Page 77 of The Coach

But that’s all I can do.

Jackson’s voice.

The way he looked at me across the table.

The way he said,I’m going to support you any way I can.

And—most dangerous of all—the way I almost let myself believe it.

I stare out the window, watching as the Chicago skyline fades into rural Illinois.

Cornfields stretch for miles, the golden hues of September glowing under the late afternoon sun. My world is getting smaller again.

And I don’t know how to feel about that.

Ding.

My phone vibrates.

Lauren: Are you home yet??

Me: Almost. Train gets in soon.

Lauren: You’re coming to El Charro with me. No arguments.

I smile slightly.

Of course she’s dragging me to Mexican food.

I type back:

Me: Fine. But I’m not spilling everything again.

Lauren: Oh babe. Yes, you are.

By the time I get to El Charro, Lauren is already seated in our usual booth, sipping a margarita and looking entirely too pleased with herself.

I slide into the seat across from her, dropping my bag with a sigh.

“Please tell me you didn’t invite me here just to grill me.”

Lauren tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Of course not. I invited you here to feed you. And also, yes, to grill you.”

I groan, reaching for a menu. “I think you got the gist. You were with me.”

“Nope.” She smiles. “Let’s start from the where I left you last night. The dinner. The goodbye. And don’t skimp on the details. I need to know everything that happened after I left.”

I sigh dramatically, but a small part of me is grateful.

Because if I keep all this inside, it’s going to eat me alive.

I tell her everything.

The dinner. The Riverwalk. The way he said he wanted to see me again. The way I almost let myself believe this could be something where we just pick up right where we left off.

Lauren is grinning like a damn Cheshire cat.

“You like him.”

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