“I’m sorry for acting like a dick.”

  “I know you are,” she says, running her fingers down the side of my cheek. “Are you ready to go home?”

  I nod and walk her around to the passenger side of the car. Once she’s settled, I stow my bag and climb in. “Peyton,” I say as I turn the key. “I called Allen.”

  “Probably smart,” she says, although she has no idea why I called my agent. “It’s better to keep him informed.”

  “It’s not that.” I pull out of the parking lot and into traffic, heading in the opposite direction to our apartment. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her ring. I can’t wait to place her wedding band there, to seal our future with the vows I’ve written for her. “I asked him to look into possible baseball teams. Teams that might need a pitcher at the lower level.”

  I can feel her eyes on me, but I refuse to look away from the road. Not only for safety reasons but because I don’t want to see her expression.

  “Why would you do that?”

  I half shrug. “To give you a fighting chance.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I turn to look at her, turning the wheel as I do. She hollers at me and clutches my arm until I’ve righted the car. I do what’s best for both of us and turn down a side street to pull over.

  With the car idling, I shift in my seat to look at her. Peyton’s staring straight ahead, lips pursed, and fuming. I know I’ve insulted her, but that wasn’t my intention. “Hear me out, babe. I called Allen and asked about potential teams because I want you to follow your dreams in broadcasting football. It’s been your passion for as long as I can remember. When I wanted to quit, you’re the one who encouraged me to stick it out. As much as football means to me, it means more to you. I know this. I know that this is your way of hanging onto a piece of your father, and the last thing I want to do is take that away from you. And if that means I let it go, so be it.”

  Peyton wipes at her cheek. Great, I’ve made her cry. That’s the last thing I’ve wanted to do. I push her hair away from her face and past her shoulder and try to guide her to me, but she’s stiff, unmoving. To say I’m in the doghouse would be an understatement. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I was worried that Allen would call or show up with some news, which would piss her off because I didn’t tell her. My reasoning for calling my agent though, that’s probably not the best.

  “Peyton, I’m sorry. I thought I was trying to help.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Color me confused. “Okay, so what is it?”

  She turns, her tear streaked face breaks my heart. I use my thumbs to wipe at the makeup running down her cheeks. “Logan Baker offered me a job.”

  My hand pauses, my thumbs holding tight against her cheeks. “My Logan Baker?”

  She half laughs, half coughs. “Do you have something going on with Logan?”

  I shake my head. “Lately, I prefer to stay far away from him.”

  “I think he’s afraid to lose you. He offered me the same job and says it’s because of Alton Rennie.”

  “Alton Rennie?”

  She nods. “He knows Nick, and I guess Nick has a lot of nice things to say about me.”

  I finally drop my hands as I have a lightbulb moment. “Alton… this all makes sense.”

  “What does?”

  “I couldn’t remember where I knew him from or why he was riding my ass so hard about my steps. It’s something Nick used to get on me about, taking too long in the pocket or getting too far away from protection. I don’t know why, but the five has always been my thing.”

  “Because it was your dad’s.”

  She’s right. I used to watch DVDs of him playing, long before I knew he was my dad. I wanted to be like the great Liam Westbury. Play like him, be him. “Nick used to harp on me. In high school, he brought in this specialist – Ren. They tried to change my footwork, but I refused.”

  “Alton Rennie,” she whispers while I nod. “He told Logan to hire me.”

  I sit back and look out the window. Peyton working for the Pioneers. I sort of like the idea. “But, why? Not that I don’t think you’d be amazing.”

  “I don’t know. Logan didn’t say much, just that they can’t offer me the same package, but I’d have the same position. He said Alton told him he’d be stupid not to hire me.”

  Finally, I turn and look at the love of my life. “What are you going to tell them?”

  “How would you feel about me being there, every day? I’d be paid to point out what you’re doing wrong, where the defense is breaking down.”

  “Remember it was just mini-camp.”

