Page 9 of The Perfect Pass
The lobby smelled like pencil shavings and disinfectant. A gleaming trophy case stood just opposite the entrance, filled from end to end with football awards, plaques engraved with various dates and memorabilia. The Bulldogs had apparently won a state title fourteen years ago, as evidenced by the championship ring proudly displayed atop a green velvet pillow in the center of the case.
“Did the team get to the state finals last year?” Jackson asked as they approached the entrance to the cafetorium.
A looked of stunned silence crossed Tommy’s face for a beat, as if Jackson had just asked the most obvious question in the world. He cleared his throat and nodded as he reached for the door. “Yes. We’ve been the runner-up every single year since the Bulldogs won the title fourteen years ago. I’m pretty sure that’s why you’re here. Everyone thinks you’re the one who’s going to break the curse.”
Well, that certainly sounded ominous.
And maybe just a little bit impossible…
“What curse?” Jackson asked, footsteps stalling just outside the cafetorium. This seemed like pertinent information to have before walking into a press conference, no matter how small it might be.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Tommy shook his headand a pained expression crossed his face. “Everyone knows you’re never supposed to mention the you-know-what out loud.”
“Son, I need to know what you’re talking about,” Jackson said.“What curse?”
But it was too late. No sooner had he uttered the question again than Tommy swung the door open wide, propping it open for Jackson to step inside. And suddenly, he found himself facing a wall of cameras. They were everywhere, from the front row of the cafetorium, all the way to the back of the room, and every one of them was pointed squarely at him.
Jackson lifted a hand in greeting at the standing-room-only crowd. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Where had all these folks come from?
He glanced at the press pass hanging around the nearest reporter’s neck. It identified the journalist as a sports editor for theDallas Morning News, and Jackson felt his brow furrow. Texas was a large state, and Dallas wasn’t located anywhere near Bishop Falls.
He kept walking toward the podium that had been set up on the stage at the front of the room, all the while trying to make sense of the surreal scene. Then he heard a familiar-sounding voice call his name, and when his head swiveled toward the sound, he caught sight of a columnist he knew from SportsSphere, one of the biggest cable sports networks.
Thenationalpress had turned up for this?
His agent had been right. Thank heavens Harper had talked some sense into him earlier. If he’d been a no-show for this, he could’ve kissed his career goodbye. He owedher a gift basket of something. At the very least, he needed to make good on his promise to take a selfie with the dog.
“You know what?” Jackson turned toward Tommy and murmured under his breath. “I think I’ll take Bishop up there with me, after all.”
He was in no way prepared for the questions that were about to be lobbed his way. At least if the mascot accompanied him, the optics might be decent.
“Yes sir, Coach,” Tommy said as he offered him the leash.
Jackson did one better and bent to scoop the bulldog into his arms. He held back a grunt as he hoisted the pup off the floor.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lot heavier than you look?” he whispered.
Bishop snorted, spraying Jackson’s jersey with god-knows-what. He ignored it and pasted a smile on his face worthy of a Colgate endorsement as he took his place at the podium.
Time to face the music.
* * *
For half an hour, Calla stood against the back wall of the cafetorium and watched as Jackson Knight charmed his way through the press conference. Bringing the mascot on stage with him had been a genius move. Reporters were melting around her, left and right. Not one of them asked him a question that demanded an answer of anything remotely resembling substance.
It was infuriating on every possible level.
She glanced down at her notepad, still opened to a fresh, blank page. How was it possible that she’d listened to the man talk for thirty minutes and hadn’t jotted down a single note?She knew her editor probably expected a puff piece, but this was ridiculous. How was she supposed to cobble together a story out of sound bites like “football is about discipline, teamwork and finishing strong” and “you’ve already got a talented group here, and I’m looking forward to bringing out their best”?
Sure you are,Calla thought. For all practical purposes, he’d been exiled. Surely she wasn’t the only person in the building who realized he was using this team for his own personal redemption. Not just the team, but the entire town.
Then again, maybe shewasthe only one who still had her wits about herself. Jackson Knight was famous for his charm, so she should’ve been prepared. Still, hearing about it was one thing. Seeing him in action was really something else.
The reporter standing directly in front of her shifted as he raised his hand, fully blocking Calla’s view of the proceedings. Jackson must’ve pointed at him, because he stuttered a few times before spitting out a question. “Wh-what drew you to this coaching position in Bishop Falls?”
Calla simply couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Where to start? How about the absurd payday—a record for a Texas public school coaching position? Not that it mattered, since it hardly compared to the money he pulled in from the league and various endorsements. His reason for accepting the position was obvious.
“I thought it would be a great way for me to stay connected to the game while rehabbing my knee,” Jackson said with another dazzling grin. “And who wouldn’t want to work with the kids down here? The football program in Bishop Falls is one of a kind.”
