Page 30 of The Perfect Pass
He liked Calla’s father.A lot. Was it crazy that he sort of wanted to get Bob Simmons a cat so he’d be forced to come down here and get served a little lesson on sportsmanship along with the required feline vaccinations?
“Now let’s take a look at Bishop here.” Dr. Dunne held the door open to the exam room. A broad smile creased his face as he looked down at the dog. “Tonight’s a big night for this guy, too.”
It sure was. Tonight he got to writhe around on the Astroturf with a cheering audience. What more could an attention-starved bulldog want?
“See you later, Tommy.” Jackson clapped a hand between the kid’s bony shoulder blades as he ushered Bishop into the exam room. Then he winked and did his best to sound like an actual role model. “Don’t be tardy.”
* * *
The noise in the stadium was deafening as Jackson strode onto the field later that evening. He hadn’t expected to feel the same adrenaline rush as he usually did as a player, but there it was—the familiar surge of intensity mixed with acute focus that made the hair on his arms stand on end.
He told himself to do what he always did when he stepped onto the turf. Jackson’s pre-game ritual usually consisted of mental exercises like running through plays in his head, visualizing a win and, when all else failed, slowly counting backward from one hundred. But he didn’t want to disassociate from his feelings. Not tonight. His fall from grace and subsequent injury had given him a new appreciation for the fleeting nature of his career. Or maybe he’d just been thinking a lot about Calla’s brother. Either way, tonight he wanted to drink everything in.
He paused to look around and soak up the atmosphere before his players ran through the victory tunnel. The marching band was on the field, instruments swaying to the beat of the fight song. He spotted Tommy with his trombone in the brass section and a grin tugged at his mouth. Dressed in his football gear, the kid stuck out like a sore thumb amid the vibrant band uniforms. He worked hard at practice and had gotten permission from the band director to dress out for the games, despite the fact that he’d most likely ride the bench the entire season. Jackson admired his dedication. Teams weren’t made up of just the star players, despite whatever Simmons seemed to think.
He hadn’t had a spare second yet to talk to the assistant coach about his inappropriate nickname for Stokes, Collier and Brown. Plus, he hadn’t wanted to make waves with the coaching staff until after the big game. Jackson wondered if that decision had been a mistake as he took in the sight of Simmons pacing the sidelines like a caged animal. The game hadn’t even started yet, for crying out loud.
Cheerleaders with big bows pinned to their hair tumbled and flip-flopped across the field, leading the way for the team to run the victory tunnel and burst through a giantgreen paper barrier. When the first players forced their way through, the crowd went wild, including Bishop. In an unprecedented fit of enthusiasm, the bulldog barked and wiggled his entire back end as he strained at the end of his leash. Jackson couldn’t help but laugh at the dog’s antics. He was as fired up as everyone else in Bishop Falls, Astroturf allergy notwithstanding.
Jackson had tasked one of the equipment managers with watching the mascot during the game. He had enough on his plate tonight. But every time he glanced over at the bulldog, Bishop swung his huge head in Jackson’s direction, as if he sensed it. It was kinda cute, despite the fact that the dog was undeniably a giant pain in Jackson’s backside.
The bars of the national anthem started, and Jackson placed his hand over his heart as the other coaches flanked him on either side. He jiggled his leg—not only because his knee ached slightly, but also to release some of the pent-up adrenaline that had been building inside him throughout the course of the day. Then, just as the song wound to a close, he glanced toward the right and spotted Calla, a splash of cherry red and denim in a stadium full of school colors.
She was seated on the front row of the bleachers beside her dad and Bailey. Her blond hair whipped in the fall breeze, and her nails were painted the exact crimson hue of her boots. Jackson let his gaze linger a little too long, and when the band finished and the stands erupted into cheers, their eyes met…held. Her lips curved into a secret smile before she glanced down at her notepad, and Jackson’s heart galloped in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the game.
They’d held pinkie fingers last night, such an innocent little moment. Somehow, though, it had felt moremeaningful than it should have. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, was happening between them. It felt like something, though—something wholesome and tender that he’d never experienced before. Something he didn’t deserve.
So it was probably for the best that it could never really happen.
“Let’s go!” Cade yelled and let loose with a holler that immediately snapped Jackson back into the moment.
Right. This wasit.Game night. He needed to get his head on straight and focus.
The Bulldogs won the coin toss, and that simple victory seemed to set the tone for the rest of the night. As Jackson had coached them to do, the team captains chose to receive the ball, and seconds later, it landed with anoofdirectly into Zander Brown’s arms on the tenth-yard line. He sprang into action and never stopped, cruising to an immediate touchdown and leaving the Yellowjackets gasping for air as the crowd exploded.
“Boom! That’s how it’s done!” Cade pounded on Jackson’s back, grinning from ear to ear.
“Way to execute, boys! Just like we practiced,” Jackson called out as he told himself to keep his cool. It was just the start of the game, after all.
But by the end of the first quarter, they were leading 21-0. The margin grew even wider in the final seconds before halftime and the Yellowjackets still hadn’t made it onto the board.
Jackson felt like he just might be able to relax. He’d been in football long enough to see teams blow massive leads before, but a forty-two-point advantage at the half felt like a bigger lead than he could’ve asked for in his wildest dreams.
The marching band took to the field as he paused on the sideline to gather his thoughts for the halftime talk. Jackson’s gaze snagged on Tommy, deftly moving into formation in his football uniform, face beaming behind his trombone. Seeing the kid so giddy touched Jackson deep inside.
He’d missed this, and he hadn’t even realized it.
High school football was different than professional and college sports. The changes sneaked up on you, bit by bit, until you forgot that playing as a high schooler had felt like being part of a family. No one on the field tonight was thinking about brand image, shoe endorsements or contract negotiations. This was when sport was the most pure. This was how the game was supposed to be…
At least that’s how it felt to Jackson when he turned to head to the locker room with warmth flooding his chest and electricity skittering through his veins as he flashed a smile at Calla, watching him from her spot on the front row. Her eyes danced, and he could’ve sworn she felt it, too—the raw energy and buzz of nostalgia under the stadium lights. He winked at her before he could stop himself and then he disappeared into the tunnel.
His stellar mood took a minor hit as he approached the locker room and heard Coach Simmons’s grating voice echoing off the concrete walls. He sounded like a rabid dog.
“When we get back out there, don’t even think about letting up on them, boys. We’ve got them right where we want them, and the second half is the time we really go in for the kill.”
Jackson’s jaw clenched. Never mind the fact thathewas supposed to be the one giving the halftime talk. It was his assistant coach’s word choice that rubbed him the wrongway. These wereteenagers. Jackson had planned on telling the kids what they’d done right so far, reinforcing the positives and pointing out areas where they could improve during the second half. This was supposed to be a moment for team unity, not a battle cry to annihilate another team who’d yet to score a single point.
He stood off to the side with his arms crossed, waiting for Simmons to calm down long enough to notice him.