  Peyton shrugs. “I notice everything, especially when you’re playing.”

  “I think you should take the job.”

  “Are you sure, Noah? This would mean we’d have zero separation. I’d travel with the team.”

  I waggle my eyebrows at her. “I wonder if they’d let us share a hotel room?”

  Peyton slaps my arm. “Be honest with me.”

  Leaning over, I cup the back of her neck and pull her toward me. Our lips hover closely. “Take the job, Peyton.” I pull away, putting some space between us so I can talk to her. “You might as well get paid to tell me when I suck instead of yelling at me after the game. Besides, I can’t get mad at you this way.”

  She looks at me confusingly. “Have you ever gotten mad at me before?”

  Nope, she’s got me there. “No, I haven’t because you’re always honest and would never say anything that wasn’t true. Still, I think you should take the job.”

  “And what if you get traded?”

  I grin quickly. Being traded isn’t something I ever want to think about. “Then we commute, just like we would now if you were to take one of the broadcasting jobs.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’m going to do it.”

  A smile breaks out across my face as we meet in the middle. Having her at work with me every day is going to be an adjustment, but I’d rather it be her than anyone else. I like to think I’m easy to coach, but I know I can be stubborn. Peyton won’t take that shit from me. She’ll happily put me in my place and not think twice about it.

  I put the car into drive and pull back onto the main road. We drive for a while, listening to sports talk radio, which I have to say, with Peyton is never fun. She yells back at whoever is hosting, pointing out how wrong, and sometimes how right, they are. And will go as far as to throw her hands up in the air when she’s completely frustrated. It’s comical, and her antics will undoubtedly make the ESPN highlight reel.

  She’s going to have to let the stations down easily though. The last thing she wants to do is burn bridges. While she might like working for the Pioneers, broadcasting is what she went to school for, and I’d hate to see her pass up a future opportunity.

  “I spoke with Maggie today. She says you asked Alex to be in the wedding?”

  “Sort of. It was more like Alex asking who my best man was and when I told him it was Quinn, he said he was okay with that and preferred walking all the women to their seats. I couldn’t really tell him no at that point. Is that okay?”

  “It’s your wedding too, Noah. Of course, it’s okay. I suppose we should figure out the rest of the party though.”

  “We should have a massive reception.”

  “Doable. Our families do like to party.”

  “That they do,” I say as I turn into a parking lot. Peyton’s never been here, but I’ve talked to her about it. We’re at the top of Portland, overlooking the city. The sun is setting, making this moment just about perfect.

  I get out of the car, rush to her side, and take her hand in mine. Together, we walk to the edge. With me standing behind her, I wrap her in my arms. “This is our city, Peyton. From here, we can see everything.”

  “It’s gorgeous, Noah.”

  We stand there for a while, me holding her. I want to tell her how much I love her, thank her for being my constant, my go-to, for being my best friend. I need to apologize for being a jerk to her for weeks on end, for avoiding the elephant in the room, for likely making her feel as if she’s done something wrong. It’s a Westbury trait, getting inside your own head, and it takes a really strong woman to help us see the error of our ways. That’s what Peyton did for me today when she showed up at practice. If she hadn’t, I don’t know where I’d be right now, probably wandering around aimlessly downtown, waiting for her to go to bed because I was too ashamed to face her with what I had done.

  Peyton turns her head slightly to look up at me. I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose. “What’s on your mind?” I ask her.

  “I’m really happy, Noah.”

  “I am too, babe.”

  “Then why have you been ignoring me for the past few weeks?”

  I go to step back, but she holds on to my arms, digging her nails into my flesh.

  “Don’t,” she says. “Don’t move, turn, walk or think about leaving until you tell me why. Is it because of the Rams?”

  My head moves slowly up and down. “I got scared, Peyton. I thought I was going to lose everything and you at the same time.”

  “How do you think I felt?”

