Chapter Sixteen #2
Jackson knew it was just an expression, but ever since Calla had uttered those words, they’d been playing in his head on repeat.
He couldn’t seem to shake them. They kept spinning round and round all through supper in the Dunnes’ dining room, where he, Calla and Dr. Dunne had eaten baked spaghetti and garlic bread at a real dining room table, just like the families he’d seen on television when he’d been growing up.
Calla’s dad had said grace, and Bishop nudged Jackson’s shin under the table, angling for scraps, and the entire episode had been so completely foreign to Jackson’s own experience that by the time dessert was served—vanilla bean ice cream with warm caramel topping—he knew why Calla’s words had stuck the way they did.
This was what a real home was like.
He wondered how differently his life would’ve gone if he’d ever had a soft place like this to land.
Would he have signed with the Cyclones, or would he have chosen a simpler path?
Maybe his love for football would’ve taken another turn, and he’d have ended up coaching his kids’ peewee football team instead of playing on TV.
He really couldn’t say. There’d been too much water under the bridge for him to contemplate a different existence, and besides, he’d busted his chops for the life that he had now.
He was still busting his chops. Saving his career was his sole reason for being here in Bishop Falls in the first place.
The longer he stayed, the more those reasons seemed to fall away.
He had another purpose here now, and sometimes it felt more authentic than whatever Harper had decided he was supposed to be doing in Texas.
Every time he let one of her calls roll to voicemail, he reminded himself she had his best interest at heart.
Bishop Falls wasn’t supposed to be real.
It was supposed to be his redemption, not his calling.
But damned if this house didn’t feel like home, even if that wasn’t what Calla had really meant.
People who grew up in nurturing families took things like wholesome meals and an extra pile of blankets for granted, but for Jackson, such simple acts of kindness scraped him raw.
They broke down his defenses, and by the time dinner was over and he found himself washing dishes alongside Calla at the kitchen sink, Chicago felt like a faraway dream.
“I’m going to pop over to the clinic for evening rounds,” Dr. Dunne said as he pulled on a quilted jacket emblazoned with the same illustrated version of the Bishop Falls bulldog that was splashed across the historic water tower looming over the town green. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful,” Calla called as Jackson handed her a freshly scrubbed plate.
They’d fallen straight into a seamless dishwashing routine—he washed and she dried—as natural and rhythmic as a slow dance around the homey kitchen.
“Thanks again for dinner, Dr. Dunne,” he said as he slid another dish into the soapy water. Then his eyes connected with Calla’s father’s. They were the same sparkling aquamarine as his daughter’s were. “And for everything else.”
“Stop thanking me, and please call me Bill. You’re welcome here, Jackson. We’re happy to help.” His gaze shifted to Calla, and he gave a sly tilt of his head. “Right, honey?”
“Totally.” Her cheeks bloomed a gentle pink. Jackson supposed it could have been a reaction to the sinkful of warm, sudsy water between them, but he doubted it.
He bit back a grin and passed her another clean plate as her dad closed the door.
Alone for the first time since Jackson had dropped off his luggage in the garage apartment, a charged silence sparked between them.
Neither of them said anything until, finally, the gentle splash of the dishwater seemed absurdly loud to Jackson’s ears.
Calla must’ve thought the same, because they both started talking at once.
“I missed you at practice this after—”
“Your dad is a great—”
Their mouths slammed shut in unison, and Jackson felt a slow smile tip his lips. “You missed me, huh?”
Calla rolled her eyes, but the gesture didn’t have its usual bite. “You know what I meant.”
He watched her intently until her flush deepened a shade or two. Then she looked away, concentrating on the dish in her hands harder than he’d ever seen anyone stare at a plate before.
“I’m pretty sure I do,” he said. He missed her already and he hadn’t even gone back to his real life yet…
Not for lack of trying on the Victory Club’s part.
She grew still beside him. He could practically hear that creative brain of hers overthinking before she spoke.
What was it going to take to get her to let her hair down like she’d done on Halloween?
“I knew something was wrong when you weren’t at practice.
For a while there, I thought maybe they’d run you out of town. ”
“I haven’t gone anywhere.”
Yet. They were both thinking it, but neither of them dared to say the word out loud.
His hands stilled in the soapy water, and he turned to look at her with quiet intention. “Your dad called me son today. I know it’s just a turn of phrase, but coming from him, it felt like it meant something.”
It had certainly meant something to Jackson—it meant that he’d finally done something right and meaningful with his life besides put points up on a scoreboard.
