12. W I L K S

TWELVE

W I L K S

I’ve done everything in my power this week to win Chelsie over—really, I’ve pulled out all the stops. So much so that as I pace my way towards Ruby’s bakery, I don’t have anything left in me to offer for this final week of swooning but… me.

Take it or leave it.

Truthfully, I hope she opts for the earlier of those two options, not just to save my ego, but because not-so-deep down, I really want her to.

The odds are in my favor, given that my daily trips to the bakery with whatever obscure gesture I’ve managed to come up with have left a lasting smile on Chelsie’s face.

I never knew that as you gave someone a gift, they could give you one right back without even realizing it.

It feels special to even be in the presence of her smile, let alone to be the reason behind it.

I’ve come to the conclusion that Chelsie’s got layers. I’m confident that there’s a depth to her that I fear very few people have ever been able to scratch the surface of.

Does that intimidate me? Sure, a little bit. But does it entice me beyond belief? Oh yeah, it definitely does.

I think Chelsie and I have more in common than she even realizes. I mean, if we want to talk about layers, you’re looking at a prime example.

Very few individuals in my life have seen the “real me”.

My family.

My team.

My coach.

And I know that may sound like a lot, but in my eyes, it’s not. I wish everyone could see who I really am, but sometimes, it’s scary to be yourself—not because it’s difficult or unnatural, but because once you’re yourself, there’s nothing left to hide behind.

You see when I’m “Wilks”, I know that that’s not the real me.

It’s an illusion.

A front.

So, if someone were to say, “I don’t like Wilks,” or any other snide remark, if I'm being honest, it doesn’t hurt as badly.

Why?

Because it’s a mask.

It’s the bandage over the wound.

It’s the barrier that protects me from falling victim to the criticism of others.

Sure, I haven’t had a chance to get to know Chelsie better than I did at the start of this week, but I know more than anyone that sometimes the most special things in life take time, patience, and, most of all, determination. Lucky for her, despite my faults, those traits I don’t lack.

I continue to confidently stride my way down the pavement with that thought in mind, hopeful that the second I walk into the bakery, the first words I’ll hear come from Chelsie’s mouth will be, “Gary, I’d love to go out with you,” and not what I do hear which is?—

“Because I’ve moved on. I’m seeing someone else, and here he is now.”

What?

I can feel all the oxygen escape the room from her remark. Not even the intoxicating scent of the fresh baked goods makes me want to inhale a breath.

Did she just insinuate that I’m her boyfriend?

I attempt to process what exactly is going on, but I can’t, given that the only real thing I’m trying to comprehend is why the blue in her eyes has faded.

Where has that beautiful smile that once illuminated her face gone? It’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, what’s left behind in her eyes is this deep-rooted sense of fear… panic .

She’s scared.

Why is she scared?

I have to force myself to look away in order to meet the eyes of the man who’s stood far too close to her for my liking.

Immediately, we meet each other's gaze with mutually unpleasant stares, and from just the look alone, I know we’re about a sentence away from hating each other.

“Excuse me?” I hear his voice for the first time as he surveys me up and down. “You mean to tell me that this tosser here is your boyfriend?” He looks back over at Chelsie for confirmation.

Before she can so much as blink, I’m quick to retaliate. No one calls me a tosser and gets away with it.

“And who the fuck are you exactly?” I show not an ounce of restraint when it comes to taking a step toward him, with an inflated sense of anger in my tone.

He doesn’t cower in the slightest. “Who the fuck am I?” He laughs as he simultaneously clenches his fists and jaw, attempting to tower over me. “I’m her fucking boyfriend. That's who.”

I want to retaliate instantly. God, there’s so much I’d love to say to this prick, but before I do, I peer over at Chelsie, desperate for direction on how to proceed. As if she was waiting, she flashes me a pleading look that begs me to please go along with this facade.

She wants me to pretend? No problem, baby. Here comes the performance of a lifetime.

“I don’t think so, mate.” The second I straighten my spine, I gain two inches on him. “You heard what she said, right? Now, I suggest you back the fuck up from my girlfriend before I make you.”

He doesn’t comply. Instead, he does the complete opposite and moves in closer, glaring at me as if I’m the scum on the bottom of his shoe. “And who the fuck are you exactly?”

“Besides her boyfriend.” I don’t recoil in the slightest. “I’m Gary fucking Wilkinson, mate, and for the record, you’re in my town. So, I’d watch what you say to me.”

