Chapter Two
C alla Dunne plopped down next to her father on the front row of the grandstand that had been set up on Bulldog Avenue and handed him a takeaway cup from Huddle Up Coffee. “Here you go—a Bulldog Brew, as requested.”
Dad took his drink with a frown. “Where’s Bailey? The parade is about to start. She won’t want to miss it.”
Calla fought back an eye roll. No, her best friend definitely wouldn’t want to miss the big Jackson Knight welcome parade, would she?
No one in town would, save Calla herself.
Too bad she was professionally obligated to attend.
“Bailey will be here in a few. She wants to keep Huddle Up open until the last possible second. It’s a madhouse in there right now. ”
Calla stretched out her legs, crossed her red cowboy boots at the ankles and sighed into her Hail Mary Mocha. Was it asking too much for a normal, mainstream coffee chain to move into Bishop Falls so she wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of these silly football-themed drinks on a daily basis?
Yes…yes, it was.
Even if the impossible happened and an actual Starbucks rolled into town, there was no way Calla would ever darken its door.
She couldn’t do that to Bailey. But a generic coffee establishment would never set up shop in Bishop Falls, anyway—not in a million years.
A simple glance up and down Bulldog Avenue was all the confirmation anyone needed.
Practically every storefront was occupied by mom-and-pop businesses, and the vast majority of them boasted cutesy names that were obvious homages to the town’s biggest obsession: End Zone Bakery, Gridiron Grill, Pigskin Pizza Parlor.
Even the local florist had jumped on the bandwagon, which was why Calla was stuck buying her weekly bouquet of daisies from a place called Field Goal Flowers.
Thank goodness for Book Nook, which thus far had refused to cave and tack Bulldog to the front of its name, despite ongoing pressure from the mayor.
At the last town council meeting, Mayor Pearl Atkinson devoted a full ten minutes to her speech about creating an overall “town aesthetic” centered around the high school football team.
As if that hadn’t already been a thing for the entire twenty-eight years that Calla had lived in Bishop Falls.
She considered herself lucky that County General Hospital hadn’t sent her home in a green-and-white baby blanket as an infant.
As it was, her baby book was filled with photos of Calla dressed as a Bishop Falls cheerleader for her first Halloween.
The green bow pinned to her downy head had been big enough to be seen from space.
Calla didn’t wear bows in her hair anymore, and she’d rather choke on a pom-pom than don her alma mater’s signature colors.
Anyone else in her hometown would’ve been publicly shamed for a similar stance, but she got a pass because of her last name.
Bishop Falls owed the Dunnes. No one ever talked about it anymore, but it was a well-known fact, cemented in the minds and hearts of everyone within a one-hundred-mile radius.
Calla would’ve given anything to forget.
“Have I mentioned how much I love your job?” Dad said, beaming from ear to ear from his perch beside her.
Calla gave him a little shoulder bump. “Once or twice.”
Or possibly a thousand times.
The perks that came with her employment at the Lone Star Gazette meant far more to him than they did to Calla.
But her father’s appreciation of her coveted prime seats on Friday nights and front-row spots at special events like today’s parade was almost enough to make up for the fact that she loathed what she did for a living with every fiber of her being. Heavy emphasis on almost .
“How do you like my new jersey?” Dad swiveled to show off the back of his shirt, which had Jackson Knight’s last name splashed atop his jersey number for the Chicago Cyclones printed in Bulldog green-and-white.
“There are jerseys already?” She really shouldn’t have been surprised. Sometimes this town never ceased to amaze her, though. “That didn’t take long.”
Her paper had only broken the news of Jackson’s hiring the day before. In true Bishop Falls fashion, the town had already organized a parade and printed jerseys. Granted, this was probably the biggest thing that had happened to the town in…well…ever.
Her gaze flitted over the crowd that lined both sides of Bulldog Avenue, all the way from the football stadium at the north end of the street to the farthest corner of downtown.
She wondered what all these adoring football fans would think if they knew what she’d just overheard Jackson saying on the phone.
The professional tight end who everyone expected to finally take the Bulldogs all the way to a state championship had tried to cut and run within an hour of setting his overpaid foot on Bishop Falls soil.
