Page 31 of Final Down

I groan as the feeling passes. He’s right. I am screwed, because my grandma’s carnitas is pretty much the best thing on the planet, and the July Fourth spread is what I always say I would choose for my last meal. This is damn near close to my favorite holiday simply for the food alone. There is no way I’m going to be able to not raise suspicions if I don’t fill my plate.

“I think I have to tell them all today.”

“Thank God!” Wyatt sighs as he flops back on our bed in a giant letter X.

I shoot him a glare, then turn back toward the mirror on the back of our bedroom door to continue inspecting my belly. I feel like I can see a bump, but also, I’ve been checking for a bump every four hours for the last month.

“You know this means my dad is going to know we had sex,” I say nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I’m over that,” Wyatt says, waving a hand in the other direction. He sits up a few seconds later, though, with his brow pulled in tight.

“Over it, huh?” I say, moving toward the bed. I crawl over him, straddling him as he holds himself up on his elbows.

“Nah, your dad will always scare the shit out of me. But . . .” He flattens a palm gently over my belly. “Our baby? She’s worth it.”

I pucker my lips and tilt back.

“She,huh?”

Wyatt’s hand moves around my waist, then up my back, his fingertips dancing along my spine.

“Yeah, I think it’s a girl.”

I hold his stare for a few quiet seconds, then nod. I have no feelings either way, and maybe that’s simply because I’m so focused on staying healthy and navigating the next several months. This family does seem to have a thing for producing girls, though, so maybe he’s right.

“Come on. Let’s let the cat out of the bag,” I say, patting Wyatt’s bare chest with my hands before sliding off him.

I grab two beach towels on our way out the door and stop to lock up out of habit. I giggle when I realize I don’t have keys with me.

“We aren’t in Portland,” Wyatt says, seeing my mistake.

“It’s just so different,” I say, and he nods.

Our home here is tucked behind gates and behind my family’s main home. I wanted us to have our own place so badly, I didn’t stop to recognize the benefits of living on a large property with people around to look out for one another twenty-four-seven. I definitely have a different sense of safety here than at the apartment. I’m not sure the Portland place is supposed to feel like home, though, anyhow. And if Wyatt lands a long-term contract next year and we put down more permanent roots therewith a house, I’m still not sure that place will ever completely feel like home.

I tuck those thoughts away as we make our way along the path from the guest house to my parents’ home. Their back patio is already filled with people, including a few guys from the high school team who have my family has sort of adopted for big occasions. That’s what this family does. It grows with every person it touches.

“Hey, now it’s a party!” My aunt Sarah is revving the blender at the poolside bar, making margaritas, and it takes her about fifteen seconds to pour one and march it over to me.

“Happy Fourth of July!” She’s already had a few; I can smell it on her breath. I take the glass from her but set it down on a patio table and proceed to make my way through the rest of our houseguests, doling out hugs and learning the names of my dad’s latest group of favorite players. My aunt’s gaze keeps finding me as I weave through the group gathered inside, and I’m sure she’s wondering why I’m not gulping down my favorite summer drink.

I spot Wyatt talking to my dad near the side door that leads to the grill and join them, weaving my hand with his and hoping he can sense my nerves through my sweaty palm.

“Good afternoon, Coach.” My dad winks before hugging me and kissing my cheek. He was thrilled that I took the job at Coolidge, and he keeps talking about how we can drive to work together in the mornings. The idea warms my tummy, too, but right now all I can think about is how my aunt is going to blow my news before I get a chance to tell everyone myself.

“Tryouts soon. You got any players I can steal?”

My dad laughs at my joke but waggles a finger at me in warning. My junior year, two of his players defected from football to join the cheer squad. He was furious, though he tried to play the part of supportive adult. One of them, Aiken, was astar receiver. Turned out Aiken was also a phenomenal gymnast, and he ended up getting a full ride to UCLA for gymnastics thanks to his stunt team work.

I tug Wyatt’s hand and tilt my head toward the back hallway. He follows my lead, and we dip out of view.

“Hey, I need you to drink my margarita. My aunt gave it to me, and she seems very aware that I haven’t had a single sip.”

Wyatt’s mouth ticks up enough to dimple his cheek as his eyes scan over me toward the back yard.

“Why don’t we just tell everyone now,” he says, and he’s right, except I need to work up my courage. I don’t know why I’m so scared to say it out loud.

“Please? I need the perfect timing.”

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