Melissa eases back and thinks about it for a moment. “I didn’t bring this up to upset you or to plant seeds of second guesses. I’m saying this, not only because I’m a huge Mae Evans fan, but because I like to think I’m a friend of Wyatt Lucas’ incredibly talented girlfriend. And if I’m mistaken about the second part, please let me down easy. I can’t take rejection.”
“You’re most definitely a friend,” I say, reaching out for her free hand. I’m not able to say that often, so I might not knowexactly what that means but it feels right. We shake lightly before turning our attention back to practice.
“You just owe it to yourselves to be happy,” Melissa whispers, with a tap on my knee. “Why pile on unneeded stresses? You should be having fun and enjoying the adventure.”
What she says hits home. Why should I let everything in my public life crash in on my private life? I am having fun; every second with Wyatt has been an adventure, and I wouldn’t change it for all the awards in the world.
The aura surrounding us as practice enters its final drill eases, but my own mind is swimming with what I might bring up to Wyatt. We only have a short drive together before it’s time to part ways at the airport. As scary as it is, I need to realize that this relationship is healthy – the healthiest I’ve ever been a part of. Wyatt's not going to lash out at me if I bring up something important.
Renewed with confidence as practice ends, I skip down the stairs to the locker room. I’m actually excited to speak with Wyatt about something important pertaining to us. It feels official and mature.
I wait below with a smile as the players trickle out. A few acknowledge me as they leave for the day, but a few others don’t even look my way. I get the feeling that I might not be wanted this close to the team. I’m about to call it quits and retreat to the parking lot when Ben emerges. Trying to find the confidence I held minutes ago, I straighten and strike a power stance to aid my waning confidence.
He puts a hand on my shoulder as he passes and whispers, “He had a rough practice. Go easy on the peppiness.”
Peppiness? I don’t think I’ve ever been called peppy in my life.
As Wyatt emerges, I try to tame my smile but fail. I just can’t help but be happy when I see him. His eyes dart from me to thedoor across the hall and then back to me, not the most assuring. “Hey,” is all he says.
“Hey,” I answer. It comes out calculated as I try not to let my confusion through. What did I do wrong now?
He wraps an arm around me and steers me down the hallway. “I’ve got a quick media briefing and then we can go.”
“Oh, is that all?” I ask with a laugh. I feel relieved. He hates these things. That’s definitely what has him being so standoffish right now; at least I hope it is. “I thought you were mad at me for meeting you here in the dungeon.”
“I’m not mad,” he says quickly.
Ushering us into a small conference-style room, there’s a podium set in front of a large wall with the team’s logo on it. Only a few journalists lie in wait, thankfully. Wyatt and I separate as he stalks to the front, beside his coach and Ben. I slink off to the side, where I hope to remain invisible.
The head coach goes first, followed by Ben. They both ace their straightforward questions. Wyatt isn’t so lucky, of course. I hadn’t noticed outside, but he is truly flustered. His mind is clearly somewhere else when he’s asked about the upcoming game and how he feels about the team going into it.
Toward the end of prying answers out of him, a bored reporter turns to me. “Ms. Evans!” he calls over the rest. “What do you have to say about the team?”
I raise my hands in defense, signaling that I don’t want to be any part of it, but all the others have turned to me now. I look to Wyatt for support, but he still seems checked out of the whole thing.
Knowing that I can help turn this ship around, I put on a smile and make my way to the front. No one stops me, so I step up beside Wyatt and dig my hand into his. The grip is soft, like he’s unsure about what I’ve just done. I’m not so sure about it either, but again, no one stopped me.
“I’m really excited to be a part of this whole process,” I begin. Looking up to Wyatt for support, I’m met with a steely expression. I clear my throat and fight to continue through the bubbles of fear. This is so unlike him.
When he decides not to give me any sign of support, I decide that I’m on my own. Continuing, I try to keep my nerves out of my voice. “I know this is such a huge moment for Wyatt and the team, which I’ve come to view as my family. I just want to be here to support them in any way I can.”
The very next question pivots away from football to the halftime performance. I should’ve known this would happen. The questions about my life keep coming, but eventually the team media manager finds his voice and shuts it all down.
I try my best to stay sunny by hooking my arm in Wyatt’s, but he’s stiff and makes no motion to address me. Soon enough, he pulls away and heads for the exit. My hands ball into fists, and I follow him. I’ve just about had enough of this.
When I catch up to him in the parking lot, he doesn’t bother grabbing my door or giving me a reassuring look when I slide in beside him. When I’ve seated myself and put my seatbelt on, he merely starts the car and drives away.
I gather my thoughts as we drive. I know I only have about an hour with him before we part, and I hate the way things have been between us since yesterday. Frankly, it’s gone far enough. Melissa’s words rush back to me, and I’m suddenly emboldened to take care of this myself.
“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” I ask, hardly heard over the rush of the interstate air.
“Not really,” he huffs.
Now I’m starting to feel flustered. “You haven’t been yourself since yesterday. What is going on, Wyatt?” I don’t beg for an answer; I demand one. He remains silent, and still can’t find it within himself to look over at me. I can’t believe he’s making mecontinue without any input to speak of. “I really don’t know what I did, but please tell me. I want to be better for you, but I’m sorry that needs to go both ways. I feel completely blindsided here.”
This earns me a glance. A singular, staunch glance. “You don’t know what you did?” he asks. I shake my head slightly, though I don’t think he sees it. I watch his hands relax on the wheel, and I know I’ll be getting some truth from him. Finally. “I just wish you would have asked before you stepped up there and took control of the interview, that's all.” There’s still some bite to his tone. “It’s not really your place to be doing that.”
The final jab is what stings. My place? He’s been acting strange since way before I stumbled into that trap this afternoon. I feel fire climb up through my chest to my lips. “No one stopped me. You weren’t really handling their questions with grace.” I know it’s off base, but I’ve learned a thing or two about arguing, and I’ll be damned if I ever get burned without speaking my mind ever again.
