Chapter Eleven #2
Calla’s heart jerked as Jackson’s fourth ball shot through the target. That sneaky, smug, overconfident man had tricked her. She should’ve been furious right then, but inexplicably, all she could seem to do was shake her head and laugh.
“Sorry, Calla,” Cade said. But with a massive grin on his face, he didn’t look a bit contrite.
Neither did Jackson. He didn’t bother with a cocky victory celebration or respond to any of the numerous people who tried to high-five him. He simply walked toward her with a slightly raised eyebrow and a subtle swagger that gave her the ridiculous urge to pick up a pair of pom-poms.
She knew working this booth would be disastrous, but wow. This really took the cake.
“Congratulations,” she said, tipping her head back to look him in the eye as he came to a stop directly in front of her.
With his wide shoulders and massive build, his athletic form shielded her from view of the crowd.
For that, she was immensely grateful. While they’d been playing ball, it had been easy to forget that people were watching.
Now that the battle was over and she was going to have to utter those three little words , as he’d called them, she was acutely aware of their audience.
“Thanks. Good game,” he said, like they were two players on the field at the end of an actual game.
But when he offered his hand for a shake and she slipped her palm in his, there was no mistaking the tenderness of his touch.
His thumb caressed the back of her hand, and she didn’t want to let go.
She wanted to stay in that silly carnival booth and be the girl she’d somehow become over the past few hours.
For a few sacred moments, she’d been her old self again.
Calla had missed that girl more than she could’ve ever imagined.
Would it really be so bad to let everything go and live like this all the time?
The pretense was exhausting. How much longer could she keep it up?
Keeping the world at arm’s length was no easy task, and somehow, being around Jackson made her wonder if all that effort was truly worth it.
The temptation to close her eyes, lay her head against his strong chest and at long last let herself rest was almost too much to bear.
She smiled up at him—or she tried, anyway. But with her heart lodged in her throat, her mouth simply wouldn’t cooperate. The best she could do was a wistful curve of her lips.
“You don’t have to say it,” he whispered in a voice so low and gentle that she barely heard it.
He was giving her an out because he’d mistaken her bittersweet expression for grief, and in a way, that’s exactly what it was.
But it wasn’t the loss of Ethan that pierced her soul this time.
It was the loss of everything she’d so willingly given up in the wake of his accident.
She could see it all so clearly now—the way she’d thrown it all away in a desperate attempt to protect her heart. She’d given up on laughter.
On life.
On love.
And for what? Nothing could bring Ethan back.
“It’s okay,” she said, smiling through the tears that filled her eyes. “You won fair and square.”
Jackson shook his head, prepared to argue.
“It’s fine. I promise.” Calla pressed her free hand against the steady beat of his heart. “I want to say it.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “You do?”
She nodded as she took a deep inhale. Here goes nothing. “I love…”
His gaze fixed on hers, and for a wild, nonsensical moment, she almost slipped up and said the wrong three little words.
What. Was. Happening? She wasn’t in love with Jackson Knight.
She had a little crush, that’s all. Half the women in America, and 99 percent of the ones in Bishop Falls, were infatuated with him. Why would Calla be any different?
She cleared her throat, forced a smile and pretended that’s all this was—just a harmless crush, when she knew full well that there was nothing harmless about it. “…football.”
Then she spied it—the arrogant glint in his eye that she’d known was coming the instant his fourth ball had zipped through the vampire cutout.
“That’s my girl,” he said with a smirk.
“You’re still impossible,” she said with a hearty roll of her eyes. Then she snatched her hand away from his rock-solid chest and crossed her arms. “We should get back to work. There’s still a line.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Something tells me they’re here for more than just a chance to throw a ball around.”
And that was precisely why they needed to get their booth back on track. Letting Jackson see the real her was one thing, but she had no desire to put on a show for the entire town.
Even if that was sort of what they’d already been doing all day.
“Come on, Coach.” She tugged him by the hand in an attempt to haul him toward the counter, even though there was no dragging Jackson anywhere he didn’t want to go, given the sheer size of him. “I’ll take tickets and you can pass out footballs.”
He relented, allowing her to pull him back to reality. “Anything you say, boss.”
The excitement surrounding their booth died down once carnival goers realized the show was over.
For the next few hours, they passed out prizes, chased after stray balls and shouted encouragement to anyone who wanted to try their turn at Frankenstein’s Football Toss.
By the time the sun went down, they only had a handful of stuffed animals remaining for the winners to choose from.
Families with children left to go trick-or-treating, and the parking lot thinned.
Even the teenagers disappeared, opting to attend the horror show movie marathon going on at the classic theater on Bulldog Avenue.
The cinema’s annual Halloween event had been a big thing since back when Calla was in high school.
It included a contest with awards for Scariest Costume, Funniest Costume, Best Group Costume and Best Homemade Costume.
“Looks like it’s about time to shut down,” Jackson said, glancing at the display on his smartphone just as the school bell chimed, signaling the end of the carnival.
Calla slid him a look as she gathered the last few footballs from the floor and placed them in a mesh drawstring bag. “That was an eerily accurate guess.”
A grin tugged at the corner of Jackson’s lips. “I have a knack for knowing the exact second when the bell’s going to ring.”
“I bet Principal Dean loves that,” Calla said, tongue firmly planted in cheek.
“I’m hardly his favorite, but I think I might be growing on him.” Jackson held his finger and thumb mere millimeters apart. “Just a tiny bit.”