  “Probably the same as me. But the only way I knew how to cope with it was to work my ass off. I wanted everyone to see how committed I was to the team. I showed up at the facility before it opened and was there when the janitor locked up at night.”

  “So, you weren’t waiting until I turned out the lights and was asleep before you came in?”

  I lean back and look at her. “What? Hell no. I’d much rather be with you, but I didn’t, still don’t, want to lose my job.”

  Peyton looks down and lessens her grip on my arms. As gently as possible, I lift her chin until her eyes are meeting mine. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

  “I thought you were avoiding me because of the Rams. It’s why I came out to see you today.”

  “My beautiful, silly girl. You are perfect. You’re the love of my life. There isn’t anything you could do to make me walk away from you. Ever.”

  “I’m sorry about the Rams, about everything.”

  “Don’t. Don’t apologize for their arrogance. I love you, Peyton, and no job will ever change that.”

  11

  Peyton

  By the time we stop at the third bridal store, or maybe it’s the fourth, could be fifth because I’ve lost count, I realize why couples elope. The stress of having everything right, everything perfect, is almost too much to handle. The words I’ve heard today are it’s too frilly, not enough lace, the back looks odd, you look frumpy, is enough to make me want to throw my hands up and say forget it. Maybe it’s the champagne talking and being unreasonable in my head. With each store, comes a plate of hors d’oeuvres from restaurants looking to land a contract from me, and champagne from the best vineyards wanting to supply our reception with their bottles. Because of my dad and who I’m marrying, the A-list treatment is real and all I want to do is pick a wedding dress with my mom and sister and decide on bridesmaids’ gowns that don’t look like they belong in an 80s prom magazine. Most of all, I just want to marry Noah, in front of our family and friends, in a simple ceremony.

  I’m surrounded by mirrors, and my reflection tells me that I’m tired and have had way too much champagne. I want to eat, gorge myself on carbs and ice cream until my stomach revolts. I want everything unhealthy and not listed on the approved list that my uncle Xander gave me. He means well and is only giving me what I wanted when I asked him to help get me into shape for my wedding.

  My body jerks to the left or right, depending on which way the saleswoman is pulling the gown I’m trying on. It’s not my favorite, but my mom fawned over it as soon as she saw it on the hanger. In fact, she’s loved just about every dress she’s picked out, as well as some of Elle’s choices. Each one I show her brings her to tears. I guess this is a mom thing to do, to cry at the sight of their daughters dressed in wedding gowns. I texted Noah and warned him I plan to be the same way when we have a daughter going through this. He replied, telling me how much he loves the idea that we’re going to have children.

  I have yet to find the one. Not man, because I found him many years ago, but dress. In my mind, it exists. It’s out there, sitting on some rack, being passed by, waiting for me to try it on. I know I could have had a bespoke gown, designed, and made to my own specifications if I were to delay my wedding for a few more months. I’m not sure a dress is worth it. My parents are going to spend hundreds, if not thousands, on a dress that I’ll wear for a few hours, send off to dry-cleaning and have stored in a box. It seems frivolous and a waste of someone’s time.

  Elle enters the dressing area and crinkles her nose. She gets it. At least, she pretends to. “Do you like it?”

  I stare at her through the mirrors, not answering. I don’t need to. It’s a twin thing, she knows how I’m feeling.

  “Mom means well. She’s excited.”

  “I can’t wait for it to be your turn,” I tell her. “When will Ben propose?”

  Elle shrugs, playing my question off. Her relationship with Ben is similar to the one I share with Noah. Lifelong loves with the difference being Elle didn’t realize she was in love with Ben until it was almost too late. Her stubbornness almost blew her chance at happiness, but thankfully Ben was determined to win her love.

  “What? Don’t you talk about marriage?”

  “Not really,” she says. “We’re both so busy. Ben has a really good job, plus he’s helping me launch my career. We’re both sort of focusing on work right now.”

  “You want him to ask you. I can tell.”

  Elle waves me off. “The commitment would be nice.”

