Page 152 of The Coach

And I believe him.

That should probably scare me more than it does.

I peel off my dress and change into an oversized t-shirt before collapsing onto my bed. My phone buzzes beside me.

Jackson: You make it home safe?

I smile, already typing.

Me: Yeah. Just walked in. You?

Jackson: Back at the stadium, wrapping up film. But I’m about to head out.

I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then?—

Me: Long day?

Jackson: Longer now that you’re not here.

Ishouldroll my eyes. Or at least act unaffected. But I don’t. Instead, I press the phone to my chest, smiling like an idiot.

I pull up the one photo I managed to take of him this weekend—one of him at the Art Institute, staring up at a painting with this quiet, thoughtful expression. He didn’t even know I snapped it. It’s my new favorite picture.

My fingers hover over the keyboard again.

Me: Thank you. For this weekend.

Jackson: Baby, I’m not done yet.

Me: Good

I stare at the screen, my heart pounding way too hard.

Jackson: Get some sleep. I’ll text you in the morning.

Me: Yeah?

Jackson: Yeah. Night.

Me: Okay. Yeah. Night :)

I let out a breath, rolling onto my side.

I close my eyes, knowing I’m already in deeper than I should be.

After school on Monday, I pull into my parents’ driveway, gripping the steering wheel for a second before turning off the engine.

Okay. You can do this.

My nerves are all over the place, but Ineedto do this. No more avoiding. No more waiting. I owe them the truth.

I step out of the car and head up the front steps, forcing my heartbeat to settle as I knock. A few seconds later, my mom swings open the door.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” she says, stepping aside so I can walk in. “We were just talking about you.”

I pause, immediately suspicious. “Why?”

She waves me off. “Carl was just wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night. Nothing nefarious.”

---