Law #3: Don't Fall for the Athlete: Sweet Second Chance Romance (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📕

Perhaps the best thing is to end my relationship with Ellie. It’s not too late yet. We’re not too deeply lost. In the long run, perhaps we’ll be both better off without each other.

Even if the mere thought of breaking up with her makes me feel like the entire 49ers defense team has pinched me to the ground and is stomping on my chest.

How am I ever going to do this?

Chapter 17

(Ellie)

“Ah, don’t you just love this breeze?” Wyatt asks as we step off from the small bridge onto Amp Island, a small picnic area of Encanto Park.

This park is a haven of shade and grass in our city and my absolute favorite spot for a summer night stroll. I can usually feel the greenery’s instant cooling as soon as I get off the light rail station and take West Vernon Avenue. Here on Amp Island, we’re surrounded by water, and it only increases this refreshing effect.

The surface has an ethereal green glow by day, but right now it plays in a deep lilac. The night lights glimmer on the waves and cast an engrossing play on Wyatt’s cheeks. Their mesmerizing movements must be the reason I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

The lump that got lodged in my throat after his weird comment about his memories grows more prominent as I study him. I always assumed that Wyatt had erased me from his thoughts to focus on what he truly cared about—his career.

Does it mean something that he didn’t?

Wyatt stuffs the last bit of his cone into his mouth and, after swallowing, closes his eyes and raises his face toward the sky. “It might be those extra degrees here, but in Georgia, I never take this much pleasure from a whiff of air.”

“That could be a great reason to move back home,” I say before my brain registers what came out of my mouth.

He opens his eyes, and they fly to me. “My presence is growing on you, huh?”

Did I just suggest he should live here again? What’s wrong with me? “I’m sure Devon would be glad if you were around more.” I hope my casual tone can make up for my glitch.

He flashes me a grin, but after a second, his expression grows serious. “It’d have other benefits too. I’d be closer to my mother.”

My eyes widen and unease grips my stomach. “Is your mom unwell?”

My mother is close to Wyatt’s mom, Cristina. They even chair that curious Mysteries and More Book Club together. If Cristina were sick, Mom would have surely mentioned it, no?

Wyatt’s jaw tightens. “She’s fine. She strained her ankle last week when going to church, but that’s not why I’d like to be nearer to her.”

“Then, why?”

“Because of my dad.”

His tone is loaded, like an over-packed suitcase, but a small tilt in his voice when he mentions his dad makes me think it’s about to burst.

“Your dad? Hasn’t he been off the radar for over a decade?” I prompt.

His nostrils flare. “Yeah, but not anymore.”

So that’s what’s brewing in him. I arch my brows. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“The worst,” Wyatt murmurs.

I always thought Wyatt and his father were just too different and that’s why they didn’t get along, but the pain in Wyatt’s features is a clear sign that I was wrong.

I put a hand on his shoulder and peer up at him. “Do you want to tell me why?”

He glares at me, but I’m not sure he sees my face. His eyes are glazed over as he speaks. “My dad was a terrible father and husband. The only thing he excelled at was guzzling an impossible amount of booze incredibly fast. Vodka, gin, tequila, whatever he could buy cheap.”

My eyes widen, and I gasp. “Oh, Wyatt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

A day when my father and I met Mason Harrison in the grocery store in Kingman pops into my mind. My dad had joked with Wyatt’s father about the substantial amount of liquor bottles in his cart. Mason had waved dismissively and chuckled, “In Arizona, we salt margaritas, not sidewalks.” My dad had laughed it off, and we’d walked on to buy the cinnamon sugar Mom needed for her special Halloween cookies.

After Wyatt’s revelation, this memory gains a whole new significance.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Wyatt gives out a bitter snort. “My dad’s a great actor. At least when he’s with others. Nobody knew he was a drunkard at home.”

So not even my brother knew of Wyatt’s dad’s addiction. That figures, since he’s never mentioned anything about it to me.

“When did your dad reappear?”

“He called me some time ago. Out of the blue. After years of absence.” His words are raspy as if uttering them cost him a great effort.

A suspicion settles in my chest. “When was that some time ago? I mean precisely?”

Wyatt levels my gaze. “He called me during that OTA. Just before I punched Rodriguez.”

My mouth opens, but Wyatt holds up his hand.

“I’ve already identified the connection between my jab and my dad. You’ve been right, Ellie. I’m still angry. Angry at him.” His fingers slowly roll into fists.

My heart swells, because even though Wyatt is still battling with rage, he’s unearthed the true reason for his frustration. “I’m so proud of you.”

His brows round. “You are?”

“Of course. Recognizing the real motivation behind an action is great progress. But uncovering a long-suppressed wound is major.”

“Yeah, I guess it is…”

I stare at Wyatt’s white knuckles, and his reaction to his first role-playing exercise pops into my mind. “Was your dad ever…you know, violent?”

He shrugs. “When he was wasted and got mad, things sometimes turned ugly, yes.”

“Has your dad ever hit your mom?”

I try to control the horrified edge in my voice, but it creeps into my tone all the same.

Wyatt shakes his head. “No. He wasn’t violent in that sense. He used his belt as a tool to teach discipline. Of course, it sounded more like ‘d’scibl’n’ in his intoxicated mumbling. My