Page 89 of Jilted

Wilder caught my eye. “She is.”

“Well, come sit.” Coach turned down the radio. “Patty can bring us some lunch on the patio.”

Wilder whispered, “Patty was his wife. She died ten years ago.”

He’d told me Coach often slipped in and out of current and past time, but I didn’t realize he would seem so lucid doing it. I thought Patty was someone who worked here, the way he’d said it.

“You feeling up for a walk before Patty brings us lunch?” Wilder asked.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Wilder helped Coach put on sneakers, and then the three of us took a walk. On the way out, Wilder let the front desk know what we were doing.

“Did you see I signed Santiago?” Wilder asked.

“Who?”

“Left flanker from California. We talked about him when I called last week.”

“Oh. Yeah, right.” Coach nodded, but I wasn’t sure he remembered anything.

We walked around the building on a path for the next hour. At times, conversation flowed and there was no doubt Coach’s memory was there, but there were other moments when Coach would trailoff midsentence, like he’d forgotten he was even talking. One thing clear as day, though, was the bond between these men. Eventually, Coach’s steps became more of a shuffle, so we went back inside.

Wilder was down on a knee, unlacing a shoe when Coach yanked at the top of his hair. “You still using that girly yellow blow-dryer to make your hair fancy?”

Wilder shook his head with a smile. “Not anymore, Coach. Pretty sure you spend more time fixing those braids than I do on my hair these days.” Wilder’s eyes slanted to me.

I lifted a brow. “So the girly habits Lucas told us about aren’t new then?”

He smiled and turned back to Coach. “I’m going to get going. You want me to help you into bed?”

“Yeah. Why not? Then I’ll be ready when Lucinda finally comes around.”

Coach’s eyes fell to me briefly as Wilder pulled the covers up.

“I’ll call you next week. Take care, alright?”

Coach put a hand on Wilder’s bicep. “She’s a nice girl. I’m glad you finally moved on.”

I waited until we got to the car before poking around. “Was Coach referring to your high school girlfriend when he said he was glad you moved on?”

Wilder started the car, looking straight ahead. “No. He’s just confused.”

24WILDER

TEN YEARS AGO

“I’m so bored.” Whitney sighed.

She’d been swiping through social media reels for the last hour, starting and stopping catchy little tunes as I tried to study, so it was on the tip of my tongue to say something snarky. But then I looked over at her propped-up feet and swollen ankles and felt bad. I closed my textbook. “What do you feel like doing?”

Her eyes lit up. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Again?”

She rubbed her swollen belly and pouted. “We need a lot of things.”

It would be easier to finish studying when she went home later anyway. The sounds from her phone were too distracting to concentrate.

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