Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love)

by Agnes Canestri

  Laia gives her an ‘Is this your best pep talk?’ glance, then turns to me. “We hate to see you hurting. Let us help you. This game will be fun. Or if not fun, at least something different.”

  “I’m not hurting.” I shake my head. “I can’t be. I was the one to decide against Wyatt this time, so I must be fine with it.”

  “But you’re obviously not,” Cora says.

  “We could hear the sobs through the wall,” Hope adds with a sympathetic smile.

  “That was nothing, just a moment of confusion,” I say bravely. “I told you, what’s done is done.”

  I blink at Hope and catch her mouthing something at Cora and Laia. I can’t decipher what because she stops as soon as she notices me watching her.

  Laia gives me a cheery smile. “You need a change of scenery—a distraction to kick you out of this somber mood before Monday.”

  She’s right. I need to fill my chest with some positive feelings. Stephanie will be back soon, and I’ve done so much to keep myself in her favors. I took on Wyatt’s case, and with that, I sacrificed my peace of mind.

  And my heart.

  Stephanie mentioned that she wants to discuss Wyatt’s therapy with me. If I had to speak to her about him now, I’d sound like a zombie. There’s no guarantee this won’t still be the case after watching Ariana’s nephew and chewing on some juicy, grilled hamburgers—even if they are free—but it’s at least worth a try.

  I sigh and take the orange and blue sticker from Hope’s hand. I give my friends a small smile. “Fine, you win.”

  Cora and Laia grin, while Hope exclaims, “Yay! Go, go Cougars!”

  Chapter 36

  (Wyatt)

  When I peek out of the locker room, the board announces a 30/18 in favor of the Cougars.

  A boy dressed in a blue-and-orange jersey is sprinting through the green grass, blinking back, scanning his chance for a free pass. By the players’ positions on the field, I know immediately the Cougars are engaged in a halfback option. Still, the Defenders’ defensive backs aren’t buying the false run, leaving only one choice to the running back—the boy has to cross the line of scrimmage with the ball in his hand.

  The crowd roars, reminding me that if you’re good, you can have a rabid fan base even at seventeen.

  The running back increases his pace even more, zigzagging to avoid the defenders.

  In a second, an earsplitting cheer cuts through the air, and the numbers flip to 31/18.

  With only two minutes remaining, it’s clear that the Cougars have the victory in their pocket. It’s nice to know that the team I’ve decided to coach knows how to win even with a friendly match.

  I still don’t feel cheerful. My guts are in a knot.

  The brief window until the end means that my appearance is approaching. I’d love to step out now and scan the audience, but I return to my hideout.

  Inside, the air is heavy with the familiar stench of dirty sneakers and cleats, sweaty pads, and gym socks mixed with a hint of Old Spice.

  I’m surprised the high school kids would use this deodorant, but apparently, it has an ageless appeal to any male.

  Herald Jenkins, the Cougars’ current head coach, asked me to stay out of sight until he sends his assistant to fetch me. He said he wanted to make a proper announcement about me taking over his team’s next season. The element of surprise seems to be crucial.

  I think he’s just aware that the message about my early retirement is bound to be picked up not only by the local journalist Jimmy’s wife invited here but by all big sports newspapers. It was the same way when Joe made public that he was quitting the league after the coming season.

  Because of Joe’s demanding team position, the reporters argued that he was making a wise and strategic move by leaving the team at his peak performance.

  Who knows if they’ll think the same about me.

  Not that it’s essential.

  I don’t have any second thoughts about my chosen course of action.

  The only thing I fear is that Ellie’s friends didn’t convince her to tag along today. I could have told Ellie about my decision privately, but I’m hoping she won’t doubt my news for a second if she hears it on the gridiron’s microphone.

  I reach for my phone while I continue to pace between the benches and the lockers. Devon told me he’d let me know when his sister arrives, but I haven’t got any news from him so far.

  What if Ellie didn’t want to come to a high school football game?

