Chapter Fifteen #2
He relaxed a little at the friendly greeting, which was hardly a given these days—even from a superfan like Maisie.
He’d bounced around so much in the past seven weeks—from hometown hero status to the most reviled man in Bishop Falls—that he no longer knew quite where he stood.
He’d kind of assumed he’d be back to being persona non grata after kicking the star players off the team.
He knew where his few friends stood and the Victory Club had obviously made their opinion clear when they’d tried to fire him, but the general public was a toss-up.
He never knew whether to expect a high five or a jeer.
Case in point: not one other person in the waiting room made eye contact with him. Even their pets appeared to be giving him some serious side-eye.
“Thanks, Maisie.” He tipped his head toward Bishop, trotting merrily beside him.
He had to be the only dog Jackson had ever known who enjoyed going to the vet.
He chalked it up to the way Calla’s dad had with animals.
Or maybe it was the pocket full of dog treats that Dr. Dunne always seemed to have in the pocket of his white coat.
Both, most likely. “Yeah, we’re here for Bishop’s shot. ”
“Super. I’ll let Dr. Dunne know you’re here.
” Maisie, who appeared to own a never-ending collection of animal-themed scrubs—today’s were pale pink with white poodles scattered all over them—leaned forward and lowered her voice.
“How’s Tommy Riess doing? Do you think he’ll be able to play next week?
The whole office is rooting for him, you know. ”
“Tommy’s doing great. I appreciate your support,” Jackson said.
Someone nearby snorted, clearly indicating that the support was hardly universal.
That was fine, though. Jackson’s pizza-inspired optimism refused to take a hit. He didn’t need everyone in town to adore him. He just needed to win. And he needed the Victory Club to keep ignoring him for as long as humanly possible.
Maisie scrunched her face. “Why don’t you come on back and wait in one of the exam rooms where it’s nice and quiet?”
And where people didn’t want to skin him alive?
“Sounds perfect.”
He only had to wait a minute or two for Dr. Dunne, which was great since Jackson had Principal Dean’s tardy warning hanging over his head. His cell phone pinged in the pocket of his jeans just as the older man strode inside the small room, but he ignored it.
“Hi there, Coach Knight.” Dr. Dunne ran his hands over Bishop’s broad back as he sat politely on the exam table. It was a miracle, really. The dog hadn’t emitted a single snort of derision since entering the building. “You too, Bishop. It’s always nice to see you both.”
The phone in Jackson’s pocket chimed again.
“Thanks,” Jackson said, gaze snagging on the state championship ring on Calla’s father’s finger. It matched the one he’d seen on the Victory Club president’s hand at Huddle Up.
“I know it’s time for Bishop’s allergy injection.” Dr. Dunne reached for the syringe a vet tech had placed on a stainless steel medical tray ahead of his arrival. “Can I help you with anything else while you’re here?”
“No, thanks. I think we’re good. We’re still working on the separation anxiety. The probiotic supplements you gave us have helped a little, but…”
“But it’s a long process. Don’t you worry, Coach.
That’s totally normal.” Dr. Dunne deftly administered the injection without a single flinch from the dog.
Then the older man gave Jackson a kind smile as he slipped a dog biscuit from his pocket and offered it to Bishop with an open hand.
“You’re doing a great job as the mascot caretaker, you know. ”
The compliment caught Jackson off guard. He hadn’t had time in the past week to catch a single video on his YouTube watch list. “I am?”
“Absolutely.” Calla’s dad’s eyebrows drew together, surprised by his response.
“I guess I never mentioned that you’re the only coach who’s sought treatment for Bishop’s anxiety.
Likewise, I can’t remember a single one of them taking the time to research dog training or bringing the dog along with them to work. ”
“Maybe I’m just trying to keep my sofa cushions intact,” Jackson countered.
“Or perhaps you care about Bishop more than you want to admit.” The corner of Dr. Dunne’s mouth quirked upward.
“I just wanted you to know that I appreciate all the care you’re giving Bishop.
I’ve never liked the team’s practice of shuffling the mascot from one coach to the next.
He deserves a real home. Every dog does.
You’re the closest thing to a real family that Bishop has ever had. ”
Jackson’s throat grew thick before he could stop it.
He’d never known what a real family even looked like, so hearing that kind of praise hit him harder than he expected.
When his phone pinged again, he dug it out of his pocket just so he wouldn’t have to think about what might happen to the bulldog once he left.
“Sorry, my phone’s been blowing up. I should probably check to see if this is the school.”
“I understand,” the vet said. He began to straighten the exam room while Jackson glanced at a string of text messages from a number he didn’t recognize.
Notice of eviction, the first one read.
Jackson’s heart thudded to a stop. It was probably just a mistake.
He owned his penthouse in Chicago outright, and he wasn’t even responsible for paying the rent on the tiny house where he’d been living in Bishop Falls.
Under the terms of his contract, his housing for the season had been donated by a member of the Victory Club…
Oh, no. A heightened awareness gripped him, much like it did in the seconds before he was about to get tackled.
