Page 11

Chapter Eleven

IVY

The train rocks gently beneath me as I stare out the window, watching the Iowa—and then Illinois—countryside blur past in streaks of gold and green.

It’s September, so the fields are thick with corn, tall and golden, waiting for harvest. Every so often, we pass a farmhouse, a rusted-out old barn, or a lone grain silo standing against the bright blue sky.

My home.

My entire world for the last twenty-seven years.

And yet, with every mile, with every town we speed through, every stretch of endless, open, flatland, I feel the distance between me and the life I’ve always known growing wider.

The closer we get to Chicago, the tighter my chest feels.

I shift in my seat, trying to breathe through it, but the nerves are relentless.

Beside me, Lauren is perfectly unbothered, scrolling on her phone.

"Relax, babe,” she says, not even looking up. “It’s just your baby daddy who has no idea you exist.”

I glare at her. “Lauren.”

She smirks. “I’m kidding. Kind of.”

I exhale sharply, pressing a hand to my stomach, where a small but noticeable bump is forming. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Lauren finally looks up. “Ivy. You have to do this.”

I chew my lip, glancing at my phone. I haven’t texted my mom since leaving, and I haven’t even told her why I’m really taking this trip.

I type out a message.

Me: Made it on the train. Should be in Chicago by noon.

She responds immediately.

Mom: Okay, sweetie! Be careful in the city. Call me when you get there.

I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. My mom has no clue that in less than 24 hours, I could be telling a man I haven’t seen in four months that I’m carrying his baby.

Jesus. What am I even doing?

The train slows slightly, passing through another tiny rural town—a place even smaller than Riverbend, if that’s possible. I watch the neat rows of houses, the white steeple of a church, the single gas station on the corner.

And then, instinctively, I reach for my camera.

Lauren notices immediately. “Oh, we’re in photo mode now?”

I ignore her, lifting my little vintage Canon and snapping a shot of the landscape as it rushes by.

I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I want to capture this moment. This in-between. This feeling of transition.

Or maybe because photography makes me feel grounded.

Lauren sighs, watching me adjust the settings. “You know you’re gonna have, like, three seconds of clarity before the next batch of cornfields blur into the void, right?”

I snap another shot of the golden rows stretching endlessly toward the horizon.

"Shhh. I'm in the zone. ”

Lauren rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “Damn. Maybe you should’ve been a photographer instead of a teacher.”

I lower the camera, studying the screen. The shot is beautiful but simple. Nothing fancy, nothing dramatic. Just a stretch of land I’ve always known—except, for the first time, I’m leaving it behind.

And something about that hits me in a way I can’t explain.

Lauren nudges me, softer this time. “You okay? Just making sure you’re not spiraling.”

I tear my eyes away from the window. “I’m not spiraling. I’m realizing. ”

“Realizing what?”

“That I am not cut out for this.”

Lauren sighs, dramatically clicking off her phone and turning to face me fully. “Okay. Let’s recap.” She holds up a finger. “You’re pregnant.”

“Yes, Lauren, I am aware.”

“Two,” she continues, ignoring my sarcasm, “the father of your child is a ridiculously hot NFL coach?—”

“I appreciate you acknowledging that he’s hot. However, we don’t know that he’s the father,” I blurt out. “I mean, statistically, yes, obviously, but we?—”

Lauren’s eyes go wide. “ Ivy. ”

I sigh, slumping back in my seat. “Okay. Yes. It’s him.”

She nods triumphantly. “Three. The man ghosted you, yes. But what if he didn’t?”

I frown. “Lauren.”

“I’m serious. What if he lost your number ? What if something happened?”

I fold my arms. “If he wanted to find me, he could have. Riverbend is tiny. ”

Lauren doesn’t argue, but I see the way her lips press together, like she’s holding something back.

Instead, she glances out the window, squinting. “Damn. Corn for days. ”

"Yeah.” I flick through the shots I took on my camera. “It’s always like this in September. Harvest is coming soon.”

“And you’re still sure you could never live in the city?”

“Isn’t that getting a little ahead of this whole thing?”

“You’re right. Let’s stay focused on the task at hand. Did you…decide what you’re going to write on the sign?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “I know you’re joking. No way am I doing a sign.”

We ride in silence for a while, the train carrying us closer and closer to the place that might change everything.

The landscape starts to shift.

The cornfields thin out, replaced by more roads, more buildings, more industrial parks.

And then—the skyline appears.

It starts as a faint outline, barely visible through the haze. But with every mile, it grows bigger, bolder, more imposing.

Lauren nudges me, grinning. “Here we go. I love this part of the ride.”

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry.

I lift my camera again, snapping a shot of the skyline in the distance.

Because suddenly, this isn’t just a trip.

This is happening.

Jackson Knox is in this city.

And soon—I will be, too.

The city is alive.

It’s the night before the home opener, and Chicago is buzzing with excitement. The energy crackles in the air, spilling out of bars, restaurants, and high-rise windows. Every street corner has at least one Stallions jersey-clad fan, and banners hang from light poles and bar windows, welcoming the season.

Lauren practically skips beside me. “God, I love cities.”

I, on the other hand, feel like my stomach is eating itself.

