Page 111 of The Longshot

“But what about Delaney? We all want to be there for you guys.”

“Lads, love you guys, but the last thing she’s going to want is everyone around,” I speak on behalf of Coach, knowing that that was likely his response anyway.

“Okay, fair enough. But still, we need a Coach,” Green rebuts, prompting the rest of the lads to join in, in agreement.

“Yeah, we need someone to lead.”

“Guys, settle down.” I ease their frantic state. “We’ll be fine, we don’t need anyone, we’re just going to go back out there and?—”

“Boys,” Coach cuts me off as he firmly plants a hand on my shoulder. “Meet your Coach for the rest of the game. Wilks, welcome to the big leagues, son.”

“What?” I shoot him a downright flabbergasted look. “No, no, no,” I’m reluctant to accept the job. Not only because I’ve got not a single clue on how to coach this team but because being coach comes with added responsibility. The second the final whistle blows at this game, I need to go. I have places to be. My own sunshine to go after…

“Coach, I can’t. I’m not going to be able to do things like you. Get Hart, Green… anyone?—”

“What happened to ‘I’ve always got your back?’” Coach throws my remark from earlier back my way, and Christ, it’s enough to make me feel like a total dickhead.

The answer is irrefutable: I have to do this. I have no other choice.

“One minute till we’re back on,” I hear the ref call out, informing both us and the opposing team to start getting ready.

“Please,” Coach whispers, a pleading look in his eyes.

I gulp back, straighten my spine, and mutually place a hand on his shoulder. “Go,” I tell him, flashing him that same look the day I picked up the cake.

You can count on me.

I know.

He nods, making a bee-line down the tunnel, but right before he’s out of sight, I shout. “Oh, and Warren?” I catch him off guard as I call him by his first name.

He quickly turns on his heel.

“Congratulations. Send Delaney our love.”

He smiles. “Thank you, Gary.”

TWENTY-NINE

C H E L S I E

“Heyo, you’ve reached Wilks. Leave me a message, and I’ll give you a ring when I’m free. Bye!”

“Gary, first of all, what in the world is this outgoing message? Second, you missed the ceremony! The cocktail hour and now we’re just finishing up dinner. What is going on? Are you okay? Are you coming?” I let out a sigh of frustration, followed by my frantic trail of questions. “Gary,” I begin again, defeated by now. “You promised me that you’d be here. You promised. Just give me a call back, please. Let me know you’re okay.”

One pleading call after another, and still no Gary. He’s turned radio silent. I checked online, and his game finished over four hours ago—they won, granted, and if he had left immediately, like he said he was going to, he should’ve only been a few minutes late.

But now we’re three hours in, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, all I can see is the concern that consumes me, anxiety that has become a lasting character trait, and a sense of doubt that has forced itself to creep in.

“I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but listen, I never cheated on you. I was reliable, trustworthy and most of all, I always showed up.”

It makes me sick that Simon’s words loom throughout my mind right now, just like how he’s haunted me every corner I’ve turned with his cynical smirk and the taunting wave of his phone, reminding me of that photo. Reminding me of the power he continues to hang over my head.

Simon’s been sneaky, though. Somehow him being here has completely gone over Ruby’s head, who, by now, has maximized her night out and is the first one to break out onto the dance floor. I’m glad at least one of us is having a good time…

I hate to be the nagging girlfriend, but at least let me know that you’re alive!?

I decide that that will be the final text I send to Gary before I tuck my phone into my purse and accept defeat.

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