28. W I L K S

TWENTY-EIGHT

W I L K S

“We’re at the half, lads, and if you keep this up, we’re going to win this game. But listen, what do I always say about getting our hopes up?”

“That it’s not over till the final whistle,” I’m the first to answer Coach’s question.

I know it to be true. There’s nothing worse than going in with confidence and allowing that arrogance to go to your head. All it does is prompt you to lose sight of what you need to do—what you need to accomplish.

Football is all about concentration. There are so many elements you need to focus on. Sure, the ball is the main priority, but what about the person you need to cover?

Or about moving yourself around so that you’re in a more opportune spot?

Are you thinking of plays?

Or, as captain, what could you be doing to better communicate with your team?

It’s a repetitious cycle and a true test of multitasking at its finest. Football challenges me in ways I’ve always craved to be challenged. It’s shown me that I’m capable, confident, and, most of all, passionate.

It’s been there for me when times have been tough and reminds me that when in doubt, you always have to hold onto the things you love.

It’s been a part of many of the most memorable times in my life. It’s given me access, a platform, a chance to show the world or the town what I’m capable of, and that… that’s been one of the greatest gifts, one that I'll always hold onto no matter how old I get.

But sometimes life throws you a different challenge, a new thing to master or love, and that thing becomes someone.

Chelsie.

So, when I say football is all about concentration, I mean it because it’s taking absolutely everything in me not to stare over at the clock and count each second as it ticks down.

I need to be with her.

I wish I was with her right now.

This has never happened to me before. I’d always thought that there’s no better place to be than standing on a pitch with your team, but I was mistaken. Because the best place to be is with her—no questions asked.

“That’s right, Wilks,” Coach snaps me out of it, nodding his head in approval before he diverts his attention toward the rest of the group. “Now, do what you can, continue to communicate and?—”

Coach’s phone goes off mid-rant, prompting him to stop what he’s doing.

“Sorry.” He reaches into his pocket and reads the name across the screen. I’m nosy and can’t help but read it too.

My Sunshine.

Delaney.

He ponders what to do for a moment before declining the call and mumbling, “I'll call her back in a minute,” under his breath, before peering back up at us. “Sorry.” He speaks much louder this time. “What was I saying?”

“Something about communicating and?—”

“Right,” Coach cuts me off with a grunt. “Communicating. You’ve been doing a great job of it all season, and I’m telling you, this is going to be what sets you apart from the?—”

His phone rings again and this time the team and I exchange glances. Delaney never calls twice. Delaney never calls during a game, let alone misses one…

“Answer it,” Green encourages Coach, gesturing towards his phone.

“Yeah,” Hart agrees. “Wilksy boy can finish the rest of your speech, can’t ya, Wilks?” He rubs my shoulders in an attempt to pump me up.

“Sure can.” I nod, folding my arms across my chest. “Answer it, Coach. You know I’ve always got your back.”

With a hesitant nod, Coach raises the phone to his ear and steps away from the group. I continue where he left off, reminding and praising the team of what’s working and what’s not. As I do, I’m left distracted by Coach, who paces with wide eyes and a blank stare.

Delaney.

My diverting gaze prompts the rest of the team to look over their shoulder, watching as Coach frantically collects his things from behind the bench while balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, whispering into the line, “It’ll be okay. I’m coming now. Just breathe, love. You can do this.”

Green is the first to speak up as Coach ends the call and begins to type frantically into his phone. “Everything okay, Coach?”

Coach ignores the question, too busy cussing repeatedly as he fusses with the phone in his hand. “How do I fucking open this app?” He repeatedly taps on the screen.

Again, the team and I exchange a set of concerned, confused and confident that something is up glances.

Hart is the first to nudge me to walk over, an action that the rest of the team urges me to follow through on to get to the bottom of things.

Nothing is more intimidating than approaching Coach in a pissed-off mood, but as I place a concerned hand on his shoulder and he peers in my direction, I catch sight of his face.