  I don’t know if it was a good idea to let Hope and Cora in on my plan, but Laia had insisted that bringing Ellie’s two friends on board was the right move, so I’d followed her lead.

  I blink at my screen and see a message sign flashing.

  It arrived several minutes ago. How did I miss it?

  I tap on the unopened envelope with the red circle, and Devon’s text appears.

  “She’s here.”

  Yes! I jump into the air, pumping my fist. Just as I land back on my feet, the end-of-game signal cuts through the air.

  I’m still grinning like a fool—or like a possum eatin’ a sweet tater, as Joe would say—when a blonde woman with a baseball hat, a short ponytail, and sneakers so big she might share my foot size, enters the locker room. It’s Coach Jenkins’ assistant, Zoe. “Mr. Harrison, Coach Jenkins would like you to join him on the field now. Are you ready?” she asks.

  It’s time!

  My heart leaps while my innards quiver. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhilarated and nervous when going out to the gridiron.

  I blink at those sweet two words Devon wrote—She’s here—which might mean the start of my future with the woman I love. I nod to Zoe. “I’m more than ready.”

  Chapter 37

  (Ellie)

  The bench shudders beneath me, and a sharp whistle resounds in my left ear. I flinch and look around, realizing I’m sitting alone while everybody else is on their feet.

  Cora nudges me on the shoulder. “Stand up, sugar.”

  When I don’t move, Laia grabs my hand and pulls me up. She’s humming “We Are the Champions.”

  What’s happening? Is the game over?

  Though watching the kids play was meant to be a distraction from my thoughts, the sight of these boys in their uniforms and helmets must’ve acted like an atom smasher to my inner idling. The last time I’d checked, we were just re-starting after the halftime pause.

  I’m just straightening up when Hope puts two fingers in her mouth à la Huckleberry Finn and gives out the same acute whistle that jerked me out of my trance.

  My eyes dart to the scoreboard.

  The game is indeed finished, and the Cougars won.

  Okay, that explains Laia’s chant and why Jimmy’s wife screams, “My nephew is the next Derwin James,” while her sister, Melody, yells, “We’re the winners, we’re on top!” from the top of her lungs.

  “Congratulations to your family,” Devon tells Jimmy, and the jazz club owner pats him on his back in response.

  People are waving orange-and-blue flags and cardboard signs with the names of their favorite players all around us. With an enormous orange ribbon in her hair, and looking like a moving, talking Christmas package, a lady hands homemade muffins to everyone around her.

  “That’s Tod’s Mom,” Ariana explains to my friends and me. “She always prepares monogrammed treats for her son’s games.”

  On the other side of the gridiron, the Defenders’ fans are awfully quiet. Most folks are still sitting. Some are checking their phones, while others engage in discussions about the game, and though their faces are displeased, they don’t raise their voices. It’s good to see that at least at a high school game, the losing side’s fans know how to handle the shock of their children’s team being beaten.

  A loud tap-tap-tap noise makes everyone look at the gridiron.

  Coach Jenkins, a gray-haired man with a bright-orange basketball cap and a loose, blue shaket—yes, this is the proper term, as I learn
ed from Cora, neither a shirt nor a jacket—stands in the middle of the field.

  Behind him, his team is gathered in a neat formation.

  Richie, in the second row, keeps his eyes on his coach’s back, looking as if he’s desperately trying to ignore his aunt’s and mother’s pointing fingers. The Defenders are also still on the field, but they’ve moved to the side as if leaving the spotlight to the winners.

  Laia winks at me. “The big announcement is coming.”

  “The reporters will be happy,” I reply. At the same time, my gaze searches out the first row where the reporters Ariana invited are seated.

  To be honest, Jimmy’s wife’s PR skills impress me. She invited at least a dozen journalists. I was even more baffled when I learned from Devon that not all are local sports columnists, and that two represent national sports papers he himself reads.

  Another rattling sound floats around us as Coach Jenkins taps the mic once more. “Is this thing on? Can you hear me in the back?”

