Chapter Three
Saint
It’s been two weeks, and Presley hasn’t said a word about us finally giving in to our attraction. And as much as I want to bring it up, I won’t because she’s too important to me, and if I push her for a repeat or even try to talk about it, she’ll ice me out.
So, we go back to being friends, like we agreed.
I’m on my way home from another long day of working out, and I got to spend some time with our new quarterback, Liam Pitz. He’s a good guy and an amazing quarterback. He’ll be an asset to the team, and hopefully, we’ll win some games this year and make the playoffs.
Presley wasn’t at the gym with me today, but like she said she would, she assigned a newer trainer to work with me for experience.
It was a decent workout that left my shoulders aching and my mind wrung out, and the only thing I wanted was to get home, shower off the smell of sweat, eat a good meal, and rest before getting up and doing it all over again tomorrow.
My phone rings, lighting up the touchscreen display, and my sister’s name and picture pop up. She’s got a cheesy smile on her face and a kid in each arm.
I smile before I even answer.
“Hey, Savannah Banana.”
“Well, look at that,” she drawls, warm and teasing in a familiar way that settles something in my chest. “Wyatt St. Clair answering his phone on the very first ring. I’m shocked.”
I laugh and shift my hand on the wheel to turn up the volume on the sound system so I can hear her better over the road noise. “What are you talking about? I always answer your calls, unless I’m on the field. Did you call to check on me or pick on me?”
“Um … maybe a little of both.”
Her laugh is bright and easy, and when she laughs like this, I can picture her clear as day.
She lives in North Carolina and is probably sitting on her couch, one leg curled under her with her long, dark hair up in a knot on the top of her head, one kid probably crawling all over her while the other demands a snack.
My sister has always moved through life like she was born to hold chaos in her hands and make it look graceful. I honestly don’t know how she does it.
“You’re a brat sometimes, you know.”
“Maybe, but you love me anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, smiling.
“Did you work out today?” she asks.
“I did.”
“And? How are you feeling? Your knee holding up?”
“It’s good. Stronger every day. I’m ready for camp for sure. Can’t let Coach think I’m replaceable as I get closer to thirty, you know.”
“Hmm.” She makes a disbelieving sound. “You, big brother, are many things, but replaceable isn’t one of them.”
“Aww, Sav. You’re, like, my number one fan,” I tease.
“I am, but don’t think for a second that I’m not capable of humbling you at any moment.” She gives it right back to me.
“I think you’ve been doing that since you could talk.”
“A little humility is good for the soul.” She snickers.
I bark out a laugh, real and full, the kind that loosens the knots between your shoulder blades. My baby sister excels at getting under my skin, but can also soothe it at the same time. It’s a gift.
“How are my favorite nephew and niece?”
I hear a rustling noise on the other end.
“Alive, but barely. I need a break, so I’m hiding in the closet,” she whispers.
“You are not!” I laugh.
“No, I’m not.” She admits. “But I did lock myself in the bathroom for three minutes while Rhyan was taking her nap. Remy wouldn’t leave me alone, and I just needed a few minutes of peace, so I told him Mommy had to think about her sins.”
“That sounds … healthy.”
“Listen, sometimes, you have to think on your feet, and that’s what I came up with. You do what you gotta do to survive, brother.”
A small voice shouts something in the background, followed by the unmistakable crash of something hitting the floor.
Savannah sighs like a woman who’s accepted that destruction is now a permanent part of her life.
“And that,” she says flatly, “would be your niece.”
“Wait, what? I thought for sure it was Remy.” I chuckle.
“Nope. Rhyan. Remy at least seems remorseful when he breaks things. Not Rhyan. She throws something while looking at me in the face and smiles.”
I grin. “How bad is it?”
“Well, this time, it appears she’s mad because she’s trying to use peanut butter as finger paint, and Remy tried taking it away from her. So, instead of handling it rationally, she threw it.”
I bark out a laugh. “I mean, it does sound fun.”
“She can be very passionate.” She huffs.
“I hate to tell you this, but I think you’re gonna have your hands full with her.” I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “She’s only four.”
“Almost four and a half,” she corrects. “But yes. While we were reading today, she told me that she planned to marry the dragon in the story and not the prince.”
“Good for her.” I smile.
“Honestly, it could be the healthiest relationship goal anyone in our family has had.”
I smile. “You say that like your husband isn’t a great guy and you’re not madly in love.”