He sucks in a breath, disregarding my threat entirely as he shoots daggers in Chelsie’s direction.

His stare alone is enough to make her cower backward—a response that only heightens my hatred towards him.

“You mean to tell me that we broke up, and within a month, you’ve moved on with this guy ?” He clutches a hold of her wrist, and I just about almost lose it. “Are you fucking serious?”

Chelsie’s only response to his demeaning tone is to stammer with uncertainty while using her free hand to rub her palms against her apron. It’s clear to me that she has no idea what to say. No idea what to do. But it’s a good thing I do.

Somehow, I find myself striding forward, clutching ahold of his shoulder to pull him back, this time, using the distance my force provided to fill the space between them.

He’s not getting within another centimeter of her.

“You know what?” My voice is enough to command his attention away from her and onto me. “Chelsie did tell me about you actually.” I narrow in on my stare. “Though, it wasn’t very memorable...”

He grumbles under his breath, pushing his luck by attempting to sidestep around me, but I’m too quick and immediately block his path, using my body as a weapon to shield her away.

“Don’t even think about taking another step,” I tell him as he looks me up and down in disgust. It’s clear he’s never had anyone challenge him before. There’s always a first for everything.

My guess? He’s a rich boy from the city—riding on Mummy and Daddy’s money with a superiority complex and the logic that the sun shines from out of his arse.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He shakes his head, a smug smirk rising to his lips, confirming my thoughts to be true. “Are you being for real, darling ?”

His use of the word “darling” warrants a familiar memory from the day Chelsie and I met when she scolded me for my continual use of that nickname.

“Sure, darling. I’ll wait here.”

“Please. Don’t keep calling me that.”

It’s all starting to make sense.

He’s the reason.

He’s the reason she asked me to stop.

“Nearly three years together, and you’re really going to let him do this?” he groans on.

Three years?

She spent nearly three years with this wanker? It’s hardly been three minutes, and I’m about ready to strangle him myself.

Hastily, I turn back, desperate to see her once more. As I look for her face, all I can see is her shifting gaze lingering towards the ground. Not only can she hardly speak, but she can hardly look at this guy.

It’s okay, though. She doesn’t need to shout from the rooftops for me to get a message; all I need is for her to give me a sign. One sign, and he’ll be gone.

I’ll make sure of it.

“Chelsie?” My voice is tender, hopeful she’ll peer up at me. It takes her a second, but when she recognizes that it’s me who's the one who’s talking, she meets my eyes.

It pains me when I look at her. It’s a look unlike I’ve ever seen before—a look that is nowhere near the girl whose face I’ve had the joy of seeing each day this week.

Where’s that girl?

I need her to come back to me, and I know in my heart that the only way she will is if he’s nowhere to be seen.

I flash her a look, a look that reads “tell me you want him out of here, and he’ll be gone. I promise, baby girl.”

I stare at her a bit more intently, patiently waiting for an answer, yet as she rubs behind her neck, that’s when I see it, a subtle nod of her head, telling me that, yep, his time is up.

“It’s time for you to go now.” I waste not a second commanding him gone, firmly standing my ground.

“Excuse me?” He’s dumbfounded as he cocks his head backward in disbelief. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh yeah?” I rebut, ready to take this to wherever it needs to go. “I think you’re wrong there, lad. You’re going. I don’t care if I have to drag you out of here myself.”

He takes a confident stride forward. “I’d like to see you try.”

I look him up and down—yep, I could take him any day. “Last chance.” My voice is firm. “Back the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

I'm moments away from swinging my fist into his face when Chelsie shouts. “ Simon! ”

Her voice draws us both away from one another as we peer back in her direction.

“Just go, okay?” her voice hitches with anxiety. “Seriously, I mean it. Go !”

Simon bites down on his lower lip, lodging his stare into her as if he’s waiting for her to take it back. She doesn’t. Instead, she steps forward, reaches out for my arm, and clings on, tucking herself into my embrace.

It’s an unholy feeling, having her touch against mine, one that only makes me even more defensive as I clutch onto her waist and hold her in close.

“You heard her.” My voice is low, sharp. “Leave, and don’t you think about ever contacting my girlfriend again. Or else you and me… we’re going to have a problem.”

An uncomfortable period of silence lingers between the three of us as he assesses our mutual touch until, eventually, he takes a step back, but not in defeat.

“This isn’t over, Chelsie.” He shakes his head, eyes full of intent. “You know it isn’t.”

