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She nodded and pulled out her knitting, content to put her earbuds in and listen to a podcast Arden had helped her find on gardening in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

When Arden’s parents had found out about the baby, they’d been supportive but also judgmental and overbearing, enough to push Arden completely into Wanda’s safe and loving arms, at least for the time being. I suspected after all of this, Arden would choose to stay with the people in her life who accepted her for who she actually was instead of who they wanted her to be.

Bett leaned his head against my shoulder and wrapped his free arm around my stomach. “I can’t believe he’s actually not going to be a US senator anymore. I honestly thought he’d be in office till he died.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “So did everyone. Except his opponents, probably.”

We’d had a lot of conversations over the past few weeks. About Bett needing to see a therapist. About me probably needing the same.

Dalton had offered to pay for Gracie and me both to see someone—something he’d actually tried to get us to do when our mom had died, but that we’d both been too raw to consider at the time. I had to assume this was Wanda’s influence, and I was grateful. But I wasn’t ready.

I’d promised Bett I’d find someone in the new year, but I was relieved when he’d gone ahead and signed himself up with a therapist available through the student center.

His first appointment was later this week, and I’d already made sure to block out time in my schedule to be back in the room when he was done in case he wanted company.

“Aaron Beeker called my mom.”

It took me a minute for Bett’s words to register. “Wait. What? Aaron Beeker, the agent?”

I only knew who he was because I’d forced Bett to verbalize the best-case scenario to me if he were to pursue a pro football career. It had started with him being represented by the best kicking specialist agent.

He nodded without looking up. I’d learned this was his favorite maneuver when he was nervous about my reaction to something.

“Baby,” I warned.

He glanced at me. I could see the glint of excitement in his eyes, but he was holding himself back. Like maybe he wasn’t allowed to get excited about anything right now.

“He told her he wanted to represent me when the time comes.”

I shoved him back and cupped both hands around his neck. “Of course he fucking does! Are you for real? Why didn’t you say something? When did you hear about this?” I pulled him in for a hard kiss before letting him answer. “Fuck, McNeely. Jesus!”

He finally let himself grin. “Yeah, it’s… it’s cool, right?”

“Cool? Your dream agent wants to represent you, and you’re calling it cool?”

His cheeks flushed. “No, I mean, it’s good. I just… I can’t talk to him directly, really, until the end of regular season. And since we’re probably going to the playoffs, it could be a while. You never know what might happen between now and then.”

Okay, so he wanted to keep his expectations low.

That was fine. I could do that. But…

“Remember what Ben Diamonte told you,” I said with a grin, referring to the Falcons kicker he’d met at the infamous Ivy Hall campaign event.

He smiled back at me. “He said he lets himself get excited about the possibility for twenty-four hours. Then it’s back to work.”

I nodded. “We’ve got twenty-four hours, baby. Twenty-four hours to celebrate the GOAT and the GOAT god.”

Over the sound of his laughter, I heard Dalton mutter something about us being insufferable, but I merely pulled Bett closer and kissed him deeply.

“So fucking proud of you, babygirl,” I said in a voice too low for anyone else to hear. “So fucking proud.”

The election night tally updated on the screen to show the results from Cobb and Forsyth Counties. McNeely’s opponent swept both with a significant margin, bringing the total down closer to what was expected.

I considered trying to distract Bett the way Dalton had distracted Arden, but I knew it wouldn’t work. He needed to watch his father lose. Needed to see it happen with his own eyes.

“You know most kickers don’t get invited to the combine, right?” he asked, eyes flicking between me and the screen periodically after he settled back next to me on the sofa. “It’ll come down to Pro Day.”

“Which you’ll nail.”