I breathe in through my nose and finally give him a little nod. When he feels free of the weight of having to care for me, he might realize just how much it’s been dragging him down.

  Together, we shuffle our way forward, Wyatt knowing me well enough to understand I want to make this awkward walk without anyone’s help but his. I don’t want the walker—the old one or the new one. And though he’s doing most of the walking for me, I’m doing a little. It’s that little that gives me hope that next week there will be more on my own. And then next month, yet even more.

  We make it to the door, and Wyatt holds my right side while I brace my body on the railing that my dad had installed to go along with my ramp. I’d like to take the stairs, but that’s way too ambitious. I was just starting to work on the transition from dirt to concrete before this setback. I’ll need to get back up to speed.

  While Wyatt moves to my other side to help guide me up the ramp, we’re hit with the spot of headlights, and we both turn to squint to see who it is. The rumble of Whiskey’s truck stops, and when he kills the lights, I’m able to make out both him and Tasha inside. Wyatt chuckles just then, and I glance his way.

  “What’s funny?”

  He bunches his lips, staring at Whiskey’s truck for a beat, then moving his gaze to me.

  “I was on my way to tell you about it before your hospital trip. But you should know, for your own amusement tonight, that Tasha and Whiskey? They’re fucking.”

  “They’re . . . what the fuck?”

  “Hey, girl!” Tasha shouts, dropping from the passenger side of Whiskey’s lifted truck onto the driveway with a clomp as her boots smack down.

  I’m still in shock, and no matter how loud my inner voice tells me to pull my shit together, my face doesn’t get the message. When Tasha steps in close enough to make out my features, her eyes instantly flash to Wyatt and her face turns a new shade of red.

  “Wyatt! You told her?”

  “You two are . . . fucking?” I say, moving my finger between both of our best friends just as my Aunt Sarah opens the front door.

  “Hey, everyone! Peyton’s friend and Wyatt’s friend are fucking! Now we all know,” she announces, poking her head out the door and meeting Tasha’s incredulous expression with one only the queen can wear. Nobody does a mic drop like my Aunt Sarah.

  Whiskey moves between us, carrying a case of beer as he steps inside. He glances at me on his way, and the smile on his face says it all.

  Fucker wore her down.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ihaven’t thought about the ring since Peyton set these stupid rules in motion a month ago. I mean, I’ve thought about it because I hate that it’s lost, but I haven’t thought about the moment I’ll show it to her—how to give it to her, the words I’ll say, her response.

  It’s her response that scares me most. I thought I knew. I took that yes for granted, I suppose. I didn’t think anything could break us, but I get that her spirit needs every ounce of her strength right now to heal. It doesn’t mean I like any of this. I do respect it, though. I respect her wish, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to keep working to change her mind in those little in-between moments when she’ll let me.

  Like now.

  Her text asking me if I want to come help her ride was waiting on my phone after practice, along with a message from my finance professor letting me know that the test I blew will be the one I get to drop. Lucky for me. That’s a near quote—he told me I was a lucky SOB. I fought the urge to write back that I’d rather be a lucky SOB than just an SOB like he is. Probably not the best way to finish a semester.

  “We’re going out for happy hour at Tate’s. You want to jump in with me and Tasha?” Whiskey asks.

  I chuckle, still blown away that they’re now six weeks in on this thing and somehow growing more and more comfortable with the concept of being a couple.

  “I can’t. The boss wants to see me today, so⁠—”

  “Yeah, I get it. You should go.”

  Whiskey’s the only one I talked to about my latest relationship challenges. I needed someone to throw my frustrations at, and I didn’t want to lay this on my mom. It’s bad enough that I can’t find her ring. And I knew it wasn’t time to put up a fight with Peyton. I would have just come across as defensive. Besides, she’s the one who said our situation needed time—that I’d come to realize I need to prioritize and focus. Thing is, though, I think she needs this time, too. And my priorities, they’ve only grown more set in stone.

