“You mean the fact Troy punched Bryce?” I give them a summary of the portion of the video Troy showed me last night.
“Girl, there’s so much more to it than that,” Amy warns.
“What do you mean?” My brow furrows.
Within seconds, each of them have dropped links into our group chat. The headlines make my eyes widen:
Ex-NFL Kicker Calls Flag on Former Team: Ex-Kicker Punts.
Walsh Denounces Lightning Organization.
No Extra Points: Ex-Kicker, Walsh, Not Involved in Team Takedown
“He’s had your back and your side, Maya,” Amy states.
“Since the very moment the shit hit the fan,” Christin chimes in.
“We know you needed to distance yourself. But we needed to protect you,” Emery defends.
A lump forms in my throat. These are my girls—my family by choice. My “Thanks” comes out husky.
“You’d do the same for us,” Amy says confidently.
“In a heartbeat. So…you think it’s a good idea for me to stay.”
They’re silent for a moment. So am I, long enough to hear the tractors in the distance, making me wonder what is being done on the property to prepare for harvest. I long to explore the vineyard, but, “After years of my trust being abused, I need reassurance. I may for a while. Not because Troy’s a bad guy,” I tack on quickly.
“But maybe because of it,” Amy asks gently.
“Yeah.”
Emery pulls her phone closer, her voice steady before she reminds me why I’m there. “Stay. Not for him, but for you. And if…”
“If what?”
“If the man who spoke up for those articles shows himself to you, the entire world is already on your side,” Christin states bluntly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, open your eyes,” Amy rolls her eyes.
My breath catches, but I can’t un-hear the words. They dare me to imagine what ifs and possibilities with a man who has already shown me he has more integrity than the one I was willing to marry.
After spending a few more minutes on the phone with my girls, I hang up. Walking over to my closet, I reach for the suitcase I never unpacked last night.
My decision’s made.
12
FIELD GOAL – KICKING BALL THROUGH UPRIGHTS.
If I was a different kind of man, I might resort to stealing a tire from Maya’s rental so she couldn’t leave. Then again, Maya’s a pro traveler. She likely has the Automobile Club d'Italia stored in her favorites.
From the patio doors of my office, I have a clear view of my family’s heritage and catch sight of Maya only she’s not tossing her suitcases in her car with wild abandon. No, instead,she’s standing in the sun. She tilts her face upward and absorbs the sun’s warmth just like the rows of vines behind her. For a moment, she looks around and, I’d swear, her eyes meet mine. It makes my heart pound harder than any forty-yard field goal ever did.
Maya lifts her camera up to take what will undoubtedly be an award-winning photo of what could be anything from an ant to a mailbox.She’s just that talented, I think, resting my chin on my fist.
There’s a lot I admire about Maya Cox. Feelings I suppressed because I wasn’t supposed to have them since she was with Bryce. She’s caring. She’s enormously talented. Then there’s the way she laughs when she thinks no one’s listening, head tipped back like she’s letting the world in. Now that she doesn’t appear to be mourning her relationship with the jackass she was engaged to, maybe it could be the something I’ve waited for my whole damn life.
