31. Wyatt
WYATT
As far as I could tell, Outtatowner had kept its promise, and word of the fight between Lucian King and the boys hadn’t gotten beyond the small-town rumor mill.
It seemed people were more interested in drumming up speculation about a potential love triangle between Lark, Royal, and me than some college kids getting into a stupid fight.
It also didn’t help that Royal had an arrogant smile plastered on his face when I saw him driving through town.
What a dick.
I still felt it was my duty to remind the boys of how serious something like a fight was, which was why they were all standing in front of me, looking appropriately chastised.
“Now, I want to tell you something.”
All three had their heads hung low and shoulders slumped.
“Your actions were reckless, stupid, and dangerous. You need to think about how every choice you make will influence the next ten years, not just the next ten minutes.”
The boys answered in sullen unison. “Yes, sir.”
“If you’re going to haul off and pop someone, it better be for a damn good reason.”
Michael’s head whipped up. “But Coach—”
I raised my hand. “I’m not finished.”
“Like I said, it better be for a damn good reason. Defending a woman, or a friend, might be reason enough.”
They all looked up at me, surprised.
I let a small smile twitch at my mouth. “Another good reason is putting a King in his place.” Slowly their grins matched mine. “It was stupid, but I’m proud of you. Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Yes, sir.” Their response was significantly more upbeat. I gestured with my head toward the door. “Now get out of here. Lee needs your help at the fire station.”
All three mumbled a thanks and rushed toward the door, letting the screen close with a bang.
They needed a consequence, but my heart wasn’t really in it, so I’d talked to Lee, and he’d agreed the boys could wash trucks and clean the fire station.
If it ever came up, I could say that they’d received a punishment, but I wasn’t all that worried about it.
I hadn’t heard a thing from the athletic board.
Penny and Lark had run off for a day at the beach, and before they’d left, I’d teased her to avoid the dunes. She’d smiled and I’d winked.
Trying to focus on work and not on the way Lark’s smiles had a way of sticking with me, I used my phone to check the calendar. I smiled at the color-coded days—work from home. I had a few meetings to work around but nothing too pressing. If I was lucky, I would be able to join them on the beach.
In the office, I went through several emails, watched recruitment films of potential athletes, and returned calls from parents eager to give their players a leg up on the upcoming season.
Overall, I felt good about our lineup, and if no one got into any more trouble— or broken pinkies, for Christ’s sake —we would be ready to start the fall season strong.
Despite the mindless tasks, I still couldn’t focus, overwhelmed by thoughts of Lark and where she fit into the whirlwind life of a football coach and his family. Before this, she’d had a whole life before blowing into Outtatowner and upending my world.
What would that even look like once the season started?
September to December would be the busiest time of the year—the actual football season. Then we’d go right into bowl-game preparations and meetings with other coaches across the country. By January I’d be traveling the US, prime recruiting season, scoping out potential players to fill the roster.
Thoughts of her sunny smile on the sidelines in MMU red and white as she, Pickle, and I celebrated a victory heated my chest. Even nights after a loss, it would be nice to come home to someone who would understand and listen to me bemoan the nuances of the game.
Maybe even unleash some of that pent-up frustration by burying my face between her thighs.
But not just anyone. Her.
I loved Lark. That much was painfully obvious. Pickle had already told her so much. It had all happened so fast and without me realizing it. Lark had swooped into our lives—organized it and infused it with joy and laughter. I hadn’t acknowledged how much we’d needed that.
But it was selfish.
I did nothing but take, take, take from her. Organize my schedule, watch my kid, be nice to my dad, keep my players out of trouble. I had done nothing but take and then ask for more.
Did I love her or love what she could do for us?
I felt sick at the thought. I had unknowingly done to her what Bethany and so many others in my life had always done to me—used her because it was convenient.
I have a knack for that—feeling alone even in a crowded room, right next to someone.
Lark’s words flooded back to me, and I was ashamed of how epically I had failed her. From the beginning, she had quietly understood a fundamental part of me.
I didn’t deserve her sunshine or her smiles or sitting together in the dark feeling completely fulfilled and at peace.
Even if she did stay, our relationship was unbalanced. I had already pursued my dreams—set goals and gone after them relentlessly until I succeeded. Eventually she would realize that she deserved better. So much more than me .
