Page 63 of Game Face

Tasha nods in understanding, then holds her arm out for me to hold for balance as I work my way back to the kitchen chair. Wyatt loaded Tasha up with most of my school materials, along with my laptop, and she came over this morning to help me set a few things up. The university offered to give me a medical withdrawal, but I still want to graduate, even if it won’t be on campus or I won’t be walking across the stadium field with my graduating class.That pomp and circumstance is overrated anyhow.

“Are you going to be able to make up the month you’ve missed?” Tasha asks.

“I mean, writing papers is the only other thing on my daily agenda at this point, so I think the odds are on my side,” I answer as I fire up my laptop. It instantly flashes a low battery warning, so I dig into the tote filled with various chargers thatshe also brought me. I hold up the one for my reading light along with the one for my e-reader.

“Your boyfriend didn’t know what went with what, so you got ’em all.” She shrugs and takes the tote by the bottom, tipping it upside down so everything spills out on the table. Something clanks off the tabletop and onto the floor, so Tasha drops to her hands and knees in search of it while I spot my laptop cord and untangle it from the mess.

My screen reboots, bringing up the university home page along with the various news links, including one headline that catches my eye in the athletics section—TWO QUARTERBACK SYSTEM WHEN THERE’S ONLY ROOM FOR ONE.

“Fuck,” I mumble.

“Yeah, fuck indeed,” Tasha says, her head popping up from under the table.

I furrow my brow, wondering what her reaction is for.

“You know what this is?” She pinches a delicate ring, holding it in front of me, and my eyes jet open so wide I think they might fall out.

“Is that—?” I take it in my hand to study the intricate pattern on the band woven into a setting that holds an impressive princess-cut diamond. The ring is old, but it’s polished to perfection. My gut says it’s probably a family heirloom. My heart wants it to be for me. And then my fucking head is screaming all the reasons that ring should be put away and saved for later.

“Girl, that’s an engagement ring!” Tasha’s voice is loud, and my head spins around while I scope out every corner of this house within my sightline to make sure we’re alone. There are a lot of people here right now, people who would lose their minds if they saw this ring.

I pocket it and glare at Tasha.

“We don’t know what it’s for?—”

“Peyt, yes we do.”

“Gah!” I drop my shoulders with my sigh.

“Look, all I’m saying is you need to find a way to get that ring back in Wyatt’s possession, or you need to bring it up. And then let whatever comes next . . . happen.” She’s grinning like an idiot, and there’s a part of me that’s ready to jump up and down with her, screaming with glee. Except, I can’t jump up and down right now. I can’t take my classes on campus. I can’t fucking get around this kitchen without some whack invention my grandfathers put together.

“I’ll figure it out. In the meantime, can you maybe . . .” I shake my head, knowing my best friend is shit with secrets. My guess is she’ll text our friend Lexi about this by the time she hits my driveway. Regardless, she crosses her heart and pulls her lips in tight.

I hug my friend goodbye after she helps me organize the mess of cords, and she doesn’t bring the ring up again, though she does waggle her brows as she leaves. She just wants a wedding with an open bar.

The weight of the ring in my pocket feels heavy, and I’d swear it’s burning into my thigh, like one of those hobbits with the magic ring. I do my best to push it to the back of my mind while I return my attention to starting some schoolwork, but I’m quickly diverted by that headline I saw before.

Like a glutton, I click on it. I try to simply scan it at first, not letting myself get caught up by the opinion clearly woven into theAthleticopiece. But then a quote from Alex Hampton, Bryce’s dad, catches my eye.

“All I’m saying is they brought my son here for a reason. Maybe it’s time they go all in and let him do the job.”

My blood boils. I read the line again, parsing together the only facts I know—Bryce hates his father, the man isn’t intimately knowledgeable about his son’s anything, and there isn’t a single quote from Coach Byers in this story.

I click on the tab that offers more from the story, including podcast bits recorded from the interview Kelly whoever this guy is did with Wyatt. It doesn’t help me feel any better. Wyatt is clearly irritated by his questions, and when asked about his name being tossed around in Heisman conversations, Wyatt shuts it down completely, claiming all that stuff doesn’t interest him.

It must interest him. Heisman? The combine? The draft? What’s happened to his plans?

Me. I happened.

I’m in a pretty good spiral by the time my mom comes home, ready to haul me to my check-in with my neurologists and then Dr. K She’s intuitive, so I get away with about five minutes of silence during the car ride to Tucson before she pulls off on an exit with nothing but a Wendy’s and a gas station.

“You craving fries?” I ask, my moody tone not masked very well.

My mom whips into the gas station parking lot with her full tank and pushes the gearshift into park before twisting in her seat and leveling me with one of her threatening glares. I let my head fall sideways against the head rest as I match her urgent gaze with my despondent one.

“I’m not going to coddle you like Dad does. What’s up your ass, Peyton?”

She holds her eyebrows high, her nostrils flexing with her quickening breath. I get my impatience from her. I roll my head along the passenger seat, turning my focus to the old pick-up truck parked about a dozen yards away. An older man is filling the back with water jugs.

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