Chapter Four #3
“Am I supposed to believe that overnight you learned all about him?” Her gaze flitted to her brother’s portrait before she could stop it.
“I learned enough to know that I should’ve been more sensitive when I asked about your last name.
” Jackson’s gaze trailed after hers, and an aching vulnerability settled deep in the pit of Calla’s stomach as he took in her brother’s image.
“Ethan was a star player, and during his senior year, he suffered a catastrophic spinal cord injury on the field when he was tackled at the five-yard-line at the state championship in Austin. After graduation, he went on to work as an assistant coach for the Bulldogs for five years until he passed away from pneumonia two days before his twenty-third birthday.”
That was her brother’s story, all right.
But those were just facts. They said so much and so little, all at the same time.
He’d left out the part about her parents divorcing a year after the accident, and how her mother’s visits grew fewer and fewer until she stopped coming around altogether.
Nor had he mentioned Bailey being Ethan’s high school sweetheart, and how she’d married him while he was on his deathbed.
An internet search could never explain how those last days had been filled with overwhelming grief and happiness, achingly intertwined.
Nor could it convey how much Ethan loved football, even after it took everything from him.
He lived and breathed the game, and had he survived to see Jackson Knight take over the program, the first thing he would’ve told the pro baller was how much he hated the fact that his story had given rise to the twisted belief that, as a result of his injury, the Bulldogs had been cursed to never win a state championship again…
Even if time and year after year of coming in second at State had given the curse an undeniable air of legitimacy.
“You don’t have to—” Calla started, but Jackson wasn’t quite finished.
“You were right to call me out the way you did, Calla,” he said.
Her gaze lingered on the portrait, thoughts tangled in the youthful optimism etched on her brother’s face before she forced herself to look away. “I know I was.”
Jackson’s face split into a smile—not one of his cocky, flirtatious half grins, but one steeped in an authenticity that made her throat go tight. “See? That’s what I like about you. You tell it like it is.”
“Is that such a rare thing?”
He shrugged one massive shoulder. “You’d be surprised.”
Bailey slid his coffee in front of him and quickly darted back to the checkout area. The pile of whipped cream that topped his latte was so tall that it immediately started melting down the side of the cup.
“Are you really going to drink that?” Calla asked. This, she had to see.
“Of course.” He took a slow sip, savoring the rich flavor, only to lower the cup and reveal an inevitable white whipped cream mustache stretched across his upper lip.
Calla laughed, despite every effort not to.
“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“You’re impossible,” she said and tried to hide her smile behind her own latte with its normal portion of whipped cream.
She absolutely did not like this man. She refused .
But he was the first person in so long who was actually willing to say Ethan’s name to her out loud.
That meant something…something that almost made her want to ask him to stay a while.
“Shouldn’t you be heading to work? You don’t want to be tardy.
Principal Dean runs a tight ship over there. ”
“Yeah, I got that impression yesterday.” Jackson nodded but made no move to budge from his barstool. “I was thinking…how would you like to start attending the Bulldog practices in the afternoon?”
Another surprise, and this one was a real doozy.
Calla took a slow sip of her latte and tried her best not to react.
Did she want to sit and watch football practice every day?
Not really. Would it be good for her career?
Undoubtedly. Her entire job revolved around Bulldog football, and she’d never had that sort of access before. It was unheard-of.
“Football practices have always been closed, with good reason.” She slid her gaze toward him. “Trust me, you don’t want to change that policy. Every member of the Victory Club will show up, and they’ll all have an opinion. You don’t want that kind of scrutiny.”
His eyebrows drew together. “What’s the Victory Club?”
He really was clueless, wasn’t he?
“It’s the booster club—parents, alumni, former players.” Also known as the people who are supplementing your salary.
Calla left that last part out, because she hadn’t been able to confirm it.
But she knew the school didn’t have the kind of funds to pay Jackson’s rumored fee.
The Victory Club had to have had a hand in bringing him here.
Even the rental home he occupied had been provided by the boosters.
It belonged to one of the Victory Club’s most active members, a local real estate agent whose son played first-string defense.
Jackson shook his head. “I’m not worried about them.”
“You should be,” Calla countered. “They’ll eat you alive much worse than those reporters did last night. If the team loses a single game, you’re out. You know that, right? They’ll see to it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s written into your contract.”
He rested his elbows on the counter, fingers loosely wrapped around his coffee cup, the perfect picture of nonchalance.
That’s right—why would he care if he got fired?
He didn’t want to be here in the first place.
“The invitation is for you, specifically. I’m not opening up practice to anyone else. ”
She was going to say yes, obviously. It wasn’t as if she had a real choice in the matter.
Still, she was dying to know what he was up to.
As soon as she wrote about this in her column, he’d be inundated with requests from other people who felt like they deserved to be there, too. He had to know that.
“Why are you doing this, Jackson? I’m the biggest critic you’ve got in this town,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Because I owe you one. I told you I was sorry and I meant it, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that actions speak louder than words.” He stood and drained his latte, then pulled a face.
“I knew it. You hate that drink, don’t you?”
But he’d finished it. If he was letting his behavior do the talking, what exactly did that mean?
Don’t romanticize him. He’s simply trying to salvage his reputation in this town, and he’s using you to do it.
Calla knew this already. She wasn’t sure why she needed the reminder.
“I loved it,” he lied, and it was truly alarming how believable he sounded.
Take note, she told herself.
“See you this afternoon at practice?”
Her breath caught despite herself as a tiny flicker of anticipation sparked deep in her chest. She wanted to dismiss the feeling, but it tugged at her heart, impossible to ignore, leaving her uneasy with the realization that she was looking forward to this, no matter how much she wanted to pretend she wasn’t.
“See you then.”