  I love this game. I plan to play it for as long as I can. But I plan to be with Peyton forever. That’s my priority. And the sooner she sees I’m firm about that—the sooner she lets me back in—the more whole I’ll be. And I think she’ll be whole, too.

  I head down the corridor from the locker room to the student athlete lot, holding up a hand to wave to Tasha when she spots me through the windshield of Whiskey’s truck.

  “Hey!” she shouts, dropping the feet she had propped on his dash.

  I walk over to the passenger side, the stench of nail polish strong despite the rolled-down window. I wave at the air.

  “Whoo!” I say.

  “Yeah, yeah. Like your gear bags don’t smell ten times worse,” she says.

  “Yeah, but that’s sweat. That’s natural. You’re wafting around chemicals.”

  Her lips purse.

  “You think you guys smell natural?” She punches out a laugh, and I have to give it to her.

  I tilt my head.

  “Fair.”

  “Did Whiskey find you? We’re getting Tate’s.”

  They’ve been including me on a lot of date nights lately. “Paying it forward,” Whiskey says. I’m pretty sure that’s Tasha’s doing, though. While I haven’t opened up to her the way I have to Whiskey, Peyton’s probably filled her best friend in on how our relationship is going. Part of me would love to dissect everything Tasha knows, but I’m not ready to believe just yet that Peyton and I have secrets. I’d like to believe everything is as I know it to be, and that when Peyton’s ready, she’ll say so.

  Like she did today, inviting me to come out to the arena.

  “Peyton asked me to come over,” I say, my cheeks tightening the way they did when we first started flirting years ago. It’s like getting those first glimmers of attention all over again.

  Tasha’s expression softens and she sits up higher in her seat.

  “Yeah? That’s good. I think she could do with a dose of affection. She’s been—” She stops herself, though I know Tasha well enough to know she let slip exactly the amount she wanted to. She won’t break her friend code, but she wants me to know Peyton misses me.

  “I miss her, too,” I say.

  Her mouth quirks up.

  “Yeah, I know. You threw two interceptions last weekend.”

  “Ouch!” I shake my hand out like she bit me.

  She lifts a shoulder.

  “Call it like I see it. You’re better when you’ve had your Peyton fix.”

  “Fix? Is that what you call it?” I smirk, partly teasing her for getting involved with Whiskey when she swore it would never happen. She holds my gaze for a beat, and for a tiny moment, her eyes are very serious. She never answers me. We both know nothing about either of our hearts is casual, and she’s in deeper than she’d like.

  “Hey, maybe this is a little intrusive of me to ask, but . . . since when do I give a shit about things like that. You ever think about proposing to our girl?” Her head falls to the side, and she bites the tip of her tongue, a knowing smirk tugging up one side of her mouth.

  “Uh, yeah. I have. Why?” My eyes squint a little, trying to sort out her expression and see if I can read her thoughts. Tasha is like one of those Rubik’s Cubes after the stickers have all been rearranged, though, so I’m not going to get anything out of her she doesn’t intend on telling me.

  “Just curious. I like to dream about weddings I might be in one day. The dresses, the hair—riding in on a horse and carriage.” She bats her lashes.

  “Isn’t that the kind of thing the bride and groom do?”

  She drops her chin a tick.

  “Wyatt, let me be clear. When you all get married, I better get my own damn horse and carriage.”

  I punch out a hard laugh and back up a few steps, giving up on learning anything new. I lift a hand in goodbye.

  “I’ll make sure that’s in the binder,” I tell her, then turn around.

  “Oh, and hey, Wyatt?”

  I spin on my heels but keep stepping away as I lift my chin.

  “If you’re looking for the ring, you might want to check her sock drawer.”

  I stop dead. My mouth opens.

  “I thought you were getting out of here?” Whiskey shouts as the exit door slams shut behind him.

  I blink a few times, and Tasha wiggles her fingers in a wave as she rolls up the window. My gaze bounces back to my friend, and my agape mouth forms a shocked smile.

