Page 28 of The Perfect Pass
He’d been in town for less than a week, but he already had a usual coffee order. People on the sidewalk had stopped giving him the stink-eye, which he attributed to the kind things Calla had to say about him in her column. They now flashed him thumbs-up and high five gestures and stopped to talk to him about the team. All of this had to be progress, right?
“Yes, Bailey. Thank you,” he said.
Cade placed his order, too, and then excused himself to go to the men’s room, leaving Jackson alone with Bailey while she filled their coffee cups. As it always did, his gaze darted to the portrait of Ethan Dunne that hung in a place of honor over the shiny espresso machine. Someone—Bailey, he presumed—had stuck a spirit ribbon to the picture’s wooden frame. Yesterday, Jackson had noticed thepep squad selling the ribbons at a table in the school lunchroom. His lip curled in amusement at the words printed in white lettering on the silky strip of green ribbon: “Buzzkill! Swat the Yellowjackets! Go, Bulldogs!”
“Nice pun,” he said.
“Pardon?” Bailey slid the coffees across the counter, and then her gaze followed his to the ribbon attached to the portrait. “Oh, right. The spirit ribbon. They sell new ones every week, and the proceeds go toward the school’s student activity fund. I like to support the kids, plus tacking one to Ethan’s portrait is kind of my way of keeping him a part of the team.” She tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and scrunched her face. “People probably think that’s silly.”
“I don’t.” Jackson warmed his hands on his cup of coffee. “I think it’s nice. I’m sure it means a lot to Calla that you keep his portrait here. You two must be pretty close.”
Cade returned just as Bailey’s smile seemed to falter, ever so slightly.
“We are. I love Calla like a sister,” she said. Her eyes darted to Cade and her easy grin returned. “Good luck tonight, y’all.”
She moved on to the next customer, and Jackson handed Cade his drink. It wasn’t until they were outside, headed toward the high school, that Cade turned toward him with a solemn look.
“You don’t know, do you?” He took a sip of his coffee and tucked his free hand in his pocket.
Jackson felt himself frown as a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “About what?”
“Bailey and Ethan.”
“What about them?” Jackson asked, but he had a good idea what might be coming next, purely based on Cade’s tone.
“They were high school sweethearts—the golden couple of Bishop Falls High School. Bailey was the head cheerleader, and as you know, Ethan was our star player. During senior year, he was being scouted by the University of Texas up in Austin. Everyone thought he’d have a future in the big leagues someday.” Cade sighed.
“Until the accident,” Jackson said. It was hard to believe how everything could change in the blink of an eye. He’d witnessed horrific injuries on the field before, but nothing like what had happened to Calla’s brother.
“Yeah, the accident changed all that, obviously. Except for Bailey. She stuck by Ethan through everything. I’m pretty sure her family tried to get her to move on. They were both so young, and she had her whole life ahead of her. They didn’t think it was a good idea to tie herself down to a boy who’d just suffered a catastrophic injury. For a while there, Ethan agreed. But all she wanted was him, same as always. She opened the coffee shop shortly after graduation, while E joined the coaching staff at school. A couple years later, he proposed. But then he got sick while they were in the middle of wedding planning, and they ended up getting married right there in his hospital room, just before he was put on a ventilator. When Bailey says she loves Calla like a sister, she really means it. Ethan passed away two days after the wedding, but theyaresisters. Always have been, always will be.” Cade’s voice clogged a little toward the end of the story, and they walked the rest of the way to school in silence.
Jackson hadn’t thought Ethan Dunne’s story could get any sadder, but he’d been wrong. There was so much more to a person’s life than what ended up in news clippings. He should’ve known that by now. Jackson hadn’t exactly been portrayed accurately by the press over the years. Not that he cared, per se. Some things were better left misunderstood.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks for telling me. Every time I think I know all there is to know about this place, I learn something new.”
There was probably more he’d yet to unearth, but he knew enough to realize this place was special. The people here had heart. They cared a lot about football, sure. But they also cared about each other. No matter what happened before he left Bishop Falls, Jackson hoped to take a little bit of that compassion and empathy with him when he left. He’d always loved the anonymity that came with living in a big city like Chicago, but maybe being greeted by name by strangers on the sidewalk wasn’t altogether a bad thing.
At least not when you were on the town’s good side.
Cade just nodded, and when they walked inside the school, the conversation was forgotten as they got swept up in the frenzy of game prep. But in the quieter moments, Jackson’s thoughts kept going back to Calla. To her family. To Bailey. And for perhaps the first time in his career, he wanted to win a football game for reasons that had nothing to do with himself or the other players on the field.
There was more going on in this town than his dumb “redemption tour,” as Harper had called it. Tonight, he wanted to win for something that really mattered…
For someonewho mattered…
Even if she pretended she no longer cared about the game.
Chapter Nine
“Well, look who it is!” The young woman at the front desk of Bill Dunne’s vet clinic beamed when Jackson walked through the door after school later that day.
He clearly didn’t need to worry about dodging anyone’s lingerie, though, because her delighted expression was aimed straight at Bishop. Not at him.
“We’re all excited about having a big celebrity in the clinic today,” she gushed as she came around the reception desk to lavish the bulldog with pats and scratches behind his tiny ears. Bishop groaned with pleasure, and his back left leg swatted at the air—a drama king if there ever was one.
Then the receptionist stood. When her gaze collided with Jackson’s, her face went nearly as red as the scrubs she was wearing, minus their whimsical calico cat print. “You’re Jackson Knight.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said.
