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

It’s getting late, and I’m pretty tired. I think we should call it a night. Right, Mason?”

Wyatt’s father breaks eye contact with his son and blinks at Cristina. “Sure. It’s probably been a lot for everyone.”

Wyatt continues to glare at his father, so I nudge his back to bring him back to reality. “Shall we go home?”

He flinches, then nods. “Yeah, okay.”

“Aren’t you sleeping at my house?” Wyatt’s mom asks.

Wyatt seems to be in a bit of a trance, so I shake my head and answer for him. “I offered Wyatt to stay in Dev’s old room. I hope that’s okay.”

I don’t even bother adding an excuse, like how I feel scared on my own in a big house. I couldn’t care less if Cristina or Mason thinks it’s weird that I want their son to sleep at my parents’ place. They can even tell Martha, and she can spread it over a loudspeaker to the entire town. The only thing I’m concerned with right now is bringing Wyatt to a safe, quiet space where this encounter can sink in. Where he can ponder whether he feels ready to accept his father’s apology or not.

Cristina smiles. “Of course, whatever Wyatt prefers.”

“Where are you staying?” Wyatt asks his father.

The implication of his question is clear, and his mother blushes while his father fingers the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sleeping at MacLoyd’s Inn,” Mason says. “I’ve booked myself a room for an indefinite amount of time. So, in case you wanted to talk some more, you could—”

“Let’s see about that later, shall we?” I intervene in a forced, cheerful tone. “Poor Cristina’s barely keeping herself on her feet.”

“Indeed,” Wyatt’s mother says and adds a theatrical yawn.

“Okay, let’s go then,” Wyatt says. “Sleep well, Mom. We’ll come over tomorrow—” He gives a pointed glance to his father. “—before heading back to Phoenix.” He leans in and kisses his mother.

I say goodbye to Cristina and Mason.

As I shake his father’s hand, he bends closer to me and whispers, “You’re a good girl, Ellie. Thank you for being there for Wyatt.”

The tone of his last words, more than anything else he’d said, makes me hope that his promises to his son aren’t just empty bubbles. They brim with affection and warmth that only someone who cares about the other can have.

Wyatt is waiting for me, his eyes on the dancers.

When I step beside him, he takes my hand silently and pulls me toward the parking lot.

I look back, and from the corner of my eye, I catch Martha scurrying over to Cristina and Mason before the crowd closes up behind us, obscuring my view.

Before I can ponder about the two women’s likely exchange, we reach the poles with the giant Boot Scootin’ Bash sign, and Wyatt lets out a loud sigh.

I peer up at him and notice the exhausted expression on his face.

“You did very well back there,” I whisper softly.

His lips pull into a small smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Absolutely. I saw your emotion swelling, but you controlled it just like we practiced.”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his neck. “I wasn’t sure it would work, but as I counted, the anger slowly deflated from my chest, like air from a balloon. But now I feel like I’ve just completed the Western States Endurance Run after playing two football games without ever stopping.”

“Come, let’s get you home so you can rest,” I say and drag him to his car.

He pulls out the keys, and his Corvette opens with a beep.

I go around and open my door, but just before I get in, I hear a quietly murmured, “Bye, Dad.”

My eyes flick to Wyatt.

He stands with his back to me, facing the dance.

A smile jumps to my lips. I sprint to his side and snake my arm around his.

He peers down at me.

I nod at him.

He returns his gaze to the distance and we remain there, arm in arm, staring at the lights and the people, listening in silence to Kenny Chesney’s “Somewhere with You.”

I could tell Wyatt that as his therapist I think that letting his father show he’s changed would be beneficial, but Wyatt needs to mull over what happened at his own pace. I’ll wait for his sign to know when he’d like my opinion on his father.

Wyatt might have hired me to help him, but I can’t act with him like I would if he were just an average patient.

Not when he is more to me.

I take a quick peek at him, and my heart flutters.

As if I needed a demonstration of just how much more it is.

Chapter 30

(Wyatt)

I turn in Devon’s old bed, and the support beams creak with noise so shrill it’d jar a bear out of his winter lethargy.

Not that it risks waking me.

I’m not asleep despite it being two a.m. My brain is apparently too busy digesting what happened last night. Though I’d love to stick only to Ellie’s image as we danced—especially that quivering spot between her collarbones—my mind is in a masochistic mood and thrusts me away from her.

My father’s face pops into my mind, and my breathing grows thick.

I sit up and thump my fist against my ribcage, inhaling slowly. I blow the air out in a steady whoosh as if I were in the gridiron’s locker room waiting to start a crucial game. I repeat this until my heartbeats quieten down.

Only then do I admit the shameful truth—the bitterness in my mouth isn’t because of my father’s impudence of waltzing back into Mom’s life despite my clear warning not to.

No, it’s the repugnant flavor of self-accusation.

Although I know it’s ridiculous, a part of me wants to believe Dad really has changed. That all those words he threw at me weren’t just lip-service but a sign that my mother was right about him all along. That his past behavior truly disgusts him, and he’s ready to redeem himself.

Since I don’t know what to do with this unsettling realization, I commit to the only action which may or may