  “I’m leaving now!”

  I don’t know how it ended up in her possession, and I am positive she would fight me on it if I brought it up right now, but the fact the ring found its way from my sock drawer to hers is some sort of sign. I have zero doubt.

  Pausing for a second as I get into my truck, Tasha’s words run through my mind, and I decide to toss my gear bag in the back rather than on the floor of the passenger seat. She’s right. That shit smells bad. And if there’s a chance I might get to take my girl for a drive somewhere tonight, I’d like to put my best foot forward.

  I hop in, crank the engine, and peel away, grabbing the hat from my passenger seat to squash the wild hair left from my shower. When I got Peyton’s text, I pretty much forgot about everything else. It’s a miracle I remembered to put my pants on. In fact . . . I glance down.

  Yeah, I have pants.

  The sun is starting to go down a lot earlier, so it’s dusk by the time I pull into Peyton’s driveway. There are a few extra trucks parked to the side, and I’m guessing from the Coolidge Bears stickers on a few of them that there’s a coaches’ meeting happening inside.

  The arena is lit up, but as far as I can tell, Peyton’s not out there, so I head to the front door and knock before pushing it open.

  “Hey! There’s our state record holder!” Reed’s father shouts as I step into a room full of people. About a dozen men, some of whom I recognize, crane their necks and look in my direction. Buck likes to give his son shit for losing his record to me. I think he likes to stir the pot, too, and get Reed worked up at me.

  “Yeah, yeah. He didn’t break the college ones, though,” Reed fires back, holding up his half-drunk beer as a toast to my failure.

  “I mean, I’m still gonna make out with your daughter later, so⁠—”

  “Ohhhhhh burnnnnnn!” someone shouts, while a few other guys chirp. Reed, ever the classic, holds up a middle finger, then smirks.

  “She’s waiting out back. And for the record, I’ve got cameras everywhere.” He winks and I chuckle, but as I leave the room, the laughter still roaring behind me, I mentally catalog all the times Peyton and I have done things around this house.

  I step out the back door to the walkway that winds around to the stone patio. Peyton’s waiting for me, braced on the new walker her grandfathers built for her. She’s wearing black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a braid, and one of those knitted headbands covering her ears. She’s so cute in the winter.

  “Did you know your dad has cameras everywhere?” I ask, startling her. She smiles big at seeing me, and my heart kicks wildly.

  She shrugs, a devilish grin playing at her lips before she looks away to situate her hands on her handlebars.

  “Peyt, that’s not funny.” It’s a little funny.

  “Relax, Wyatt. I disabled anything that would have caught something incriminating.” She flits her gaze up through her lashes, teasing me. Something’s changed. It’s a glimmer of her old self, a taste of the gritty wild woman who pushes boundaries and breaks barriers.

  “I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better.” I chuckle.

  “Come on. We gotta get a horse,” she says, tilting her head toward the barn.

  I hop close, my hands ready to help her, but before I can hold up some of the weight on her right side, she steps forward with nobody’s help at all. I stand still and let her get about a dozen paces away before she notices, stopping and glancing over her shoulder.

  “Wow,” I say.

  Her mouth tips up on one side.

  “You talking about my ass or the walking part?”

  My lips pull in tight, and I fight off the laugh.

  “A bit of both, I guess.”

  It takes us a while to get to the barn, but when we do, Peyton moves from holding her walker to holding onto Otis by herself. I flatten a palm to one cheek and cross my other arm over my body as I watch her in wonder.

  “I’m not sure what you need me out here for,” I admit.

  Her cheeks push up, a bashful expression touching her face before she looks down and bites her lip. When she lifts her chin and meets my eyes, her smile isn’t quite as big, and I step in close on instinct a second before her bottom lip starts to quiver.

  “Peyt, what’s wrong?” I pull her into me, holding her head to my chest as she sniffles. A faint and nervous laugh leaves her mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d fall apart like this,” she says.

