Page 34 of Final Down

“Wyatt, you’re stuck with it. Because youarethis baby’s daddy.”

The smile hits my lips automatically as I collapse on my back, my head sinking into the pile of pillows.

“Okay, maybebabydaddy, then. How’s that?”

“I can call you that . . .baby daddy.” Her voice is sultry, that touch of grit that’s part of her signature sound when she’s tired. I miss her.

“Tell me about tryouts?”

She groans in response, so I settle in on my side to hear what promises to be a long venting session.

“I picked fifteen. I should have stuck with ten, but I’m new, and I didn’t want to cut half of the girls who came out, so I kept a few extra on the agreement that they’ll be for practice and games, but not competition. Unless, of course, they earn it. But one of their moms is . . .a lot.”

I smirk, my memory easily slipping back to Peyton’s high school cheer days. She never had to earn time on the mat. But she did run into some trouble with warring egos. And then there was the parade snub.

“I’ve seen you work wonders with your sister. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle those teen personalities,” I say.

“Mmm, it’s not the teens I’m worried about.”

I breathe out a laugh along with her.

“I get it. I miss working with teens. They’re a lot easier than young college grads who think their shit doesn’t stink.”

I hear someone calling Peyton in the distance through the phone, so I sit up, figuring our conversation is going to get cut short tonight.

“I’ll be right there,” she says, her voice muffled, probably from tucking the phone against her chest.

“Don’t overdo it.”

She sighs at my parenting of her. It’s one of her hot buttons, but I can’t help myself. I’m worried about her pushing herself too hard with the cheer practices and still helping her mom. Her body needed breaks when she wasn’t creating a second human inside. Now, shereallyneeds to listen to her body’s warnings.

“I’m being very careful, Wy. It’s just Ellie. I created a monster when I helped with her hair. My mom gave her permission to dye it purple. I’m merely supervising this experiment.”

I imagine Peyton with purple hair for a blip, and somehow, I swear she senses it. Before I say another word, she breaks into my thoughts.

“And no, I like my hair how it is.”

“Damn, you really have that mom intuition thing going strong already, don’t you?” I chuckle as she hums, “Mmm hmm.”

“I love you,” I say, cupping the phone and wishing she were here for me to kiss.

“I love you more. Now, go bond with your teammates. You can’t have them thinking I’ve got you on a short leash.”

I chuckle silently as she ends our call. She has no idea how spot-on her observation is.

It’s not quite six yet, so a few of the guys are probably still lingering around the bar downstairs before going out. I’m not so sure I want to head to the club with Chance’s crew, and I doubt they want to see me there. But I could hang out in the bar and grab dinner, maybe watch the Diamondbacks game, and lament that I didn’t pick baseball instead of this brutal sport.

I freshen up, swapping out my hoodie for a more respectable quarter-zip, and shove a Cyclones hat on my head to avoid doing something with my hair. I hit the lobby in time to catch a few of Chance’s buddies waiting for the valet to bring around their ride. They get quiet as I approach, so I make a point of stopping and putting my hand on one of their shoulders.

“Hey, we didn’t get to formally meet yet. I’m Wyatt,” I say, taking the guy’s hand. His mouth is caught in this half-surprised, half-laughing position as his eyes bounce between me and the other two guys waiting with him.

“Yeah, uh. I know you. I’m Clay. This is Shawn, and that’s Kenny.”

We shake, and I nod and smile at the other two. I don’t bother to memorize their names. They aren’t on the team. They’re just here to surround Chance in a bubble. It’s a bad way for this kid to start. I get that these are his pals from college, and I know he’s young and wants to keep the party going. I may be new to the pros, too, but I know enough to see bad habits forming. And the fact he put these guys up in the same hotel with him for the opening week of camp is a majorly bad idea.

“Hey, don’t keep him out late, yeah?” I point at Clay as I leave their group, and while my tone says I’m kidding, I’m actually not.

“Yeah, all right, Gramps,” he responds.

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