Page 46 of Game Face

“I had a gift in my hands. And I fucking chose football every single time. You? You chose her. You chose her over that dumb test that won’t matter a decade from now. You chose her over getting on an airplane ten hours earlier for a game you weren’t sure you would get to start in.”

He stands up and closes the distance between us, dropping his hands into the pockets of his joggers as he breathes out a sad laugh.

“Wyatt, you chose her over sleep, over your own ambition, over football, and you know what? You were right. Every fucking time you made that choice, you were right.”

My lungs fill at his words, and my pulse shakes my limbs back to life. He’s right. If he’s feeding me bullshit to get me out of the way, then bravo to him for one hell of a performance. Because I believe him. Bryce might have just become the better person he said he wanted to be. That right there—his words? Those were genuine.

My mouth inches up on one side as I reach my hand out for him. He grips it and helps me to my feet before we bring each other in for a real, honest-to-God hug. His palm is heavy along my back, and I mutter, “Thanks, man,” over his shoulder.

“Now, go see your girl. If Coach asks, you got in early and put in your work.”

We part, but I square up with him, leaving my hands on his shoulders for a beat while I stare into his eyes.

“I’ll do better,” I promise.

He spits out a soft laugh, then rolls his eyes as he nods toward the door. I pull Whiskey in for a hug on my way out, apologizing for taking things out on him. He waves me off, but I can tell by the way he struggles to meet my gaze that I hurt him.

I snag my gym bag, which never got used, and sling it over my shoulder.

“Hey, Wyatt?” Whiskey stops me before I pull open the weight room door.

I turn and nod.

“I don’t know about that test you failed or whatever. But you should know that you don’t ever have to worry about choosing football. You put in the work because that’s what they tell you to do. But you’re better than the work. Fuck, Wy. You’re better at this game than all of us put together. So, just go fix your girl. This will be right here. The ball will wait for you.”

My lip curls, and damn that big man, but I think I feel the burn of teary eyes coming on.

“Thanks, Whisk,” I say, just before I leave them behind and go do exactly as they said.

I’m going to fix my girl.

Chapter Twenty

I’m starting to come around on the death trap. This thing and I have a complicated relationship, but now that I’m moving a little faster, I understand it—and its brakes.

“Peyt, you’re doing so good, kiddo.”

I might be coming around on my dad’s pep talks, too. Though, I could do with fewer of them. I’ve been counting the tile squares in the hallway, and he’s averaging a motivational prompt every eight to ten tiles. That means twenty of them by the time I finish a lap.

“Hey, you look like you need a break, old man. Mind if I take over?”

The smile on my face at the sound of Wyatt’s voice is almost immediate.

“Yeah, he definitely needs a break,” I say, shifting my upper body awkwardly to glance behind me so I can catch a glimpse of my boyfriend.

“Wow, you two team up to sideline me?” My dad shakes Wyatt’s hand but steps aside to let him take over spotting my right side.

“Last I heard, you were having a hard time keeping up,” Wyatt teases. He winks at me—the wink.I’ve missed it.

“Ha ha.” My dad kisses my cheek as he pulls his cell from his pocket. “I could use a minute to check in on Coolidge anyhow. We might be starting a freshman this week. Seems our quarterback climbed some fucking tree out at one of those parties and fell out. Broke his arm.”

Wyatt chuckles, but shuts the laughter off quickly when my dad’s glare hits him.

“Hey, even Bryce stayed out of trees. And I never liked the parties,” Wyatt says, straightening his spine to show off good posture on top of his weird brag.

“You all had plenty of your own dumb shit, so don’t even.” My dad points with one hand and holds his phone to his ear with the other. His slight smirk keeps it playful as he walks away.

“Your dad still scares the shit out of me sometimes,” Wyatt admits.

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