Jackson.
My Jackson.
I feel lightheaded as they cut to a press conference clip.
He’s standing at a podium in a crisp suit, answering questions. His voice is smooth, composed. His jaw is clean-shaven, but his hair is slightly longer than it was in May.
The camera zooms in, capturing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his blue eyes scan the room with authority.
I can’t breathe.
Lauren grabs my wrist. “Oh. My. God.”
I just stare.
The reporter asks him a question. “Coach, a lot of people were skeptical about hiring someone so young. How do you respond to critics who say you don’t have enough experience to lead a team?”
Jackson chuckles, shaking his head. “You ever heard of baptism by fire? That’s what this is. And I’m not afraid of it.”
Lauren whispers, still gripping my arm. “You slept with that.”
“Iknow.”
“He knocked you up with thatvoice.”
“Lauren.”
“Oh my God, Ivy, you aresoscrewed.”
I finally manage to blink. My entire body feels flushed, hot, overwhelmed.
Because seeing him in person was one thing.
But seeing him like this—on-screen, larger than life, commanding a room?—
It makes me realize just how far apart our worlds really are.
And just how insane it is that I’m carrying his child.
Lauren leans forward, her voice dead serious. “Babe. You have to tell him.”
I nod slowly, eyes still locked on the screen.
“I know. Iknow.”
It’s all so surreal, I can barely believe it. Four months pregnant. Sitting in a Chicago sports bar. Just saw Jackson Knox—the father of my child—on TV, looking like the most untouchable, powerful man on the planet.
My heart is still racing. My stomach? Doingsomersaults.And not just because of the baby.
Lauren is watching me like a hawk, sipping her margarita way too smugly.
I take a deep breath, pressing a hand to my slightly rounded belly.Okay. Deep breaths. No panicking.
No panicking?? Oh my God. This man was inside me.
I pick up my ginger ale and take a long, shaky sip.
Lauren leans in, grinning. “Sooo…how are we feeling,mama?”