2. W I L K S

TWO

W I L K S

PRESENT DAY

I’d like to call myself multi-faceted.

My ability to balance my phone in one hand and a 24-inch cake in the other proves that that is the case.

Wait… or is that called multitasking?

Shit.

I don’t know.

All I know is this: I’m a man of many talents.

Let’s rhyme them off. Shall we?

Number one: football. It’s absolutely got to be at the top of my list considering it’s what I do as a profession.

Football has consumed my life for as long as I can remember. I’m pretty sure Mum told me I was kicking on my way out of the womb, that or I never stopped throughout the whole pregnancy.

Regardless, I can’t remember a time in my life when I haven’t played football. It’s a part of me. It’s what makes me, me.

Next, women—a close and honorable second if I do say so myself, and frankly, what more is there to say? Women like me. I like them. It’s a win-win.

There are perks to being captain, and needless to say, I reap all the benefits.

But when I start to think about women, I can’t help but think about why I get them.

Is it my dashing good looks?

Maybe.

Is it my signature smile and irresistible charm?

We’re getting closer.

Or is it my charisma that makes me impossible to deny?

Ding. Ding. Ding.

Gary Wilkinson: The ultimate goat when it comes to stealing your girl.

I’m a cocky son-of-a-bitch. I know that.

But cocky gets you far.

Cocky gets you past third base on the first date.

But as much as I’m cocky, I’m also highly self-aware. I know my faults, and under no circumstance am I immune to seeing them.

There’s a saying that sometimes you can be your own worst enemy. That’s the case with me. As much as I can build myself up, I hold the power to tear myself down. Perhaps that’s why I live in the fantasy that is “Wilks” rather than the reality of “Gary.”

Wilks is the man.

Wilks is the leader.

Wilks is the guy everyone can turn to, not only on Crawfield Football Club but life in general.

But Gary?

Well, Gary’s a whole lot different.

When Wilks doesn’t let anything bring him down, it’s because he’s passed it along to Gary instead.

When Wilks looks like he’s got it all together, it’s because Gary has sorted out the mess.

And just because Wilks gets exactly what he wants, that doesn’t mean that Gary gets what he needs.

So there you have it. My double life. My ability to be as equally cognizant as I am delusional.

Gary Wilkinson.

“I’m coming, Coach.” I’ve got my phone perched between my shoulder and my ear, out of breath as I rush. “I’m literally on my way right now.”

“Wilks, I swear to God, if you’re still in bed and saying that to me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

I purse my lips. Coach knows me too well.

Fault #1: I’m notoriously late.

“That was one time!” I justify the fact that typically, when I say “I’m on my way”, that means that I haven’t even left my house, but today is different. Today, I was actually on the ball. I got up early. Picked up the cake last night like Coach asked, hell I even drove to south London to do so, but when I went to load it into my car this morning, the damn thing broke down, leaving me with two options.

Option one: attempt to fix the car, which was really just a fantasy of a thought. I have no fucking idea how to fix cars, nor was today the day I wanted to learn.

Or, option two: walk… run to the venue where Coach, also known as Warren Park, and his partner Delaney Matthews are hosting a baby shower for their soon-to-be bundle of joy.

Without a doubt in my mind, I knew option two was the only feasible one, so without wasting another second, I snatched the absurdly large cake from the backseat of my car and started booking it.

Fault #2: I’ll always go for the easier option.

“How far away are you?” Coach’s voice is filled with impatience— nothing new there . “Delaney is about to start opening up the gifts, and soon after, everyone is going to start asking for the cake.”

“I’ll be there in like...” I assess my surroundings, coming to the stark realization that shit , I’ve run past the venue.

Fault #3: I have no sense of direction.

I peer down at my watch. “Five minutes, okay?”

A silence falls through the line, one I don’t like the sound of one bit. I don’t know which is worse. Coach yelling at me, or Coach’s silence.

Either way, he’s far from happy.

“You’re sending me into an early grave. Remember that at my funeral,” are Coach's infamous last words before the line goes dead.

I roll my eyes, release the phone from my ear, and attempt to catch my breath as I muster up enough stamina to get this cake there in one piece.

