Page 56 of The Perfect Pass
He relaxed a little at the friendly greeting, which was hardly a given these days—even from a superfan like Maisie. He’d bounced around so much in the past seven weeks—from hometown hero status to the most reviled man in Bishop Falls—that he no longer knew quite where he stood. He’d kind of assumed he’d be back to being persona non grata after kicking the star players off the team. He knew where his few friends stood and the Victory Club had obviously made their opinion clear when they’d tried to fire him, but the general public was a toss-up. He never knew whether to expect a high five or a jeer.
Case in point: not one other person in the waiting room made eye contact with him. Even their pets appeared to be giving him some serious side-eye.
“Thanks, Maisie.” He tipped his head toward Bishop, trotting merrily beside him. He had to be the only dog Jackson had ever known who enjoyed going to the vet. He chalked it up to the way Calla’s dad had with animals. Or maybe it was the pocket full of dog treats that Dr. Dunne always seemed to have in the pocket of his white coat. Both, most likely. “Yeah, we’re here for Bishop’s shot.”
“Super. I’ll let Dr. Dunne know you’re here.” Maisie, who appeared to own a never-ending collection of animal-themed scrubs—today’s were pale pink with white poodles scattered all over them—leaned forward and lowered her voice. “How’s Tommy Riess doing? Do you think he’llbe able to play next week? The whole office is rooting for him, you know.”
“Tommy’s doing great. I appreciate your support,” Jackson said.
Someone nearby snorted, clearly indicating that the support was hardly universal.
That was fine, though. Jackson’s pizza-inspired optimism refused to take a hit. He didn’t need everyone in town to adore him. He just needed to win. And he needed the Victory Club to keep ignoring him for as long as humanly possible.
Maisie scrunched her face. “Why don’t you come on back and wait in one of the exam rooms where it’s nice and quiet?”
And where people didn’t want to skin him alive?
“Sounds perfect.”
He only had to wait a minute or two for Dr. Dunne, which was great since Jackson had Principal Dean’s tardy warning hanging over his head. His cell phone pinged in the pocket of his jeans just as the older man strode inside the small room, but he ignored it.
“Hi there, Coach Knight.” Dr. Dunne ran his hands over Bishop’s broad back as he sat politely on the exam table. It was a miracle, really. The dog hadn’t emitted a single snort of derision since entering the building. “You too, Bishop. It’s always nice to see you both.”
The phone in Jackson’s pocket chimed again.
“Thanks,” Jackson said, gaze snagging on the state championship ring on Calla’s father’s finger. It matched the one he’d seen on the Victory Club president’s hand at Huddle Up.
“I know it’s time for Bishop’s allergy injection.” Dr.Dunne reached for the syringe a vet tech had placed on a stainless steel medical tray ahead of his arrival. “Can I help you with anything else while you’re here?”
“No, thanks. I think we’re good. We’re still working on the separation anxiety. The probiotic supplements you gave us have helped a little, but…”
“But it’s a long process. Don’t you worry, Coach. That’s totally normal.” Dr. Dunne deftly administered the injection without a single flinch from the dog. Then the older man gave Jackson a kind smile as he slipped a dog biscuit from his pocket and offered it to Bishop with an open hand. “You’re doing a great job as the mascot caretaker, you know.”
The compliment caught Jackson off guard. He hadn’t had time in the past week to catch a single video on his YouTube watch list. “I am?”
“Absolutely.” Calla’s dad’s eyebrows drew together, surprised by his response. “I guess I never mentioned that you’re the only coach who’s sought treatment for Bishop’s anxiety. Likewise, I can’t remember a single one of them taking the time to research dog training or bringing the dog along with them to work.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to keep my sofa cushions intact,” Jackson countered.
“Or perhaps you care about Bishop more than you want to admit.” The corner of Dr. Dunne’s mouth quirked upward. “I just wanted you to know that I appreciate all the care you’re giving Bishop. I’ve never liked the team’s practice of shuffling the mascot from one coach to the next. He deserves a real home. Every dog does. You’re the closest thing to a real family that Bishop has ever had.”
Jackson’s throat grew thick before he could stop it. He’dnever known what a real family even looked like, so hearing that kind of praise hit him harder than he expected. When his phone pinged again, he dug it out of his pocket just so he wouldn’t have to think about what might happen to the bulldog once he left.
“Sorry, my phone’s been blowing up. I should probably check to see if this is the school.”
“I understand,” the vet said. He began to straighten the exam room while Jackson glanced at a string of text messages from a number he didn’t recognize.
Notice of eviction,the first one read.
Jackson’s heart thudded to a stop. It was probably just a mistake. He owned his penthouse in Chicago outright, and he wasn’t even responsible for paying the rent on the tiny house where he’d been living in Bishop Falls. Under the terms of his contract, his housing for the season had been donated by a member of the Victory Club…
Oh, no.A heightened awareness gripped him, much like it did in the seconds before he was about to get tackled.
Jackson scrolled through the following texts as quickly as he could, only absorbing snatches of phrases here and there liketwenty-four hours to vacate, forced removal from the premises and rekeying the locks.
This wasn’t a mistake at all. It was payback.
“Coach?” Dr. Dunne said in a voice laced with obvious concern. “Is everything okay?”
