Page 68 of Final Down

I set her on the edge of the bed, and she scoots back, her legs parted, knees bent, and I take in her breathtaking body. Every curve is perfect, from her full breasts to her round hips, the muscles on her arms and legs from her unrelenting discipline to keep her body working despite the pain she often feels.

“My God,” I hum, unzipping my slacks and pulling my cock out to pump while I stare at her.

“I don’t think I need to touch you to come, baby. I could come right now,” I say, toeing my shoes off and kicking my pants from my legs as I stroke myself.

“You better touch me. I drove a thousand miles for this,” she teases, and I lick my lips as I crawl above her, settling between her legs and palming her right hip.

Her hips rise as I angle my cock and slide into her sweet, wet pussy. I go in slow but deep, holding still when she’s full with me, reveling in the way she hums with pleasure and her body vibrates around me.

“You feel so fucking good,” I say, sliding out of her completely to rub her clit with the tip of my dick before pushing in again.

“Oh, my God, Wyatt!” Her head tilts back as she arches her back, her hands grasping at the loose sheets on the bed, pulling them into her as I start to rock my hips at a steady rhythm.

My hands move from her hips, roaming up her ribcage until they cup her breasts, her nipples hard rocks that beg for me to pinch them. I squeeze them and pull, coaxing her to arch for me more. When I let go, she takes over, rubbing her tits with her thumbs while I brace myself on my palms and drive into her. When her body starts to quiver, she wraps her legs around me again, holding me to her and forcing me to pump my hips faster as her orgasm takes her breath away. I come with her, shocked I was able to hold on as long as I did. When we both finish, I rollus, still connected, so her body rests on mine and my cock can continue to flex inside of her until I’m ready to fuck her again.

Until then, I draw lazy lines along her spine and shoulder blades, secretly spelling boy names that I’ve been thinking about since we found out. She was so sure it was a boy all along, I couldn’t help but believe her.

Peyton slept in my arms from four a.m. until I woke her to drive her to the Pancake House for breakfast with her family. It’s hard to let her go. We won’t be in Arizona until game six, and next week’s final preseason game is in Detroit—nowhere near home. I’m sure Reed will come out for it. He’s well-loved in that city and has a standing invitation to join the broadcast booth there anytime he wants. I’m not sure I’ll be the quarterback on the field, though, and that’s a tough pill to swallow.

“I’m sure we’ll make it to the Vegas game, so it won’t be so long,” Peyton says, running her cool hand along my jawline. I close my eyes and roll the weight of my hand into her palm.

“Not so long, but still too long.”

“Mmm, I know,” she says, lifting on her toes and kissing me.

I hold her head in my hands and rest my forehead on hers, letting out a sigh.

“This is getting very real,” I say. I don’t just mean football, either. I mean all of it—being apart, her carrying our child, the moments I’m missing.

“What do you want to do?”

A breathy laugh slips through my nose.

“I don’t know. I hate that I’m missing this,” I say, dragging my palms down her arms and her hips before covering her belly with one.

“No matter what, we’ll figure it out. And everything will be okay,” she says, covering my hand with hers.

We stand frozen in time for a few long seconds, the demands of the day finally forcing us apart. I kiss her one last time, then hug her mom and shake Reed’s hand as they all climb back into the tour bus that also looks very much like an RV. I smirk to myself with that thought as they pull away, then return to my truck to drive my tired ass to the stadium, where some hard conversations are waiting for me.

Coach Elgin asked me to come in this morning to chat. I wish we could skip this part because I’m pretty sure I know what’s on the agenda. They need Chance to start next week so they can get him ample time before the first game of the regular season, which means they want him starting game one. I figured that would be the case when I got here, but damn if I didn’t let my mind wander into fantasy territory for a little while. I’m good with this team. I have what it takes. But I also have an entire life away from this place that fills me completely.

I get to Coach’s office ten minutes early, because I can’t help myself, and I rap on his half-open door before stepping inside. His head pops up as I enter and he waves me inside to sit down.

“Wyatt, maybe you can help me with this,” he says, pushing his iPad across his desk.

I pull it up to see a frozen video from our game.

“I think you just need to reboot or something. Are you pulling from the cloud?” I quirk a brow as he stares at me with a blank expression.

“Fuck if I know. That’s why I ask the young guy,” he laughs out.

I chuckle and nod, then press the reset button on his device to reload things for him. When the dashboard pops up again, I download the video he was looking at and tell him to give it a few minutes, then try again. It looks like he’s focusing on the defense today. Whiskey’s out of position in this frame. I make a mental note to give my friend a heads up. It always looks better when you call out your own errors and get to work on them.

“Thanks, Wyatt. I miss the days of video cassettes.”

I laugh with him but hold my tongue. I can’t imagine doing this job before modern technology. There are so many more nuances that get caught digitally, and coaches can sift through more data and information. It’s made the game more complicated, but it’s made it more exciting and safer, too.

“So, I called you in to let you know Chance is getting the ball Saturday,” he says.

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