Page 32 of The Coach

My breath comes short and sharp as I scan the car, my mind racing. When the hell did I lose it? It must’ve been during one of the stops, when people got on and off. A pickpocket? A mistake? Doesn’t fucking matter—I need it back.

The train screeches to a halt, the doors sliding open. I bolt up, pushing through the crowd, breaking into a sprint toward the front.

"Hey!" I call to the nearest conductor. "My wallet—I think I lost it on the train."

The man barely glances at me as he checks his watch. "Sorry, sir. We’re on a tight schedule. You’ll need to file a report."

I grit my teeth. “Just let me?—”

The doors beep. Then, right in front of me, they slam shut.

“No, no, no?—”

The train starts moving.

I pound a fist against the glass, fury and frustration coiling tight in my chest.

Goddamn it.

I watch helplessly as it pulls away. At this point, it’s anyone’s guess where that number ended up, anyway.

A growl rumbles low in my throat as I run a hand through my hair, gripping tight. This isn’t happening.

I pivot on my heel, my entire body thrumming with anger, only to see Tony standing just outside the station, leaning against the SUV like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Hey, Coach,” he says, tossing me a water bottle as I slide into the passenger seat. “How was Riverbend?”

I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Don’t ask.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

“No, it was...amazing.” I sigh, leaning back in the seat. “But my wallet’s gone.”

Tony lets out a low whistle as he merges into traffic. “Ouch. Cards, cash...everything?”

“Yeah,” I say, staring out the window. “Including something I can’t replace.”

He glances at me, his expression curious but knowing better than to pry. “You want to cancel your cards before we head to the airport?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. But even as I dial, my mind isn’t on the stolen cards or the inconvenience of it all. It’s on her. Ivy. And the postcard with her number, now lost somewhere between Riverbend and Chicago.

I lean my head back against the seat, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. I’d told her I’d see her again. And I will. But it just got a little more difficult.

My stomach is heavy. I feel like a quarterback who just played the game of his life, then blew it by throwing a silly interception in the fourth quarter when we should have been running the ball.

Fucking idiot.

It’s a couple of weeks later when I’m able to make the drive back to Riverbend. In some ways, it feels like chasing a ghost.

I don’t even know what I’m expecting or how I’ll even track her down. I just know that I can’t sit in Chicago like everything’s fine, when I know I might’ve blown the chance to see her again. The memory of her, the way she looked at me on that balcony, the way we connected in a way I’d never experienced before—it all keeps circling in my head, louder than any voice of reason telling me to let it go.

When I pull into her apartment complex, it’s late afternoon. The place looks exactly as I remember—modest, a little worn, but cozy. I knock on the door I think was hers, my heart pounding, but there’s no answer. After a few minutes, I hear footsteps behind me.

“You lost?” a voice grumbles.

I turn to find an older man, graying and stocky, with a clipboard tucked under his arm. He looks at me like I’m some kind of stray.

“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m looking for Ivy. She lives here. Fourth floor, end unit.”

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