I frantically looked around my desk and scooped up my keys. I needed to talk with someone and figure out how the hell I was going to make this right.
* * *
I stood for what felt like hours outside the room, staring at the small plaque next to the door that read Haven Pines Room 1102 . My thoughts raced, and indecision rooted my feet to the ground.
“He’s not in there, you know.”
I turned at the quiet voice and noticed MJ, Dad’s favorite nurse. The King girl.
With so many things roiling in my gut, I didn’t have the heart to even care that she was a King.
She smiled again. “He’s in the courtyard feeding the birds.”
“Thank you.” I frowned and turned back to the heavy wooden door to his room.
“He talks about you, you know.” I turned back toward her as she leaned an elbow on the small rolling computer cart.
I huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m sure you hear all about the Fairfield game.”
She smiled. “It does come up a lot. Hell of a game. ” She imitated the gruff nature of Dad’s voice in an attempt to ease the tension between us.
I nodded. It was one of the memories that seemed to be on a loop in his head.
“But he also has the nurses google your name. He likes to read the articles.”
“Really.” The word came out incredulous, and I didn’t attempt to hide my doubt.
She lifted a shoulder. “On the good days.” MJ smiled and pushed the cart down the hallway before knocking on a door and disappearing through it.
The new information of Dad keeping tabs on me and my career, of wanting to know the man I had become and not just the player I was, did painful things to my insides. Nothing seemed to fit in my chest.
I stomped down the hallway until I found the corridor that led to the courtyard.
It was a large, wide-open space in the middle of the building.
Sun streamed overhead, and there were picnic tables and benches dotted throughout the sunny courtyard.
Small flower beds had been planted, and there were several bird feeders hanging from shepherd hooks.
I spotted Dad in the far corner, sitting on a bench and tossing birdseed onto the brick pavers.
When I approached, he offered a friendly, if not slightly distant, smile.
“Hey, Dad. Can I sit?”
He made room for me on the bench, and I settled in next to him.
I didn’t know where to start. “Duke came up yesterday. He told me you had a great day. He’s working hard on the farm, keeping it afloat for us.”
I recalled the doctors and nurses telling us that it might be helpful to anchor the conversation with cues or names and memories we once shared. Apparently it was important to show him that I knew who he was, even if he had trouble recalling his own son.
Dad nodded. “Got his hands full.” Dad squinted up at the sun. “What day is it?”
“June twenty-eighth.”
“U-pick will keep him busy. Out of trouble.”
I laughed at that. “It’s Lee who needs to stay out of trouble.”
Dad tossed a few seeds, and the timid birds poked and hopped around us. “He’s always been a wild one. Just like his mother.”
For a moment I let myself imagine that Dad’s mind wasn’t fractured. None of this was his fault, and it was exhausting to carry around the anger that this had happened to him—to all of us—when we’d all been through so much after losing Mom.
“Katie’s coming home. She’s not looking forward to moving in with Aunt Tootie, but she’s going to be helping to fix up the house.”
Dad turned to me. “What’s wrong with the house?”
The way his voice deepened and he scowled, he looked so much like his old, hard self, but I didn’t want to upset or confuse him.
“Uh... just some repairs that need to get done. We’re taking care of it.”
Placated, he nodded. “You’re good kids. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”
My throat was thick. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You deserved more. More than the hand you were dealt.”
Emotion burned behind my eyelids. I rarely let myself think of the scared little boy I’d been when Mom died.
It all hit us differently. Dad focused on me and my potential playing ball.
Duke closed himself off. Lee and Katie practically raised themselves in those years, and after he chose the service, she was alone too.
He wasn’t wrong. It was a shitty hand, but I could see how it wasn’t his fault. He’d been dealt it too, and he’d done what he could before he got sick.
Dad turned, and his eyes moved over me. “The little one, with the freckles on her nose. She’s yours, right?”
I swallowed past the lump that had formed in my throat. “Penny. She’s my daughter.”
He continued to stare at the birds. “Ah, this damn mind.” Dad rapped a finger against his temple. “I get mixed up sometimes. She looks like you though. Same goofy grin and wild look in her eyes.”
I laughed. “She’s a good kid.”
“You are too.”