Calla brushed her bangs from her eyes. The wind had really picked up since it had gotten dark outside. Overhead, a full harvest moon hung low in the sky, glowing like liquid gold.
She took a deep breath and met Jackson’s gaze. Then, one by one, the lights in the parking lot flickered off, wrapping them up in a blanket of velvety darkness. As if by a stroke of Halloween magic, their little carnival booth felt cozy and intimate again.
“It seems like you’re growing on a lot of people around here,” she said quietly.
Something had shifted between them today. Avoiding him again starting tomorrow was going to be next to impossible, but right here, right now, she didn’t much care.
“You think so?” He tucked a wind-whipped lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger against her cheek in a whisper-soft touch.
“I know so,” Calla said, smiling into his eyes.
They still hadn’t done anything wrong. Not technically, although she had a feeling Stan might disagree.
Calla didn’t want to think about her editor. In fact, he was the farthest possible thing from her mind, which made it all the more strange when she thought she spied his familiar silhouette walking toward them from the school’s main building.
“My boss,” she blurted and then stumbled backward so fast that she nearly hit her head on the wooden ghost cutout.
Jackson caught her by the elbow just in time. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Calla lied. She definitely wasn’t okay.
She was developing feelings…for a football player .
She couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore, and just as she was trying her best to get used to the idea, along came Stanley Miller to burst her bubble.
“I mean, not really. My boss is here, and it looks like he’s coming this way. ”
“Now? But the carnival is over.” Jackson turned to follow her gaze.
“I know. This can’t be good.” Panic coiled in the pit of her stomach.
He must’ve heard what happened with the football toss and the crowd they’d attracted. Couldn’t the lecture wait until Monday morning? Tracking her down like this seemed extreme, even for Stan.
Jackson’s jaw clenched, and even in her nervous state, Calla could appreciate the effortless masculinity of his rugged features. “Don’t look now, but Principal Dean is with him and they’re definitely headed in this direction.”
Oh, fun! Maybe we’re both about to get fired.
Surely not. They were fully grown adults, not a couple of kids who’d just been caught making out on school property.
But as the two men grew closer and their tense expressions became visible in the amber light of the moon, Calla wasn’t so convinced.
“Calla.” Principal Dean nodded at her and then shifted weary eyes toward Jackson. Something was most definitely wrong, and she was beginning to think it might be more serious than anything to do with their carnival booth. “Coach Knight.”
“Stanley Miller.” Stan introduced himself to Jackson and extended his hand for a shake. “I’m the editor-in-chief at the Lone Star Gazette .”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jackson said.
Stan folded his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. “I wish it could’ve been under more pleasant circumstances.”
“What’s going on?” Calla asked. She couldn’t stand the wait another second.
Principal Dean drew in a long breath before answering.
“Mr. Miller just received word via the newspaper’s police scanner that one of our students has been taken to County General Hospital.
He made a few calls, and once he found out the nature of the student’s injuries, he came by to apprise me of the situation. ”
The words were such a shock that Calla could scarcely make sense of what the principal was saying. She’d known in her gut that something bad must’ve happened, but this was the last thing she’d expected to hear.
“What’s this about?” Jackson asked, and the weight of his tone frightened her even more.
When Ethan had been hurt, she’d seen his injury firsthand.
She’d been right there in the stands, close enough to hear the crunch of the tackle and the dead weight of his body as it hit the Astroturf with a sickening thunk.
Still, it had taken hours for the reality of the situation to fully sink in.
Even when the stretcher had been wheeled onto the field and paramedics had taken over the scene, she’d thought that ultimately, her brother would be okay.
Such was the innocence of youth.
Now, she knew better. A student was in the hospital and whatever had prompted the injury had ended up on the police scanner. Dozens of possibilities were spinning through her mind, and each one was worse than the next.
“The sheriff is describing it as a hazing incident,” Stan said as his gaze slid toward Jackson. “Some of the varsity football players took one of the younger kids out for a bit of fun, and it seems as if things got a little out of hand.” A little out of hand? A boy was in the hospital.
Calla shook her head as Jackson went rigid beside her. “Stan, I know I’m not fully up to speed on what went on, but I’ve already got a problem with your word choice.”
Her boss held up a hand. “Now, Calla. Let’s try and stay calm until we know more.”
The absolute last thing she needed was to be told to calm down.
“Stan—” she started.
He cut her off, directing his attention toward Jackson again. “Since Calla covers the Bulldogs, I’m sending her to the hospital to find out whatever she can. We don’t have much information right now, but since it involves the team, Principal Dean felt like you might want to head out there, too.”
The principal chimed in, adding a few comments, but everything sounded like white noise. Calla felt like she might be sick. Was this real life or a terrible dream? What had happened to Ethan was bad enough, but hazing was an entirely different matter. Hazing was intentional.
Her throat went thick as she sent up a silent prayer for whoever had been hurt. She was having so much trouble focusing that she could barely form a coherent thought.
Then Jackson spoke again—just a single word that cut straight through the static in her head. “Who?”
Calla’s boss and the principal exchanged a look.
“Tell me,” Jackson demanded. An angry vein flashed in his temple. “Which one of my players got hurt?”
Principal Dean’s gaze dropped to the ground. Even Stan, her overbearing boss, couldn’t seem to look Jackson in the eyes, and that’s when Calla knew.
No. Please no, her thoughts screamed. Anyone but him. He was so much smaller than the other players. So hopeful. So devoted to the team.
She closed her eyes tight as the principal finally said the boy’s name.
“Tommy Riess.”