With a final glare in my direction, Simon escapes the bakery, and before I know it, Chelsie has pulled herself away from my side and raced towards the front door in an attempt to twist the lock shut.

“Hey…” I help her as her hands tremble. “Let me do it.” I twist the lock shut, going that one step even further to barricade myself against the door as an extra barrier of protection.

“Chelsie?” I say her name, hopeful that she’ll meet my eyes. “He’s gone now,” I tell her. “He’s not getting back in here. I promise you. I won’t let him.”

After a brief moment, I watch as she attempts to rid the fear from her eyes before she flashes me a pained nod. Little does she realize that it’s too late.

I saw her fear.

I heard her fear.

I felt it radiating from her skin into mine.

It’s an emotion I only wish I could strip and never allow her to feel again.

“Thank you.” She’s breathless as she attempts to wipe her nose against her sleeve. “Thank you for doing that for me, Gary. Seriously.”

It feels wrong to accept a “thank you” from her. She doesn’t need to thank me as if what I just did was some sort of favor.

It wasn’t.

Fuck, I hardly know a damn thing about this girl, but I know that I would have never let anything happen to her—I never will let anything happen to her.

“You don’t need to thank me,” I tell her, attempting to quickly reach out to place a soothing hand on her face, a gesture that only causes her to flinch back.

I pull my hand away in remorse.

Shit.

I didn’t mean to startle her.

But why did she jump?

“Are you okay?” I can’t help but ask, concerned by her reaction.

“Yeah.” She nods, swallowing softly. “Sorry, I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all…”

I soften my gaze. “You don’t need to apologize, Chelsie.” My voice is tender. “Seriously, it’s not necessary. You did nothing wrong.”

She nods, rubbing along her wrists. They’re flaming red and slightly bruised, and almost instantly, I feel a sense of fury unleash.

“Did he do that to you?” I don’t reach out to touch her, but I know she knows what I’m referring to. “Because if he laid a hand on you, I’m going after him. I’ll fucking kick his?—”

“No,” she cuts me off, pulling her sleeve down and placing her hand on my forearm. “He didn’t. I just—” She seems to struggle with how to exactly finish the sentence. “Just—don’t go. Okay?”

I peer down at her, watching as she carefully pulls back and takes a deep breath in and a slow yet shaky breath out.

“ Please, Gary .”

I meet her eyes—thankful that as I do, I can see the blue starting to come back.

“I’m not going anywhere, Chelsie,” I tell her wholeheartedly. “I promise. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

She nods, a looming smile prompting its way onto her lips as she rubs behind her head. “You… you came,” she whispers, changing the subject matter.

I relax my once tense shoulders, standing up from against the door gently. “Of course I came,” I admit, shocked that she’d even think that I’d miss out on coming today for a split second. Hell, I’d have been stupid not to have shown up. If only I had been earlier. Lord knows how long he was here. I curse myself for it…

“But why ?” she asks, and for some reason, I feel like the single-word question goes beyond just that of an explanation for my presence this week. It’s like she’s asking me something much deeper, like why do you care? Why do you want this? Why… me ?

“Because…” I’m cautious with how I direct my words, knowing that now is definitely not the time to be shooting my shot. “I want to get to know you, Chelsie. That’s the reason why I’ve shown up every day this week. I made you a promise, but now that time is up, and if you want me gone, I’ll go. You don’t have to ask me twice.”

I watch the slow rise and fall of Chelsie’s chest as she thinks… assesses my words until, all of a sudden, her eyes shift.

She’s come to a decision.

“Tell me, Gary.” She nervously toys with the strings of her apron. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I’m dumbfounded that she’s even entertaining this conversation. “Um, tomorrow…” I look up in thought. “I’ve uh, got practice at four, but after that?—”

“You’ll pick me up?” She finishes my sentence with a playful look before she reaches into her apron, pulls out a scrap piece of paper, and scribbles down what I can only assume to be an address. “How does seven work?” She tilts her head in question, handing me the slip of paper. “After all, I think I’d quite like to get to know you better as well…”

I’m left speechless, though I know I need to say something, yet the second I go to speak, someone steps in through the back door, prompting Chelsie to peer back over her shoulder.

It’s Ruby.

“I’m back!” I hear her call out as she shakes the rain free from her umbrella. “Chelsie, are you here?”

“Seven o’clock.” She looks at me once more, unlocking the door as she guides me out. “And don’t be late, you promise ?”

I nod as I step outside.

“ I promise .”