  Jimmy’s face moves into an annoyed grimace. “I’ve explained to the guy that this is no way to test a mic. It’ll send large transients through the system and eventually break the speakers.”

  Devon gives the club owner a sympathetic look. “Yeah, the coach is slow on the uptake.”

  Ariana turns to my brother and bobs her head, which sends her black hair, streaked with orange hair chalk for the occasion, flying. “Oh, that he is. Despite Richie’s talent, Coach Jenkins keeps telling us that the boy should improve his tackling skills.”

  I might have zoomed out for most of the game, but I didn’t miss that, on this point, the coach could be right. I remember what Wyatt explained to the boys in the park about the basics of tackling, and I believe Richie didn’t follow those principles at all.

  Jimmy puts a gentle hand on his wife’s arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Next year Richie will train with Wy—”

  My brother whacks Jimmy on the back. “Look! Coach Jenkins is about to start the announcement.”

  I stare at Jimmy, slack-jawed for a second, then shake my head.

  Jimmy wasn’t about to say Wyatt. I just heard it because I’m such a dork and can’t control my mind. I keep thinking of Wyatt, despite knowing that it’s unhealthy and counterproductive.

  And even seeing him, apparently, because I could swear the guy in those blue jeans and white shirt, who’d just walked onto the field totally looks like Wyatt…

  He has the same leisurely stroll, like the world is at his feet, and he doesn’t need to show to anyone what he’s made of.

  My throat closes up.

  I really need to consider enrolling in some kind of therapy myself. My hallucinations are too vivid. Even the guy’s dirty blonde hair and his casually long tresses remind me of Wyatt.

  The man, along with the lanky blonde assistant, is headed over to Coach Jenkins. The rows behind us swell with murmurs.

  “Have you seen him?”

  I snap my head and see a redhead adjust her blouse’s steep neckline while asking her friend, “Is it him? Really him?”

  Wait a second…

  I whip back and narrow my eyes, leaning forward. My breath catches and a gasp leaves my throat. “No, that man doesn’t just look like Wyatt. He is Wyatt!” I exclaim.

  Cora, Hope, Laia, and Devon all turn to me.

  Their faces should have the same bewildered expression that must be carved into my features—after all, Wyatt should be already in Georgia—but they’re staring at me with a strange expectancy.

  Almost as if…

  Oh, sweet heavens. They all knew he’d be here.

  I bring my hand to my chest and mumble, “What’s Wyatt doing here?”

  Devon pushes his way past Ariana and her sister and comes to stand beside Laia. He squeezes my arm, giving me an encouraging smile. “All your questions will be answered, sis, I promise. Just listen.”

  Coach Jenkins’s potent contrabasso fills the air. “As many of you know, I’ll be leaving the Cougars after this coming season. I’ve had the time of my life coaching in this school. Still, I’m not sad that I’m leaving. Do you want to know why?”

  The crowd yells “Yes!” and Coach Jenkins makes a theatrical bow.

  “Very well, I tell you why. I’m not sad because I know that I’m leaving the Cougars in the best hands possible.” He puts a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder as Wyatt scans the audience.

  As his eyes reach me, they stop.

  We stare at each other while Coach Jenkins continues.

  “You all know Wyatt Harrison, our region’s native and the Kites’ famous quarterback.”

  “We do!” the people scream, and many break out in applause.

  There are even a few “We love you, Wyatt!” hoots from the back of the stadium. I flick my eyes there and see the group of high school cheerleaders who made the intro dance before the game started.

  I turn back, and Wyatt’s still watching me.

  “…but there’s something else you don’t know about Wyatt,” Coach Jenkins teases. “Want to know what it is?”

  A resounding “Yes!” reverberates all around us, but I barely hear it because my heartbeats are pumping in my ears with an earsplitting noise.

  Wyatt holds my gaze, an undecipherable expression on his face, until Coach Jenkins pushes the mic into his hand.

  “I think our audience would like to hear it from you.” Coach Jenkins chuckles.