If there is one thing I know about Warren Park, it’s that the second he ended our call, he probably started a timer, and given that I said five minutes, I better not be a second over.

I begin weaving my way through the sidewalks of Crawley, bypassing crowds of people who all stop and stare in my direction, and no, it’s not because I’m Gary Wilkinson, the face of Crawfield FC. It’s because I’m a grown man running down the street with an oversized box in my hands.

I look like a fool.

But hey, at least I make it look sexy.

Relief floods through my chest as I finally reach the venue and just like how I’d anticipated there’s Coach, his phone in his hand and a countdown on the screen.

“A minute to spare.” He stops the timer, folding his arms across his chest, amused. “You’re quicker than I expected.”

I flash him an egotistical smirk, seeing an opportunity to crack a joke that I can’t let up on. “Oh, you know what they say about me, Coach.”

He cocks a brow.

“You know that I’m quick on the streets but slow in the sheets.”

Coach’s face turns stoic. He’s so fed up with me I can’t help but laugh. It’s bloody hilarious.

“Hey, that’s why we’re all here, right?” I have to remind him of the fact that this baby shower would not have been possible without him. “Some slow sheet action, am I right?” I stride my way to his side, one arrogant step at a time. “Or tell me, was it the changing room shower again?—”

“Just give me the Goddamn cake.” Coach attempts to snatch the box from my grasp, but like a child being asked to share, I pull back.

“Nuh-uh. You’re not getting the credit for this. I just ran across the other side of town to get this cake here! I’m going to be the one to deliver it.”

“Whatever.” Coach rolls his eyes, reaching for the side entrance of the venue, where he holds the door open for me to step inside. “Just get a move on, alright?” he instructs. “We don’t have all day.”

“You’re right. Time is fickle when you get to your ripe age,” I joke, picking up my pace as I step in through the doorway, beyond satisfied with the fact that I’ve won our debate as he groans out in frustration. “So, where exactly do you want this?”

Coach tilts his chin sideways. “In the kitchen. It’s to the right and down the hallway.”

I nod, following his instructions as I make my way down the corridor. “See, Coach?” I look back over my shoulder. “I told you I wouldn’t let you down. I told you that you could rely on me?—”

“ Wilks! ” Coach shouts, and before I know it, I’m displaced.

My feet go out from under me as I slip backward, landing flat on my back, all the while the cake I’ve just spent all day attempting to get here in one piece comes down with it… in multiple pieces.

For a moment, I’m dazed, attempting to figure out how this has just happened, but when I look down and see that my foot is inside a mop bucket, it all starts to make sense.

Fault #4: I’m a total klutz.

“What the fuck?” Coach cries, racing to my side. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Wilks! Is it okay?”

I sit up from the ground, rubbing my back gently in an attempt to stretch myself out. “I’m okay. I just hurt my back a little?—”

“Not you, you idiot!” He’s quick to cut me off, reaching for the box that rests on my chest. “I’m talking about the cake! Is the cake okay?”

I warrant him a glare as I stand up, clearly mishearing the question. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?” I tell him. “I’m just so grateful to have a Coach who cares as much as you do. Truly.”

Sick of my sarcasm, Coach scrunches his nose in frustration. “I swear to God, Wilks, this cake better be intact,” he grumbles as he reaches for the box, only the second he opens it, a wince escapes my lips as he realizes what I already know.

The cake is destroyed.

“Warren?” A voice calls out—one that’s highly familiar.

Delaney.

“Warren, babe? Is everything okay?” she exclaims. “I heard you shouting. Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

Her voice grows louder as she approaches the kitchen and before I know it, I’ve raced towards the door to stop Delaney from making her way in.

“Say something,” I demand under my breath, shooting Coach a glare in the process. “Tell her things are fine.”

“Uh…” It takes Coach a second to catch on before he clears his throat. “Everything’s good, love. I’m okay. I just…”

Coach’s voice is so unconvincing that my head falls back in disbelief. Thank God he’s a Coach and not an actor.

“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.”

“Good.” He shoves me out of the kitchen and pulls his phone out from his back pocket. “‘Cause your time starts now .”