Chapter Four #2
Jackson clasped his hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jackson.”
“Yeah, I know.” Cade laughed under his breath. “We didn’t get a chance to formally meet yesterday, but I thought I’d swing by in case you needed to see a friendly face this morning. Or at least a face that’s not outright hostile.”
“I appreciate it.” Jackson nodded as Bishop panted his way toward them and plopped his sizable rear onto one of his bare feet. His gaze cut toward the dog and then back at the other coach. “Honestly, I’ll take any face that doesn’t belong to this monster.”
Cade’s face cracked into a grin. “Any chance you’re up for a cup of coffee before school starts? I can fill you in on a few things.” He glanced at his smartwatch. “We’ve got about forty minutes before first bell.”
“A cup of coffee sounds great, but we’ll have to grab it someplace else.” Jackson opened the door to let Cade inside where the stench from the Mr. Coffee still hung in the air.
Cade wrinkled his nose. “No worries. I know just the place.”
* * *
“Do you want to talk about it?” Bailey winced as she slid a Touchdown Toffee Latte across the counter toward Calla.
“Not really.” Calla took a sip of Bailey’s latest on-theme, caffeinated creation. Much to her mortification, she loved it, just as she did everything else on the Huddle Up menu.
“At least you got your first feature. That has to be good, right?” Bailey held up the front page of the Lone Star Gazette and waggled her eyebrows. Sure enough, Calla’s editorial was splashed above the fold—not on the cover page of the sports section, but on the front page of the entire paper.
“This isn’t how I ever imagined going viral.
” Calla’s gaze darted over Bailey’s left shoulder to the portrait of Ethan that hung in a place of honor above the fancy espresso machine.
Calla’s brother was everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time.
Would it always be like this? She hoped not, for Bailey’s sake as much as her own.
“I never meant to drag Ethan into this.”
“I know you didn’t, hon. And none of this is your fault. Jackson Knight is the one who injected your brother into the mix, not you,” Bailey said.
True, but Calla had reacted terribly when he’d mentioned the turf logo.
She should’ve just kept her mouth shut and played the game like Stan wanted her to do.
Instead, she’d done the exact opposite. She’d poked the bear, and now here she was, all over the morning papers and sports entertainment talk shows.
Right on cue, Calla’s face flashed on the television in the corner of the café. The camera quickly spun toward Jackson, and a banner appeared at the bottom of the screen.
Jackson Knight hopelessly fumbles first day on the job as a high school football coach, thanks to confrontation with local sports writer.
“Reporters aren’t supposed to be the news. We’re supposed to write about it,” Calla said, echoing the words of her boss from the day before.
Stan, predictably, had been apoplectic when she’d arrived at the office after the press conference.
But as the day progressed and the story of her confrontation with Jackson began popping up on national news sites, he’d begrudgingly changed his tune.
Like it or not, she’d put their local paper on the map.
Subscriptions had nearly doubled overnight.
He’d had no choice but to lean into the attention and run her column just under the masthead.
Bailey scrambled for the remote control and aimed it at the television. The screen went dark, and an awkward silence fell over the café. A few patrons slid sympathetic glances toward the two of them.
If there was one thing Calla hated more than football, it was pity.
“Don’t mind them.” Bailey reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Everyone will forget about all of this in a few days.”
Not likely. Friday night was just three short days away, and not only would the Bulldogs be playing their first game of the season, but it was also a home game. All eyes would be on Jackson Knight, and subsequently, on Calla, too.
What have I done?
She drained her coffee cup. There simply wasn’t enough sugar in the world to deal with this mess. On the plus side, things couldn’t get much worse.
Could they?
The chimes on the front door to the coffee shop jingled, and Bailey called out a greeting like she always did to customers as they crossed the threshold.
“Welcome,” she said, then her eyes went soft as her gaze landed on whoever had just entered. “Oh, good morning, Cade.”
Calla kept her eyes glued straight ahead and her back to the door.
Born and bred in Bishop Falls, Cade Montgomery worked in the athletic department at the high school.
She’d known him all her life, he’d been Ethan’s best friend, and he was a perfectly nice person, but she wasn’t ready to face the coaching staff…
or anyone else who’d been at that press conference.
