“Let’s see… My sister’s name is Elle. My brother is Quinn. My dad adopted my sister and I, and my mom adopted Quinn. My biological father died in a car crash when I was five.”
Kyle sits back in the chair and his body slumps. I don’t think I need to divulge any more about my familial situation as telling him about my father is enough to shock anyone who knows what’s going on with me. As for Noah, we grew up together, long before my parents got together.
He nods and reaches for my hand. I give it to him freely, expecting a spark or something when we touch, but there’s nothing and that saddens me a little. “It took me a while to figure out why Liam Page was in the hospital. I kept hearing the nurses talk about him, but nothing online solved the mystery.”
“He was there because of me. He’s my uncle, more or less.”
“And you said your real dad died in a car crash?”
I struggle to smile. Before the accident I never had any qualms speaking about my father, but since… since I saw him, my emotions are all over the place. It’s like the wounds are fresh and even though I barely remembered him from before, I can now. “It’s really not something I’ve ever talked about. For as long as I can remember, my dad Harrison, has been with us. But I know how he died. He was revered in the town we grew up in, and no one let us forget how much he meant to everyone.”
“That had to be hard.”
“It was.” Before I can finish, the waitress stops at our table. Kyle hasn’t had an opportunity to look at the menu but doesn’t seem to be deterred. He opens the menu quickly and reels off what he wants.
“I’ll have the ribeye, medium, potatoes, veggies and a side salad with Italian, and a Coke.”
“And for you?”
Now I’m truly embarrassed. “I’ll have the chicken strips and fries, please. And I’ll have water.”
The waitress glances at me as she writes it down, probably wondering why we’re here if I’m ordering kiddie food. For good measure, I hold up my arm, as if I need the validation to eat finger foods. Once she leaves, Kyle goes back to holding my hand, and once again I feel nothing. “Being here is going against everything my lawyer says, but I don’t care. I wanted to come see you in the hospital, but doing so was highly frowned upon. The police thought it was best if I kept my distance.”
“So you followed me to California instead?” I jokingly ask.
“Pure luck. My trainer told me to head out here for rehab. He thought he could make a few calls, throw my name around and I’d get in with Knight, but–”
“But he’s my uncle and doesn’t have the time.”
Kyle shakes his head. “You have no idea how lucky you are. He’s like a God when it comes to rehabilitation. Every athlete wants to work with him. But I’m glad you have him.”
The waitress returns with a basket of rolls and our drinks. Kyle takes one out and slathers it with butter, making my mouth water. I could do the same, but I have this phobia about my cast touching my food. As I start to reach for my own, Kyle extends his arm and in his hand is half the roll. “Thank you,” I tell him before I bite into the warm bread. “Hmm, so good.”
“It is. Here, I’ll butter the rest. I know you said the other day, but when do you get that off? You said something about x-rays happening?”
“I thought the appointment was today, but it’s next week. Fingers crossed. I’m ready to itch my arm and leg.”
He gives me another half of the roll and sticks the other half in his mouth. We continue like this until the basket is empty, and I’m stuffed. “I used one of my dry cleaning coat hangers. You know they still use metal hangers?”
“I don’t think I noticed, but I’ll have to search my parents closet for one. The itching is out of control. I normally use a fork or spoon, but honestly, that grosses me out.” Kyle laughs a little before continuing with the conversation.
“So tell me, Peyton. What do you like to do for fun? And don’t say football!”
“No, why not?” I ask teasingly.
“Because it’s my job and I’m off, and sometimes I want to talk about anything else other than work.”
“Fair enough. I like to read, surf when I can, listen to music, go shopping. Watch sports.”
“Oh yeah, which ones?”
“All of them, but mostly football. It’s what I grew up with.”
“Watching Westbury, right?”
I nod and lean forward. “I told you the other day, he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t know what he said to you, but maybe you took it out of context. But yes, I grew up with Noah. We used to throw the football around in his backyard and for awhile, our high school coach thought I was going to be his next quarterback, but I chose to join the school paper instead and became a sports reporter.”