Page 7 of The Longshot

“Stubbed my toe. That’s all.”

My eyes narrow. “Stubbed your toe?” I whisper loudly. “Seriously?”

“I don’t know.” Coach shrugs bewilderedly, his face frantic as Delaney proves how strong she is by continuing to twist onto the door handle, which I clutch onto for dear life.

“Ugh. How come this won’t open?” she cries, attempting once more. “Warren, let me in!”

I continue to fend her off as Coach stands up from the ground, gathers the cake box, and throws it into the bin. He takes a second to brush away the dust that lingers along his trousers before he shoves me back so that I’m not only out of sight but I’m no longer clutching onto the handle.

“Oh! There we go,” Delaney’s voice inflates in surprise as she effortlessly swings the door open. “It must’ve been jammed or something.”

“Yeah.” Coach nervously rubs behind his neck. “Must’ve been…”

My head falls into my hands.

“Are you sure everything is okay?” Delaney remains unconvinced, given that Coach is giving her nothing to be convinced by. “Did something happen? ‘Cause that sure was a whole lot of shouting for only stubbing your toe. You scared all the girls and nearly sent me into labor.” She laughs with a caress of her swollen stomach.

I watch as Coach’s face drops in remorse. “I’m sorry, love.” He pulls her into his embrace, grimacing at me in the corner of his eye. “I was just being a dopey bastard and wasn’t looking where I was going.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to suppress the smirk I know shouldn’t be there. Thankfully, it’s gone before Coach peers back again and replaced with a remorseful smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare anyone,” he admits. “I—I overreacted. That’s all.”

“Well, as long as you’re okay.” Delaney's voice is as tender as her touch as she gently strokes his face. “That’s all that matters.”

Coach places his hand over top of hers, flashing her a look that is finally convincing. “I’m okay, love. I’ve just got to deal with my menacing toe… that’s all.”

Skeptical, Delaney laughs. “Whatever you say.” Her eyes no longer scan along his face, but opt to scan the room instead. “Is Wilks in here?”

My heart skips a beat.

Shoot.

Busted.

“‘Wilks’?” Coach says my name with infliction. “No. Wilks isn’t here,” he quickly dismisses the question with a shake of his head. “Why would you ask that?”

“I could’ve sworn I heard you calling out his name.” I watch as Delaney cocks a brow through the crack in the doorway.

“You must’ve heard wrong.” Coach shakes his head once more and guides her out. “Wilks is out picking up the cake, remember?”

Delaney runs a thoughtful hand along her forehead. “The cake, right,” she agrees. “I completely forgot about that. Well, do you know when he’s going to be here? We’re nearly done with the gifts, and I think everyone is getting hangry.” She gestures back towards the party.

“He’s running a little behind,” Coach explains. “Do you uh—think you can stall for a bit longer, love?”

Delaney plants a kiss on his lips, visibly agreeable to the plan. “Stalling is my middle name.”

Coach places a tender hand on her stomach, grazing over it slightly before he kisses her forehead and takes a step back. “I know it is. Now, you get back out there. Don’t be worrying about me, alright? I’ve got everything under control back here. Okay, sunshine?”

Delaney flashes him a blushing smile before she makes her way back down the corridor. “I know you do, Coach.”

It takes a second, but once Delaney is out of sight and earshot, Coach slams the door shut. Despite what was just such an intimate moment with the love of his life, the second he looks at me—the menacing toe of his life—his eyes fill with fury.

“Nice save,” I mutter sarcastically. “But I think you could do with some improv lessons.”

Coach runs his tongue along his bottom teeth as he takes a careful step toward me and places a firm finger on my chest. “The other bakery is too far. We need to pivot. Ruby’s Bakery. Sandringham Road. One hour. Chocolate cake. Vanilla icing. You got it?”

The seriousness of his tone tells me no more messing about. I can’t fuck this up. I refuse to fuck this up. I straighten my spine and swallow. “I’ve got it, Coach.”

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