5. W I L K S

FIVE

W I L K S

Eight missed calls.

Fourteen missed text messages.

And I still had five minutes to spare.

I’ve never seen Coach so worked up in my life—I mean, he snatched the cake from my grasp the second I came into view from the bakery, then proceeded to probe me with a relentless number of questions all surrounding why I took so “fucking long”.

I mean… what was I to say? I was trying to swing a date with the hot baker who works there?

Hell no.

All that would’ve done is swung a fist in my face. Instead, I opt for the easier and safer option.

“They wanted to make sure that it was perfect. You both deserve nothing but the best. That’s why you’ve got me, right, Coach?”

Coach shoots me an unpleasant stare—one I’m accustomed to by now. “Fuck off. Now . That’s the last time I ask you to pick up a cake.”

I furrow my brows and purse my lips. “Interesting way to say you’re welcome, but I’ll take it,” I snarkily counter with.

Coach and I have always had this back-and-forth relationship. It’s how we’re mutually able to put up with one another, if “put up” is even the right saying.

The fact of the matter is I’d do anything for Coach, and I know in my heart he’d do anything for me. Deep down, the two of us are both just too arrogant to admit it, though the look on Coach's face as I make my way out of the kitchen tells me everything I already knew.

“I knew I could count on you.”

Sure, I’m a bit of a mess, but with all my faults comes the one thing that can’t be stripped of me—my reliability. I always show up, and I’m always there when people need me. That’s something I pride myself in and one of the factors that I know contributed towards Coach appointing me as the captain of Crawfield. Don’t get me wrong, it was a hell of a lot of pressure in the beginning, especially because I was a rookie and quite frankly, had no idea what I was doing.

But somehow, through this role of responsibility, I discovered just how perfect this title is for me, and now, I could never imagine not being in it.

I was made for this.

“Oh, and Wilks?” Coach’s voice calls out before I’m out of sight.

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you stay for a slice. Will ya?”

With a playful scoff of laughter, I nod.

See, he does love me.

“You guys are all so sweet and thoughtful, and ugh, there aren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much I love you guys.” I overhear Delaney sing the praises of the guests, who pull her in for a warm embrace.

I get it.

Everyone wants to be a part of this celebration. Delaney and Warren are practically Crawley's celebrity couple. They’re the stars. Everyone around here knows them and loves them, and it makes sense.

Just like how Coach has been there for me since the day we first met over five years ago, Delaney’s no exception. She’s a light. She has been from the moment she came from Houston to Crawley over a year and a half ago.

Her grandfather, or as she called him, “Gramps,” owned our team. When he passed and her parents inherited Crawfield Football Club, they wanted nothing to do with it. Mind you, at the time, I couldn’t blame them. We were at our all-time low, struggling for a win, struggling to communicate, and struggling to find our spark, our sunshine.

A sunshine that Delaney brought to our team when she joined us and completely flipped not only our world, but Coach’s completely upside down.

Now, she and Coach co-own the team—but that… that’s a whole other story.

“ Wilks !” Delaney seems to notice that I’ve walked into the room and rushes to pull me in for a tender hug, her bump creating some distance between us as she does. “You made it!” she cries out. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” I tell her with an assured smile. “You know I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Right?”

She places a delicate hand on my arm, tears threatening to pool from her eyes. “Right.”

Pregnancy has made her even more of a crier than she already is.

“You’re the best, Wilks.” She gleams. “You’re the little brother I never had. I’m like your big sister, don’t you think so?”

I choke back some laughter.

“What?” She raises a suspecting brow. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing,” I tell her with a raise of my hands. “I was just thinking of something that happened earlier, that’s all…”

Little does Delaney know that I was her little brother in someone else's eyes about an hour ago.

Chelsie.

Chelsie Windsor.

God, what a perfect name.

I’ve been turning it over and over in my mind since the second we parted, and Christ, I can’t seem to shake it. I don’t want to shake it?—

“Time for cake, everyone!” Coach strides his way into the party room, his announcement being enough to erupt the group into a series of delighted cheers and bring me back down to Earth.

“Yay!” Delaney beams, clapping her hands as one. “I can’t wait to see the cake. Oh, thank you so much again for picking it up, Wilks. I really hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle for you.”

Coach approaches the two of us before I can respond, shooting me a glare that reads, “ Don’t you dare say a word.”

“No.” I shrug nonchalantly, fearful for my life. “No hassle at all. If anything, it allowed me to discover a new part of Crawley.”

“A new part of Crawley?” Delaney repeats, eyes narrowing. “But didn’t I order the cake from a place in London?—”

“Open up the box, love.” Warren is quick to jump into action, diverting her attention towards the cake and muttering “zip it” to me under his breath.

“Oh my goodness!” Delaney cheers out in delight, hands cupping her mouth. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I was hoping for. Ah, I love it.”

There’s nothing more satisfactory than the arrogant look I flash at Coach before I lean in and whisper. “You hear that, Coach? It’s exactly what she was hoping for.”

“Piss off.” Coach is just about ready to nudge me when Delaney tugs on his shirt and draws him in.

“Isn’t it just amazing, babe?” She seeks his approval.

There’s an instantaneous shift in Coach’s demeanor the second he looks down at Delaney and places a gentle hand on her stomach. “It’s amazing.” He leans in to plant a kiss on her cheek. “You’re amazing.”

