Page 110 of The Longshot

His phone rings again and this time the team and I exchange glances. Delaney never calls twice. Delaney never calls during a game, let alone misses one…

“Answer it,” Green encourages Coach, gesturing towards his phone.

“Yeah,” Hart agrees. “Wilksy boy can finish the rest of your speech, can’t ya, Wilks?” He rubs my shoulders in an attempt to pump me up.

“Sure can.” I nod, folding my arms across my chest. “Answer it, Coach. You know I’ve always got your back.”

With a hesitant nod, Coach raises the phone to his ear and steps away from the group. I continue where he left off, reminding and praising the team of what’s working and what’s not. As I do, I’m left distracted by Coach, who paces with wide eyes and a blank stare.

Delaney.

My diverting gaze prompts the rest of the team to look over their shoulder, watching as Coach frantically collects his things from behind the bench while balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, whispering into the line, “It’ll be okay. I’m coming now. Just breathe, love. You can do this.”

Green is the first to speak up as Coach ends the call and begins to type frantically into his phone. “Everything okay, Coach?”

Coach ignores the question, too busy cussing repeatedly as he fusses with the phone in his hand. “How do I fucking open this app?” He repeatedly taps on the screen.

Again, the team and I exchange a set of concerned, confused and confident that something is up glances.

Hart is the first to nudge me to walk over, an action that the rest of the team urges me to follow through on to get to the bottom of things.

Nothing is more intimidating than approaching Coach in a pissed-off mood, but as I place a concerned hand on his shoulder and he peers in my direction, I catch sight of his face.

Nothing about Coach reads mad—instead, the blue in his eyes has dissipated, and all that remains is a sheer look of stress, panic, and worry.

My stomach drops to my feet.

I’ve never seen him like this. Coach is always the one to bring us out of a rut, but this time, I can't help but feel like the roles are reversed.

“Coach?” I tilt my head to the side, furrowing my brows in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Coach shakes himself out of it, attempting to process the question as he squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s Delaney,” he reveals, voice soft. “She’s gone into labor. The baby is coming.”

His sense of panic spreads amongst the team, including myself. Shit. I knew Delaney was close to delivery, but I didn’t realize we were seriously down to the wire.

I have fond memories of my mum going into labor, and trust me when I say everyone’s logic and common sense seems to go out the window when it happens.

Take Coach, for example. Right now, he’s pushing his phone in my face, demanding that I help him request a ride back to Crawley, given that the app is “not working.”

Willingly and calmly, I take the phone from his hand. Immediately, I can feel Coach’s breath over my shoulder as he assesses what I’m doing.

“Well, for starters,” I begin. “You were on Instagram.” I close out of the app, peering up at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Just help me. All these apps look the bloody same.”

I playfully roll my eyes, this time opening up the correct app and promptly securing a driver to pick him up.

Thankfully, one isn’t too far away, meaning that if all goes to plan and there’s no traffic, Coach will be home within an hour—maybe forty-five minutes if he heckles the driver enough.

“Here.” I hand him his phone back. “The driver is going to pick you up. I set the address as the hospital, assuming Delaney is going to make her way over there. She is, right?”

Coach nods, informing me that his mum, Helen, was already there. She had been around to keep Delaney company at the house. It’s a rush of relief, though I know any of us could have found a ride for her, she’s a part of all of our families now.

“Okay, I better get going. The driver says he’ll be here in five minutes.” Coach slings his bag over his shoulder, peering back over at the team. “Sorry lads, I’ve got to take off.”

“What about the game?” Hart calls out. “Should we tell the ref we need to call it?”

“What?” Coach shoots both him and the rest of the team, who are ready to throw in the towel a look. “No! Absolutely not. You’re not calling it off.”

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