Chapter Eighteen
J ust as Jackson hoped, Calla’s opinion piece in the Gazette lit an immediate fire under the team.
After Tommy read all the way to the end of the article, where Calla had signed off with “Go Bulldogs,” the boys responded by spontaneously echoing the battle cry with enough enthusiasm to shake the walls of the locker room.
Her words had unlocked something inside them that only she could.
If Ethan Dunne’s own sister didn’t believe in the curse, then why should they?
Practice that afternoon had been a complete one-eighty compared to the previous week.
As the days went on, it just kept getting better and better.
By Tuesday, Jackson and Cade started training the boys on the Underdog Blitz again.
By Wednesday, they’d rechristened it the Bulldawg Blitz, because—as Calla had taught him oh-so-well—words had power.
When Thursday morning rolled around, Jackson woke up convinced they could start working on two more new plays, despite the fact that the game was just a day away.
As the sun came up, he pushed his eggs around with a spatula in the Dunnes’ kitchen, absently making offensive and defensive formations with the yolks and the whites sizzling in the pan.
The garage apartment wasn’t equipped with a full kitchen, and Bill insisted he should feel free to use the main house whenever he wanted.
Jackson still met up with Cade at Huddle Up on the way to school every morning, but he’d also been taking full advantage of having a working coffee maker at his disposal, along with a seemingly endless supply of farm fresh eggs from the Bishop Falls farmer’s market.
Jackson was so consumed by his breakfast scrimmage that he didn’t even notice Calla stumble into the kitchen until she was just an arm’s length away, staring at him, wide-eyed.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize you were…um…” Her gaze drifted over his T-shirt, eyes lingering on the way it hugged his pectoral muscles.
The tee was a holdover from high school with his team logo—the Rams—so faded that it was barely visible, and the shirt really didn’t fit.
But it was as soft as tissue paper and still his favorite sleep shirt, paired with plain gray sweats.
“You didn’t realize I was what?” he asked as he felt his mouth tug into a crooked grin.
She was just shy of ogling him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Oh, the irony. Who supposedly hated football and football players, again?
It took her a few seconds to find her words.
She didn’t quite manage it until after she dragged her gaze upward, finally meeting his gaze.
Then she swallowed, the quiet sound breaking the silence between them.
“I didn’t realize you were here. You’re always up so early.
I keep missing you before you leave for work. ”
Bishop shimmied toward her, wiggling his stubby tail as he greeted her with a series of grunts.
“Hey there, handsome,” she said, bending down to run her fingertips over the soft folds of his jowls and pressing a smacking kiss to the top of his broad head.
A tug of something that felt an awful lot like envy pulled at Jackson’s chest. Super. He was jealous of a dog now. He was officially unrecognizable as the person he’d been before moving to Texas.
Calla stood and pulled the sash of her fuzzy bathrobe more tightly around her slender form. With her honey-colored hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head and loose strands framing her face, she looked more beautiful than anyone had a right to before six in the morning.
“You’ve really been keeping busy this week,” she said, tucking one of the stray tendrils behind her ear.
Other than regularly scheduled team practices, they’d barely seen each other all week.
Jackson reached into one of the kitchen cabinets for a mug, poured her a cup of coffee and added a generous dollop of the flavored creamer she loved so much. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Things should calm down after Friday night.”
Assuming they won…
Jackson wasn’t even letting himself consider the alternative.
“Don’t apologize. Believe me, I get it.” She sipped her coffee, gaze turning tender as their eyes met over the rim of her cup. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m feeling pretty good, and so are the boys—thanks to you and your article.
We haven’t had much time to talk about that, have we?
” He plated his eggs and pushed them to the side.
He’d been hoping all week for a moment alone with her, and he wasn’t about to waste it.
“Actually, I have something for you. I’ve been carrying it around for days, waiting for the right time to give it to you. ”
“Oh.” Her lips parted ever so slightly, and the anticipation in her gaze brought a pang to his chest.
He swallowed it down and reached into the pocket of his sweats for the trading card he’d kept on him, tucked away, ever since he’d found it. The edges of the card were soft and frayed with age. Jackson fumbled with it for a second, hesitating before he handed it to her.