I can’t help but smile as I watch the two of them interact. There’s this mutual sense of love that radiates between them, and I’ll be damned, it’s as nauseating as it is enticing.

My whole life I’ve always believed in love stories, though before Delaney and Warren, I’d never seen one pan out from start to finish.

Sure, I’ve watched films, but that’s all rubbish.

Fake.

None of it is real.

But this? This is as real as it gets.

I know that true love exists. I mean, there’s always been something about just the thought of it that unleashes butterflies in my stomach.

Yet, it’s not just the thought that leads me to that conclusion. It’s the fact that I’m a product of true love—my parents are an example of that .

Hell, my parents had so much love for each other that they decided to multiply it, not once, not twice, not three times, but seven times.

Yes, I’m the oldest of almost a football team itself.

But that’s the thing: love in my life has always been on the outside. I’ve never felt it within.

Yes, I get love from my parents.

Yes, I get love from my family.

Hell, I even receive love for the sport that consumes my life.

But I know it’s not the same.

It’s not the kind of love that wakes you up in the morning and puts you to bed at night.

It’s not the kind of love that consumes your thoughts every hour of every day.

And it’s certainly not the kind of love that when you look into your person's eyes, you see your whole world and more.

That’s the kind of love I’m searching for.

That’s the kind of love I need.

Yet, if there’s one thing I know about love, it’s that it can’t be forced. It’s a sad lesson to learn, believe me. In the past year alone, I’ve lost count of how many times I’d told my mates I was in love—turns out love should likely last a little longer than a weekend and not solely involve a mattress.

I guess I’m still learning the difference between love and lust.

Fault #5: I’ve still got a lot to learn.

For now, I hold onto something else, something just as powerful… hope. Love will happen naturally for me. Love will happen when I least expect it, and boy, am I ready to have my own Delaney Matthews.

“Here you go, Wilks.” Delaney eagerly hands me a slice of cake.

“Thanks, Laney,” I call her by her nickname, reaching to take it out of her grasp, only when I do, her eyes gravitate towards my jumper.

“What happened there?” she asks curiously. “Did you drop something?”

I peer down, noticing that I’ve hardly made an attempt to rid the dried frosting from my shirt, and quickly, I devise a plan to cover up my tracks.

“Coach didn’t tell you?”

Delaney tilts her head in confusion before peering over at Coach. “Tell me what?”

Coach’s nostrils flare as he shoots me a glare. “ Shut up, Wilks ,” his eyes tell me once more. “ Shut up.”

I don’t.

“Oh, you know, about what happened earlier, when Coach said he stubbed his toe?”

Her eyes tell me she’s following.

“Well, when that happened, Coach accidentally dropped the cake on me.”

Delaney’s head snaps back in Coach’s direction. “You did what?”

Coach attempts to speak, but he’s virtually speechless. He’s so fun to mess with that I don’t even care if I get a bollocking for this. The look on his face is worth the fifty laps he’ll make me run next practice.

“He did…” I beat him to a rebuttal, shaking my head in dismay as I frown. “You know, he wasn’t looking where he was going. Must be the old age catching up to him.”

“I’m only thirty-two?—”

“Don’t worry, Delaney.” I ignore him and soothe her troubled eyes. “Lucky for you, I was able to get a new cake, and…” I gesture back at it. “It looks perfect. See? Everyone’s loving it.”

Delaney exhales a sigh of relief, reaching out to place a careful hand on my arm. “You’re a lifesaver, Wilks. What would we do without you?”

I shrug confidently before placing my hands into my pockets. “I ask Coach that same question every day.”

“Delaney, love,” Helen, Warren’s mum, shouts from behind, drawing her attention away. “Come on over. I want to take some pictures with you and my future grandbaby! I’m gonna be a nana.”

Delaney laughs. “Coming, Helen.” She places her slice of cake on the table. “Thanks again, Wilks,” she praises me once more before turning to Coach. “And you.” She places a finger against his chest. “You need to be more careful next time. What would we have done if Wilks hadn’t come to the rescue? You hear me?”

Coach bites down on his bottom lip, and I can only assume it’s to suppress the rage he’s about to take out on me when Delaney’s out of earshot.

“Yes, love.” He sulks like a scolded puppy dog as I indulge in a massive bite of cake.

“More careful indeed,” I say between bites, menacingly agreeing with her.

“Catch up with you two in a bit.” Delaney breaks away from the table, leaving Coach and me alone at last.

“So…” I break the agonizing silence between the two of us, ready to accept my ill fate. “How many laps will I be doing next practice?”

“No laps.” Coach is absurdly calm as he reaches for a cake slice himself, taking a quick bite before he thoughtfully pauses and jerks his head back. “What the fuck?” His brows furrow together as a look of disgust washes over his face. “Why does it taste like that?”

“Like what?” I flash him a confused stare. The cake tasted amazing to me. In fact, I was just about to go in for seconds.

“Come here.” Coach waves his hand, gesturing for me to step in towards his plate. “Smell it,” he insists. “What does that smell like to you?”

I lean in, attempting to get a sniff, but not a single scent goes in. The only thing that goes up my nose is frosting as Coach firmly squashes the cake against my face.

Those around us begin to laugh, prompting me to pull back and rid my eyes free of the vanilla.

“Get a good whiff, Wilks?” Coach firmly pats me on the shoulder, leaning in so his voice is that of a direct whisper. “‘Cause that’s the smell of fucking payback.”