Page 49 of The Coach

I see her.

Or at least, I think I do.

A woman—tall, long brunette hair falling down her back. She’s walking just ahead of me, dressed in leggings and a loose tank top, earbuds in.

My chest tightens.

The air vanishes from my lungs.

No way.

I slow my pace, my body acting before my brain can process it.

I shouldn’t.

This is stupid.

But my feet keep moving forward.

When I’m finally close enough, I say, "Excuse me?—”

She turns.

My stomach drops.

It’s not her.

Not even close.

She’s pretty, sure—and has the same thick brown hair—but she’s not Ivy.

She gives me a confused look, pulling out one earbud. “Sorry?”

I shake my head immediately, running a hand through my damp hair. “Nothing. I—uh, sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

She smiles politely, then continues walking.

I stand there for a second, breathing hard, trying to get my damn pulse under control.

Jesus.

What the hell am I doing?

I need to get my head out of the past.

I need to focus.

I need to move on.

Because Ivy, the girl from some small town, months ago?

She’s gone.Longgone.

And there are a million women in the world. I shouldn’t be caught up on one.

Time to focus on tomorrow’s game, anyway.

Chapter Eleven

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