Page 174 of The Coach

An older couple, probably in their seventies, strolling hand in hand, taking in the fresh autumn air like they’ve been doing this for decades.

They smile warmly at us. Ivy stiffens beside me, but she plasters on a bright, innocent smile and waves like we didn’t just defile nature twenty feet back.

I do the same, throwing in a respectful head nod, like a man who hasn’t just been deep inside their scenic forest.

The old man nods back. “Beautiful day for a walk, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” I reply, fighting a smirk.

The couple ambles past, and as soon as they’re out of earshot, Ivy shoves me. “Oh my God. Do you think they know?”

I bite back a laugh. “I think they suspect. And I think we just ruined their favorite hiking spot.”

Her jaw drops. “We did not!”

I grin. “Fine. Maybe we just…added to the legend.”

She groans, smacking a hand over her face as we keep walking, her laughter mingling with mine.

And I don’t know how the hell this happened.

But right now?

I don’t want to be anywhere else.

But I know this weekend has to end.

And then it’s back to business, tomorrow morning.

We’ve got games to win.

And all I’ve got on my mind is her.

Andthis.

Chapter Thirty-Two

JACKSON

The sky is barely sparking with light on Monday morning as I slide into the passenger seat of Ivy’s car, my duffel bag tossed in the back. The quiet purr of the engine fills the silence between us as she pulls out of her driveway, navigating the empty streets of Riverbend.

Neither of us speaks at first. There’s too much unspoken. Too much hanging in the air between us.

She’s taking me to the train station before school—before she has to slip back into her normal life, before I have to put on my game face and go back to my own. But this morning, with the world still waking up around us, it feels like we exist in some kind of in-between space.

I glance over at her. Her fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, her jaw set. I can tell she’s holding something back.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice low.

She exhales, keeping her eyes on the road. “Yeah.” Then, after a beat, she adds, “I just…I hate this part.”

I reach over, covering her hand with mine. “Me too.”

The train station comes into view way too soon. My chest tightens. I thought I’d be ready for this. Thought I’d just get on that train, head back to Chicago, lock myself into game mode.

But as she pulls into a parking spot and shifts the car into park, I realize I’m not ready at all.

She turns toward me, finally looking me in the eye. “You’re gonna be great this weekend.”

---