Nothing about Coach reads mad—instead, the blue in his eyes has dissipated, and all that remains is a sheer look of stress, panic, and worry.

My stomach drops to my feet.

I’ve never seen him like this. Coach is always the one to bring us out of a rut, but this time, I can't help but feel like the roles are reversed.

“Coach?” I tilt my head to the side, furrowing my brows in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Coach shakes himself out of it, attempting to process the question as he squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s Delaney,” he reveals, voice soft. “She’s gone into labor. The baby is coming.”

His sense of panic spreads amongst the team, including myself. Shit. I knew Delaney was close to delivery, but I didn’t realize we were seriously down to the wire.

I have fond memories of my mum going into labor, and trust me when I say everyone’s logic and common sense seems to go out the window when it happens.

Take Coach, for example. Right now, he’s pushing his phone in my face, demanding that I help him request a ride back to Crawley, given that the app is “not working.”

Willingly and calmly , I take the phone from his hand. Immediately, I can feel Coach’s breath over my shoulder as he assesses what I’m doing.

“Well, for starters,” I begin. “You were on Instagram.” I close out of the app, peering up at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Just help me. All these apps look the bloody same.”

I playfully roll my eyes, this time opening up the correct app and promptly securing a driver to pick him up.

Thankfully, one isn’t too far away, meaning that if all goes to plan and there’s no traffic, Coach will be home within an hour—maybe forty-five minutes if he heckles the driver enough.

“Here.” I hand him his phone back. “The driver is going to pick you up. I set the address as the hospital, assuming Delaney is going to make her way over there. She is, right?”

Coach nods, informing me that his mum, Helen, was already there. She had been around to keep Delaney company at the house. It’s a rush of relief, though I know any of us could have found a ride for her, she’s a part of all of our families now.

“Okay, I better get going. The driver says he’ll be here in five minutes.” Coach slings his bag over his shoulder, peering back over at the team. “Sorry lads, I’ve got to take off.”

“What about the game?” Hart calls out. “Should we tell the ref we need to call it?”

“What?” Coach shoots both him and the rest of the team, who are ready to throw in the towel a look. “No! Absolutely not. You’re not calling it off.”

“But what about Delaney? We all want to be there for you guys.”

“Lads, love you guys, but the last thing she’s going to want is everyone around,” I speak on behalf of Coach, knowing that that was likely his response anyway.

“Okay, fair enough. But still, we need a Coach,” Green rebuts, prompting the rest of the lads to join in, in agreement.

“Yeah, we need someone to lead.”

“Guys, settle down.” I ease their frantic state. “We’ll be fine, we don’t need anyone, we’re just going to go back out there and?—”

“Boys,” Coach cuts me off as he firmly plants a hand on my shoulder. “Meet your Coach for the rest of the game. Wilks, welcome to the big leagues, son.”

“What?” I shoot him a downright flabbergasted look. “No, no, no,” I’m reluctant to accept the job. Not only because I’ve got not a single clue on how to coach this team but because being coach comes with added responsibility. The second the final whistle blows at this game, I need to go. I have places to be. My own sunshine to go after…

“Coach, I can’t. I’m not going to be able to do things like you. Get Hart, Green… anyone?—”

“What happened to ‘I’ve always got your back?’” Coach throws my remark from earlier back my way, and Christ, it’s enough to make me feel like a total dickhead.

The answer is irrefutable: I have to do this. I have no other choice.

“One minute till we’re back on,” I hear the ref call out, informing both us and the opposing team to start getting ready.

“Please,” Coach whispers, a pleading look in his eyes.

I gulp back, straighten my spine, and mutually place a hand on his shoulder. “Go,” I tell him, flashing him that same look the day I picked up the cake.

You can count on me.

I know.

He nods, making a bee-line down the tunnel, but right before he’s out of sight, I shout. “Oh, and Warren ?” I catch him off guard as I call him by his first name.

He quickly turns on his heel.

“Congratulations. Send Delaney our love.”

He smiles. “Thank you, Gary .”