Page 46 of The Perfect Pass
“He does, and he’s going to be as good as new. I was at the hospital with Jackson just now, and—”
“You were with Jackson?” The corner of her father’s mouth tipped upward.
“Yes, and he’s really upset about what happened. We were at the school carnival when word came in that one of the players had been taken to County General. Stan wanted me to go so I could write about it for the paper, and Jackson wanted to be there for Tommy.”
His brow furrowed. “And are you? Going to write about it, that is.”
“Yes. It’s a story that people need to hear.” She closed her eyes, dreading whatever rebuke her father’s expression might carry. “Please don’t tell me you want me to sweep it under the rug. That’s not going to happen. Even if Stan doesn’t want to run my story, it’s not just going to disappear. Jackson won’t let it.”
Even if it costs him his job.
“I like him. He’s good for this town,” Dad said.
She let her eyes drift open again. “So you’ve said. Quite a few times, in fact.”
She wondered how he’d managed to be so certain, right from the beginning, when she’d misjudged Jackson the way she had. Maybe she’d been blinded by his celebrity good looks and all those airborne pairs of panties. Or maybeher dad had spent so much time around animals that he’d picked up on the sixth sense they seemed to have—the mysterious thing that made dogs such great judges of character.
“It’s true.” He wagged a finger at her. “And shame on you for thinking I’d want you to sweep this under the rug. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Really?” For the first time in hours, she felt herself smile. “You know your friends at the Victory Club are going to disagree. They’re going to blame the dumb curse, let those kids off the hook and say we shouldn’t talk about it.”
“Maybe they will.” Dad nodded, and ever so slowly, the color returned to his face. He looked like himself again. “And maybe it’s time I stopped caring what they think. You know how I feel about the Bulldogs. I love our team with all my heart. What happened to your brother was an accident, but this is different.”
Calla’s throat went thick. She wanted to tell her father that she was proud of him—that this felt like a turning point of some sort or the start of a long-awaited healing. But the words just wouldn’t come. All this time, they’d kept on pretending that everything was normal after Ethan got hurt…that football was the most important thing in the world. Never once had she seen her father get angry or rail at the unfairness of their family’s deepest, darkest tragedy. He hadn’t even mentioned Ethan’s accident in years.
Sure, he talked about his son—about his trophies and the records he’d broken and how proud he’d been when Ethan went back to the Bulldogs to work as a coach. But never, ever about that awful, sickening tackle.
Perhaps it was best to simply let him talk for once.
“You know what? Some chamomile does sound good.”He pushed his chair back and stood, lingering by the table in his bedroom slippers. Then he ruffled her hair like she was a kid again. “Join me for a cup, honey?”
Calla gave him a watery smile. She was so tired she could barely think straight, but wild horses couldn’t have dragged her away from that table.
“I’d love to.”
Chapter Thirteen
The first thing Jackson saw when he entered Tommy’s hospital room the following morning was the giant banner that stretched the full length of the wall opposite the bed. Covered in green painted letters and what looked like several fistfuls of gold glitter, it was kind of hard to miss.
Get Well, Tommy! Bulldogs Always Bounce Back!
Dozens of signatures surrounded the main message. A quick glance told Jackson the banner had been signed by his players, although Stokes’s, Collier’s and Brown’s names appeared to be notably absent.
“Well, look at this,” Jackson said, gaze sweeping over the flower arrangements, teddy bears and stuffed bulldogs covering every surface. “I guess I’m not the first visitor this morning.”
“Hi, Coach!” Tommy beamed. The boy looked impossibly small tucked into his white bedsheets, and a black eye had blossomed since Jackson had seen him the night before. But he was okay, and against all odds, he was happy. That was all that mattered.
“Hello, Coach Knight. Thank you so much for coming.” Tommy’s mother rose from the chair beside the bedto clasp both of Jackson’s hands with hers. “Tommy’s had a lot of visitors today, but I know there’s no one he’d rather see than you.”
Jackson’s heart clenched at her kind words. She had every right to blame him for what had happened.Histeam was the reason her son was lying in a hospital bed right now. She should be yelling or screaming or demanding answers. Not thanking him and treating him like visiting royalty.
“I’m happy to be here. I’d never miss the big send-off.” Jackson reached out to give Tommy’s foot a gentle squeeze through the green-and-white Bulldog blanket folded at the end of the bed. “I hear you’re headed home, bud.”
The nurses had given him an update when he’d passed the medical desk after exiting the elevator. Jackson guessed that had violated at least one or two privacy rules, but he’d been grateful for the update. With Calla’s latest column splashed just under the banner on the front page of today’s paper, Tommy’s hospitalization was literal headline news. The cat was officially out of the bag.
The article had been brief and to the point. Knowing Calla, she’d fought for every single word. When they’d parted ways last night, she hadn’t been convinced her boss would even let her run it. Seeing her byline above the fold had been both a surprise and a relief. Tommy’s name had been left out of the piece, but trying to keep a secret in Bishop Falls was next to impossible—especially if said secret involved the Bulldogs.
“We’re just waiting on the discharge paperwork.” Mrs. Riess flitted around the room, straightening the get-well gifts like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.
