Page 12

Chapter Twelve

IVY

The stadium on Sunday is a living, breathing thing.

Everywhere I look, there are thousands of fans in navy and gold, waving flags, drinking beer, shouting stats. The energy is so thick, so electric, it feels like a tangible thing wrapping around me, pressing in.

It’s louder than I expected.

Bigger. Everyone is so pumped up from the first week’s victory, you’d have thought they already won the Super Bowl.

Like, it’s one game, people. Relax.

And I feel like an intruder.

I pull my coat tighter around myself, despite the fact that the early fall air is still warm.

Lauren, on the other hand, is thriving.

She links her arm through mine as we make our way through the main concourse, scanning for our section. “This is so much better than watching at home.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She nudges me. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you’re not excited to watch your baby daddy coach in his big season debut?”

I groan. “Can you not say ‘baby daddy’ while we’re standing in a sea of people who literally worship him?”

She laughs, dragging me toward our seats. “Come on. Let’s go get you a front-row seat to your life imploding. ”

We get to our seats, and I force myself to look down at the field.

At first, it’s all a blur of movement. Players warming up. Trainers and staff crisscrossing the sidelines. Cheerleaders hyping up the crowd.

There, standing near the fifty-yard line, headset on, arms crossed, watching his team like a king overseeing his kingdom.

Jackson.

Everything inside me seizes up.

Because he looks exactly the same…but somehow even better.

The broad cut of his shoulders. The way his navy Stallions quarter-zip clings to his body. The pure authority in his stance, like he belongs here. The energy around him as he commands the team.

And it’s same man who cooked me pancakes in nothing but boxer briefs.

The same man who kissed me so deeply, I thought I’d drown in him.

The same man who pressed me against a brick wall.

Oh, God.

“I am not okay.”

Lauren is already watching me. “Breathe, babe.”

I drag in a shaky breath. “I…I didn’t think seeing him would feel like this. ”

Lauren squeezes my hand. “Like what?”

Like he’s a stranger and the most familiar person in the world at the same time.

Like I’m watching someone who is so far out of reach, it’s ridiculous to even imagine he could ever be part of my life again.

“Like this is impossible,” I say out loud.

Lauren watches me for a long moment, then nods once, decisively. “Alright. We’re telling him after the game. Fate will show us the way.”

My stomach clenches. Because suddenly, that doesn’t feel like a choice anymore.

It feels inevitable.

The game has started, but I’m barely watching.

Because I can’t stop looking at him.

Jackson moves like he was born for this. The sheer command he has over the field, the way he directs his players, the intensity in his stance—it’s mesmerizing. He’s not just coaching; he’s leading.

And I’m completely unraveling.

Lauren nudges me, but I don’t even blink.

"You're staring," she observes.

"Shut up."

She smirks. "Admit it. The man looks good. "

I do not admit it.

Because admitting it means acknowledging that I have to talk to him.

And I’m not ready.

What if he doesn’t want this?

What if he doesn’t want me?

What if I ruin everything?

I grip the edge of my seat, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Lauren… what if I just… don’t tell him?”

Lauren doesn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll tell him. I’ll post up a post on social media and let it go viral. I’ll make a Tik Tok, or...”

I snap my head toward her. “You wouldn’t.”

She arches a brow. “Try me. If it comes to that.”

I inhale sharply, stomach twisting.

There’s no way out of this.

The stadium empties out, the last of the roaring crowd filtering into the streets, their cheers still echoing in the night air. The energy lingers, electric and thrumming through my veins.

I should leave. I should go home.

But I can’t.

He deserves to know.

Lauren, of course, has already mapped out an escape-proof plan. She grips my arm like a woman on a mission, steering me toward the restricted players’ entrance.

“Alright, listen. There’s security, but we’re getting past them.”

I stare at her. “How?”

She flashes a wicked grin. “By the power of bullshit. And the Force. Like in Star Wars.”

I blink. “So we’re Jedi Knights now? That’s your actual plan?”

She waves a hand dramatically. “These are not the girls you’re looking for.”

I can’t help but laugh a little at her homage to one of my favorite movies. Still, I’m now skeptical that fate will just take care of this.

