Page 46 of Final Down

Shit.

“I didn’t think about how this might show up . . . you know . . . in the teen world.”

We both sigh.

“I mean, they basically live on their phones. Even more than people our age do. I’m giving her the evening to cool down, but I told my mom I’m going to take her to breakfast in the morning before school. I figure letting her skip the first couple hours and signing her in late may buy me her willingness to listen . . .a little.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe I can buy your dad breakfast too. You know . . . so he doesn’t kill me,” I say with a short laugh.

“He’s probably going to be busy burning down the school district offices, so you may need to have that breakfast in jail.”

My face puzzles as I say, “Huh?”

“Seems my cheer coaching gig was short-lived. I’m suspended pending a decency hearing.”

I punch my brakes in the middle of the parking lot, coming to a hard stop at her revelation.

“I’m sorry, decency?”

I’ve had a solid twenty-four hours to study that photo, and I’ve decided there is nothing indecent in it. Peyton’s clothed. I look fully clothed. Nobody would know that my shirt was unbuttoned. Can people make suggestive insights? Yeah, probably. That’s because we’re all basically perverts who love that gotcha shit.

“Yep. I’m sure my dad’s heard about it. The district gossipers are quick to do damage, and people around here love to start fires. I stand in front of the firing squad tomorrow at six.”

“I’m coming,” I say, without giving any thought to the logistics. I don’t care what they are. There’s zero chance I’m not showing up for her. For this.

“Wy, stop it. You can’t possibly?—”

“I’m coming,” I cut in.

The line is silent for a few seconds. Peyton must realize she would be just as insistent if the tables were turned.

“Fine, but let me defend myself. You can stand in solidarity, but this fight is mine. Got it?”

I’m already scrolling on my phone for flight options.

“Got it. You run the show. I’ll just be background.”

I find a flight that leaves at two tomorrow, giving me just enough time to make morning practice before jetting to the airport and heading to Tucson. I’ll just need a lift from the airport.

“I can’t talk you out of this, can I?” Peyton says as my purchase goes through.

“Nope. Flight forty-seven-sixty. American. I’ll get my mom to pick me up. Calling her now. Love you.”

I hang up before Peyton has time to talk reason into me. I shoot her a quick text before calling my mom, one simple word—please.

PEYTON:Okay. Sir.

I chuckle as I dial my mom. Of all Peyton’s gifts, her ability to find humor when the world is on fire is one of the best. It’s kept me from spiraling during stressful times.

My phone rings in my truck a few times before the speakers finally crackle with the sounds of someone picking up.

“Hey, Wy. What’s up, son?” Jeff answers.

I snap my mouth shut and stare blankly at my mom’s photo on my phone screen, wishing I had one of Peyton’s funny quips to get me out of this very awkward long pause.

Jeff answered. He’s called me ‘son’ many times, but it hit differently this time.

“Uh . . . hi, yeah. Sorry. I was just?—”

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