Page 62 of Fighting Fate

Wyatt has his own challenges, like working double shifts at the local diner, the Golden Spoon, to make ends meet. He still finds time for his passion—dance. He never shows it, always wearing his Capezio gear, which doesn't come cheap. It's a reminder that we're all working hard in our own ways.

Seeing him in his dance attire—black hoodie, oversized tights, and tennis shoes—always brings a smile to my face. He's undeniably skilled, but it's a bit amusing seeing such a masculine guy in dance gear. Our practices often involve close contact, and I remember how, during our first session, I had to grab his rear end. He joked about it, saying, "Milli, it's a great ass. Grab it, hold it, squeeze it, feel it, do whatever you want, I don't mind," and winked. That moment clarified that Wyatt and I would always be just friends—especially since he's gay.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? He came out to me right after our first week of practice. It was a relief, knowing his flirtatious behavior was just playful banter.

As I mull over these thoughts, my phone buzzes with a call from Miles. My heart races momentarily, but I remind myself of my commitments—over an hour of dance practice and a tutoring session later. Miles will have to wait.

I send the call to voicemail, labeling it mentally as a "spam call," even though it's anything but.

Wyatt raises an eyebrow, but I brush it off.

Miles' text comes through next, mentioning a project he's submitted and asking if I've seen it. Guilt washes over me for not taking his call. But right now, my focus needs to be here, in the studio, on the dance floor, preparing for what's next.

With a deep breath, I refocus, turning to Wyatt with a renewed sense of purpose. It's time to embrace the here and now, to find joy in the present moment, and let everything else fall into place in its own time.

Milli, it's your time. He can wait.

I had already seen Miles' assignment since I'm his tutor. And judging by his answers, he's practically acing it. The whole idea of him needing my help seems a bit far-fetched now. It's like he just wanted an excuse to spend time with me. Or maybe he's seeking something more?

The idea ignites a flutter of excitement within me.

Wyatt, observing my reaction, gives a theatrical sigh and places a hand on his hip, much like Payson when she's frustrated. I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thought.

"Fine, keep your secrets," he says playfully, "but one day, I'll get it out of you."

I stand up, brushing off his comment with a light chuckle. "Really, it's nothing."

But deep down, I know it's not "nothing." Still, I keep it to myself, even from Wyatt. He comes over and gives me a reassuring hug, the kind that reminds me I'm not alone. As he walks away, I smile at his bold choice of tights.

Wyatt is unapologetically himself, a trait I admire. He embodies what we all strive for: to be fearlessly authentic, confident in our abilities, and fully present in each moment.

My phone buzzes again. It's Miles.

Miles

Milli Sutton

Mills

Baby Sutton.

...I see I'm not important enough for you to answer your phone.

. . . or a text message back.

I roll my eyes; it's hard to tell if he's genuinely annoyed or just doing his usual thing to mess with me.

Ping.

Good Lord . . .

Miles

Mills, if you don't respond, I'm coming to your dorm right now. Over and back.

I chuckle. His text reads like he's trying to dodge a cop radar with his "over and back" line.

But as I stare at the screen, I let out a heavy sigh. All these messages from him...