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“You know you’re always welcome. It’s just a bit…unexpected. Shouldn’t you be with Wyatt? The Rams have some big games coming up.”

“Wyatt’s the coach. Not me. He’ll be fine without me.”

“But you’re his wife. Don’t you think you should be there for him?”

I push down the aggravation bubbling to the surface. I should have expected this. It’s never about what I need or want. Just what Wyatt needs or wants. Being there for him. For his career. For his team. For his dreams.

What about me? When do I get to do something for myself?

“I’ll be there for him when it matters,” I lie, not ready to break the news to her in the driveway. Not when I haven’t spoken to her in weeks, apart from the occasional text.

Turning from her, I start toward the back of my car, but my mother’s voice stops me.

“Leave your bags. Your father will get them.”

“Okay.” I put my fob back in my purse, then whistle for Gary to follow me, wanting nothing more than to shower and crawl into bed.

But once I step into the foyer, it’s clear I won’t get my wish.

Noise explodes from deep within the house. Laughter. Voices. Music. The clatter of dishes.

At first, I’m confused. Then I remember it’s Thursday.

Just like so much else in this town, this hasn’t changed either.

Thursday night dinner for the Sycamore Falls High School football team at Coach Hayes’ house.

Great.

This explains all the cars parked along the street.

I stare into the crowded house. At the teenagers filling the living room. At the football memorabilia hanging everywhere.

I drove over a thousand miles to escape my old life.

Instead, I’ve ended up right back in it.

CHAPTER TWO

WYNTER

The aroma of basil, fresh bread, and tomato sauce spills around me as laughter bounces off the vaulted ceiling. Someone shouts for more garlic bread. A dozen conversations overlap until they become one familiar hum.

I stare at the house I grew up in, now overrun with teenagers shoveling down a home-cooked meal my mother no doubt spent all day preparing for them.

Just like she did when I was younger.

“What are you waiting for?” my mom says, breezing past me. “You remember the way, don’t you?”

As she walks into the living room, my father’s head snaps up, and a bright smile spreads across his face.

There’s something about seeing a friendly face, especially after a difficult time, that soothes the sting. And my father’s smile has always felt that way to me. For a moment, I feel like everything will be okay.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” my dad booms.

Standing, he crosses the room and wraps me in a hug.

“Boys,” he announces, and every curious head turns my way, “this is my little girl, who just so happens to be married to the one and only Wyatt Patterson.”