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My throat constricts at the sincerity in his voice. Ever since Boone claimed I’d never make it, I’ve been doubting everything about myself, wondering if I’m really tough enough for this sport.

Wyatt has no idea how much those words mean to me, and suddenly, this barn feels like it’s shrinking in on us. I can’t stand the feeling. I prefer wide open spaces bigger than the Texas sky, so I dig through my backpack for something to do.

I pick out the stuffed longhorn I got last week when I went grocery shopping. I was originally going to use it as a chew toy for Tuna-Toons, but maybe his daughter will like it more.

“Here,” I say, tossing out the stuffed animal. “I got this for Luna, but I think Vi might like it better, and it might help with the crying.”

I hand it over, and she smiles and grabs it with her baby hands, squealing, “Wah!”

“That means she likes it,” he says, watching the interaction with tipped-up lips. He picks up her tiny hand in a wave. “Can you say thank you, Vi?”

“No!” she shrieks. “Wah!”

I chuckle at her garbled thank you, but then my throat goes tight, thinking about when, if ever, I’ll get to have a family of my own.

Wyatt and his adorable baby girl just remind me of the family I so desperately want, but I can’t have yet because the sad, sad truth is that I’ll always be cleaved down the middle, forced to straddle my dreams and my family.

I hate that I can’t have it all.

10

SET IT ON FUCKING FIRE

WYATT

Here’s the thing about Dakota Cutler: she acts like she doesn’t hold grudges, but really, she likes her grudges like her cowboy boots—old, broken in, and worn. She holds onto them so tightly because when someone hurts her, it cuts her deep.

She’ll say she forgives you. She’ll claim it’s all water under the bridge. But she’ll never forget, and you’ll never be able to tell what she actually thinks since that woman doesn’t speak a bad word about anyone.

It’s one of my favorite things about her because that relentless tenacity saved my life, and I don’t mean that like some over-the-top love confession—you saved me from the worst parts of myself, no—that girl actually saved my life during a flash flood at Cibolo Creek.

I’d been eight years old at the time, splashing around in the turquoise water with an imaginary sword when everyone started screaming, “Move to higher ground!”

I thought they were joking because Texas is supposed to be this dehydrated desert state, so how can there be flash floods in the Hill Country? But hills have valleys, and when those valleys fill, people drown.

If it hadn’t been for Dakota’s death grip, that would’ve been me—deader than a gaping fish.

The rain came pouring, and the water started rising. I was frantic, sweating despite the chilly summer storm. All I could think to do was to scramble onto one of the ancient cypress tree roots, but my fingers kept slipping on the wet bark as I tried to hoist myself up.

The water surged around me, filling my nostrils, and when I thought I couldn’t hold on any longer, Dakota appeared, hovering over me like a dark angel. Her eyes blazed as she glared at me something fierce—even as a preteen, she could cut a man down with just a look.

“Grab my hand,” she said. No, commanded.

I grabbed.

And she held.

Using all her strength, she pulled me up over the ledge until I crashed onto her chest, and then we ran to my sobbing mothers on higher ground. From that moment on, I knew I had to hold onto her like she held onto me.

“She hates me, Cruz,” I groan, talking to him through my AirPods.

“Well, can you blame her?” my teammate, Micah Cruz, says on the phone.

He’s our center for the Nashville Guardians and one of my best friends. He and Rhode Tremblay, our retired goalie, are my boys.

They stayed up with me through sleepless nights with my girl and sat by my side as I watched all the swaddling tutorials after she was born. If it weren’t for them and my parents, I would’ve gone insane from lack of sleep those first few months.

“From what you’ve told me,” he continues, chewing obnoxiously on something. Sounds like tortilla chips. “You basically came back and moved into some barn with your screaming baby. Don’t get me wrong, Vi’s cute but loud. I’d be pissed, too, if I were her.”