Page 19 of The Perfect Pass
A few more players half-heartedly joined in. “Win.”
Realization finally dawned, and Simmons slowly turned around, eyes locking with Jackson’s. “Oh, you’re here. I expected you to be tardy.”
With one look, Jackson could tell the older man probably hadn’t cracked a smile since Jackson had been the six-year-old phenom of his peewee flag football league. Even the guy’s frown lines had frown lines. He was a relic from another era, from the top of his battered Bulldogs cap to the hem of his stretchy polyester pants.
“Not tardy.” Jackson had heard enough of that word for the day. “Seems like I’m right on the dot.”
He couldn’t let this guy get to him. The best thing he could do would be to follow Cade’s advice and concentrate on the kids. Everyone here wanted the same thing: for the young men in this room to succeed.
Jackson took a deep breath, walked straight past Simmons and addressed his team directly. “I’m Coach Knight. I know there’s been a lot of talk about me, and I get it. Like Coach Simmons said, I’ve still got some things to learn about the Bulldogs.”
Simmons let out a snort, but the joke was on him. Thanks to his mascot-caretaking duties, Jackson had become immune to that particular sound.
He continued, nonplussed. “But if there’s one thing Idoknow, it’s football. That’s why I’m here—to help each and every one of you become better football players. That starts today. Right here, right now. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!” the team yelled in unison.
Mostly, anyway. The trio of boys seated front and center on one of the locker room benches stayed quiet. That was okay, though. He couldn’t win everyone over on the very first day. There was still time.
Is there, though?A tight knot formed in Jackson’s stomach.Friday night will be here in the blink of an eye, and everyone expects a win. Losing isn’t an option.
Calla had made that abundantly clear.
Jackson glanced from one teenager to the next, wincing internally at the constant ache in his knee as he tried to remember what it felt like to be in their shoes. Football had been pure, unadulterated joy back then—the adrenaline of running through the breakaway banner onto the field on game nights, the way the roar of the crowd never failed to give him goose bumps and the uncanny sensation of the rest of the world falling away beneath the stadium lights. The game…his teammates…catching the ball and running as fast as his legs could carry him…those things had been all that mattered.
Playing professionally had changed things. He still loved football, but it had been a while since the simple act of entering the stadium had given him goose bumps. Over time, the sport he adored had broken his body. He hadn’t quiterealized that it had also broken his spirit. Yard after yard, game after game, year after year.
Standing in front of those kids, he felt the tiniest tug somewhere deep inside, like maybe—impossible as it seemed—being here was taking him all the way back to the beginning. To a simpler time when playing ball was what it was supposed to be.
A game.
“Let’s get to work. I expect everyone out on the field in sixty seconds, ready to show me what you’ve got,” Jackson said, and then he felt it—a prickling wave of goose bumps rising along the exposed skin of his arms. The air in the locker room sparked with electricity. He couldn’t be the only one who felt it, could he?
“This is the first day of something new, gentlemen. If we work together, I promise you it can be something great.” A knot formed in his throat, preventing him from saying more. So he gave his whistle a sharp blow, and a stampede followed as the players scrambled to get to the turf.
When he turned around to face Simmons, he spotted Cade standing off to the side giving him a thumbs-up. The day had gotten off to a rocky start, but he’d finally done something right.
Jackson stood his ground as his problematic assistant coach brushed past him on the way to the field, nearly shoulder checking him in the process.
“Simmons,” he called after him.
The older man cast him an irritated glance. “Yeah?”
Jackson crossed his arms. “I get the feeling you and I need to clear the air.”
The older man looked him up and down as if he was a bug on the bottom of his shoe instead of a nine-time Pro Bowler. “There’s really not much to say. I thought the job was mine, and then you turned up. Got the rug pulled right out from under me.”
“You’ve been here a lot longer than I have. I understand why this scenario might be frustrating, but the school made its decision. You’re stuck with me, and if these kids are going to have a shot at winning State, I’m going to need you working with me, not against me.” They had togetto State first, and right now, that hardly seemed like a given. “The team comes first, right?”
A flicker of hesitation passed through Simmons’s eyes, but then the set of his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He gave a slight nod. “Right. Just don’t expect me to hold your hand out there.”
Jackson chuckled quietly.
“Not on your life, Coach.”
* * *
Calla sat on the top row of the bleachers at practice, as far away as she could get from Jackson and his players. An inch farther, and she would’ve had to leave the stadium altogether.