Before I can protest further, we’re already in front of the security guard. The guy is massive—built like a brick wall with a grudge—and he doesn’t look remotely amused.

Lauren steps up, confidence radiating off her like a damn politician. “Excuse me, sir. We’re Jackson Knox’s sisters. Our grandma just had a heart attack, and we need to tell him.”

The guard blinks, and looks us up and down.

“…Jackson Knox doesn’t have sisters. Just one sister.”

Lauren doesn’t miss a beat. “Distant sisters.”

The guard folds his arms.

Plan A? Failed.

Lauren glances at me, mutters, “Time for Plan B.”

Then—before I even realize what’s happening—she yanks down the top of her dress, flashing him.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” I hiss.

The security guard gawks, sputters, “Ma’am, what the?—”

But it works.

Because in the half-second of his complete and utter shock, Lauren gives me a nudge and I bolt past the security guard.

My pulse pounds.

I have no idea where I’m going.

The hallways are long, white, and sterile. Loud voices echo from the locker room area.

I turn a corner—and there’s another security guard.

Shit.

Think, Ivy.

I reach into my purse and pull out the only thing that even remotely looks like credentials.

My school ID.

I flash it at him casually like it’s a top-secret clearance badge. “Hi, emergency faculty business. I just need to slip through real quick.”

The guy barely looks at it. Nodding as he scrolls his phone, he waves me through.

I exhale shakily.

Okay. That worked. Somehow. I guess the inside security is more lax than the outer.

The smell of sweat and cologne hits me as I step inside the locker room area.

Big mistake. So many half-dressed men. Now I feel like I’m way out of my element.

I freeze, panicking.

A giant, ridiculously good-looking player with damp hair is walking past, pulling a Stallions t-shirt over his insanely muscular chest.

I recognize him immediately. Dallas Connelly. Star quarterback.

I walk straight up to him, flip my ID again like a total lunatic.

“Hi, Ivy Bennett. Where’s Coach Knox?”

Dallas raises an eyebrow, and looks me up and down.

Then—grins. “Damn. I don’t know who you are, but Knox is about to have an interesting night.”

He nods toward a door down the hall. “Office. Two doors down.”

I nod my thanks, then turn and walk toward it.

My heart is a drum in my chest. My hands shake.

And then—before I even reach the door?—

It swings open.

Jackson steps out.

His hair is still damp from sweat. His Stallions jacket is unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, veins visible on his forearms.

He’s laughing at something one of his staff says. His voice is low, relaxed, and deep.

Completely unaware of what’s coming.

Until he looks up.

And his entire body stills.

His eyes land on mine and freeze there.

The smile fades, and the ease in his stance disappears.

His brow furrows. His chest rises, then falls—like he’s trying to make sense of what he’s seeing.

His voice is rough. Disbelieving.

“Ivy?”

I don’t breathe.

I can’t.

Not when Jackson Knox is standing two feet in front of me, staring at me like I just wrecked his entire understanding of reality. Not when my heart is pounding so violently, I swear everyone in the room can hear it. Not when I know what I came here to reveal.

But before I can say another word?—

“Coach?”

A new voice cuts in.

I turn, pulse still hammering.

Jackson’s assistant coach, Drew Michaels, is standing there, frowning.

His eyes land on me, then flick back to Jackson.

“The hell’s going on?” Drew asks. “Who is this?”

Shit.

I panic. FULL panic mode.

“Oh! I’m an influencer,” I blurt. Too quickly. Way too quickly.

Jackson visibly tenses.

Drew blinks. “An influencer? ”

“Yeah.” I nod aggressively. “Football lifestyle content. Behind-the-scenes coaching perspectives. You know, the usual. ”

Jackson rubs his jaw, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Drew doesn’t look convinced. “Huh. I don’t recognize you.”

“Not surprising,” I say smoothly, though my voice betrays me. “I specialize in, um… niche content.”

Jackson bites his lip. I swear he’s trying not to laugh.

Drew glances at him. “This true?”

Jackson pauses.

And then—to my complete and total shock—he plays along.

