Page 13 of Coach’s Pass (Twin Cities #1)

Jackson

A ship blows its boisterous horn, cutting through the silence.

I stir awake, blinking into the soft light bleeding through the curtains.

Coach holding me tight in his muscular arms against his hairy chest. Feeling warm and protected by his presence.

Outside, seagulls squawk as the sun rises over Lake Superior.

I smile to myself. I’m not in my apartment or on campus, but right where I should be—in bed with Coach Schmidt.

My body aches in the best ways, a satisfied soreness in between my thighs that reminds me of every second we shared.

Reflecting on what a perfect night it had been last night.

The drive, the casino, and most importantly the sex.

Moving ever so slightly, Coach stirs awake. “Hey sunshine, how’d you sleep?” he asks, in his sexy low voice.

“I think it was the best night of my life.” I confess, still riding the high of it all. Never wanting this feeling to end.

“That’s great!” he laughs. “Did you sleep alright though?”

“I slept incredible.” I murmur, giving him a soft kiss on the lips, his coarse beard brushing my face.

We take our sweet time getting up. After a quick shower and to get rid of last night’s stickiness we throw the sign on the door indicating the need for housekeeping.

A few more kisses, we throw on hoodies and jeans. I slip on my Lake U cap, while Coach puts on some dive bar hat, The Rusty Nail . While it is a romantic weekend, we still need to keep a low profile. When you are the best QB and the number one coach in the state, that isn’t exactly easy to do.

Downstairs we grab coffee from the café. Coach took his coffee black. Me? Give me cream and a boatload of sugar.

The air outside is crisp and fresh rolling in off Lake Superior. The largest of the Great Lakes. A deep hue of blue, vast enough to feel like the ocean. We continue to the boardwalk in Canal Park; the sun beginning to creep higher as the day begins to warm.

We walk side by side keeping a healthy distance between us. Steaming cups in hand, even though all I want to do is reach out and lace my fingers with his.

But we can’t indulge in that pleasure yet.

Too many potential eyes on us. Early in the morning Canal Park is teeming with life.

Couples in Patagonia Fleeces, families on rented bicycles, and golden retrievers with pride bandanas trotting proudly ahead of their owners. God, I fucking love golden retrievers.

“So are you a dog person?” I ask, taking a sip of my sweet and creamy coffee.

He chuckles, the sound low and easy, tugging his cap down a little further to keep his face in shadow. “I adore dogs,” he says. “Always have. Grew up with two retrievers that basically raised me.”

I laugh at that, picturing a little Brad Schmidt being herded around by loyal retrievers.

“But…” he adds with a sigh, “I just don’t have the time anymore. Between the team, the kids, and recruiting I can barely put time away to spend a night with my daughters.”

There’s a note of something bittersweet there, tucked behind his easy smile. I bump his arm lightly. “Well… maybe someday. I can see you with an old retriever that just follows you around and sleeps at your feet during film sessions.”

He smirks. “Yeah? I always imagined something loyal following me around. One ear up, one ear down. Big personality. Like someone else I know.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You calling me a golden retriever, Coach?”

“More like... loyal and hard to shake.”

“I can’t help that you are so damn attractive.” Biting my lip. “They’d have to be crazy not to follow you wherever you go.”

“Shut up,” he grins. “Now you’re just trying to boost my ego.”

I smile, but my heart’s thudding now. The next words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them. “So... what are we?” I glance away as I say it, the question not landing as smoothly as I expected. I don’t want to mess this up. Whatever this is. I’ve cherished every second we’ve had together.

“What do you want us to be?” he asks back, watching me closely.

I frown. “No. No, no, no—you can’t answer my question with another question.”

He laughs but doesn't look away. “That’s fair,” he says. “Let me give you a real answer.”

“Well… this is hard to get out, my throats kind of dry.” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck as we keep walking, eyes fixed on the lake. “You’ve obviously thought about this. So, have I. But we can’t be official. Not in public. Not while you’re still a student athlete.”

I nod my head, anxiously waiting for his next words.

“I’ve got a contract. A career. You’ve got the draft coming up. Eyes are always on us, Jackson. Especially you .”

I stay quiet, taking a moment to process. I knew this was going to happen eventually, but it still hurts. Almost as much as my father screaming at me.

“But,” he adds, glancing over at me, “that doesn’t mean this isn’t real. Or that I don’t want it. You matter to me. And I’m not walking away from that. From you.”