“I do have a good one.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Oh, I have to tell you this. The other day, Chris took Remy to the store, and he texted me a photo of Remy in front of the lobster tank. He named one of the lobsters Bubbles.”
“You never name something you’re gonna eat. Rookie mistake.”
“Oh, yes. He tried to negotiate with Chris to get it.”
I can picture it clearly. Remy—with his chocolate-brown eyes and stubborn little chin, just like his mom’s—hands pressed against the glass while he made a case for a crustacean.
“He said no, right?”
“He stood his ground. I thought he might cave, so I intervened and had to get on the phone and said we were absolutely not having a lobster as a pet.”
“How did he take that?”
“Remy said, and I quote, ‘Mommy, you’re crushing my dreams.’”
I lose it, laughing so hard that I have to wipe tears from my eyes.
“He’s seven,” Savannah says, halfway between exasperation and admiration. “Seven, Wyatt. And how does he already know how to guilt-trip me like a teenager?”
“I hate to tell you this, but he gets that from you.”
“Excuse me, he absolutely does not.”
“Dad used to say that you could sell a drowning man water.”
“That was because he was proud of my strong spirit.”
“And maybe a little bit of fear thrown in.”
She laughs lightly, and for a minute, neither of us says anything. Our dad always pops up in our conversations. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to though. At least most of the time.
“He would have loved them, wouldn’t he?” she asks quietly.
The smile fades from my face, replaced by a familiar pull low in my chest. “Yeah,” I say. “He would have been obsessed with them. He would have spoiled them rotten.”
“Remy would have followed him around like a shadow.”
I can see it clearly in my mind. My dad, in his work boots and faded Chicago Cubs hat, Remy trotting along behind him with big determination.
“And Rhyan would have had him wrapped around her finger.”
Savannah snorts. “Oh, for sure. That child would have owned him the second he saw her wild brown hair when she was born.”
She isn’t wrong.
I drive another mile in silence, nearing my exit, and let the ache of missing him settle the way it always did when it came to my dad.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “did you call me just to tell me Rhyan is one step away from organized crime?”
“Can’t I just call because I missed your voice?”
I smile. “I miss you too.”
“And because Remy has a baseball game on Saturday. Would you be able to come down for the weekend?”
I groan. “I wish I could. We have media day this weekend. It’s harder for me to get away, pretty much from camp in July until the end of the season.”
“Could you come after media day and stay the night?”
“Savannah.”
“Wyatt.” Her tone shifts. It’s still warm, but with a little edge to it. “He asks me to ask you to come to every game.”
That just about kills me. I really do try to see them as much as I can. It’s just hard right now with the season getting ready to start. We have media day, and then we go to camp in July.
My grip tightens on the wheel. “I’m sorry, Savannah.”
“Okay.” Her voice softens. “You know, they both think you hung the moon.”
I know she doesn’t mean it in a way to guilt me, which almost makes it worse.
“I promise I’ll try to get down there soon.”
“You will?”
“Yeah, I will.”
She exhales. “Good. It would be great if you could make it work to be here for a game. He thinks you know everything about every sport and wants you to help him with his form.”
I laugh. “Tell him I’m available for consultations. But doesn’t he know his dad played baseball in college?”
“I’ll let him know. And, yes, he knows, but he somehow thinks you are the expert in all things.” She laughs. “Oh, and Rhyan’s dance recital is coming up.”
“How does that work? Do they just run around the stage?” I tease.
“Sort of, actually. Last week, she kicked another little girl in the shin because she told Rhyan that girls can’t be warriors.”
I laugh under my breath. “Don’t discourage that one too much.”
“Oh, I won’t. I’m just trying to make sure she doesn’t make too many enemies before she even goes to kindergarten.”
“I think she’ll be just fine.”
A pause stretches between us again. But it’s comfortable and easy. We’ve always been able to read each other well. Probably because when we were little, silence was safer than asking questions no one wanted to answer.
“You sound tired,” she says.
“It was a long day.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I glance in the rearview mirror before switching lanes for my exit. “I’m okay.”
“Mmhmm.”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“You say that when you don’t want to talk.”
She knows me well.
“I’m good. Just a lot on my mind, is all,” I say, quieter this time.
“Football?”
“Yeah, mostly.”
“And the rest?”
I let out a breath through my nose. “Just life.”
“Wow, okay,” she says dryly. “That narrows it down.”
Then, because she’s my sister and she’s intuitive, she asks, “Is Presley doing well?”
My pulse jumps.