A/N: Sorry for not posting last Saturday—I had a family matter I had to take care of.
The flight from Clemson to Boston had departed at seven in the morning, and Wyatt had spent most of the trip with his headphones on, staring out the window with that specific concentration of someone who isn't actually looking at anything outside, but rather mentally rehearsing something that hasn't happened yet, but knows is going to happen soon.
Blaire had slept through the first hour with her head resting against her own window, her oversized flannel pulled up to her chin, and her left Doc Marten resting lightly on the seat's armrest—just as she always did whenever she slept anywhere other than her own bed. Wyatt had let her sleep without saying anything, because it was the most sensible thing he could do given everything they both had ahead of them that day, and because a sleeping Blaire was considerably easier to manage than an awake Blaire thinking about the exact same thing Wyatt was thinking about.
Boston Logan Airport was bustling with the normal activity of a weekday, filled with people arriving and people leaving. Wyatt had carried both suitcases without Blaire having to ask him to, because it was what needed to be done, and Wyatt was quite good at doing what needed to be done without being asked.
In the taxi taking them toward Framingham, Blaire stared out the window for most of the ride, her fingers intertwined over her lap. Wyatt looked in the same direction, because it was more useful than looking at her and having her catch him looking at her at that specific moment of the trip.
"They are going to lose their minds," Blaire said, without turning her gaze from the window as the Boston suburbs drifted past outside the taxi with the quiet calm of January.
"Probably," Wyatt said.
"Matty especially."
"Probably."
Blaire looked at him.
"Is that all you have to say?"
"No," Wyatt said. "But we already said everything else back in Clemson, and none of it changes what comes next."
Blaire turned her eyes back toward the window.
The taxi drove on.
The Bennett home in Framingham had its lights on when the taxi pulled up to the curb opposite the house. Through the front window, Wyatt could see the silhouette of someone moving in the living room, which meant at least one person was awake—and likely more than one, given it was three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and the Bennetts were not the type of family to stay out late without a good reason.
Blaire pulled the key from her coat pocket before they even reached the porch.
She turned it in the lock.
"We're home," Blaire said, stepping inside with Wyatt close behind her, shutting the door against the crisp January cold outside.
The living room was brightly lit, the television buzzing on a local news channel. Matty was sitting in his usual armchair with his arms crossed, paying close attention to the broadcast airing at that exact moment.
Susan emerged from the kitchen holding a dish towel, her expression shifting slightly upon seeing that Blaire had arrived with company—though showing no exaggerated surprise, as she was the kind of person who rarely displayed over-the-top reactions to anything.
"Blaire, sweetheart," Susan said, stepping over to give her a warm hug before turning toward Wyatt with a calm smile. "And Wyatt... what a pleasant surprise to see you here."
"Hello, Susan," Wyatt said.
Matty looked up from the television screen, sizing Wyatt up for a long second with the expression of someone evaluating him without asking permission, before returning his eyes to the screen without saying a word—which, in his personal vocabulary, was considerably more expressive than any standard greeting he could have offered.
John and Ted came down the stairs a few minutes later with the imperfect synchronization unique to twins—not doing it on purpose, but always managing to appear at the exact same moment anyway.
"What's up, cousin?" Ted said, glancing at Blaire before turning his attention to Wyatt with the specific, undisguised curiosity characteristic of Ted. "And the champion came to visit us too!"
"Hey, Ted," Wyatt said.
"I watched the game," Ted said. "That pass at the end to the big guy in the corner was absolute insanity."
"Laquon," Wyatt said.
"That guy," Ted said. "Whatever his weird name is."
"Ted," Blaire interjected.
"What?" Ted said.
"Shut up."
Ted stayed quiet for approximately eight seconds—the absolute maximum time Ted was capable of remaining silent in a room with other people before another thought crossed his mind.
Everyone took a seat in the living room. Susan brought out cold drinks from the kitchen while Matty turned down the television volume without turning it off completely—because Matty never turned the television off completely. Wyatt sat in the corner armchair, trying not to look like what he actually was: someone carrying something crucial to say, waiting for the right moment to say it.
The conversation started with the usual topics—the championship game, the flight, how university life was going. Blaire answered everything with the sparse economy of words of someone whose mind is occupied elsewhere, while Wyatt responded whenever the conversation turned to him, taking care not to reveal that their mood wasn't that of two people who had just dropped by unannounced on a Tuesday afternoon for no particular reason, but rather two people waiting for the right moment to deliver heavy news—a moment that hadn't quite arrived yet.
It happened during a natural lull in the conversation. Blaire set her glass down on the table with more force than she had shown since stepping through the front door.
"I have to tell you all something," Blaire said, looking toward the center of the room without addressing anyone in particular.
Matty looked at her.
Susan stopped moving.
John and Ted exchanged a quick glance with the instinct of siblings accustomed to reading the room based on each other's reactions.
"I'm pregnant," Blaire said.
The silence that followed carried the dense weight unique to moments when life-altering news enters a room, and every person present needs a different second to process it.
"Holy shit," Ted said under his breath.
It wasn't quiet enough.