If it were up to her, she’d splash the news right across the paper’s front page tomorrow morning.
Her editor would never let her do it, though—not when the entire town had suddenly developed a case of Jackson Knight Fever.
Plus that information had been spoken way, way off the record.
Some would say she’d even been spying on the man.
Which she had…sort of. It hadn’t been intentional, though.
Not exactly. After making sure her dad was settled on the bleachers, she’d dropped by the coaching office to see if Bishop Falls High School’s athletic department had prepared an updated press release in advance of the parade.
Her multiple calls to the school had gone unanswered all morning, so her impromptu visit had simply been a last-ditch effort in due diligence.
No one had been around to help her, and just as she’d rounded the corner from the locker room and staffing area, she’d stumbled upon the legend himself.
Of course she’d stuck around to see how the drama unfolded.
Any reporter worth his or her salt would’ve done the same…
at least that’s what Calla told herself as she was snickering at Jackson’s simultaneous attempts to undress Bishop the bulldog and quit his new head coaching job before it even started.
“Here we go,” Dad said, rising to his feet as the marching band began playing the school’s familiar fight song.
Calla’s heart twisted whenever she heard the opening bars, even after all these years. Once upon a time, she’d loved that song. Like everyone else in Bishop Falls, she’d swelled with pride from the tips of her toes to the top of her head every time she heard it. Now it just made her want to cry.
She bit the inside of her cheek and stood.
Crying wasn’t an option. Not now, and not here.
The last thing Calla wanted was pity. Once this dumb song was over, she could stop picturing her brother standing on the bright green turf with his helmet pressed to his heart, singing at the top of his lungs.
Then Calla could go back to hating anything remotely connected to football, just like she usually did…
Even though watching the sport, studying it and writing about it was her literal job.
“You okay?” Bailey whispered as she took her place beside Calla. The heady aroma of espresso beans and dark chocolate clung to her sable-brown hair, just like it always did. “This song is a killer every time, isn’t it?”
“I’m good. I promise,” Calla whispered, forcing a smile. “You?”
If anyone had reason to hate this song and everything it represented, that person was Bailey Davis. She’d never let the past harden her the way it had Calla, though. Bailey was just as sweet and genuine as she’d been back in high school.
She hadn’t fully moved on, though. None of them had—not even Calla’s father.
Unlike Dad and Bailey, Calla directed all of her grief outward, while the two of them kept theirs buried deep inside.
At least that’s what she suspected. It wasn’t like they ever actually discussed it.
Bailey and Dad just kept on going, and so did Calla.
Her version just involved a good amount of kicking and screaming.
And a lot less rah-rah-rah-sis-boom-bah.
“I’m great.” Bailey beamed, and if Calla hadn’t been studying her so closely, she might’ve missed the barely discernible glimmer of sadness in her friend’s eyes.
Then Bailey blinked, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared as she peered around Calla to greet her father. “Morning, Dr. Dunne. Nice jersey.”
Bailey winked.
As the town veterinarian, Calla’s dad was fully deserving of the honorific. But Bailey was like family. He’d told her a million times to call him Bill or Dad, but she still insisted on using his title. It had become a term of endearment between them by now.
“Please don’t encourage him,” Calla muttered into her mocha.
“Bite your tongue, young lady. Jackson Knight is going to take the Bulldogs all the way. Everyone knows it. You best sharpen your pencil and get ready, because there’s going to be a lot to write about this football season.” Dad arched a brow at Bailey. “Right, Bailey?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
Was there a single soul in this town who hadn’t guzzled the Jackson Knight Kool-Aid before they’d even set eyes on the man?
Clearly not. The cheers from the crowd grew deafening as the marching band’s percussion section came into view.
A lanky girl with long, dark braids hanging from her band hat clanged a pair of cymbals with enough gusto to rattle the bleachers.
Then the docile longhorn steers from Sam Garcia’s ranch appeared, swinging their massive heads back and forth as they stomped down the street.
The man of the hour couldn’t be far behind.
The longhorns and their riders were always fan favorites.
The organizers of this spectacle would’ve strategically placed them directly in front of the float carrying Bishop Falls’ new savior to maximize the excitement.