She took it, and her entire face lit up with a smile when she realized what she was looking at. “It’s your rookie card from your first year with the Cyclones.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, bashful for one of the first times in his life. “Yeah. I…um…found it in your brother’s apartment.”
She stared at him, breath catching. “What?”
He nodded. “It was tucked between the pages of an empty journal on the bedside table. I wasn’t trying to snoop. I just—”
“I’m so glad you found this.” She pressed the trading card to her chest and beamed at him. “I can’t believe it. Your rookie card…of all the ones that could’ve been there. I never knew he had this. He didn’t even collect football cards.”
“It’s crazy, right?” Jackson reached for the sash of her robe and gave it a gentle tug, pulling her closer.
“So crazy.” She grinned.
The air between them shifted. The delicious tension was still there, just like it always was, but also something new. Something tender. Did she have any idea how much she’d come to mean to him?
“I know this might sound nuts, but you finding this in Ethan’s apartment almost feels like…”
“A sign?” he said quietly.
He’d thought so, too, and Jackson wasn’t the type to look for signs. But the instant he’d seen the card, a stillness had come over him that he couldn’t quite explain. He’d whispered her brother’s name, half expecting him to answer.
He hadn’t—not audibly, anyway. But to Jackson, it had almost felt like a blessing. Like Ethan had somehow known he and Calla would meet one day, and he wanted them to understand that he approved…that whatever they had was meant to be.
“A sign.” Calla nodded, her lovely face lit with wonder. “Exactly.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, tugging her even closer as he let his gaze drop slowly, purposefully to her mouth.
She tilted her head just so, her lips parting until she paused and whispered his name. “Jackson?”
His eyes lingered on her pretty, bow-shaped mouth a moment longer before meeting her gaze. When he did, he could see how much she wanted this…wanted him. “Yes, sweetheart?”
She bit her lip and then smiled as her hands came to rest on his chest, her touch warm through the worn fabric of the T-shirt she seemed to love so much. “There’s something I need to tell—”
Before she could finish, Jackson’s cell phone rang. The blare of the ringtone was absurdly loud in the charged atmosphere of the quiet kitchen.
“Ignore that,” he ground out. Whoever it was could wait.
Calla’s gaze slid toward his cell on the kitchen counter, inches away from his untouched eggs. “I think it’s your agent. Harper Alden, right? Maybe you should take it.”
“Whatever she wants isn’t as important as this,” he said. She’d left a few voicemails this week, and he hadn’t even listened to them. New York and Chicago both felt far, far away.
The phone went silent as the call rolled to voicemail, and Jackson grinned. “Now where were we? Oh, right. You wanted to tell me something.”
And right after she got the words out, he intended to kiss her silly. If he didn’t do it soon, he was going to lose his mind.
She nodded, eyes sparkling with what felt like had to be good news. “It’s about my column…”
The phone rang again, cutting her off in the same place it had before. At first, neither of them moved, as if willing it to stop. But his cell kept buzzing incessantly, ruining the brief moment of connection.
Calla backed away, and every muscle in his body felt like weeping at the loss of her touch. “I’m going to let you get that. We can talk later.”
“Calla—”
“Thank you again for this.” She held up the trading card, face out so he was looking straight into the eyes of his younger self. Then she flipped it around and pressed her lips to his photo as she drifted out of the kitchen.
“Did you see that?” he asked Bishop as he grabbed his phone. “That wasn’t quite the first kiss I had planned.”
But it would have to do…
For now.
* * *
“Harper, this better be important,” Jackson muttered as he answered the call. He shoved a cold bite of eggs into his mouth and then pinched a nibble off his plate for Bishop, who gobbled it up as if he hadn’t polished off a huge bowl of kibble less than half an hour ago.
“Hello to you, too,” his agent said. “Good grief, Jackson, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for days. I was about to send a search party down there.”
“I’ve been busy. We’ve got an important game tomorrow night.”
“Yes, I know. And do you have any idea how I know that, since you haven’t bothered to give me a single update since Halloween?
