Page 58 of The Perfect Pass
He tucked his hands into the pockets of his white coat,out of sight, and cleared his throat. “Remember when I asked you earlier if you needed help with anything other than Bishop’s allergies?”
Jackson nodded. He did, although his current predicament seemed outside the bounds of the veterinarian-patient relationship. Way,wayoutside the bounds.
The older man’s face cracked into a benevolent smile. “That offer still stands, son.”
Chapter Sixteen
Calla didn’t know what to think when Jackson was a no-show at practice that afternoon. She arrived a few minutes early, got set up on the front row of the bleachers like she always did and then opened her laptop to put the finishing touches on a column that Stan wanted in his inbox before midnight. By the time she looked up, the team was already warming up.
The players were dressed differently than they usually were for afternoon practice. Instead of their practice jerseys, they were dressed in the same team uniforms they’d normally wear to a game. Calla wondered if they might be preparing for a scrimmage when, sure enough, Cade began passing out red mesh scrimmage vests to half the team while Bob Simmons distributed blue vests to the others.
Calla couldn’t fathom why Jackson would schedule a practice game on an afternoon when he couldn’t be there. It was hard to wrap her head around him missing practice at all, especially when the team was in a rebuilding phase. But before she knew it, the kickoff was underway and Jackson was still nowhere to be seen.
She did her best to concentrate on taking notes, but by the time practice ended, she felt like a raw, exposed nerve. She’dmanaged to make eye contact with Cade a few times, but he hadn’t given a single thing away, which was appropriate given that she was there in her official capacity as a reporter. But still, she couldn’t help but worry.
Had the Victory Club managed to find a loophole in the terms of Jackson’s employment that prevented them from terminating him before the team lost a game? Had he already left Bishop Falls?
She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about that awful prospect. If this was what allowing yourself to have real feelings for someone felt like, she didn’t want any part of it. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter.
In the meantime, she told herself to calm the heck down and do her job. She observed practice and took notes, like a proper sports reporter who’d never dream of falling for one of her subjects. The scrimmage went better than she expected, but there were no exciting takeaways. Coach Simmons certainly seemed to enjoy being in charge, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. From what she’d observed of the man in her years on the job, he relished any opportunity to hear himself talk. Doubly so if he also had the chance to tweet his sports whistle.
When practice ended, she packed up and went straight home, ready to drill her dad for any insider information he had on the Victory Club. He hadn’t mentioned his booster club buddies much lately, though. She was certain it had something to do with Tommy Riess. Dad loved the Bulldogs, but he held Tommy dear to his heart. He’d been crushed when he’d found out about what happened to the boy.
Even so, her father had kept his finger on the pulse of theBulldogs organization for years. Decades, even. Helivedfor Friday nights. She knew that hadn’t changed, and she knew it never would.
“Hello?” She let herself in the front door and dropped her handbag and laptop tote on the foyer table next to the big ceramic bowl she’d bought at the farmer’s market a few years ago that always held their keys and mail. Her father’s keyring and wallet rested on top of a stack of catalogs, which meant he must already be home from the clinic. “Dad, I’m ho—”
A male form rounded the corner from the direction of the kitchen, and Calla’s words immediately stuck in her throat. Either she was hallucinating, or she was suddenly staring straight at the mysteriously missing Jackson Knight, clutching her dad’s favorite coffee mug—the one that said Saving Animals Is My Thing.
Saving animals wasn’thisthing, though. It was her father’s. And for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine how he’d ended up with it in those big, football-throwing hands of his. Or why he was here, standing in her childhood home in his sock-feet.
“Jackson.” She swallowed, unsure why she felt so nervous all of a sudden. All afternoon, she’d been low-key worried that he’d left town. At least she’d found him, albeit in the absolute last place she would’ve looked. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you, too,” he said dryly.
She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But…”But seriously, what are you doing here?“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well.” His mouth curved into an apologetic grin. “That makes two of us.”
What did that even mean?
Before Calla could ask, her father swept into the room carrying a pile of quilts that she recognized from her girlhood days of making blanket forts in the living room. Seeing them again took her straight back to family movie nights—the scent of warm, buttery popcorn and the glow of the television as she and Ethan wrestled for control of the remote.
“It can get a bit chilly out there this time of year, so you might need these,” Dad said, footsteps slowing to a stop as his gaze landed on Calla. “Oh, hi, honey.”
“Hi,” she said warily, still not understanding a thing that was going on.
It sounded suspiciously like her father was referring to the garage apartment out back, but that couldn’t be possible. After Ethan graduated and started working for the high school, Dad had converted it from a home office to an accessible living space so he could have some privacy. Since her brother’s passing, Dad kept the space neat and clean and liked to keep the windows open in the springtime, so it often smelled like the sweet perfume of the backyard magnolia tree. But no one had spent the night there since Ethan died.
“Earl Whitaker kicked Jackson out of his rental home,” Dad said with a sigh. “The coach here got a text about it this afternoon while he was in the office with Bishop. Earl gave him less than twenty-four hours to vacate the premises. Can’t say I’m surprised, but it’s caused a bit of a conundrum.”
An understatement if Calla had ever heard one. No wonder Jackson had been absent from practice.
“Is that even legal?” she asked. She wasn’t sure whyshe was so aghast, knowing the Victory Club cronies as well as she did, but this was just beyond…even for them.
“Who knows? Earl claims there wasn’t a formal lease, so Jackson’s tenure isn’t bound by regular landlord-tenant laws. This isn’t about legalities, though,” Dad said with a knowing expression.
Of course it wasn’t. It was about making it impossible for Jackson to do his job.
