Chapter Fourteen #2
It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed not to check her text messages in the middle of Stan’s lecture about proper fact-checking protocols, spurred in part by a story that had recently been published about Mayor Pearl’s lost cat.
The feline in question had been inaccurately identified as a Persian when it was, in fact, a Ragdoll.
She didn’t dare, though. Pulling out a phone in the middle of a meeting was one of Stan’s biggest pet peeves, second only to typos… .
And possibly one of his reporters developing romantic feelings toward the subject of her column, but Calla was trying not to think about that.
A quick scan through her messages once the meeting was over told her all she needed to know: Jackson had actually done it. He’d suspended the boys behind the hazing attack for the remainder of the season, and somehow, he’d still managed to hang on to his job. Calla could scarcely believe it.
Against her better judgment, she fired off an immediate text to the miracle-worker himself.
Nicely done. She added a football emoji, and then chewed on her bottom lip for a full two seconds before writing more. Seriously, Jackson. The Bulldogs are lucky to have you.
Then, before she did something utterly stupid like tacking on a kissy face emoji, she placed her cell phone inside her desk drawer and slammed it shut until she left for football practice later that afternoon.
Right off the bat, she sensed the training session wasn’t going to go as seamlessly as it normally did.
The players moved like their feet were stuck in molasses.
No one seemed to want to cover the positions that had been vacated by the star players who’d been kicked off the team.
With every missed catch and fumbled snap, the set of Jackson’s jaw grew more and more tense.
Bob Simmons’s whistle cut through the air repeatedly, sharp and relentless, until Jackson said a few terse words to him that she couldn’t quite catch.
By the end of the two-hour workout, the team appeared to be more defeated than determined.
Shoulders slumped as the teens made their way to the locker room.
Even the coaches seemed eager to get off the field and put an end to the misery, except for Jackson and Cade, engaged in a deep conversation in the end zone.
Ordinarily, Calla would’ve packed up and headed home, but the situation seemed pretty dire.
Whenever Ethan had a bad practice back in high school, Dad would declare a pizza night.
They’d get takeout from the best pizza place in town and eat it at one of the picnic tables in the town green while fireflies danced on the horizon and the stars shone bright overhead.
Pizza had been Calla’s favorite food ever since.
She made a quick trip to Bulldog Avenue and managed to get back to the stadium just in time. Cade waved to her as he headed toward the locker room and she waved back, stomach tumbling as Jackson redirected his steps in her direction.
When he reached the bleachers, he shielded his eyes with his hands, squinting against the sunset. “Since when did you become the type to stick around after the final whistle, Calla Dunne?”
His mouth curved into a smile, and for the first time since he’d taken his place on the field, he looked somewhat relaxed.
Staying had been the right call. So had the pizza. The poor guy needed a little moral support, that’s all. She could be Jackson’s friend and still write about his team.
Sure, because that’s all you want from this principled hunk of a man: friendship.
Calla’s heart gave an undeniable flutter.
This had all been so much easier when she thought Jackson was the same person the press portrayed him to be.
Her first impression of him on the day of the welcome parade had really sealed the deal.
The absolute last thing she’d expected was to fall for the new football coach.
But that had all been a ruse, hadn’t it?
He’d pulled the rug right out from under her before she’d even realized what was happening.
First, he’d gone and made her start caring about the sport again, thanks to the tender way he talked to her about her brother’s legacy and that wildly exciting third quarter in the first game of the season.
Then he’d doubled down and reminded her how much fun tossing the ball around could be on Halloween night.
Imagine her mortification when she’d realized she might actually like the game she’d been so intent on loathing for so long.
Calla could’ve handled it, though. Maybe…
Admittedly, she’d thought about kissing him once or twice.
More often than that, if she was really being honest. The number had to be in the double-digits by now, although she’d lost count somewhere around the time he’d first called her sweetheart.
Still, she hadn’t acted on it. There’d still been a chance she could keep her reporter hat for the duration of his stay in Bishop Falls.
She’d been having fun with Jackson—more fun than she’d allowed herself to have for quite some time.
