Page 165 of The Coach

Miss June, a tiny woman with silver hair and an apron that readsKiss the Cook, gasps and clutches her chest like she’s about to faint. “Oh my Lord,” she breathes. “Coach Knox said my pie is good!”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh as Jackson gives me a helpless look. He’s officially been adopted by Riverbend’s elderly fan club.

Even Carl seems to warm up to him—well, as much as Carl is capable of warming up to anyone. He challenges Jackson to the annual pumpkin toss, talking a big game about his “championship arm” from his high school days. Jackson, of course, wins easily, throwing his pumpkin twice as far. Carl grumbles, shaking his head as he dusts off his hands, but I catch the way his lips twitch, like he secretly approves.

As the afternoon fades into golden evening, Jackson pulls me aside. We stand at the edge of the festival, away from the crowd, where the field stretches out in front of us, painted in warm hues of orange and gold. He rests a protective hand on my belly, his fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of my dress.

“This is nice,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

I smile, leaning into him. “Yeah. It is.”

For a moment, it’s just us. The sound of laughter and music drifts in the background, the twinkling festival lights coming to life as the sun starts to set. Jackson’s thumb moves in slow circles over my stomach, and my chest tightens with something warm and unfamiliar.

It’s almost perfect.

Almost.

But as the festival begins winding down, reality slips back in. The lights flicker on, the band plays its final song, and Jackson steps away to talk to Carl for a minute.

And that’s when Kyle chooses to approach me.

His presence is unwelcome but impossible to ignore. He stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You think this guy’s sticking around, Ivy?” His voice is low, edged with something I can’t quite place.

My stomach twists. “Kyle, just go.”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, I think he might. But instead, he exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Just don’t come crying to me when this whole thing falls apart. He’s too good for you, Ivy, and you know it. I’m trying to warn you.”

A chill runs through me.

Because something about his voice doesn’t sound like an ex-boyfriend nursing old wounds.

Jackson doesn’t have to hear what Kyle said to know he doesn’t like it.

I see him before Kyle does—tall, broad, moving through the thinning crowd with an easy but smooth stride. His eyes are locked on us, his expression unreadable, but there’s an edge to the way his jaw tics, the way his fingers flex at his sides.

Kyle must sense the shift in the air, because he glances over his shoulder just as Jackson steps up beside me.

“You need something?” Jackson asks, voice low and steady.

Kyle straightens, squaring his shoulders. “Just talking to Ivy.”

Jackson doesn’t so much as blink. “Yeah? ‘Cause it sounded like you were warning her about something.”

Kyle lets out a slow exhale, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off the tension. “Just looking out for an old friend.”

Jackson chuckles, but there’s nothing amused about it. “That right?” His voice drops slightly. “Well, let me make something real clear. Ivy doesn’t need to be looked after byyou.”

Kyle tenses, his hands balling into fists. “You don’t even know her, man. You roll into town for a weekend and think you?—”

Jackson steps closer, cutting him off. “You’re right,” he says, his voice calm, measured. “I don’t know her as well as I want to. I can’t wait to get to know her more every day. But I know enough to see she doesn’t want you here.”

Kyle shifts his weight, glancing at me, as if expecting me to say something. But I don’t. I don’t need to.

Jackson takes another step, his voice dropping even lower. “And I know this, too—you show up uninvited again, make her uncomfortable? We’re gonna have a problem. A real big problem. Kyle.”

Kyle exhales sharply, his nostrils flaring. For a second, I wonder if he’s actually stupid enough to try something.

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