” She didn’t wait for an answer. The question was obviously rhetorical and intended to annoy him.
Which it did. “Because I’ve been reading that local reporter’s column.
You know the one—the girl with the dead brother. ”
Jackson’s body instantly locked up with rage. The girl with the dead brother. Was she serious? How insensitive could someone possibly be?
And had she always given off such harsh vibes, or was he just now noticing it since they hadn’t spoken in a while?
“What do you want, Harper?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Okay, I see we’re cutting straight to the chase.
Fine. We need to act fast, anyway. I’m just calling to congratulate you.
Thanks to all the recent drama down there, you’ve gone viral again.
SportsSphere can’t stop talking about you.
” She laughed under her breath. “I mean that in a good way this time.”
“Really?” Jackson felt himself frown. Other than watching game tapes, he hadn’t turned on a television in weeks—nor had he kept up with anything the tabloids had been saying about him. He hadn’t read a single word about himself since the Bulldogs’ season opener.
Other than Calla’s column, obviously.
“I guess I haven’t been keeping track of what’s going on outside of Bishop Falls,” he said.
“You’re back in demand, Jackson. That’s what’s going on.
Thanks to the way you stood up to the booster club and kicked those boys off the team, you’re a hero.
This plan was a long shot. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you could pull it off, but you did.
I hope you’re sitting down, because I’ve got great news.
” She paused, clearly for dramatic effect. “The Cyclones want you back.”
Jackson went still. He waited for the elation to kick in, but it never did.
He’d been waiting and hoping to get this news since long before he’d ever heard of Bishop Falls.
For a while there, he’d wondered if he’d ever get his life back.
Now his agent was telling him that he could, but instead of feeling happy or even relieved, he just felt… empty.
“That’s great,” he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. Bishop pawed at his shin, begging for another bite of egg, and Jackson’s throat went thick. He shifted uncomfortably and let out a cough. “Send me the details and I’ll look everything over after the game tomorrow night.”
Harper let out a huff. “Jackson, didn’t you hear what I said? We have to move fast on this. If the Bulldogs don’t win that game—and let’s face it, they’ll probably lose—you’ll be terminated. You can’t expect me to negotiate a comeback under those circumstances.”
Her confidence in his team was underwhelming at best. At worst, infuriating.
He lowered his voice, lest Calla or her father overhear. “Harper, I’m not signing anything before tomorrow night. Period.”
“Don’t be difficult, Jackson. The tide of public opinion has changed, but it could easily swing back the other direction. Besides, the Cyclones are ready to get you back on the roster right away.”
“But I haven’t even been cleared off the injured reserve list,” he said. For once, he was thankful for his torn ACL. At least it could buy him a little time.
Or so he thought.
“That’s the beauty of this offer! They’re not worried about your knee. They want to fly you out Monday morning to get approved by the team trainer, but they’re willing to go ahead and ink a deal now.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This didn’t happen to veteran players like him, especially after they’d been on the brink of being cut from the team altogether. And that’s what Jackson was now: a veteran. He wasn’t the fresh-faced kid from his rookie trading card anymore.
This might very well be his last chance.
He wasn’t ready. He’d thought he’d have more time here in Bishop Falls.
And he might not be that rookie anymore, but when Calla looked at him the way she did, he felt like that young man again.
Full of hope and belief in the future. He’d thought football would be the thing that saved him.
It was supposed to be his turning point—his chance to start over. Maybe it still could.
Finding that trading card couldn’t have been a random act of chance. It meant something. He knew it did. If he’d had any doubts about that whatsoever, they’d melted away as soon as he’d seen the glitter of tears in Calla’s eyes when he’d told her where he found it.
But was he really supposed to gamble his entire future on whether his hastily assembled strategy would work? Even if they won tomorrow night, there was still no guarantee he’d have a job here after football season ended.
“The Cyclones want you back on the roster. This is everything you wanted when you called and begged me to get you out of there. I did it, Jackson. You asked, and I got it done.” Harper paused, and when she spoke again, some of the edge had left her voice.
“It’s time to come home.”