Page 10 of The Coach

He pauses, the tiniest flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he replies, “I coach.”

“Like football?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” he says, his tone even. “Like football.”

“You like it?”

“It keeps me busy. And yeah. I love the ability to take a group of guys and mold them into a cohesive unit. Make them better than they’d be as individuals.”

I nod, considering that as I take another sip of my beer. “I guess that explains why you’re not married. Probably don’t have a lot of free time.”

“What about you?” he asks, shifting the focus back to me. “Have you lived in Riverbend your whole life?”

“Yeah,” I say with a small smile.

“Ever think about leaving?

“I have, but...”

“But?” he prompts, leaning closer.

“I just really love my family,” I admit. “I’m the youngest of me and my two step-siblings. And I guess I’ve always felt like I’m supposed to look after them. And look after my parents. You know?”

He nods, his expression softening. “I get that.”

I glance at him. “I’ve thought about going west. Moving to Bend, Oregon, or something. Somewhere quiet but different. But I can never quite pull the trigger. There’s always a reason to stay. What about you? Ever think about leaving the city?”

He pauses, his gaze steady on mine. “Sometimes. Small towns have their charm. But my life’s tied to where I work right now.”

I study him, my curiosity growing. There’s something about him—something just beneath the surface, like he’s holding back. But instead of asking more, I lean back against the railing, looking up at the stars again.

“It’s getting late,” he says, his voice low, the kind that vibrates somewhere deep in my chest. “I better get you home. Need a ride? I’ll call a cab.”

Yes. We still have cabs in my town. Uber has not made it here yet.

“I’m actually walking distance,” I say, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Oh. Well let me walk you home, then.”

I don’t hesitate, my lips quirking into a grin. “Absolutely.”

We step off the rooftop patio, the hum of the bar fading behind us as we hit the quiet streets. The cool night air wraps around us, but it does nothing to calm the heat simmering in my chest. Without thinking, I smooth my hands down the sides of my dress, feigning nonchalance.

Jackson, on the other hand, is anything but casual. He falls into step beside me, his hand brushing against mine once, then twice. On the third pass, he doesn’t let it go. His fingers curl around mine, warm and steady, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up my arm.

“You okay?” he asks, his eyes glinting under the streetlights as he glances sideways at me.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice a little breathless. “Just...thinking.”

“About what?” he presses, his thumb lightly brushing the back of my hand.

I hesitate. “About how surreal this night feels.”

His grin widens, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he tugs me slightly closer as we cross the street, his hand firm but gentle. The sidewalks are quiet, the occasional sound of laughter or music spilling out of late-night bars, but for the most part, it feels like it’s just us.

“Hey, you want to take the quickest detour ever?” I ask him, tugging his hand.

“Sure. You’re not going to kidnap me are you?”

---