Since he’d been in town, she could feel her hard edges beginning to soften.
She was a different Calla when she was around him.
At first, those changes had terrified her, but then she’d realized she enjoyed feeling hopeful again.
The anvil that always sat in the center of her chest, weighing her down when she woke up in the morning, felt lighter every day.
She’d always felt like a bit of an outsider in her own hometown, and now there was someone here who understood her…
who knew what she was thinking before she had to say anything.
And still, she’d somehow managed to convince herself that once Jackson left, everything would stay the same.
But now that he’d done the impossible, all hope was lost. She couldn’t pretend that whatever they had was just a harmless flirtation anymore.
The second he’d kicked those boys off the team and taken on the Victory Club, he’d stolen a chunk of her heart.
Calla wasn’t sure she’d ever get it back, and even worse, she didn’t think she wanted to.
Win or lose, there’s only one way this season ends. He’s going back to Chicago.
She swallowed that wretched truth down like she always did when it wormed its way back into her head. Calla had dealt with loss before. She could do it again, right?
“You looked like you could use some moral support out there,” she said, and the affectionate glow in his eyes was almost too much to take. What was she doing? A heart could only take so much loss before it broke for good.
She gave the pizza box a little nudge with the tip of her red boot. “Also, a little sustenance can’t hurt.”
“You brought me dinner?” The corners of his eyes crinkled in that way she loved so much. “Careful there, sweetheart. You might make me think you’re on my side in all this mess when you’re supposed to be impartial.”
There it was again.
Sweetheart.
A tender ache bloomed in her chest. She drummed her fingertips on the metal bleachers and looked away. “You just seemed like you might need some fuel, that’s all. Plus someone needs to save you from whatever questionable protein bars you’ve probably been surviving on.”
He snort-laughed, sat down beside her and gave her thigh a gentle nudge with his. “What makes you think I need saving?”
They both knew the answer to this question already.
If the team didn’t win the next game, his head was on the chopping block.
With just one loss, the terms of his contract paved the way for his termination.
The Victory Club wouldn’t hesitate to pressure the athletic director into yanking the head coaching position away from Jackson and putting a puppet like Bob Simmons in charge.
Calla shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Just a hunch, I guess.”
She stole a look at him, and a muscle in his jaw flexed as he looked out over the turf. Up close, she could spy the tension etched in his face…the strain carved into the tight line of his mouth.
“Jackson,” she said quietly. Darkness fell around them as the stadium lights shut off and the sun dipped lower in the sky. The evening light felt so soft and forgiving that she gave in and let her head rest against his shoulder. “I think we both know whose side I’m on.”
He didn’t say anything. He just turned his head ever so slightly and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair.
“You’ve got this,” she said.
“You think so?”
“I know so.” She lifted her head, turned and regarded him through narrowed eyes.
“But in case you need some extra motivation, I’m willing to make you a promise.
If the Bulldogs beat Rustwood, I’ll let you buy me the biggest, most obnoxious mum you can find, and I’ll wear it to the homecoming dance after the game. Assuming I have a date, that is.”
His gaze shimmered with playful mischief. “Well, well, well. This certainly makes things more interesting.”
“I just know how much you love a wager.” They shared a quiet smile at the memory of the football toss.
I love football. Calla could still taste those words on the tip of her tongue, surprisingly sweet.
She took a deep breath. “Also, I want to see the Bulldogs win as much as you do. I guess I’m no different than anyone else in this town. Who knew?”
She laughed under her breath, but Jackson just shook his head.
“Wrong,” he said, and there was a rawness in his voice that coiled low in her belly. He reached out a tentative hand to cup her face, and when she didn’t pull away, he traced her lower lip with a reverent graze of his thumb. “There’s no one like you, Calla.”
If he didn’t kiss her, she might just die. But she refused to take her last breath at Bulldog Stadium. No way would she let that happen, so instead, she gulped and whispered, “Tell me something. Please?”
“Anything,” he said, searching her gaze for a hint at what she was getting at.