Page 54 of The Perfect Pass
“I suppose it’s not.” Jackson reached for the box and flipped it open. The heavenly scent of warm cheese andpepperoni filled the air, and he tipped his head back and groaned. “Shut the front door. What is this deliciousness? That smells incredible.”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been to Pigskin Pizza yet. It’s a Bishop Falls institution,” Calla said, gaping at him in mock horror.
“Not yet. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been ordering from that chain place.” He eyed the pizza and moved the box closer. “That stops now, obviously.”
“Obviously,” she echoed. Then she mimed locking her mouth with a key. “And don’t you worry. All your secrets are safe with me.”
A smile flickered across his lips, and her heart did a flip-flop. She was really in trouble, wasn’t she? Sovery much trouble.
He glanced at the pizza and then back at her. Then he leaned in, his words low and flirtatious in the cool night. “Join me?”
It’s just pizza,she told herself.What could be more casual than pepperoni?But try as she might, she couldn’t believe such a bold-faced lie. There was nothing casual about her feelings for Jackson, and deep in the pit of her stomach, she knew there would be no winning in this scenario, regardless of what happened on the field.
She smiled through the ache as a bittersweet pain pressed against her breastbone. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Fifteen
Practices improved marginally over the next few days, but not quite enough for Jackson to sleep at night. He spent long hours in the evenings going over game tapes of the upcoming competitors, searching for any signs of weakness or openings where his patched-together offense might sneak through. He tried to introduce a few new plays, but the team’s confidence was already so low that any reworked configurations or adjusted positioning immediately overwhelmed them. When two of his running backs collided midfield, he switched gears again and went back to the original playbook. The last thing they needed was injuries piled on top of the changes they were already dealing with.
“I think we should try the Underdog Blitz again,” Cade said the following morning as he thumbed through Jackson’s makeshift playbook. “If we move Davila to the outside linebacker position, it just might work. He’s one of our bigger defensive players and the intimidation factor alone might be enough to throw the other team off-balance when they shift closer to the line of scrimmage right before the snap.”
So long as the poor kid doesn’t trip over himself on the way,Jackson thought. Davila wasn’t exactly light on hisfeet. Tommy, on the other hand, would’ve been great in that position. He was already back at school and suiting up for practice, but Jackson wasn’t about to let the boy back on the field yet. His body still needed to rest and recover. In the meantime, Tommy was still the first to arrive at practice and the last to leave, soaking everything up like a sponge. He also helped keep an eye on Bishop and stopped the dog from writhing around, paws pointed skyward, to scratch his back on the turf whenever the urge struck. Allergy meds could only do so much, after all.
“Let’s see how things go at the scrimmage this afternoon.” Jackson flicked a yellow pencil back and forth between two of his fingers in a fit of restless energy. “I’m hoping a practice game will remind them that they’ve already got all the skills they need. They’re still the Bulldogs, even without Stokes, Collier and Brown. If things go well, we can try the Underdog Blitz again on Monday.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Cade nodded and flipped the page, brow furrowing as he studied the next play.
It was third period at school on Friday afternoon, one of the few time slots when Cade didn’t teach. Since the team’s shake-up, he’d started spending as much time as he could in Jackson’s office, helping with strategy and going over various players’ performances. He liked to prop his feet up on the desks, which drove Simmons mad.
Jackson couldn’t have cared less. He needed as much help as he could get. Besides, when was Bob Simmonsnotcranky?
At least his assistant coach hadn’t resigned in protest after Jackson announced the player suspensions. That was a plus, although Jackson had a suspicion Simmons wasonly sticking around in the hopes of eventually snagging the head coaching position. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the guy’s backup plan.
“Coach Knight.” Principal Dean rapped his knuckles on the open door to Jackson’s office. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” Jackson stood and waved the principal inside. “Come on in.”
Cade snatched his feet off the desk and sat up straight. “I’ll go check on the locker room while you two talk.”
Principal Dean held up a hand. “No need. You should probably be here for this, too, Coach Montgomery.”
What now?Jackson thought. He wasn’t sure he could take more bad news, so he tried the trick he’d been using to ease his anxiety the past few days—he took a deep breath and pretended to inhale the mouth-watering aroma of a fresh, warm slice from Pigskin Pizza Parlor.
There’d been something magical about that pizza a few nights ago. He’d left the practice field that evening feeling like everything was going to be okay. For a few stolen moments, he’d forgotten about the recent trouble with Ryan, his own questionable status on the Cyclones roster and everything that had gone wrong in Bishop Falls since he’d arrived. He’d even managed to forget about the Victory Club’s very existence.
In his heart, he knew the alchemy hadn’t come from the pizza. Calla had brought therealmagic that night. She’d picked him up off the ground, dusted him off and made him believe in himself again, just when he’d needed it most.
But if Jackson allowed himself to think too hard on his feelings for Calla Dunne, he might never stop, and he hadgames to win…a team to save…an imaginary curse to break. So instead he thought about pizza.
Pizza was comforting. Pizza was delicious. Pizza wassafe.
“What’s this about?” Jackson asked as Bishop heaved himself off his dog bed and shuffled toward the principal, angling for attention.
Principal Dean crossed his arms, all business, as per usual, ignoring the panting bulldog at his feet. “Watson Stokes, Hunt Collier and Zander Brown.”
Jackson’s gut churned. “What about them?”
“Save for Monday, they’ve been marked absent every day this week,” the principal said.