  “So ask him. I would’ve had Noah not. I wasn’t going to let him go.”

  The saleswoman makes one final tug before she dismisses me to go see my mom. Elle helps me off the large platform and holds the curtains open for me. Mom stands, covers her mouth, and proudly proclaims this is the best one yet.

  “Mom, you say that each time,” Elle points out. “How are we supposed to help Peyton choose?”

  Mom wipes at the tears falling. “I can’t help it, I just…” She looks from me to Elle, and then down at the floor. “I’m emotional is all.”

  She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. I already know she was going to say something like “never thought she’d see this day.” She’s not the only one to think that. Sometimes, I have nightmares about the wedding, about Noah and I. Me sitting in church, watching him marry someone else. I’m there out of obligation because our families have been friends for forever. In this dream, his bride finds me crying in the bathroom, telling me that everything will be okay. She has no idea who I am or that I’m madly in love with her new husband. She just sees a weeping woman in the restroom who needs comfort. When my dreams do show my wedding to Noah, it’s perfect because it’s him and I standing there, professing our love for one another.

  “Peyton, do you like the dress?” my mother asks.

  I look down and trace the intricate beadwork. A seamstress or tailor spent a long time putting this together and it will be the right dress for a bride that isn’t me. “It’s pretty, but I think it’s too busy for what I had in mind.”

  Mom smiles. “We have a handful of other stores to try.”

  “Actually, there’s a vintage shop not far from here. I’d like to look in there.”

  She nods. I can’t tell if she’s dejected or not. She goes back to where she was sitting and starts gathering her stuff. Elle tugs on my arm, directing me toward the dressing room. I have to stand there and wait for my salesperson to come back, and when she does, she has a fake smile on her face. I get it, she just lost a sale. In all fairness, so did the other stores we visited earlier.

  As soon as we leave, Elle tells us that we’re walking the few blocks to the other store. It’s nice out, perfect actually. It’s not too hot, there’s a light breeze and the sun is shining. Elle and I walk hand in hand while Mom trails behind us, talking to our dad on the phone. From the bits and pieces of their conversation, she tells him that everything is going great and that we are weighing our options on a few dresses. I think she too has had too much champagne.

  Halfway to the shop, we get noticed. Normally, we can walk the streets, and no one pays attention unless our dad, one of our uncles, Noah or sometimes Quinn is with us. Most often, the paparazzi doesn’t care about Elle or me or our mother unless she’s shopping with our aunts. But Elle has started a band, and they’re starting to get a little bit of attention. And I’m marrying a famous quarterback, who publicly asked me to marry him. And I’m certain one of the shops we visited has alerted the media about what I’m doing today because on the sidewalk, coming toward us is a mob of photographers. By mob, I mean a few, but they’re screaming and rushing toward us, making me feel uncomfortable.

  For the most part, our run-ins with the media have been controlled. Growing up in Beaumont kept us out of the limelight, unlike a few of our famous friends. But even when we were on tour with the band, we had security with us and for the most part, the photographers would keep their distance.

  Today, not so much.

  Questions are being yelled. They want to know if I’m pregnant, when the wedding is, and they’re asking Elle who Quinn’s girlfriend is. That question gives me pause, even though our mother is pushing us toward the store. She tells them that we have no comment and to leave us alone, which I think only furthers their agenda in getting answers. Someone brings up Dessie and I pause, but Elle tells them to leave us alone and puts her arm around me.

  For whatever reason, Dessie is still a sore subject with me, and I don’t know why. In the end, I have my guy and we’re getting married, but part of me still harbors some resentment toward her. In the beginning of their relationship, she had no idea how I felt about him and neither did he. By the end, she knew I was the demise and did the unthinkable. I don’t know if Noah will ever get over the betrayal. I know I won’t. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s lingering in the shadows, waiting to pounce again. It’s stupid, Elle tells me this all the time. I know that Noah loves me.

 

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