Page 33 of The Coach

The man raises an eyebrow. “Ivy who?”

I blink, caught off guard.Shit.I still can’t believe I didn’t get her last name.

“Uh... just Ivy,” I say, realizing how ridiculous I sound. “Long dark hair, green eyes... she’s, uh, in her twenties? Voluptuous and very gorgeous.”

The man frowns. “Look, man, I don’t know anyone by that name. I’ve been managing this place for twenty years, and there’s no Ivy living here.”

My stomach drops. “Are you sure? She told me this was her apartment.”

The man shakes his head, frowning deeper now. “Look, son, I don’t know what kind of prank someone’s pulling on you, but I’ve got no tenant by that name. If you’re creeping around here, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m not creeping,” I snap, trying to keep my frustration in check. “I’m just—I was here and…we—look, forget it. Sorry for the trouble.”

I turn back toward my car, my chest tight with confusion. None of this makes sense. Maybe I remembered it wrong. Maybe.

But I feel like I’m living in some Twilight Zone episode. No one else was around to witness that weekend. Thatnight. Hell, was Ivy evenreal?

At this point, she has me questioning if she was just a figment of my imagination.

The Tipsy Cactus is my last stop after the grocery store, the coffee shop, and a long walk at the Whispering Pines. By the time I walk in, I’m feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me.

It’s quieter now, the Cinco de Mayo decorations long gone, just a couple of regulars nursing beers at the bar. With college out of session, the place has a completely different vibe—more laid-back, almost sleepy.

Behind the counter, an older man polishes a glass with slow, practiced movements. His thick, weathered hands make easy work of the rag, moving in rhythmic circles.

His face is lined, creased at the corners of his eyes in a way that suggests a lifetime of laughter—but also hard-earned wisdom. A well-groomed, salt-and-pepper beard frames his strong jaw, and his eyes—a sharp, assessing blue—flick up as I approach.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice a low, easy rumble, touched with the rasp of someone who’s spent years talking over bar noise.

“I’m looking for someone,” I say, glancing around like she might just magically appear. “Her name is Ivy. She came in here on Cinco de Mayo. We met that night.”

The man squints at me, his brow furrowing. “Ivy? Don’t think I know anyone by that name.”

“She’s local,” I say, my voice tightening. “Long dark hair, light green eyes, about this tall—” I hold my hand up. “She came in with her friend.”

He shakes his head, setting the glass down. “Son, I’ve lived here my whole life. If there’s an Ivy running around Riverbend, I’d know about it.”

I stare at him, the words not quite sinking in. “You’re sure?”

He gives me a sympathetic look, leaning on the counter. “You really fell for this girl, didn’t you?”

The question catches me off guard. I blink, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I did.”

The old man chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Well, sometimes, you’ve got to let something go, Son. God’s timing is funny. If something’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

I nod, but his words settle uneasily in my chest. I can’t just let it go. Not like this. Ivy is real. I know she is. And yet, every step I’ve taken today feels like I’m chasing smoke.

Back in the car, I sit for a moment, gripping the wheel, trying to piece it all together. Did she lie to me? Was I just some fling to her? Or is there something else going on here—something I don’t understand?

The buzz of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts. It’s Tony.

“Coach, you good?” he asks. “You’re supposed to call the GM back about the Chicago Stallions’ offer.”

Right. The offer. Head coach of the Chicago Stallions—a dream job, the culmination of everything I’ve worked for. But right now, it feels hollow, like an echo bouncing off the walls of my mind. I want to be excited. I should be excited. All I can think about is her. This is so wild. This isn’tme. I’m married to football anyway.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice flat. “I’ll call her.” Reagan Connelly, the Stallions general manager, has been courting me for months about this position so it’s not exactly a surprise that she just offered it to me.

“You sure? You don’t sound so sure.”

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