Jackson scrolled through the following texts as quickly as he could, only absorbing snatches of phrases here and there like twenty-four hours to vacate, forced removal from the premises and rekeying the locks.
This wasn’t a mistake at all. It was payback.
“Coach?” Dr. Dunne said in a voice laced with obvious concern. “Is everything okay?”
Clearly not. Where was he supposed to live between now and the end of the season? The only B&B in town was named Victory Inn, so he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t be able to snag a room there.
So much for giving Bishop a good home. Come tomorrow, Jackson wouldn’t have a roof over his head.
They’re trying to force me to quit. They can’t fire me, so this is their plan B.
Now he knew why they’d been so quiet for the past few days—they’d been trying to come up with a way to drive him out of town.
“There seems to be a problem with my housing,” he said evenly. “No worries. I’m sure I can figure something out.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Dr. Dunne’s forehead creased and he stroked the dog for a quiet moment while Jackson continued to run through his limited options in his head.
The fact that he had a fifty-five-pound, wheezing, snorting roommate to consider magnified the problem tenfold.
Then his phone chimed with yet another text.
What now? He was almost afraid to look.
“Go ahead.” Dr. Dunne nodded at his device. “Sounds like you have a lot going on. That might be important.”
“Thank you. Again, I’m sorry for all the interruptions.” Jackson glanced at the display, expecting to see another message from the Victory Club. What more could they do to him at this point, though? Change the locks on the athletic office?
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the contact information for Principal Dean flash on his lock screen. Texting him another reminder to not be tardy seemed a little extreme, but that was his boss in a nutshell.
Jackson swiped to read the text, and it was immediately obvious from the missive’s length that it wasn’t another pithy comment about his punctuality.
He girded himself for whatever was coming as his eyes canned the paragraph, and then he froze, because he could scarcely wrap his head around what he was reading.
“Coach?” Dr. Dunne prompted again, and his tone was so gentle and understanding that Jackson wanted to crumble.
He couldn’t, though, because things had just gone from bad to far, far worse.
“It’s from the principal.” He raked a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the ends.
As if sensing his distress, Bishop let out a soft whine.
“The players I suspended have been absent all week, and all three sets of parents just notified the registrar’s office that the boys will no longer be attending Bishop Falls High. ”
The veterinarian didn’t look the slightest bit shocked. “I was afraid something like this might happen. I’ve known those boys’ fathers for quite some time, and I’m sure they can’t conceive of a world in which their sons aren’t star athletes.”
He smiled, but there was a wistfulness in his gaze that told Jackson he was thinking about his son…what could’ve been.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Ethan,” Jackson said, because it didn’t seem right to let the moment pass without acknowledging his loss.
Dr. Dunne nodded and dropped his gaze to Bishop.
He spent a long moment caressing the bulldog’s soft ears before speaking again.
“Marvin Stokes owns a trailer park in a neighboring town just outside the district. I’d bet a dollar to a doughnut all three families are using a mobile home address out there to enroll their kids at a different school where they’ll be able to play out the rest of the season. ”
“You think they’d really go that far to keep their kids on a team?” Of course they would. Jackson wasn’t even sure why he was asking, except he needed a beat to wrap his head around this most recent development.
He no longer had anywhere to live, and Stokes, Collier and Brown were most likely now playing for another team. The only question now was, which district? Were the newly patched-together Bulldogs going to have to go up against their former starters?
“Those parents would do anything to keep their boys playing, especially if they’ve got a shot at college ball,” Dr. Dunne said.
Jackson’s jaw clenched. “Where is this trailer park?”
“I wish I had better news for you, Coach,” Calla’s father said, his face drawn and mouth set in a somber line. “It’s in Rustwood.”
“Rustwood,” Jackson repeated woodenly. He felt like he’d just been sucker punched. “We play the Rustwood Roosters next Friday night for homecoming.”
This was it, wasn’t it? The big, bad threat of revenge that everyone warned him about had finally come to pass and, somehow, it was even worse than he’d imagined.
Stokes, Collier and Brown knew all the team plays.
He’d just spent a solid week rebuilding, and now they were going to have to start all over again. From scratch…
With only a week left before the homecoming game.
“You know, whenever I’ve gotten tough news, I’ve found that having a good support system is the most important thing of all,” Dr. Dunne said.
Jackson dipped his head in agreement. As he absently watched the veterinarian’s hand moving soothingly over Bishop’s back, his attention snagged once again on the gold championship ring on Dr. Dunne’s hand.
When he lifted his gaze to Calla’s father’s face, he noticed that the vet was looking at it, too.
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his white coat, out of sight, and cleared his throat. “Remember when I asked you earlier if you needed help with anything other than Bishop’s allergies?”
Jackson nodded. He did, although his current predicament seemed outside the bounds of the veterinarian-patient relationship. Way, way outside the bounds.
The older man’s face cracked into a benevolent smile. “That offer still stands, son.”