Page 20 of Wrong Pucking Player

I don’t want to struggle any more than I have been.

Strattonville is all about connections. Without them, you’re nothing but a mouse desperately trying to find food in a church full of traps.

We stare for a long moment before he sighs.

“You know what she’s doing is wrong, yes?”

“I know.”

“Now that you got your internship, I really want you to re-evaluate your relationship with Aunt Beverly and determine if it’s one worth continuing,” he voices sternly. “It’s not my position or right to force you into making a decision, but I’m not going to stand here and let you ignore that your connection with her is toxic.”

I slowly nod, knowing he’s absolutely right, yet I can’t yet figure out a way out.

How do you get out when she knows every move you make?

“If you get a chance, talk to Cyrus about it,” he encourages and adds, “Cyrus Jr., not Senior.”

“Right,” I smirk at that one. “I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“You two still text, though.”

“Once in a while,” I admit.

“Then next time you talk to him, ask for his opinion,” Coach Johnson suggests. “His advice always seems to pan out for you. Despite the distance between you two, he always encourages you to reach out to him.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I voice, though I doubt I’ll bring Wyatt into this. He has his life to live. He can’t continue being burdened by me, even though I really love talking to him and getting his advice.

He always knows how to solve my problems.

“I’m going to go check on Mikayla,” I declare and take a deep breath so I can be my cheery overexaggerated self. Can’t be worrying about shit when I’m privileged with an amazing best friend, her father, and Coach Cyrus.

I’ll worry about Auntie later.

“Westly and I will be drinking some beers in the garage,” he declares. “We’ll come join after.”

“Westley.” I need a moment for it to click. “Right. Coach Cyrus!”

“I don’t get why Westley seems so foreign to everyone,” Coach Johnson mutters.

“Because he doesn’t look like a Westley. Reminds me of that ginger from Harry Potter.”

“Weasley,” Coach Johnson corrects me, but I’m already skipping away toward the door.

“Same thing!” I call back before whispering, “Thanks, Coach Johnson.”

Before I can get into my emotions, I’m going down the stairs and call for my bestie who’s at the door.

“BITCH! Why is the Uber order holding you hostage?” I scream, and I’m next to my best friend.

Only to see two people at the front door.

Jayce Fucking Winchester and—

Holy shit. Wyatt?

I’m not hallucinating.

Wyatt Cyrus, my ex-boyfriend, with eyes so stunningly gorgeous, you can get lost in them for days.

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