Page 17 of The Longshot

And I still had five minutes to spare.

I’ve never seen Coach so worked up in my life—I mean, he snatched the cake from my grasp the second I came into view from the bakery, then proceeded to probe me with a relentless number of questions all surrounding why I took so “fucking long”.

I mean… what was I to say? I was trying to swing a date with the hot baker who works there?

Hell no.

All that would’ve done is swung a fist in my face. Instead, I opt for the easier and safer option.

“They wanted to make sure that it was perfect. You both deserve nothing but the best. That’s why you’ve got me, right, Coach?”

Coach shoots me an unpleasant stare—one I’m accustomed to by now. “Fuck off. Now. That’s the last time I ask you to pick up a cake.”

I furrow my brows and purse my lips. “Interesting way to say you’re welcome, but I’ll take it,” I snarkily counter with.

Coach and I have always had this back-and-forth relationship. It’s how we’re mutually able to put up with one another, if “put up” is even the right saying.

The fact of the matter is I’d do anything for Coach, and I know in my heart he’d do anything for me. Deep down, the two of us are both just too arrogant to admit it, though the look on Coach's face as I make my way out of the kitchen tells me everything I already knew.

“I knew I could count on you.”

Sure, I’m a bit of a mess, but with all my faults comes the one thing that can’t be stripped of me—my reliability. I always show up, and I’m always there when people need me. That’s something I pride myself in and one of the factors that I know contributed towards Coach appointing me as the captain of Crawfield. Don’t get me wrong, it was a hell of a lot of pressure in the beginning, especially because I was a rookie and quite frankly, had no idea what I was doing.

But somehow, through this role of responsibility, I discovered just how perfect this title is for me, and now, I could never imagine not being in it.

I was made for this.

“Oh, and Wilks?” Coach’s voice calls out before I’m out of sight.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you stay for a slice. Will ya?”

With a playful scoff of laughter, I nod.

See, he does love me.

“You guys are all so sweet and thoughtful, and ugh, there aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I love you guys.” I overhear Delaney sing the praises of the guests, who pull her in for a warm embrace.

I get it.

Everyone wants to be a part of this celebration. Delaney and Warren are practically Crawley's celebrity couple. They’re the stars. Everyone around here knows them and loves them, and it makes sense.

Just like how Coach has been there for me since the day we first met over five years ago, Delaney’s no exception. She’s a light. She has been from the moment she came from Houston to Crawley over a year and a half ago.

Her grandfather, or as she called him, “Gramps,” owned our team. When he passed and her parents inherited Crawfield Football Club, they wanted nothing to do with it. Mind you, at the time, I couldn’t blame them. We were at our all-time low, struggling for a win, struggling to communicate, and struggling to find our spark, our sunshine.

A sunshine that Delaney brought to our team when she joined us and completely flipped not only our world, but Coach’s completely upside down.

Now, she and Coach co-own the team—but that… that’s a whole other story.

“Wilks!” Delaney seems to notice that I’ve walked into the room and rushes to pull me in for a tender hug, her bump creating some distance between us as she does. “You made it!” she cries out. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” I tell her with an assured smile. “You know I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Right?”

She places a delicate hand on my arm, tears threatening to pool from her eyes. “Right.”

Pregnancy has made her even more of a crier than she already is.

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