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He holds up a hand to stop me. “I know what’s involved. Luke gave me your draft proposal. I read it front to back.” He speaks with such certainty that I can’t help but let my hopes float a little higher.
I remember talking Pop and Percy through several versions of the program when I was drafting it. They could most probably recite the entire thing from the hours they let me talk things through with them. Funny, Pop never told me Coach asked him about it.
“I want to do this, and look, I know this would be a sponsorship. Jack isn’t coming to live with me or nothing.” He chuckles and my heart breaks just a little.
Oh, how he’d love for Jack to live with him. He’d never say it, but it’s plain to see he’s lonely. He’s coached Jack for all of high school, and they have a good relationship. I can’t think of a better fit.
“Coach, I don’t know what to say.” I rush out from behind the counter, eager to give him a hug, but stop short of doing so. He isn’t a touchy-feely kind of person. “Thank you doesn’t feel like enough. This…this makes up for all the other horrible things that have happened. You’re like the Wizard of Oz of fixing things.” I squeeze his hand.
“Wasn’t that guy a fraud?” His brows draw together.
“All right, maybe not a great comparison, but you know what I mean.”
He chuckles. “Maybe the lesson here is that you didn’t need the city council. You did this on your own.”
“That isn’t quite true, but kind of you to say, nonetheless. I couldn’t have done this without the help of people like you. You know, it takes a village and all that.”
“It sure does.” He pats my hand. “Okay, so what do you need from me?”
“Right now, nothing. I’ll come by tomorrow with the paperwork to get things started. You should have a lawyer look over the documents before you sign, and if you have any questions, you know where to find me. Night or day, I’ll answer anything.”
“All right then. You have a good evening, Wren.”
He starts for the door and something comes to my mind. “Uh, Coach, do you want to tell Jack?”
I’d love nothing more than to tell Jack the great news. He was crushed, though he hid it well, when I told him about the Crandalls no longer being involved with the program. The only way I’m able to keep my tears from falling is by taking deep breaths and digging my fingernails into my palms.
Coach deserves this opportunity, to witness just how much of a difference he’s making in that boy’s life.
“Oh, yeah. I—I’d really like that. When can I tell him?”
“I’d say you should do it as soon as possible.” I wink and he chuckles, waving goodbye.
A few hours later, I do a final walk through the library before closing up. Once outside, key in the lock, my phone chimes. I grab it from my coat pocket, turn toward my car, and read the text.
Oliver: Meet me at Winslow Grove High. You know where.
A wild rush of excitement zings through me like an electric current. He wants me to meet him in the gym.
My fingers hover over the screen, so many questions crowding my mind, even if I’m loving the intrigue and surprise of it all. What is he up to?
I must take too long to respond because another text pops up.
Oliver: Wren? Let me know you got this. That you’re coming.
Laughing, I open my car door, slide inside, and start the engine. As if that was ever even a question. I quickly type out a reply.
Me: I’m on my way.
As I walk from my car, parked in the high school lot, to the building, I’m overcome with memories of that night, not too long ago. When we found our way back to each other. To our friendship, the wonderfully magical childhood we shared, and to this next chapter of our lives together. Our future.
The night we were stuck in the gym.
Who knew what started out as a potentially disastrous night would end in such promise? Finally.
Even with all that Dot has put us through—and there still might be more to come—I wouldn’t have it any other way. So long as I’m with Oliver, I’d walk through fire for him.
When I get to the gym this time, the doors are closed and not an orange pylon is in sight. I pull on the handle, and without seeing him, I know Oliver is here.