  Wyatt thanks him and takes the microphone but doesn’t lift it to his lips. Instead, keeping the mic on his side so none of us can hear him, he pivots around and says something to the kids.

  Whatever he says must shock and delight them because they become electrified. Some clap hands while others hug each other. Richie’s the only one who acts slightly composed, but even he grins widely.

  Jimmy’s comment circles in my head while I gape at Wyatt’s back.

  Could he be telling the players what I think he is? Could Wyatt…?

  Before I can think further on this, Wyatt turns back. He lets his glance wander across the stadium, then speaks into the mic. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but I thought it was important that the kids hear my secret first. But now that they know, I’m ready to share it with you all.” He makes a pause, and his eyes seek me out once more.

  We lock gazes. It’s like he’s speaking only to me, even if there must be at least three hundred other people glued to his lips.

  “I want to announce that this season will be my last with the Kites. I’ve decided to leave the league and move back to Phoenix. When Coach Jenkins retires, I’ll be taking over the Cougars.”

  There’s a moment of silence, then chaos breaks loose.

  Relatives of the Cougars’ kids jump around, hurrah, clap, and hail. And even the Defenders’ players, parents, and friends all reanimate.

  People launch into vivid fights about whether they should make their kids switch schools.

  “Is this for real?” I peer up at my brother, my voice trembling.

  A loud “Wyatt, you’re awesome” echoes behind us, and I don’t have to turn to know it’s coming from the girl with the plunging purple neckline.

  “Yes. Wyatt wants to move home,” Devon says.

  I blink at Laia. She’s watching me with brows that crease in a line of worry, as if testing how I’m taking the news.

  “But why?” I mumble.

  “You know why,” Devon says. “Because of you.”

  I shake my head. “Wyatt can’t renounce his career for me. Playing football is his true mistress. You said so, yourself.”

  Devon cocks his head to the side. An amused glint invades his eyes as if he thinks my disbelief is charming. “I did, and it was. But not anymore.”

  My eyes dart to Cora. She’s going to tell me the truth.

  Cora caresses my head and smiles. “I’m sorry, I was wrong about him, sugar. This guy’s a keeper, even if he’s an athlete.”

  Since I don’t know how to answer her, I move my glance to Hope who beam
s at me like I’m some kind of miracle, so I quickly return my eyes to Laia.

  They all seem to believe that my brother nailed Wyatt’s reason, but despite their agreement, I still can’t wrap my head around this possibility.

  “What do you think? Why did he decide to do this?” I ask my future sister-in-law.

  Laia points at the field’s entrance. “Let’s listen to Wyatt’s explanation. I’m sure this is going to be the first question the reporters will ask him.”

  A guy dressed in a suit, whom I recognize as Wyatt’s agent—has he been watching the whole game? Why didn’t I notice him before?—orders the journalists and their cameramen into a line, then proceeds with guiding them to Wyatt and Coach Jenkins.

  Laia was right.

  After the reporters arrive, the first man must end up interrogating Wyatt with my exact question because Wyatt says, “Playing for the NFL has been an incredible experience, one I’ll always cherish and fondly remember. But it’s time for me to start something different in my life.” Wyatt throws a glance in my direction.

  The reporter turns and follows Wyatt’s glance.

  He asks another question, and Wyatt nods.

  “Yes,” Wyatt says. “There’s a special someone. But that’s all I want to say about this topic for now.”

  My heart leaps.

  So it’s true. Wyatt’s confession in my parents’ house wasn’t just an ephemeral moment of passion.

  “He wants to be with me. As much as I want to be with him,” I murmur.

  It’s so liberating to finally allow myself to say the words aloud that elation sizzles through me. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I dart toward the field.

  “Can she even go there?” I hear Cora’s anxious voice behind me, but I don’t stop.

  I jump down the stairs as fast as I can, utterly grateful that I ended up wearing sneakers like Hope. I’m still listening to Wyatt’s mesmerizing voice as I sprint onto the green grass.

  Wyatt doesn’t realize that I’m approaching, but his agent does.