Page 62 of The Perfect Pass
“That little pause spoke volumes, just so you know,” Bailey teased.
“Even if it did, you and I both know it doesn’t matter. Nothing real could ever happen between Jackson and me.” Calla reached for her mocha, but her mug was already empty. If ever a morning called for two cups of coffee, it was this one.
Bailey flipped a lever on the espresso machine without having to be asked. She eyed Calla as she tamped down the ground beans. “And why is that, exactly?”
“Are you kidding me? There’s an entire laundry list of reasons.” So many that Calla struggledto know where to start. “You realize that he doesn’t actually live here, right? Chicago is awfully far away.”
Over one thousand miles, in fact. Calla knew because in one of her weaker moments, she’d looked it up. How delusional could she possibly get? What was she planning on doing—giving up her entire life to move to Illinois and be a WAG? She’d seen the reality shows about WAGs—the acronym for wives and girlfriends of famous athletes. That ultra glamorous sort of life just wasn’t her, and it never would be.
Never mind the fact that she and Jackson had never even kissed. She didn’t even know for certain that he had feelings for her. With all the intense preparation for the Rustwood game, they hadn’t even had a real chance to talk about her article.
And that was fine. Truly, it was. She’d pretty much stripped herself bare in that story. What else was there to say?
Oh, I don’t know—maybe the fact that you’re in love with him.
“Also, in case you’ve forgotten, he dates supermodels. His real life is completely different than it is here. He’s famous. He’s aprofessional football player, and I’m…”
Her voice trailed off. She didn’t even know how to complete that sentence. She had, after all, lit a match late Friday night that just might well be the spark that caused her entire career to go up in flames. She might not even be a small-town local reporter anymore.
“You’re amazing. That’s what you are, Calla Dunne. And whether you realize it or not, Jackson thinks so, too.” Bailey slid a to-go cup toward her, and the rich scents ofchocolate and coffee wrapped Calla in a comforting embrace. “None of those reasons you just listed make any difference at all when two people really care about each other. Trust me on this—when something is meant to be, nothing else matters. Love finds a way.”
Coming from anyone else, those words would’ve sounded trite. But Calla knew they hadn’t come easily to Bailey. They weren’t just platitudes. Her advice was hard-earned.
“I know you’re scared, hon. Opening your heart to someone is terrifying after it’s been broken—after you’ve loved and lost, no matter who it is that you miss. A mom, a brother, a best friend…” Bailey’s eyes filled as her voice cracked. “A husband.”
Calla’s throat went thick. She and Bailey never talked like this. They tiptoed around the past and pretended they’d moved on when, in reality, they were stuck. Even Bailey, because Calla knew good and well that she hadn’t been on a single date since Ethan passed away.
But that was a problem for another day. Calla could only handle one crisis at a time, and between her job, football season and her complicated feelings for Jackson, she was already too overwhelmed to fix her own life at the moment, much less her best friend’s.
“It might seem easier to keep your feelings to yourself and refuse to risk your heart, but it’s not. You’ll always wish you had. You’ll always wonder what could’ve been. I know most people consider my story a tragedy, but I never think of it that way. Ethan and I were happy, and yes, the end was hard. You were there. You know it was. But also know this, my sweet sister and friend.” Bailey pressed her hands to her heart, and a soft, bittersweet smile graced her lips. “If I could go back and do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Calla inhaled a ragged breath. She’d never felt such a strange mix of sorrow and envy in her whole life. Bailey had loved Ethan so completely, and to carry no regrets at all, despite the pain she’d endured… Calla could scarcely fathom it. She wasn’t sure she had that kind of courage. She wished she did, but for all her bravado, her heart was as fragile and delicate as if it were made of glass.
She’d never meant for any of this to happen. She’d certainly never meant to fall in love. With footballorJackson Knight. But hearing Bailey talk about Ethan and seeing the way her eyes shone—not with tears but with the glow of someone who’d truly lived in those moments—she knew in her soul that she had.
And now that she’d written the things she had and basically forced Stan to print them, so did everyone else in Bishop Falls.
* * *
“We thought we were practicing this morning, Coach.” Michael Davila sat on one of the benches situated between the rows of metal lockers in the locker room with his duffel bag at his feet.
Blake Jones, the boy beside him, nodded. “Shouldn’t we at least be lifting? The game is only four days away. People are saying the Holy Triangle is playing for Rustwood now. Is that true?”
Jackson stood with his arms crossed near the front of the room. Behind him, the giant dry-erase board was covered inX’s,O’s, dashed lines and arrows indicating the plays the team planned on executing Friday night. He hadn’t called the boys here at this early hour to go overstrategy, though. Nor did he want them to lift weights or get in any extra field time. In the email he’d sent out to both the coaching staff and the players over the weekend, he’d labeled this early-morning huddle a mandatory practice, because he knew that was a surefire way to get everyone here on time. Being tardy for practice had consequences like bleacher runs or stair sprints. No one wanted to sign up for that at six in the morning.
“This is more of a team meeting than a regular practice. And yes, Stokes, Collier and Brown are playing for Rustwood, but that doesn’t change anything. We’re still going to go out there and give it our all on Friday night, and there’s nothing whatsoever stopping us from winning that game,” he said as his gaze swept over the room.
This had been Jackson’s job for weeks now, but he still marveled sometimes at the way the boys looked at him—wide-eyed, focused, ready to learn. He thought he’d been coming here to teach them a few things about football, but a high school coach was more than that. It had been so long since he’d been a teenager that he’d forgotten how much his coach had meant to him back then. Coach Tyler had been his mentor, a friend and a disciplinarian all rolled into one. Looking back, Jackson realized he’d also been the closest thing to a father figure that he’d ever had, although he would’ve rebelled against that word at the time.
Had he realized how layered the role truly was, he never would’ve signed the contract or boarded the plane to Texas. What did Jackson really know about being a role model? He’d never claimed to know how to do anything but run fast, catch a ball and sign autographs.
He was hardly perfect, but he was figuring things out. His childhood had taught him a valuable lesson when itcame to dealing with kids—sometimes the most important thing you could do was simply show up. He was still here, and that had to count for something. He hoped it did, anyway.
“Look, I know there’s been a lot of chatter around town. So far, we’ve just been keeping our heads down and ignoring it. You boys have been working hard—especially in the past ten days. I’m proud of each and every one of you, and I want you to know that.” Jackson’s gaze flitted to his coaching staff, lined up behind him and flanked at the ends by Cade and Bob Simmons. “We all are.”
A wave of nods and smiles rippled through the locker room.
Jackson lowered his gaze, and then met their eyes again with purpose. “But it’s time to talk about the curse.”