  “Shh, it’s okay. You’re allowed to be human, you know?” I kiss the top of her head, happy to have her warm body against mine, in my arms. She looks up, her chin pushing into my chest as I tuck a few loose hairs into her headband. Her cheeks are red from either the cold or from her abandoned emotional mask. I run my thumb along her cheekbone, cherishing the soft skin I missed so much.

  “Don’t say I don’t need you. Because I need you, Wyatt. I need you so much.”

  My hands cup her face, and my lips move to hers before the next cry hits her lips, and I kiss her so long that I worry I may be starving her of air.

  “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t need you. Every call we’ve had, all the videos, the photos, the little hearts you send—that’s why I’m able to do this.” She gestures down to her feet, her toes pointed directly at mine, her balance almost there.

  “I never thought that,” I lie. She doesn’t need that weighing her down. Not now that she’s just learning to fly again.

  But honestly, I always knew deep down she needed me as much as I need her. For a while, I was hurt at the thought that she didn’t want me. But then I realized she simply wanted big things for me more. And it’s hard to resent someone for that. No matter how wrong they are.

  Otis neighs, stomping his right foot into the loose hay.

  “I think he wants to go for a walk. What do you say?” Peyton says.

  “I say, lead the way,” I respond.

  And without my help at all, she does.

  Chapter Thirty

  Wyatt went back to our apartment, and I let him. Every fiber of my soul wanted him to stay, but with two losses and a tough game coming up, I want him to focus for Saturday.

  We might miss the playoffs. It’s a hard year, and the system still has its flaws. The number of times my dad has gone on a rant about the weight of our schedule versus the SEC school that will get a bid no matter what their record is rivals only the number of conversations I’ve had with Tasha in the last twelve hours while I panic-search my room for the ring.

  I’ve tossed everything from all my drawers, even going so far as to sit my ass on the floor and feel inside the bottom drawer and then take a flashlight to look underneath the dresser. The whole ordeal took me an hour, and it hurt like hell because I did it by myself. But there’s no way I’m bringing anyone else in on my dilemma. I still have no proof that ring was from Wyatt and meant for me, let alone that if it was, I probably shouldn’t be hiding it.

  I’m chewing at the inside of my mouth, sitting on the end of my bed as my eyes scan every possible hiding spot, when my mom knocks softly at my door.

  “Come in,” I say, folding my hands on my lap and doing my best to look nonchalant. My hair is sweaty, though, from the recent aerobic activity. My mom clearly notices, drawing her brow in as she looks me up and down.

  “I was trying a new exercise. It was hard.”

  “Ah,” she relents. “Well, you have a visitor.”

  There’s a slight edge to her voice, so I grip the side of the bed as I do my best to sit up tall. Or rather, taller. Tall is really the only way I can sit now. I hold my breath, not sure who to expect, and when Alicia’s eyes meet mine, a sudden lump forms in my throat. I haven’t seen her since the accident.

  “Hi,” she says, bunching her hand up nervously. She stays behind my mom for a moment, almost like she’s hiding, but eventually steps into my room.

  “Hi. I . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming,” I stammer. My gaze moves to my mom, and I’m sure the panic on my face is front and center.

  “I’ll give you guys some privacy.” My mom gives me a reassuring nod, then backs out of the room.

  Alicia moves in for a hug, then stops suddenly, her arms bent as she leans awkwardly. “I’m sorry, can you—can I give you⁠—”

  “I’d love a hug,” I reassure her.

  Her body relaxes immediately, and she moves in to embrace me. Her touch is gentle at first, so I make sure to squeeze her tight so she can feel my palms on her back. She closes her arms around me a bit more before stepping back.

  “Have a seat,” I say, nodding next to me.

  She sits on the very edge of the mattress, her legs flexing like she’s doing a wall sit, and I can tell she’s trying to tiptoe around me.

  “You’re allowed to sit normal.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she laughs out, moving deeper into the bed and eventually tucking one leg under the other. I make a mental note to put that on my goals list.