“But can I stay with my dad?” Wesley asked. “I promise I won’t go on camera.”
“Sure.” The woman stilled long enough to touch Wesley’s shoulder and motioned to someone behind them. “I’ll get you a headset and you can watch on the camera and listen in.”
“Cool.” Wesley grinned as if delighted with his role on the team.
“Wait here.” The woman rushed across the makeshift studio that had been built near the visitors’ end zone.
Chase wanted to run into the locker room. Wesley couldn’t help Chase read the teleprompter. Or read the teleprompter for him. He faced a disaster. He should’ve worn glasses off the field for the past few seasons. Added glasses to every press appearance. Then he could’ve claimed he’d forgotten his glasses and couldn’t possibly emcee. Chase touched his forehead.
“You okay?” Wesley’s hand dropped on Chase’s arm. “You look sweaty and weird.”
Chase walked into an empty corner and leaned toward Wesley. His voice hushed. “I don’t like speaking on microphones.”
“But you do it all the time after games.” Wesley’s gaze narrowed on Chase’s forehead. “Are you sick? My head gets wet when I get sick too.”
Could he claim a sudden attack of food poisoning? Clutch his stomach and rush to the restroom. Tempting, but cowardly. Nonna and his mother hadn’t taught him to retreat like a quitter. He refused to teach the same lesson to Wesley. “I’m not sick. But remember when I said your mom tutored me?”
Wesley nodded and edged closer as if he understood the gravity of the situation from Chase’s subdued manner alone.
“Well, your mom helped me read,” Chase confessed. Tossing his weakness into the space between them like a coach’s challenge flag. Except Wesley never picked up the flag. Never paused to demand a replay. Chase added, “I mix up the letters and get words wrong a lot.”
Wesley brushed his bangs off his forehead and looked at Chase. Understanding shifted across his face. “Ella uses braille to read because her eyes don’t work like mine. Mom is like your braille.”
Nichole was more like his best half. If he wanted another half. Needed another half. Teleprompter panic had jumbled more than his focus.
Wesley stuffed his hands in his front sweatshirt pocket. Worry pinched his face. “How are you going to read that screen now without Mom?”
He appreciated smart kids; even more, he adored Wesley in this moment. Though he knew the boy would eventually think less of him for his weakness. How could he not—Chase’s own father had. Chase shrugged. “I have no idea. Got any good ones?”
Wesley straightened his shoulders as if pleased he could assist Chase. “I can read for you.”
Great minds. Chase had already tried that option. “Except you can’t go on camera.”
Wesley’s concentration was clear. “We could put one of those little microphones in your ear. I could sit over here and read the lines to you. Like the spies do in the movies.”
If only he had an earpiece, Chase would channel every spy-action hero he’d ever watched on the big screen. “We don’t have the right equipment.”
Wesley nodded and stepped right into Chase’s side. He tugged Chase down to whisper into his ear. “Then you have to distract them.”
Chase leaned back and eyed Wesley. “What do you mean?”
“Mom always says I’m distracting her when I get in trouble.” Wesley ground his shoe into the turf.
Chase understood distractions. Nichole was one all by herself.
“One time I broke a window on the porch.” Wesley’s hands dropped out of his pockets as he stepped into his story. “So, I made Mom coffee and her favorite sandwich. It’s pickles and peanut butter by the way.” He made a gagging motion before continuing. “I did all that before she got home. Then I hugged her and hugged her and hugged her when she came inside the house. Then kept on hugging her when she finally saw the window.”
“And...” Chase pressed. He’d gotten stuck on the image of hugging Nichole. How much he liked being in her embrace. How much he would’ve liked her here now with them.
“And she was really mad.” Wesley clutched both Chase’s shoulders, moved their faces together until their noses almost touched and grinned. “But she wasn’t really really mad because I distracted her first. Get it?”
Chase nodded.
No. No, you don’t want to do this. Nichole’s insistent voice slipped through Chase as if she stood right beside them. How many times had she tried to dissuade him from some idea or another? How many times had he disregarded her advice?
Wesley squeezed Chase’s shoulders as if he were pumping him up before a game. “You just need one super good distraction. Then they’ll forget you were supposed to read the monitor. It really works.”
Chase scanned the studio, searching for a distraction. His gaze landed on the teleprompter. “Can you tell me what it says on that screen?”
Wesley rose up onto the balls of his feet and read the opening message out loud. Chase closed his eyes, asked Wesley to repeat the same paragraph. Wesley reread the message a half-dozen times. Then Chase repeated back the welcome.
Wesley scratched his cheek. “You missed the middle and last lines.”
“But it’s close,” Chase said.
“Definitely.” Wesley lifted his eyebrows. His voice an urgent murmur. “Now you need the really good distraction.”
“Still working on that.” Still working on ignoring Nichole’s voice inside his head. Chase waved to the headset woman, calming the producer’s frantic search. Her shoulders dropped and she rushed toward him. She handed Wesley a headset, pointed at a chair, then grabbed Chase, guiding him to his marker in front of the camera.
Chase rolled his shoulder and stretched his neck. He could do this. Movement at the entrance of the tent caught his attention. A familiar player, his curly hair and smile in place, stepped inside the tent. Confidence erased Chase’s distress. He muted Nichole’s voice and locked on to his distraction. Surely, she’d understand once he explained.
Chase finished his welcome remarks,