“It did. Dad doesn’t just throw that phrase around, but I’m sure you’ve figured that out already.” A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. “The garage apartment used to belong to Ethan, you know.”
“I kind of guessed.” The accessible features like wide halls and doorways to accommodate wheelchairs and the roll-in shower had jumped right out at him.
“My dad likes you a lot, Jackson. He respects you—for more reasons than you probably realize.”
It was everything Jackson had always longed to hear from his own father and never had.
Maybe that’s why he found the kind words so hard to believe.
He’d tried so hard to make his parents proud when he was young.
Somewhere along the line, he’d just…stopped.
He’d carved out a life for himself where other people’s approval didn’t matter, unless it related to his career.
He’d grown so accustomed to people thinking the worst of him that he didn’t quite know what to do when they didn’t.
The Victory Club and their ridiculous antics didn’t scare him at all.
Nor did the kids switching teams. Those things, he could deal with.
But this newfound desire to do right by someone sure as heck did.
This was new, and it was daunting. He didn’t have a great track record when it came to pleasing others, but he wanted to make Calla happy.
He wanted to help her and her family heal.
He wanted that more than he’d ever wanted anything else in his life.
“He did say I was the best mascot caretaker that Bishop had ever had,” Jackson said, smiling at the memory.
“Well, there you go. If there’s one way to Dad’s heart, it’s being kind to animals.” Calla scrunched her nose. “Other than winning a state championship, obviously.”
“I guess I’ll have to work on that, then.” Jackson chuckled.
One step at a time , he told himself. First, they had to beat Rustwood.
He had all weekend to come up with a plan.
Tonight, he needed to rest. He’d just had to grab all his possessions and pick up and move with next to no notice.
Even Principal Dean had been sympathetic when he found out about Jackson’s housing emergency.
He’d urged him to take the rest of the day off and hadn’t once uttered the word tardy .
“You’ve got this, Coach. I believe in you.” Calla placed a hand on his chest. His pulse quickened at her touch, and in the quietest corner of his heart, he felt like everything was going to be all right. “Promise me something, though? Please?”
“Anything,” Jackson said, covering her hand with his.
“Promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t leave without saying goodbye.” She met his gaze full-on as she said it, but the hitch in her voice told him just how vulnerable the request made her feel.
He smiled into her eyes. “I promise. When it comes time to go, you’ll be the first to know. I’d never leave without telling you goodbye.”
And in the unfiltered honestly of the moment, he almost promised to kiss her goodbye, too. In fact, he thought they should practice that goodbye kiss immediately…and every possible chance they had between now and the end of the season.
But Calla removed her hand from his chest before he could form the words. “Do you mind finishing up here without me? I’ve got a column due by midnight, and I think I need to delete it and start over again from scratch.”
“You’re going to erase the entire thing?” He tilted his head as he regarded her. Those wheels in her head were definitely turning.
“Yes,” she said with a firm nod.
“Why?”
“You took a stand. Heck, even Dad is going against the Victory Club now, and those guys are his friends.” She gathered herself with a deep inhale.
She was proud of her father, and she was proud of Jackson, too.
A lesser man might’ve packed up and moved on by now.
Not Jackson, though. “I think it’s high time I took a stand, too, come what may. ”
He lifted a single eyebrow. “Easy there, tiger.”
She swatted him with her dish towel before folding it into a neat square. Then she surprised him by stretching up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Her lips lingered, soft and warm against his skin.
“Night night,” she whispered.
“Night night.”
And then she was gone, and every time Jackson glanced in the direction of the house from the garage apartment later that night, a gentle light glowed from her bedroom window. Whatever she was up to, she was attacking it in full Calla Dunne fashion.
Come what may, she’d said.
Those words didn’t bode well. Doubt crept its way under his skin. He wanted only good things for Calla. She deserved that much. But he also knew that speaking her mind was integral to who she was. He just wasn’t sure Bishop Falls was ready to hear whatever she had to say.
Jackson’s heart felt full and empty at the same time as he rested his head on his pillow and closed his eyes.
His feet didn’t hang off the bed here. In fact, the mattress felt just right.
And in the last moments before he drifted off to sleep, he leaned over to scoop Bishop onto the empty space beside him.
“Just this once,” Jackson lied. “This isn’t going to be a regular thing.”
The bulldog knew better, though. He emitted a satisfied huff as he nosed the sheets, then stretched out beside Jackson as if he owned every inch of the mattress.
Home at last.