Page 16 of Biggest Player
The good news is, they didn’t bring up Wyatt’s father in front of her.
“No, I haven’t heard from him.” Nor do I expect to.
I was seventeen when we met.
I wouldn’t call us high school sweethearts, though. We didn’t start dating until we ran into each other at a fraternity party my sophomore year while attending the same university. I was in school for elementary education, and Colt was getting his bachelor’s in business, and one drunken night during Greek formal ...
Wyatt was conceived.
The thing is, we were never a couple.
We dated here and there, but it wasn’t serious—and so, Colton is in her life, but it’s the sort of strained relationship between two people sharing a common bond and not much else.
Our child is our bond.
Did we try to make it work? Sure, of course. Why wouldn’t we?
No one wants to be an unwed mother.
But it didn’t take us long to realize we weren’t meant to be, and now Colton has Wyatt every other weekend and his holidays and takes her on his family vacation once a year.
“How is he doing?” Mom asks.
“Fine.” I look down at my plate. “The same. The usual.”
Just dandy. Kind of a dick, to be honest, but dandy.
“Is he still with Gretchen?”
“Yup.”
Gretchen is Colton’s girlfriend. They’ve been together for about a year, and from what Wyatt tells me, they talk every so often about moving in together.
Which is his business—unless it affects our daughter.
“How did they meet?” Dad wants to know, though we’ve been over this before. “I forgot.”
“Dating app.”
“Ahh.” He leans back in his seat, satisfied with that answer. “Shouldn’t be too difficult for you then, hey?”
I pretend to ponder the question for a moment, tapping my chin thoughtfully. “If you don’t count the guy who tried to impress me with the number of vintage boxed action figures he has in his spare bedroom.”
My father smiles. “Nothing wrong with having hobbies.”
He’s referring to his collection of sports memorabilia, of course—the collection that costs thousands and thousands of dollars.
“That’s true.” I nod solemnly. “Where would I be without all my holiday decorations?”
I have dozens of totes of ornaments, baubles, lights, garlands—anything and everything to make the house festive in winter, spring, and fall.
Glancing around, I see no sign of Wyatt reemerging from the direction in which she went. I crane my neck to look for her.
“How long has Wy been gone?” I ask my parents, taking the napkin off my lap, ready to rise.
“She’s fine, Margot. What trouble could she possibly get into? The exit is on the opposite side of the room.” Dad gives me a patronizing grin.
True.
