Chapter Nine #3
“Who?” Calla asked without looking up. The picture was adorable. Readers were going to love it.
“Jackson.” Bailey nudged her with an elbow and pointed toward the bench. “It looks like he’s subbing all the starters.”
That got Calla’s attention.
She dropped her phone into her cross-body bag and glanced up in time to see a gangly, awkward kid line up as a wide receiver. He looked like he was swimming in his oversize shoulder pads and helmet.
“That’s Tommy Riess. He’s a sophomore on the marching band, and he works part-time as kennel help at Dad’s vet clinic.” She flipped open her notepad. Apparently, she wasn’t finished taking notes, after all.
“Tommy has such a tender touch with the animals, especially the fearful ones. This is going to get ugly,” Dad muttered as the fourth-string quarterback fumbled the snap.
“I’m not sure what Coach Knight is thinking.
Tommy’s been anxious to get off the bench, but he can’t weigh more than one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet.
I’m not sure those kids are ready to be out there. ”
Maybe not, but putting them in was a bold move. A lot of coaches in his position would’ve kept their starters in play until the final whistle. Jackson had finally gotten himself back into the town’s good graces, and here he was, risking it all again.
He’s putting the good of the team first—even before his own reputation.
There was more to Jackson Knight than he liked to let on, wasn’t there? Calla had been wrong about him in more ways than one. What else was he hiding behind that brash image of his? And why was he so intent on keeping the real him a secret?
She watched as Bob Simmons scowled at Jackson in disapproval with each misstep the inexperienced players made on the field.
As the time left in the quarter ran down, the Yellowjackets chipped away at the Bulldogs’ massive lead.
They scored two field goals, but still couldn’t manage to get a touchdown to save their lives.
Through it all, Jackson cut a calm and deliberate figure on the sidelines, despite his team’s clumsy mistakes.
When at last they got a first down, he pumped his fist and cheered as if it had been a touchdown.
On the field, the substitute players jumped up and down, celebrating like they’d just won a championship game in overtime.
Calla’s heart gave the kind of tug it used to do when she watched the Bulldogs play in high school. She couldn’t help it. The whole scene was just so endearing, and when the remaining spectators rose to their feet and began clapping and cheering, she teetered on the brink of getting misty-eyed.
Get ahold of yourself. You will not cry over a football game. You don’t even care who wins.
But heaven help her, she did. Her heart hammered in her chest as the clock wound down to the final seconds and the Bulldogs crept closer and closer to the end zone. She wanted these kids to score, as improbable as it seemed.
“Go, Bulldogs!” someone behind her yelled.
Off to the right, a couple of staunch Bulldogs enthusiasts started a rhythmic chant. “Let’s go, Bulldogs. Let’s go!”
To Calla’s utter astonishment, the cheer caught on.
One by one, people stood, joining in and stomping their feet to the beat until the metal bleachers started to shake beneath her boots.
She never would’ve expected this kind of support for the backup team, especially when the Bulldogs were already so far ahead.
“This is crazy!” Bailey yelled above the cheers, grinning and shaking her head.
“Look! They’re going for it!” Dad pointed toward the substitute quarterback dropping back and scanning the field with only five seconds left on the clock.
It didn’t even make sense. Why would Jackson call a real play with mere seconds left in the game? Any other coach would’ve run down the clock and taken the win.
Clearly the Yellowjackets didn’t get it, either.
Or maybe the opposing team was simply tired and beaten down by the wide margin, because the defense barely went through the motions.
For all practical purposes, they just let the play unfold.
It wasn’t like this ragtag group of third- and fourth-string players would actually score.
The crowd started counting down in anticipation of the final whistle and the Bulldogs’ first official win of the season.
Five…
Four…
The substitute quarterback let loose with a pass. It wasn’t pretty. It was wobbly and a bit all over the place, but miraculously, the throw had just enough of an arc for it to reach one of the receivers.
Three…
Two…
Calla’s heart leaped straight to her throat as little Tommy Riess tripped over his feet running toward the ball.
No way, she thought. No possible way.
Time seemed to stand still, and all around her, the crowd held its collective breath.
Tommy stumbled again, but this time, fate must’ve been watching over that kid because he careened straight into the ball’s path.
It landed squarely in his hands and when it did, he finally found his footing and ran for the end zone like his life depended on it.
One…
Tommy’s foot stepped over the goal line and the ref threw his arms in the air.
“Touchdown!”
Calla couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
She felt like she was in a fever dream as the team scored the extra point following the touchdown and the sidelined players rushed the field, hoisting Tommy into the air as if he’d just scored the winning point in a tied championship game.
It was crazy. No one seemed to care about the huge point spread.
They knew they’d just witnessed something electric…
something special. Something that was undoubtedly going to be splashed all over the front page of tomorrow’s edition of the Lone Star Gazette.
“Oh my gosh, did that seriously just happen!?” Bailey grabbed on to Calla’s arm and jumped up and down as she let loose with a stream of throaty laughter. “This is—”
Her voice drifted off as she glanced over at Calla. “Hon, are you okay?”
Calla blinked furiously against a wave of unshed tears.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
Bailey wasn’t buying it. “It’s okay to get emotional. You know how I am. I cry every time I watch a Hallmark movie.”
“That’s very sweet, but I’m not crying.” Calla sniffed.
Bailey’s gaze flickered with a tenderness that made it difficult for Calla to breathe. “It’s normal to feel things. Just last night I cried over a photo of a three-legged puppy dressed in a tiny sweater that popped up in my Instagram feed.”
This was why Calla adored her best friend so much. After everything they’d been through, she still felt things with her whole heart.
Calla was the complete and total opposite.
Usually, anyway. But if Bailey didn’t stop talking about the sweater-wearing three-legged dog, she might lose it.
The second Tommy crossed that goal line, her heart had somehow leaped outside her body and now it was positioned right on her sleeve for all the world to see.
“It’s just a little cedar fever,” she insisted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.
As if a little pollen could bring on a crying jag of epic proportions.
“Sure, it is.” Bailey cast her a knowing look and then went back to whooping and hollering with the rest of the Bulldog fans.
Calla took a steadying inhale and tried to get a grip on herself. She was a journalist, for goodness’ sake. When was the last time a SportsSphere commentator wept openly at an athletic event?
It was no use, though. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping the sting of tears at the backs of her eyes, especially when her gaze found Jackson.
He beamed with pride as Tommy broke free from the celebration taking place on the field and nearly bowled him over with a bear hug.
Even the notoriously grumpy Bob Simmons cracked a smile as he stood a few feet away.
Whatever happened for the rest of the season, no one in Bishop Falls would forget this moment.
Jackson had just solidified his place in Bulldog history in the most unexpected way possible.
“Sometime the smallest players make the biggest moments. Right, honey?” Dad said.
Calla turned watery eyes toward him.
He didn’t say a word about her atypical display of emotion. He just wrapped his arm around her, squeezed her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Calla closed her eyes and leaned into the embrace. It had been a long time since she’d shared a heartfelt moment with her father in these stands. She didn’t hate it nearly as much as she thought she would.
“I told you Jackson Knight was going to change things around here,” Dad whispered against her hair.
An ache formed in the back of Calla’s throat.
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
“You know, Dad,” she said with a sigh, “I think you might be right.”