Page 74 of Final Down

“What you did today. You’re going to be able to write your own ticket, I hope you know that. And if you get the ball next week, and if you play like that? Wyatt, you’ll?—”

“I don’t know if I want any of that.”

The second I utter those words, Reed looks as though I’ve stabbed him in his gut.

“Wow, I—” He snaps his mouth shut again, speechless. I get it. I’m not sure I am ready to hear those words come out of my mouth either.

Before I can get into it with him, the crunch of familiar tires rolls along the gravel behind us, and we both turn as Bryce pulls his truck up the driveway.

“Shit,” I say in a hushed voice.

“Hear him out,” Reed says, patting my back and moving toward Bryce’s driver’s side door.

“Hey, what a game today, huh?” Bryce says with his arms outstretched.

He and Reed hug first, and when Bryce makes his way to me, Reed shakes his head from behind him and mouths, “Just listen.”

“Yeah, that was unexpected. Turned out pretty good, though, huh?”

“Good? Wyatt, you were the shit. You’re the only thing they’re talking about on the post-shows and the pre-shows before the evening games. Your name is buzzing in a lot of rooms right now. And if Portland wants to keep you, they better call me and fast, because?—”

“Bryce, I don’t really think Portland is where I’m supposed to be.”

His mouth hangs open, and his eyes shift to Reed for a beat, then back to me.

“Yeah, all right. I get it. Fuck Mickey. He hasn’t earned you. But let’s keep that to ourselves for now, see who calls. It’s a better bargaining position for us if the bidders think they need to pony up big.”

“Right. Bidders,” I utter, scratching at my jaw. I suddenly feel like cattle.

“Babe? Do you want to eat here or wait and get something at the street fair?” Peyton hollers from the front door.

“Uh, let’s wait, yeah? You like the fry bread.”

Her grin stretches wide, lighting up my whole world.

“I do like the fry bread. Okay, love you!” She shuts the door, and my gaze sticks to the space she filled for an extra second or two.

“You know, I got a text from Frisco,” Bryce says, pulling my focus back to him.

“Huh? Oh . . . yeah, Frisco. I . . . I don’t know.”

Bryce’s brow pulls in.

“Pfft, it’s Frisco. Montana. Young. Rice. Legacy. We take the call,” he continues.

“Hey, I’m gonna check on Nolan and Chance. I’ll see you guys inside,” Reed says, his hand patting Bryce’s shoulder twice before he leaves us to have this talk alone.

“Chance is here?” Bryce asks, his face puzzled.

“Yeah, we’re flying out together tomorrow, and he’s on concussion protocol, and I figured . . . it’s shitty to be alone.” I shrug, and Bryce smiles on one side of his mouth.

“You’re such a goddamn nice guy. I would have been fine letting him stew and stress out about me taking his job. But notyou. You want to make sure that kid is fed, has a good bed to sleep in, and gets a little love. Unbelievable.”

I know Bryce is joking on some level, but he’s not totally off base. I am the nice guy. I like being the nice guy. And yeah, I want to see Chance succeed. And I’m aware that means I might not get the nod from Portland when it’s all said and done. It’s not that I don’t love to compete. I do. I fucking thrive on it. It’s just that I’m not sure it’s worth selling the rest of life’s good stuff down the river.

“Bryce, I don’t want to talk to Frisco.”

His mouth snaps shut and falls into a frown, his eyes dim with confusion. He shakes his head.

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