“Hey, Bailey,” Cade said, and as soon as the words left his mouth, Bailey’s smile froze in place.
It was then that Calla knew things were about to get much, much worse. Bailey and Cade had always been good friends. There was only one reason she’d have that deer-in-headlights expression on her face.
Calla’s gaze flitted toward the espresso machine, and sure enough, she spotted Jackson Knight’s reflection in its shiny silver surface. She would’ve recognized those wide shoulders and muscular arms anywhere—even when they were mirrored back at her in industrial stainless steel.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why him? Why now?
Seriously, sometimes this town was too small for its own good.
“Coach Knight,” Bailey said tightly. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Jackson said, and a riot of goose bumps broke out all over Calla’s arms, which she promptly blamed on the coffee shop’s aggressive air-conditioning.
She didn’t dare turn around. With any luck, he’d get a cup of coffee—black, like his soul—and hightail it out of there before he realized she was sitting at the coffee bar.
Wasn’t school starting soon, anyway? Although, who was she kidding? Calla highly doubted punctuality was high on Jackson’s list of priorities.
“What can I get you two?” Bailey asked. There was enough false sweetness in her voice to rot Calla’s teeth faster than her sugar-laden latte.
“I’ll have my regular,” Cade said. “A large Bulldog Brew to go.”
Bailey nodded. “Coming right up. What about you, Coach Knight?”
“It’s just Jackson,” he said, and Calla couldn’t help rolling her eyes at his flirtatious tone.
Did he try to sound like that every time he talked to a woman, or did it simply come as naturally to him as his ability to catch a football?
Either way, it was nauseating. She glared at his reflection in the espresso machine, and then, to her horror, his eyes met hers and he flashed her a wink, just like he’d done at the parade.
Busted. Calla closed her eyes again and prayed for the floor of Huddle Up to split wide open and swallow her whole.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Jackson said, and his deep, velvety voice was suddenly so close that a rebellious little shiver shot straight up her spine.
She forced her eyes open and spun on her stool to face him. “It’s the Touchdown Toffee Latte. You probably want something else. Don’t you log everything you eat and drink into one of those nutrition tracking apps?”
Just because he was on the Cyclone’s injured reserve list didn’t mean he wasn’t still in training mode.
Jackson had always been a bit of a rebel in the league, but his lean build spoke for itself.
She would’ve bet money that he hadn’t gone home and drowned his sorrows in a pint of Bluebell vanilla bean ice cream like she had.
“That sounds good.” Jackson turned a smile toward Bailey, fully ignoring Calla’s question about the nutrition app. “Extra whipped cream, please.”
“Are you always this argumentative?” Calla demanded as he slid onto the bar stool next to hers.
He snorted. “Are you ?”
Touché… .and reason 154 why they would make a terrible couple. Not that Calla had considered that possibility for even a second. She’d rather die.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Jackson said, and miraculously, he seemed to drop the charm offensive. His tone was serious all of a sudden—serious enough that Bailey and Cade both made themselves scarce. “Can we talk for a second?”
He folded his hands on the smooth wooden surface of the bar and waited for her answer. Calla was sure that everyone in the coffee shop was staring straight at them, but she wasn’t about to look around for confirmation. Somehow, her eyes landed on Jackson’s big hands instead.
Calla had seen more than her fair share of football players’ hands during her lifetime.
More often than not, they were covered in calluses.
It was common for receivers, especially, to have swollen knuckles or crooked fingers from repeatedly being injured while catching the ball.
Not Jackson’s, though. He had long, tapered fingers, and the prominent veins on the backs of his hands gave her the impression that he’d grown so accustomed to carrying the weight of the world that it had become second nature to him by now.
No wonder he held so many league records.
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to apologize for yesterday. Your brother’s story is an important part of Bishop Falls’ history. I should’ve known all about him before I stood on that stage and acted like I had any idea what I was doing here.” His gaze fixed with hers and held for a long, loaded moment.
Calla had to remind herself to breathe. An apology was the last thing she’d expected, especially after she’d all but thrown him to the wolves yesterday. She wasn’t prepared for this. She especially wasn’t prepared for a heart-to-heart with Jackson Knight about Ethan.