“Yeah. Totally forgot about it, though. My phone’s been crapping out on me all day.”

I blink.

He glances at me, voice dropping just slightly.

“ Right? ”

Oh. My. God.

I clear my throat. “Oh, totally.” I force out a casual laugh. “Yeah. You were supposed to get back to me, but your phone was acting up. Hate when that happens.”

Jackson nods, arms crossing. “Speaking of— I need your number again.”

I freeze.

“My phone wiped everything,” he adds, voice unreadable. “Come write it down for me.”

Drew is still watching us like we’re lunatics, but I don’t argue.

I follow Jackson into his office.

Drew follows us in, arms crossed, smirking like he knows something juicy is happening.

“So,” he says, glancing between me and Jackson. “What’s this about?”

I fake a casual laugh. “Oh, you know. Just confirming details for my exclusive behind-the-scenes coaching interview.”

Drew squints at me. “Exclusive, huh?”

“Super exclusive,” I say, nodding way too fast.

Jackson doesn’t even blink. “She’s got a big following.”

Drew raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? Where?”

Shit.

I fumble for an answer. “Uh—sports. Football. Coaching. Leadership.”

Drew just stares.

Jackson, still watching me like he knows something’s up, grabs a pen from his desk and slides it toward me. “You were giving me your number again, right?”

I freeze.

For a moment, I just stare at the pen, my heartbeat slamming in my ears.

Then, I nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Right! Of course. My number.”

I take the pen, my hands shaking.

But instead of writing just my number, I scrawl out four words in clear, bold, life-altering letters:

I'M CARRYING YOUR BABY.

My pulse pounds as I add my number beneath it—again—fold the paper in half, and slide it toward him.

Jackson takes it, gripping it tight.

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

Then, he flips it open.

His entire body locks up.

His grip on the paper tightens. His jaw clenches so hard I hear it. His breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts.

Drew leans in. “What’s it say?”

Jackson snaps the paper shut in his fist, his knuckles turning white. “Nothing.”

Drew narrows his eyes. “It sure as hell looked like something, judging from the reaction you just had.”

Jackson doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink.

He just stares at me.

And I swear, I can feel the weight of his stare in my bones.

Like he’s trying to read my mind.

Like he’s trying to figure out if this is a joke.

If this is real.

I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say.

“Okay. Enough. What the hell is going on?” Drew asks.

Jackson forces a tense smirk. “Just confirming our interview details.”

Drew tilts his head. “Right. That.”

Before I can mentally implode, the door bursts open.

A panting security guard stumbles in.

“Sir! I tried to stop her. But she—her friend—well…she’s very convincing.”

“Yes. Very convincing,” Lauren announces, grinning.

Drew blinks. “Wait—you’re together ?”

Lauren pats my arm. “Oh yeah. Best friends. Ride or die.”

Drew lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Coach. This is interesting. The hell are you getting into later?”

“Drew. Cut it.” Jackson exhales sharply, addressing the security guard. “No. That was an oversight. They should have been given access. Big mistake. Won’t happen again.”

Lauren grins. “That’s what I tried to tell him.”

Drew still looks deeply confused, but he just shakes his head, muttering, “Right. Okay.”

Jackson’s gaze pins me to the spot.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says loudly.

Then, too smoothly, too in control, he adds?—

“I believe we said 7 pm at Everest?”

My stomach flutters.

Everest. A Michelin-starred rooftop restaurant overlooking the entire damn city. It’s legendary. You can’t get reservations for a year in advance.

Lauren, ever the chaos gremlin, lets out a low whistle. “Ooooh. Fancy.”

Jackson doesn’t react. Doesn’t even blink.

His focus is entirely on me.

I clear my throat, trying to regain control. “Right. 7 pm.”

“Don’t be late.”

His voice is casual. Controlled.

But his knuckles are white around the note in his fist.

Lauren hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, babe. Let’s go pick out an outfit for you tonight.”

Jackson rubs his temple.

Drew looks at both of us curiously.

Lauren winks.

And me?

I barely remember how to breathe.

Because I just dropped the biggest bomb of my life.

And Jackson Knox Is officially on the clock.