Matty was already getting up from his armchair.
It wasn't a sudden, erratic movement, but the deliberate rise of a man who had made up his mind before standing—a movement Wyatt recognized instantly, because it was identical to the one his father had made in Clemson when they broke the news to him. In both cases, it signified the exact same thing: the man standing up already knew what he was going to say, and the only step left was to say it.
"You," Matty said, pointing an index finger straight at Wyatt as he advanced toward where he was sitting. "You got my niece pregnant."
It wasn't a question.
Wyatt stood up, because remaining seated while Matty marched toward him didn't feel like a viable option at that moment.
"Matty," Susan warned.
"No," Matty said, keeping his eyes locked onto Wyatt. "This kid walks into my house after getting my niece pregnant, and I'm supposed to just keep my mouth shut?"
"Uncle Matty, he didn't get anyone pregnant on his own—it was an accident that belongs to both of us," Blaire said, jumping to her feet with the sharp authority she used whenever she refused to let anyone dictate a narrative she hadn't chosen herself.
"An accident," Matty repeated, his tone laced with heavy skepticism. "A real convenient accident, getting a twenty-year-old girl pregnant while she's still in the middle of college."
"Uncle Matty—" Blaire started.
"Blaire, let me talk," Matty barked, without lowering his voice or taking his eyes off Wyatt.
Wyatt faced him directly without speaking yet, having learned since childhood in Katy that when a man older than you needs to say something, the first step is to let him say it, and the second step is to respond once he's finished.
"You better do right by this girl," Matty said, his voice low, firm, and deadly serious, leaving zero room for misunderstanding. "You better marry her and do things the proper way."
"Nobody gets married anymore, Matty," Blaire said.
"I got married."
"You got married in 1987."
"And I'm still here," Matty shot back.
"That's not the point!"
"The point is that child is going to be born with married parents, or we're going to have a serious problem here."
"Matty, people don't do that anymore," Blaire said with the specific patience of someone who had navigated variations of this argument before, though never under these exact circumstances. "It's not the last century. People have kids without being married, and the world doesn't end."
"In this family, it does," Matty said.
"Blaire is right, Matty," Susan chimed in from across the room, her voice carrying the quiet composure she relied on when she needed someone to listen without feeling attacked. "Getting married isn't what matters most right now."
"Susan—"
"Matty," Susan repeated in that specific tone women develop after decades of marriage—the tone that signals with absolute clarity that the conversation has reached a point where listening is far wiser than continuing to speak.
Matty closed his mouth.
"However," Susan continued, turning her eyes to Blaire and Wyatt, "I do want that child to be born with their parents together. It doesn't have to be a formal ceremony or anything like that, but I want you two together, and I want that baby to know who their family is right from the start."
John, who had remained quiet throughout the entire exchange, nodded slowly from the couch, his expression showing total agreement despite not having found the right moment to speak up.
"And if you ask me," Ted piped up.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"I say this is exactly what happens when you play football," Ted said. "Whatever energy you generate on the field, you bring it right back home."
"Ted," John warned.
"It's a joke!"
"Not the time," John said.
"It's always the time," Ted insisted.
"No," John said firmly.
Ted went quiet.
The room returned to that specific temperature rooms take on after someone says something inappropriate that lowers the tension of everything that follows.
Wyatt had remained standing throughout the entire exchange without saying a word. Now was the moment to speak, because Matty was staring at him with the expectation of a man waiting to hear if what came out of his mouth was worth listening to—and Wyatt was not the type of person to leave that kind of expectation unmet.
"Matty," Wyatt said, looking Blaire's uncle square in the eyes.
Matty stared back.
"I'm going to take full responsibility," Wyatt said. "That's not up for debate, and it's not going to change. Blaire and the baby are going to have everything they need, and I'm going to be right there."
Matty continued to watch him for a long moment without speaking, evaluating what he had just heard with the same quiet scrutiny he applied to everything else.
"The NFL Combine is in February," Wyatt continued cleanly. "That's the most important thing happening in my life after what just happened here. I need to focus on it, because what happens at the Combine determines which team drafts me and how much I earn—and what I earn determines what I can provide for Blaire and the baby. But that doesn't mean I'm not here. It means being here and preparing for the Combine are the exact same thing."
Matty stared at him for several seconds.
Then he looked at Blaire.
Blaire looked right back at him without saying a word.
"It better be," Matty said finally, turning around and sitting back down in his armchair with the exact same deliberation he had shown when he stood up. He grabbed the remote control and turned the television volume back up—higher than before, though not quite enough to drown out the room.
Susan stood up, walked over to Blaire, and placed a gentle hand on her arm, remaining silent for a moment. Blaire looked at her, and Susan looked back with the same steady expression she had always worn regardless of what was happening around her.
"Everything is going to be alright," Susan said softly.
Blaire nodded silently.
Ted opened his mouth to say something.
John placed a firm hand on his shoulder before a single word came out.
Ted shut his mouth.
In his armchair, Matty had raised the TV volume, but not enough to prevent anyone in the room from remaining in the exact same place they had been for the last ten minutes.
Author thought
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