Page 59 of The Perfect Pass
“There’s more. The three boys who got themselves suspended from the Bulldogs are at Rustwood now. Coach here needs our help. He’s got enough on his plate without worrying about where to sleep at night. He’ll stay in the garage apartment for the rest of the season,” Dad said, as if the matter had already been settled.
Which it obviously had, since Jackson was already drinking out of her father’s mug and preparing to spend the night in her brother’s bed. Calla felt like she’d stepped inside the library book that had always been her favorite when she was a little girl—the one where the three bears come home to find Goldilocks running amok in their cabin in the woods. She’d always giggled so hard at the ending when Baby Bear found the stranger lying in her bed, eyes closed with her head resting on the pillow.
Someone’s been sleeping in my bed, and she’s still there!
Jackson, her own personal Goldilocks, lowered his chin. She was getting another secret glimpse of the real man—not the football legend, not the lightning-rod head coach of the Bulldogs, but the man who’d trusted her with his deepest secrets. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried.
“I hope this is okay with you, Calla,” he said, dropping his gaze to her father’s mug in his hands. “If not, I—”
“Don’t be silly,” she said,cutting him off. She knew things were going to get tough for him once he’d decided to take a stand. Those chickens had finally come home to roost. “Of course it’s okay.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” Jackson said as Bishop the bulldog ambled into the foyer, toenails clicking on the smooth wood floor.
The dog positioned himself so close to Jackson that one of his paws came to rest on the tip of his white athletic sock. If that wasn’t adorable, Calla didn’t know what was.
Jackson flashed her a lopsided grin and then looked at Bishop with an affection so palpable that Calla knew without a doubt her heart wouldn’t be the only one to break once he left Bishop Falls and returned to his real life. “This guy appreciates it, too.”
Dad’s gaze slid toward her, then lingered as a glint of understanding shone in his eyes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to—the knowing tilt of his head and the slight lift of his salt-and-pepper eyebrows said it all. Her father knew her better than anyone else in the world, and he was looking at her like he’d read a diary she’d kept tucked away at the back of a drawer. A smile played at the corners of his mouth that told her he knew exactly how she felt about Jackson.
Calla wanted to flee, just like Goldilocks did after she’d been caught sleeping in Baby Bear’s bed. But there was no place else to go…nowhere to escape these feelings that, one way or another, would ultimately be her downfall, no matter how warm and lovely they felt right now.
“Welcome home, Coach,” she said softly, and the break in her resistance was all too easy. Sweet relief.
Getting Jackson Knight out of her system was about to get infinitely more difficult.
* * *
Welcome home, Coach.
Jackson knew it was just an expression, but ever since Calla had uttered those words, they’d been playing in his head on repeat. He couldn’t seem to shake them. They kept spinning round and round all through supper in the Dunnes’ dining room, where he, Calla and Dr. Dunne had eaten baked spaghetti and garlic bread at a real dining room table, just like the families he’d seen on television when he’d been growing up. Calla’s dad had said grace, and Bishop nudged Jackson’s shin under the table, angling for scraps, and the entire episode had been so completely foreign to Jackson’s own experience that by the time dessert was served—vanilla bean ice cream with warm caramel topping—he knew why Calla’s words had stuck the way they did.
Thiswas what a real home was like.
He wondered how differently his life would’ve gone if he’d ever had a soft place like this to land. Would he have signed with the Cyclones, or would he have chosen a simpler path? Maybe his love for football would’ve taken another turn, and he’d have ended up coaching his kids’ peewee football team instead of playing on TV. He really couldn’t say. There’d been too much water under the bridge for him to contemplate a different existence, and besides, he’d busted his chops for the life that he had now. He wasstillbusting his chops. Saving his career was his sole reason for being here in Bishop Falls in the first place.
The longer he stayed, the more those reasons seemed to fall away. He had another purpose here now, and sometimesit felt more authentic than whatever Harper had decided he was supposed to be doing in Texas. Every time he let one of her calls roll to voicemail, he reminded himself she had his best interest at heart. Bishop Falls wasn’t supposed to be real. It was supposed to be his redemption, not his calling.
But damned if this house didn’tfeellike home, even if that wasn’t what Calla had really meant.
People who grew up in nurturing families took things like wholesome meals and an extra pile of blankets for granted, but for Jackson, such simple acts of kindness scraped him raw. They broke down his defenses, and by the time dinner was over and he found himself washing dishes alongside Calla at the kitchen sink, Chicago felt like a faraway dream.
“I’m going to pop over to the clinic for evening rounds,” Dr. Dunne said as he pulled on a quilted jacket emblazoned with the same illustrated version of the Bishop Falls bulldog that was splashed across the historic water tower looming over the town green. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Be careful,” Calla called as Jackson handed her a freshly scrubbed plate.
They’d fallen straight into a seamless dishwashing routine—he washed and she dried—as natural and rhythmic as a slow dance around the homey kitchen.
“Thanks again for dinner, Dr. Dunne,” he said as he slid another dish into the soapy water. Then his eyes connected with Calla’s father’s. They were the same sparkling aquamarine as his daughter’s were. “And for everything else.”
“Stop thanking me, and please call me Bill. You’re welcome here, Jackson. We’re happy to help.” His gaze shifted to Calla, and he gave a sly tilt of his head. “Right, honey?”
“Totally.” Her cheeks bloomed a gentle pink. Jacksonsupposed it could have been a reaction to the sinkful of warm, sudsy water between them, but he doubted it.
He bit back a grin and passed her another clean plate as her dad closed the door. Alone for the first time since Jackson had dropped off his luggage in the garage apartment, a charged silence sparked between them. Neither of them said anything until, finally, the gentle splash of the dishwater seemed absurdly loud to Jackson’s ears.
Calla must’ve thought the same, because they both started talking at once.
“I missed you at practice this after—”
