Page 167 of Hometown Halftime

“I’ll watch it,” I tell him quietly. “The combine, I mean.”

Then he says, so softly it feels like a vise around my chest, “I wish you could be there.”

I close my eyes.

“I know.”

The silence that follows feels heavier this time. Both of us standing hundreds of miles apart, wanting the same impossible thing.

Then Riley says it first.

“I miss you.”

The confession comes rough and honest, stripped completely bare. My grip tightens around the phone.

“I miss you too.”

I almost make the monumental mistake of asking him to come home or if I could visit. But loving Riley means loving his future too, even when it hurts. So instead, I swallow hard and force myself to breathe.

“I should probably go back inside,” I whisper. “I think Beau’s about to lie down for a nap.”

Riley goes quiet before answering.

“Yeah. I should get back to studying.”

Neither of us hang up, neither of us wants to be the first to say goodbye.

Finally, I close my eyes and whisper, “Good night, Rookie.”

A quiet breath leaves him on the other end of the line.

“Good night, Kitten.”

Chapter sixty-seven

Kinsey

Every soul in Gordy’s is losing their mind over the combine.

Every television in the bar blasts the coverage while half of Cedar Falls crowds around the tables, yelling opinions like the scouts requested their input. Someone near the pool tables already declared Riley Weston “the pride of Virginia,” and frankly, I’m scared the town might riot if he doesn’t get drafted.

I pour another beer while trying very hard not to stare too long at the television above the bar.

It’s the first weekend since bringing Beau home that Knox and Brynn have let her parents take him overnight, and parenthood looks disgustingly good on both of them. Brynn practically glows every time somebody asks for baby pictures, while Knox keeps showing strangers photos of his son like a proud suburban dad one step away from buying khaki shorts and white sneakers.

“Another round?” I ask Brynn.

“Please.” She sighs dramatically. “I’ve talked about bowel movements seventeen times this week.”

Knox grins beside her. “Frequent poops just mean he’s healthy.”

“The number of times your son poops in a day needs to be studied.”

A laugh slips out of me just as the bar suddenly erupts into cheers loud enough to shake the walls.

I hear someone shout, “Everybody shut up, it’s Weston!”

My head turns toward the television and there he is.