Page 117 of The Coach

His laugh is contagious, spreading to me, just like the warmth in my chest.

But just then, a hush moves through the diner.

A couple of people near the counter glance over. A double take. A few whispers.

Shit.

Jackson doesn’t notice at first, too focused on me, but I feel the shift. I see the recognition creeping across people’s faces.

And then?—

A man in his late twenties slides out of his booth and heads straight for us.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice polite but eager. “You’re Jackson Knox, right?”

Jackson tenses, and just like that, the ease between us vanishes.

He exhales through his nose, then plasters on his public persona. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m a huge Stallions fan. Man, that game last week was unreal.” He grins, glancing at me for half a second before turning his full attention back to Jackson. “You think we got a real shot at the playoffs?”

Jackson nods, his entire body language shifting. “That’s the plan.”

“Hell yeah.” The guy glances back at his friends, as if looking for their approval, before turning back. “Would you mind taking a picture?”

Jackson hesitates. Just for a second.

But then his jaw tightens, and he forces a small smile. “Yeah, sure.”

He slides out of the booth, and I watch as he poses with the guy, who grins like he just won the lottery.

I shouldn’t care.

Ishouldn’t.

But the moment feels…off.

Because for the first time since I stepped off that train, I feel like I don’t belong.

Like I’m just someone sitting across from him. A woman who doesn’t fit into this part of his life.

And that realization?

It stings.

“Thanks, Coach,” the fan says, and then shoots me a weird look as he walks off.

Chapter Twenty-Two

IVY

The drive back is tense.

Not the kind of tension that comes from a comfortable silence. Not the kind that simmers with anticipation.

This? This is something else.

I can feel it pressing in from all sides—the words we’re not saying, the weight of everything between us. Jackson’s fingers tap against the wheel, his jaw tight.

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