Page 9 of Final Down

Deep down, when the time is right, it will hit you.

I’ve known all along.

Chapter Four

My entire life, my mom has read me as clearly as an oversized eye chart. And the older I get, the easier it has become for me to read her right back.

She hasn’t come out and directly asked what Wyatt’s decision is, which is good since I have no clue myself, but she is dancing around the topic with expert finesse. I’m not sure why she’s kid-gloving the topic with me.

“It’s been forever since we’ve taken a family trip anywhere,” she says, letting the spoken thought linger in the air as she tugs on the cinch to make sure Otis is set for our morning rider.

“Okay, I give. Are you itching for a family cruise or something?” I know what she’s itching for—information. I’m simply curious what route she’s taking this time to get at it. A vacation is an interesting tactic.

“Oh! A cruise is a great idea. You know, Aunt Sarah went on one of those Alaskan ones last fall. She said it was breathtaking. She saw whales!” The way her eyebrows shoot up at the wordwhaleswhen our gazes meet sends me over the edge, and I can’t contain the laughter any longer. I bury my face against myforearm as I lean against Otis’s side. My eyes are watering, I’m so amused.

“What?”

I lift my head in time to catch the forced quizzical expression she’s putting on. This time, I snort, I laugh so hard.

“Peyton, I’m not sure what you think is so funny about whales, but?—”

“Mom, stop. Please, just . . .”

I hold out an open palm to buy time to catch my breath, dropping my gaze to the dirt as I suck in a deep breath to calm the itch in my chest. With my outburst under control, I lift my chin and meet my mom’s eyes. She seems to have given up on her bad acting, her sheepish expression rather guilty looking.

“I want to make sure you’re doing okay with it all,” she finally admits.

“I know, but really? All thefallquestions—first asking if we want to look at places of our own starting in August? Then . . . whaling? And what was that bit in the barn about how we should take the Cardinals up on the season ticket offer and go to some games? Youhatestadium crowds. You may as well come out and ask whether Wyatt will be around this fall. Or, and I know this is a ground-breaking idea, you could ask if he’s made up his mind yet. Maybe try direct?”

My mom’s mouth quirks up on one side with a guilty grin.

“Okay, so maybe I was a little passive aggressive?—”

“Passive. Like a snail,” I correct.

She purses her lips and holds Otis’s reins against her hip.

“Okay, point taken. I was being sensitive. I remember what it’s like.” Her gaze softens, and in that small, quiet moment, I finally get why she’s been careful with me. She’s not worried about Wyatt playing again. She’s worried about me, and the element this adds to our family plan.

“I think he really wants this,” I admit. My eyes tear up with the emotional release of finally speaking it out loud.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” my mom says. She always has the right words. How does she do that?

I laugh through my tears, sniffling and blinking away the moisture before I get in too deep and full-on cry.

“I’m not sad, Mom. I swear,” I spill out. She moves to stand next to me, her palm warm at the center of my back. I swivel into her and wrap my arms around her, blotting my cheeks dry over her shoulder.

“I understand,” she says, using that word again. And it’s true. I know she does. She’s been here. Year after year. It’s why I fought this life so hard, because I watched my mom cry these same tears out here in the arena when my dad signed a new contract or got traded to a new team.

“Is it okay to both want andnotwant this?” I laugh out as I break our embrace.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” my mom affirms, and my shoulders drop, feeling the release with her permission. It’s silly, but there’s something powerful in being told it’s okay to feel wildly different from moment to moment.

The slam of a car door in the distance draws our attention to the circular driveway by the barn. Our morning client is in recovery from a spinal injury, and today is his first time with a horse, which is why we pulled out Otis. He’s a gentle soul, and when I share how significant he was in giving me emotional strength, it has a way of reigniting dimmed fires. I think Otis can do the same for Macon, a young college guy whose world changed when a drunk driver side-swiped his bike as he was on his way to his morning class about six months ago.

“It’s going to happen for you, Peyt. When the time is right. You’re going to make an incredible mom.”

I quiver from my mom’s words, but steel myself, not willing to turn the tears on again.

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