Page 96 of The Coach

I grab my bag, heading for the door, but before I reach it, a question burns in my throat.

I shouldn’t ask.

But I do.

"So when will I see you again?"

Jackson hesitates, like he wasn’t expecting me to say it.

"Next week we play at home."

I raise an eyebrow. "And?"

His lips twitch. "Can you come Friday after school? Stay with me for the weekend?"

My stomach does that thing again—the dangerous, fluttery thing I don’t want to think too hard about.

"I’ll keep you entertained. I promise." His voice is teasing, but there’s something else there, too. "But you’ll also have some relaxing time on your own on Saturday if you can handle that."

I ignore the warmth spreading through my chest and force a casual smile. "Cool. Yeah. I can do that. I always have papers to grade, right?"

"Right."

"I think there’s a five o’clock train I can catch. Sounds good."

"Okay. See you Friday."

"I’ll let you know when I book my ticket."

He nods, and we step outside together. The cool morning air is a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering between us. “It’s almost jacket season,” I remark.

Jackson heads toward his car, slinging his bag over his shoulder. I watch as he slides into the driver’s seat, and for a second, our eyes meet through the windshield.

And then—I get in my own car and pretend my heart isn’t racing the entire drive to school.

Chapter Eighteen

JACKSON

That morning, the road stretches long and empty ahead of me, golden fields rolling past in waves under the morning sun. It’s peaceful out here, a stark contrast to the noise of Chicago.

I grip the wheel, drumming my fingers against it, my mind a million miles away.

I should be thinking about the game next Sunday. Minnesota’s team is no joke this year, and I need to be focused, already planning the next round of adjustments and scouting reports.

But instead?

I’m thinking about her.

I ease off the highway, slowing as I spot it—the house Ivy told me about that first night.

Her dream house.

It’s the kind of place that stands out in a town like this—big, sprawling, too many windows to count. A wraparound porch with white columns, a front yard big enough for kids to run around in. A deep blue door that just looks welcoming.

And the inside? I can picture it. A cozy kitchen with a massive dining table, soft golden light in the mornings, walls lined with bookshelves.

A house meant for a family.

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