Page 52 of Game Face

Coach sees that. It’s why he’s making the call.

“Thank you, Coach,” I say, standing up and snagging my bag from the ground.

I reach across his desk and take his hand, and before I pull away, he holds on to me extra tight, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“You’re strong enough for this, Wyatt. For all of it. Even standing to the side and letting someone else do the work for just a little while.”

My mouth pulls into a tight smile, and I nod. It’s nice of him to say. It still hurts. And I’m not entirely convinced it’s true.

Chapter Twenty-Two

These pancakes are the best I’ve ever had. Jack’s never misses, and I’ve been craving these suckers since the day my doctors cleared me for solids. This trip to Jack’s does not disappoint.

Nothing about today disappoints. I’m grateful to the team that got me this far, but I’m so ready to go home. Jack’s is the only diversion I’m allowing. I can’t wait to hear my grandfather’s laugh echo down the hallway, to feel the sun beam in through the skylight in our living room while I rest on the couch and watchSportsCenterwith my dad, and to walk with the help of Otis, the oldest horse in our barn and the literal best therapy a girl could ask for.

It's a damn near perfect day. The only thing off is Wyatt. Something’s wrong, and I wish he would quit pretending it’s just stress leading up to the game against Cal. It’s something more than that. I think it’s me. Notworryingabout me, but balancing time with me—it’s wearing on him. And I wish he would let go of something. I’m okay.

“If you’re not going to finish those . . .” I poke my fork in the half pancake Wyatt has left on his plate. He grins and pushes the plate over to me.

“Go ahead.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I lean to my left and kiss his cheek, then dump a little more syrup on the plate and dig in.

“If you’re carb loading, does that mean we get to walk extra far when we get to the house?” My mom smirks at me, and I wink and utter, “We’ll see.”

She has spent the last two weeks setting up our downstairs guest room with everything I’ll need to rehab at home. I’ll still make the trip to Tucson to work with Dr. Garmish at Tucson Strong. He’s been friends with my mom for years, and she was able to get his help, making sure I could stick to the aggressive schedule I made for myself. Even more, he believes I can accomplish everything on my list. He even added an item—a marathon. Five years from now, but still.

Me. A marathon.

I like it.

“You said to let you know when it was three. It’s just a few minutes before,” my mom says to Wyatt. He shakes out of his trance, which he’s been in a lot today, and meets her gaze with a quick smile.

“Yeah, I hate to miss the homecoming, but we leave for Cal tonight and I’ve been told I should always travel with the team.” He swivels his head and quirks a brow, bunching his lips in a cute but accusatory way. For a moment, he’s himself.

I touch my fingertip to his nose twice.

“Whoever told you that was right. Now, off you go. Get me one of those touchdown things,” I say as his lips hover an inch away from mine. He breathes out a short laugh, then kisses me.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, snagging his phone and wallet from the counter and moving toward the end of the counter where my dad is talking with Jack’s owner, Maggie.

“Something’s wrong,” I say to my mom, and she follows my gaze to where both men seem to be having a quick heart-to-heart.

My dad puts a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder, then pats it a few times before saying, “Good luck.”

My dad settles our bill with Maggie, who always tries to feed us for free, then carries my walker to me from behind the counter so I can steady myself and make the slow but steady trek out to the parking lot.

I’m still getting used to the exoskeleton brace, but I am moving faster with it. My balance is improving too. It’s just the strength part, and then of course, working my way to making these journeys on my own, without a guide. And eventually, without the walker.

Quit racing yourself.

My mom said those three words to me a few days ago, and they really stuck. I’ve been racing myself my whole life in one way or another. Life came along and made the race unfair, though, so now I need to pace things. Finish strong.

It feels as if it takes us an hour to get to my parents’ vehicles, though it’s probably ten minutes. I lean into my dad while my mom collapses the walker to put it in her SUV. I stop her before she lifts it from the ground.

“Actually, I’d like to ride with dad. I need to ask him a few boy questions, things only another boy would get.”

About Wyatt.

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