Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Huh?”
“You’re not the first one to call or text since I sent that message out, but it would be unfair of me to tell you if we’re in the playoff or not without your teammates here.”
Behind him, Dad throws his thumbs up, though. It’s not hard to work out what that means.
That’s that, then.
Decision made.
I need to make the next two games the best games of my life and prove to the NFL world that I’m more than ready to take my place as their next football legend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
levi
Because my move-out date happens to be the same date as Peyton’s first football playoff game, Peyton decided I should move all my stuff to his place the day before. It is a cruel, cruel system to make college guys play football on New Year’s Day. That’s all I’m saying.
Instead of partying it up tonight, it’s going to be a quiet night in the Talon-Miller household. Which I’m apparently a part of now. At least for the next five months before Peyton and Brady graduate. After that, I’m still not sure, but I’ve bought some time, and in the process, I’ve gotten everything I wanted when choosing to move to California.
I have my dream guy.
I’m studying what I want to study.
I’ve become independent from my family.
I’m broke as shit and working my ass off to be able to afford the basic stuff I never had to think about before, but it’ll be worth it.
Is it really necessary to brush your teeth every day? How did I not know how expensive toothpaste is?
There’s still that seed of doubt that this is the right thing. Maybe I should have sucked it up and trapped myself in a life of law school in Chicago until I gained financial freedom and then rearranged my life to go for what I wanted. It’s only two and a bit years. I’ve had Vanderbilt expectations put on me for almost twenty-three years. Two more won’t kill me.
It might kill my soul, though.
All of my possessions are boxed up, ready to go. Ready to move to take advantage of my wealthy boyfriend and his amazing family. Maybe that’s why it’s not sitting right. Because I’m moving from one rich family to another.
Though Peyton’s family already appear to like me a whole lot more than my own. Spending Christmas with them was … different. Instead of a stuffy, formal dinner, it was the type of Christmas I’ve only seen in movies. Santa hats, horrible sweaters, a million presents …
I think that’s when the doubt really began to set in. I want to be a part of Peyton’s world so much it hurts, and I’m scared that taking advantage of him like this will only drive him away. Not to mention I’ll be indebted to him, and then our relationship won’t be equal. He will always hold something over my head, and that takes away my autonomy. If Peyton wanted me to do something I didn’t want to do, would I feel obligated to give him what he wants?
It’s almost like I’m replacing one set of expectations for another.
Instead of familial pressure, it’s the pressure of making everything work with Peyton because he’s doing me this huge favor.
I’m not like him. I don’t take this kind of thing in stride. My mind worries too much about the what-ifs of it all.
What if living with Peyton so soon in our relationship kills it? What if we grow to hate each other? What if he gives me this, takes on my burden of having no money and gives me the things I need, and we don’t work out?
Peyton has been used since he was little to try to get to his dads. I saw it all the time at school growing up.
What if he sees me just like them?
I can’t be that guy. Which means I can’t risk what we have.
The selfless thing to do would be to leave. To go back to Chicago, as much as I would hate it and myself. I’d loathe my family even more than I do now. But I’d be protecting Peyton.
I still haven’t decided what to do when he turns up at my building to help move. He has his brother and his dads in tow to help, but as soon as they ask where to start, I practically break down.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I try to hold them back because I will not cry in front of Super Bowl winners. They’re big and tough, and I’m assuming they don’t cry ever.
“Hey, whoa, what’s wrong?” Peyton immediately takes me in his arms and cups my cheek. “Did your dad show up again? Call? What?”
I shake my head. “I … I … Fuck.” I step out of his way. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Peyton frowns. “Do what? Move? You kinda have to. Unless you’ve suddenly worked out a way to pay for it. I can already tell you, we’re going to need to talk about it if you’re planning on robbing a bank, becoming a drug dealer, or selling your ass because I’m only okay with one of those things, and I don’t think my dads will bankroll a prostitute habit for me.”