Page 14 of The Perfect Pass
She didn’t dare turn around. With any luck, he’d get a cup of coffee—black, like his soul—and hightail it out of there before he realized she was sitting at the coffee bar.
Wasn’t school starting soon, anyway? Although, who was she kidding? Calla highly doubted punctuality was high on Jackson’s list of priorities.
“What can I get you two?” Bailey asked. There was enough false sweetness in her voice to rot Calla’s teeth faster than her sugar-laden latte.
“I’ll have my regular,” Cade said. “A large Bulldog Brew to go.”
Bailey nodded. “Coming right up. What about you, Coach Knight?”
“It’s just Jackson,” he said, and Calla couldn’t help rolling her eyes at his flirtatious tone.
Did hetryto sound like that every time he talked to a woman, or did it simply come as naturally to him as his ability to catch a football? Either way, it was nauseating. She glared at his reflection in the espresso machine, and then, to her horror, his eyes met hers and he flashed her a wink, just like he’d done at the parade.
Busted.Calla closed her eyes again and prayed for the floor of Huddle Up to split wide open and swallow her whole.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Jackson said, and his deep, velvety voice was suddenly so close that a rebellious little shiver shot straight up her spine.
She forced her eyes open and spun on her stool to face him. “It’s the Touchdown Toffee Latte. You probably wantsomething else. Don’t you log everything you eat and drink into one of those nutrition tracking apps?”
Just because he was on the Cyclone’s injured reserve list didn’t mean he wasn’t still in training mode. Jackson had always been a bit of a rebel in the league, but his lean build spoke for itself. She would’ve bet money that he hadn’t gone home and drowned his sorrows in a pint of Bluebell vanilla bean ice cream like she had.
“That sounds good.” Jackson turned a smile toward Bailey, fully ignoring Calla’s question about the nutrition app. “Extra whipped cream, please.”
“Are you always this argumentative?” Calla demanded as he slid onto the bar stool next to hers.
He snorted. “Areyou?”
Touché… .and reason 154 why they would make a terrible couple. Not that Calla had considered that possibility for even a second. She’d rather die.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” Jackson said, and miraculously, he seemed to drop the charm offensive. His tone was serious all of a sudden—serious enough that Bailey and Cade both made themselves scarce. “Can we talk for a second?”
He folded his hands on the smooth wooden surface of the bar and waited for her answer. Calla was sure that everyone in the coffee shop was staring straight at them, but she wasn’t about to look around for confirmation. Somehow, her eyes landed on Jackson’s big hands instead.
Calla had seen more than her fair share of football players’ hands during her lifetime. More often than not, they were covered in calluses. It was common for receivers, especially, to have swollen knuckles or crooked fingers from repeatedly being injured while catching the ball. Not Jackson’s,though. He had long, tapered fingers, and the prominent veins on the backs of his hands gave her the impression that he’d grown so accustomed to carrying the weight of the world that it had become second nature to him by now. No wonder he held so many league records.
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I want to apologize for yesterday. Your brother’s story is an important part of Bishop Falls’ history. I should’ve known all about him before I stood on that stage and acted like I had any idea what I was doing here.” His gaze fixed with hers and held for a long, loaded moment.
Calla had to remind herself to breathe. An apology was the last thing she’d expected, especially after she’d all but thrown him to the wolves yesterday. She wasn’t prepared for this. She especially wasn’t prepared for a heart-to-heart with Jackson Knight about Ethan.
“Am I supposed to believe that overnight you learned all about him?” Her gaze flitted to her brother’s portrait before she could stop it.
“I learned enough to know that I should’ve been more sensitive when I asked about your last name.” Jackson’s gaze trailed after hers, and an aching vulnerability settled deep in the pit of Calla’s stomach as he took in her brother’s image. “Ethan was a star player, and during his senior year, he suffered a catastrophic spinal cord injury on the field when he was tackled at the five-yard-line at the state championship in Austin. After graduation, he went on to work as an assistant coach for the Bulldogs for five years until he passed away from pneumonia two days before his twenty-third birthday.”
That was her brother’s story, all right. But those werejust facts. They said so much and so little, all at the same time. He’d left out the part about her parents divorcing a year after the accident, and how her mother’s visits grew fewer and fewer until she stopped coming around altogether. Nor had he mentioned Bailey being Ethan’s high school sweetheart, and how she’d married him while he was on his deathbed. An internet search could never explain how those last days had been filled with overwhelming grief and happiness, achingly intertwined. Nor could it convey how much Ethan loved football, even after it took everything from him. He lived and breathed the game, and had he survived to see Jackson Knight take over the program, the first thing he would’ve told the pro baller was how much he hated the fact that his story had given rise to the twisted belief that, as a result of his injury, the Bulldogs had been cursed to never win a state championship again…
Even if time and year after year of coming in second at State had given the curse an undeniable air of legitimacy.
“You don’t have to—” Calla started, but Jackson wasn’t quite finished.
“You were right to call me out the way you did, Calla,” he said.
Her gaze lingered on the portrait, thoughts tangled in the youthful optimism etched on her brother’s face before she forced herself to look away. “I know I was.”
Jackson’s face split into a smile—not one of his cocky, flirtatious half grins, but one steeped in an authenticity that made her throat go tight. “See? That’s what I like about you. You tell it like it is.”
“Is that such a rare thing?”
