and pinches the sides of his box while I do the same. I’m sure we look ridiculous to the few patrons in here during this odd hour that’s not quite lunch but definitely not yet dinner.

“One,” I say.

“Two,” Reed follows.

We both shout, “Three,” and pop open the tops of our meal boxes and stare inside like we’re looking down a well.

“Yellow Hot Wheel. Sports car. Bam!”

I plunk my tiny race car prize down on the table, and Reed squints as he studies it, his hand still buried in his box. A smirk forms on one side of his mouth, and after a few dramatic seconds, he fishes out his prize and parks it right next to mine.

“Blue Corvette. No trade.”

“Ah, man!” I pick up his car and hold it in my palm, admiring it. I pick at the tiny driver’s side door, and it opens.

“No fair! I think my doors are fused shut,” I say, pushing my inferior mini ride toward him. It rolls about six inches.

Reed holds it up and turns it slowly, eyeing the detail on the mass-produced toy.

“What did I get, a Honda? Toyota Camry?” I think it’s just a generic yellow car, to be honest.

“Nineteen ninety-four Ford Mustang. Fastback. Two-door.” He pulls his lips in tight, then shifts his focus from the car in his palm to me.

“Trade,” he says, palming it and shifting to his side to push it into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Hmm, I still think the Vette is cooler,” I say, wheeling my prize back and forth while I lean over my drink and suck Sprite through the straw.

“That’s ’cause you’re not a car guy. Pops had a car just like this on the lot for years. He refused to sell it,” Reed says, pausing to take a bite from his burger. “He ended up driving it for six years. He took that thing everywhere.”

Reed smiles through the story, and I can’t help but feel the joy emanating from his memories.

“I wish I had known him back then or sooner. He seems like a pretty cool character,” I say.

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