The closer we get to the stadium, the heavier my chest feels. Everywhere I look, Jackson’s world is staring back at me. The billboards, the fans, the goddamn skyline itself.

Lauren links her arm through mine, steering me toward a bar with floor-to-ceiling windows and a rooftop patio. Inside, it’s packed with fans and casual diners, all drinking, eating, and buzzing about tomorrow’s game.

Lauren turns to me with a grin. “Alright. Pre-game meal. Stallions headquarters. Just the two of us and a few hundred people who worship the father of your child. No big deal.”

I groan. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

We step inside, and the hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the scent of grilled food fills the air.

Lauren snags a table near the window. “Okay, let’s order, then we’ll make a game plan.”

“A game plan?”

“Yes, Ivy. This is a sports-themed mission. We need strategy. ”

I slump into my seat, setting my camera on the table. “How about I just wing it like I have everything else in my life?”

Lauren waves down a waiter, unbothered. “One Spicy Mango Margarita, and…” she looks at me.

I glance at the menu and shake my head. “Just a ginger ale.”

We eat. We talk. Lauren gossips about a teacher at school who is probably having an affair with the gym coach.

I keep glancing around the bar, trying to keep my nerves in check.

Then it happens.

The TV above the bar flickers to life.

A sports anchor appears, grinning like an idiot. "Tomorrow night, the Chicago Stallions play their home opener with new head coach Jackson Knox at the helm."

My stomach drops.

Lauren’s head whips toward the screen.

And then, there he is.

Jackson.

My Jackson.

I feel lightheaded as they cut to a press conference clip.

He’s standing at a podium in a crisp suit, answering questions. His voice is smooth, composed. His jaw is clean-shaven, but his hair is slightly longer than it was in May.

The camera zooms in, capturing the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his blue eyes scan the room with authority.

I can’t breathe.

Lauren grabs my wrist. “Oh. My. God.”

I just stare.

The reporter asks him a question. “Coach, a lot of people were skeptical about hiring someone so young. How do you respond to critics who say you don’t have enough experience to lead a team?”

Jackson chuckles, shaking his head. “You ever heard of baptism by fire? That’s what this is. And I’m not afraid of it.”

Lauren whispers, still gripping my arm. “You slept with that.”

“I know. ”

“He knocked you up with that voice. ”

“Lauren.”

“Oh my God, Ivy, you are so screwed.”

I finally manage to blink. My entire body feels flushed, hot, overwhelmed.

Because seeing him in person was one thing.

But seeing him like this—on-screen, larger than life, commanding a room?—

It makes me realize just how far apart our worlds really are.

And just how insane it is that I’m carrying his child.

Lauren leans forward, her voice dead serious. “Babe. You have to tell him.”

I nod slowly, eyes still locked on the screen.

“I know. I know .”

It’s all so surreal, I can barely believe it. Four months pregnant. Sitting in a Chicago sports bar. Just saw Jackson Knox—the father of my child—on TV, looking like the most untouchable, powerful man on the planet.

My heart is still racing. My stomach? Doing somersaults. And not just because of the baby.

Lauren is watching me like a hawk, sipping her margarita way too smugly.

I take a deep breath, pressing a hand to my slightly rounded belly. Okay. Deep breaths. No panicking.

No panicking?? Oh my God. This man was inside me.

I pick up my ginger ale and take a long, shaky sip.

Lauren leans in, grinning. “Sooo…how are we feeling, mama? ”

I shoot her a glare. “I feel like I might hurl.”

Lauren’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, is it morning sickness or Jackson Knox-induced sickness?”

“Both.” I set my drink down, tapping my nails against the glass. “Lauren, he looks… so different. ”

“He looks the same. You just didn’t realize you were sleeping with a celebrity.”

I groan, burying my face in my hands. “How the hell am I supposed to tell him? Like, for real . We’re in Chicago and I have literally no plan.”

Lauren taps the table like she’s leading a business meeting. “Okay. Option one: you casually DM him. ‘Hey, Jackson. Long time no see. Hope you’re well. By the way, you impregnated me in May.’ Good luck with the game tomorrow!”

I stare at her.

“Okay, okay.” She waves a hand. “Too aggressive.”

I cross my arms. “You think?”

Lauren smirks. “Option two: We sneak into the game and get a private moment with him afterward. You dramatically remove your coat and reveal the bump. Very telenovela energy.”

I choke on my drink. “I am not doing a dramatic reveal.”

Lauren shrugs. “Fine. Boring. Option three: You sit tight, we enjoy the game, and fate takes care of it.”

I sigh, looking back at the TV. Jackson is laughing at something a reporter said, casual, confident, unbothered.

Meanwhile, I am spiraling.

I grip my drink harder. “You know what I really want?”

Lauren leans in. “Enlighten me.”

“I want to go back in time and not sleep with him. ”

Lauren snorts. “Liar.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine. I just…I wish he wasn’t this guy. I wish he was just… Jackson. The guy who made me pancakes and kissed me like I was the only girl in the world.”

Lauren softens for a moment, then reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Ivy. You have to tell him. No matter how big his world seems, this is bigger.”

I nod slowly.

Because she’s right.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I tell Jackson Knox he’s going to be a father.

…Or I throw up and run away.

It’s a fifty-fifty shot.

“I like the fate idea.”