Page 75 of The Longshot

I have to roll my eyes. Coach is a bit of a hypocrite—the guy literally fell in love with Delaney in this very stadium, and Christ, I wouldn’t be surprised if they conceived their baby-to-be here, too.

Lord knows I’ve caught them post-action before, coming from this spot as I rinse my body off in the shower.

Thanks for ruining a once-magical place, Coach.

“I wonder what the surprise is.” Green thinks out loud as I make my way back towards my station, tossing him a brand new deodorant stick that I didn’t forget to replace.

“Who knows?” I run a towel over my sopping-wet hair. “Maybe it’s something to reward me for having the most goals this season?” I can’t help but humbly brag.

Green playfully rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. Get off your high horse.” Green throws a t-shirt over his head. “But congrats, Wilks. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, mate.” I nod, interlocking our hands as one as he throws his duffle bag over his shoulder with the other. “Good game today, too, by the way.” I point in his direction. “You’re fucking smashing it out there. The way you defended Shaw from taking that shot on net—nasty.”

Green lights up at my praise. He’d never admit it, but he’s a boss on the field and the only guy on this team who I’d ever want to be my backup in my absence as captain.

“It was pretty good, wasn’t it?” He egotistically smirks. “I’ll send you a video of it later.”

“Can’t wait.” I sarcastically remark as I turn back towards my station and refocus on getting dressed.

“Hey, Wilks?” Green calls out my name once more.

I lift my head up from the ground as I shove my heel into my shoe. “Yeah?” I ask.

“You never said how your date went the other night. Did it go well, mate?”

Green’s question is the first time I’m reminded of Chelsie post-game—though it was only a matter of time. Somehow, she always inevitably takes over my thoughts.

“It was good,” I tell him, trying to be as minimal with the details as possible, even though I know Green isn’t the type to gossip. “Things are a little complicated right now, though,” I admit. “So, to be honest with you, I don’t really know where we stand.”

“Are you sure about that?” Green raises a doubtful brow. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure that I saw someone sitting with Hazel during the game that looked a whole lot like your bird.”

I stand up from the bench, reaching for my bag. “What? You did?”

“Blonde? Short? Round cheeks?”

I swallow as he vaguely describes only a few of Chelsie’s many recognizable features.

“That’s her, right?”

I don’t know what to respond—how to respond. Would Chelsie have really come to our game? Is she the surprise?

“Listen, maybe I’m wrong.” Green shrugs before my thoughts can escalate. “It might not have been her. But I’m glad things went well. Hopefully, you’re able to sort out that… complication.” He pats my back before walking out of the changing room. “Catch you later.”

I’m left chewing down on my bottom lip in thought until I muster up some strength, secure my bag even tighter on my shoulder, and pulse my way out of the door.

The stadium’s hallways are crowded, and I’m stopped a few times to be congratulated on our win until finally, I manage to exit out back, but before I can even begin to search for Delaney… for Chelsie, my senses are overwhelmed by a crowd of people who chant my name.

I’m quickly guided to the gate by one of Delaney’s PR interns, who encourages me to take pictures with the fans while she films them for social media.

I don’t mind—like I said, we’re nothing without the fans. It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that people have been waiting for me to come out back. Some have even been brought to tears of joy as I hug them through the gate or sign off on their Crawfield merchandise.

“Wilks! Over here. Over here, Wilks,” a group of ladies call out my name, desperately demanding my attention as they grasp at me through the gate.

I look back over at the PR intern, who gestures her head in their direction, encouraging me to work my way over—I comply.

“Hello, ladies,” I greet them one by one as they immediately clutch onto my arm, my body, and the neck of my shirt and pull me in close—tight.

“Hey! Back up!” One of the security guards who’s responsible for looking out for us tells them with an abrupt tone in his voice.

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