I nod slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “So, what does that mean for us then? Sneaking around like some closeted cliché couple?”

Coach chuckles under his breath. “If that’s what it takes for now? Yeah. I’ll sneak around for you. Every damn day.”

The corners of my mouth lift. Not perfect. But I can live with this for now. “So are we official on the down low?” I ask, my heart’s still beating fast.

“If you want us to be, hell yeah.” He smiles, giving me a warm slap on the back.

Internally, I’m overjoyed. Coach is mine—officially.

I can’t tell anyone, but that’s okay we only have to wait a few months before we go public.

Then I think of Austin, what the hell is he going to say when I tell casually tell him that I’m fucking his father…

That conservation’s not going to go over well, whenever it happens.

A fter grabbing a second round of coffee and a box of fresh Bismarck jelly donuts, we hit the road.

Highway 61 stretches along Lake Superior.

On one side, endless blue; on the other, an endless pine forest mixed with the beautiful autumn hues.

Coach Schmidt has the windows cracked letting in the crisp lake air as his classic rock hums from the radio.

The plan’s simple: Two Harbors first, then Gooseberry Falls, and finally Split Rock Lighthouse. A classic North Shore tour.

We pull into Two Harbors and park near the waterfront. A small, but bustling town. Stepping out of the Tahoe with the donuts in one hand and the coffee in the other. The old ore docks stretch out into Lake Superior.

Coach is walking next to me, close but not too close, hands stuffed in his jean pockets. We keep it chill—just two guys secretly together enjoying a little weekend getaway.

“Hard to believe places like this still exist,” Coach murmurs, squinting toward the water. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “It’s nice pretending the world isn’t watching.”

He glances over at me, then gently bumps my shoulder. “They will be soon enough. You’ll be all over ESPN after we roll through Dakota State next week.”

I smirk. “Only if you keep giving me good plays to run.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a few more up my sleeve.”

We stand in silence for a brief moment, watching the waves slap against the rocks. The seagulls harassing us for our donuts. I toss them mine out of pity. Six of them swarm down and devour it within a minute. Pecking the ground for the sweet jelly that slipped out.

Coach turns to me, “You ready for Gooseberry Falls?”

“Yes, sir,” I grin, tossing him a mock salute, the warmth of our private language slipping into my tone.

He smirks and shakes his head. “You know you don’t have to call me that outside of practice.”

“I know ,” I say, bumping his shoulder as we start walking back to the Tahoe. “But I like how it sounds.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Smart Ass.”

We climb back into the SUV, and he reaches for the aux cord. “Alright, quarterback. You’re on DJ duty. Pick something good for the drive.”

I scroll through my playlist, pretending to look thoughtful, but really just searching for something he’ll absolutely hate.

A few seconds later, the bright, bubblegum beat of K-pop fills the Tahoe.

Coach squints at the dashboard and then gives me a slow sideways glare.

“You did not just put that on,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel like the song burst his ear drums.

I bite back a laugh. “C’mon, Coach, embrace the global cultural sensation.”

He grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t turn it off. He must not hate it that much.

A few miles north, we turn off into Gooseberry Falls State Park.

The parking lot is half full. Families unpacking their strollers and couples in matching hiking boots.

We climb out, and the second I shut my door, I can already hear the falls in the distance.

The roaring sound of water crashing onto hard rock.

Coach grabs a water bottle and nods toward the trailhead. “C’mon. Let’s stretch those legs.”

We head down the paved path towards the falls, passing underneath old growth pine trees.

The trail splits off and the forest falls away, revealing Gooseberry Falls in all its glory.

Foaming white water spills over the worn rock.

Kids are squealing in the shallows while their parents shout after them.

It’s pristine and breathtaking. For a second, I wonder why I don’t do this more often. Oh yeah, always too busy with football. Practice, film sessions, games, recovery, repeat.

“Hey, we should get a photo together!” I say, my heart flutters at the thought of having our first picture together, just me and Coach. A little frozen moment to prove this weekend actually happened.

Coach smiles, “Yeah, why not.”

“Hey ma’am, can you take a photo of us?” I ask a middle-aged woman in cargo shorts and sporting a pride-themed fanny pack.

She looks up and smiles. “Of course! You two are too cute to pass up.”

My ears burn red instantly.