Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

IVY

The city feels so alive at night.

Lights shimmer off the water, the gentle hum of conversation and distant music mixing with the sounds of the occasional boat drifting by. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes me feel both small and incredibly present at the same time.

I glance at Jackson, walking beside me. His hands are tucked in his pockets, his pace easy, but there’s something unreadable in his expression. He’s thinking. Processing.

And I can’t blame him.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “So, tell me everything. What’s the last four months been like for you?”

I exhale a slow breath. “Wow, just throwing out the big questions now, huh?”

He shrugs. “Might as well.”

I hesitate, then start from the beginning. The morning I found out. The way I stared at the test in disbelief, convinced it had to be wrong. The absolute panic.

I tell him about Lauren’s reaction. The day I told my parents over football Sunday. The way my stepdad muted the game and it felt like the silence was deafening. The way my mom teared up but hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.

Through it all, Jackson listens, his brows furrowing slightly.

“I should have been there.”

I blink at him. “It’s okay. I dealt with it.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s not okay. You were dealing with all of that alone.”

I chew my lip, uncertain what to say.

But before I can respond, he suddenly pauses mid-step, looking at me.

“Wait…don’t you have school tomorrow? It’s Monday.”

I let out a small laugh. “I took a personal day.”

“Oh? What about your friend? She a teacher too?”

“Yeah. She headed back on the evening train. I stayed behind because this is, you know…important.”

“An understatement.”

“I figured I’d be too emotionally wrung out to try and teach fractions to fourth graders tomorrow. So I’m taking the day off.”

He chuckles at that, then tilts his head. “Fair enough. How are you getting back to Riverbend?”

“I’m taking the train tomorrow morning. It’s about a three hour ride.”

Jackson nods, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer than expected. Then, casually—too casually—he says:

“Come back to my place tonight.”

My breathe catches. “What?”

He shrugs. “You might as well not have to be all alone in the city tonight. It’s safer anyway.”

I stare at him.

He looks so at ease, so unbothered, like this is the most natural suggestion in the world. But something about the way his jaw tightens just slightly tells me he actually cares whether I say yes.

I take a deep breath. “Okay.”

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah?”

I nod, my pulse skipping a little. “Yeah.”

“I’ll bring you to your hotel to pick up your things, and then you can come back to my place.”

Jackson’s car is exactly what I should have expected.

Sleek. Expensive. Subtly intimidating.

The drive to my hotel is comfortable, the buzz of the city palpable around us. He helps me grab my stuff, then loads it into his trunk like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And then, before I can second-guess myself, we’re pulling into an underground parking garage beneath a high-rise that looks like something out of a movie.

His penthouse is breathtaking.

I drop my bag inside the door, my eyes sweeping across the space. “This is not at all what I expected.”

Jackson smirks, tossing his keys onto the counter. “What, did you think I lived in a frat house?”

“Honestly? I thought you were like…a high school coach or something. Not that you couldn’t have been an NFL coach. It’s just rare .”

He chuckles, walking past me, gesturing around. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

And just like that, I follow him into his world.

His penthouse is exactly what I expected—and nothing like I expected at all.

It’s huge, opulent, breathtakingly modern—with the kind of view that makes you pause mid-step.

The Chicago skyline stretches out before us, glittering in the night, the city pulsing with life below. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the entire space, making it feel almost untouchable—like a life that exists on another level.

But the place itself?

It doesn’t feel lived in.

It’s pristine. Too clean. Like someone who hasn’t had time to actually make it home.

I glance at the untouched bookshelves, the sleek-but-bare countertops, the perfectly arranged furniture that looks like a showroom.

He’s not here much.

“Wow,” I say, turning in a slow circle. “This is…”

Jackson smirks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Over-the-top? Obnoxious?”

I shoot him a look. “I was going to say ‘insane,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

He chuckles, pushing off the counter. “Yeah, it’s a little much. But I didn’t exactly pick it out—my agent lined it up when I got the job. I’ve barely had time to settle in.”

That part, I believe.

He’s been too busy building a new team, adjusting to a new life.

Too busy to even try to find me.

I push that thought down.

He disappears into the open-concept kitchen, pulling open a sleek cabinet.

“Tea?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Or do you want something else?”

I raise a brow. “You drink tea?”

He smirks. “I own tea. I drink whiskey.”

I laugh. “Tea’s fine.”

A few minutes later, I’m curled up on the massive sectional, a mug of peppermint tea warming my hands as Jackson settles onto the other end, his own mug barely touched.

There’s a pause, like he’s debating something, then?—

“Hey…what if we watched a movie?”

I blink. “A movie?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t even know what kind of movies you like. I mean, I remember everything from that weekend but I don’t really know much about you.”

Something in my chest tightens.

I don’t really know much about you.

He says it like it’s something that needs to be fixed.

Like he actually wants to.

I shift on the couch, my heart doing weird little flips.

“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Pick one.”

Jackson scrolls through the movies, pausing for half a second before clicking on one.

"Good Will Hunting?" I ask, glancing over at him.

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch. "Classic. Plus, I don’t know—feels like something you'd like."

I smirk. "Oh? You think you know my taste in movies now?"

He lifts a brow. "Not yet. But I'm working on it."

Something about the way he says it—casual but pointed—makes my stomach do that stupid fluttering thing.

I sip my tea, trying not to overthink it.

At first, we sit like normal people.

Separate. Comfortable.

But somewhere between the Southie bar fights and Robin Williams’ first monologue, Jackson shifts.

His arm stretches along the back of the couch.

Then, it’s not on the couch anymore.

It’s around me.

I don’t react.

Neither does he.

It’s just…easy. Like we’ve done this a million times before.

Like his warmth was supposed to be there all along.

I wake up to warm sheets, soft pillows, and a bed that’s definitely not mine.

I sit up, disoriented.

The skyline stretches out beyond the massive windows, morning light spilling into the room. It takes me a second to piece it together—Jackson’s penthouse. Last night. The movie. Falling asleep on the couch.

But then…why am I in his bed, and not the guest room?

Before I can spiral too hard, the bedroom door swings open.

And—oh.

Jackson steps inside, sweaty and shirtless, a sheen of exertion on his skin from a morning run. His dark hair is slightly damp, pushed back from his face, and his chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths.

I swear to God, the man was built to ruin lives.

He pauses mid-step when he sees me awake, his mouth tugging into a half-smile.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

I blink. “Uh. Morning.”

He crosses to the dresser, grabbing a clean T-shirt, then glances at me.

“You looked uncomfortable on the couch,” he explains, tugging the shirt over his head. “Figured you should have the special bed.”

I frown. “The special bed?”

He shrugs, grinning. “It’s more comfortable.”

I tilt my head. “And where did you sleep?”

“Couch.”

I stare at him. “You have a penthouse with multiple rooms, and you chose the couch?”

He smirks, running a hand through his hair. “I like the couch.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah, well. I’m weird.” He gestures behind him. “I put on some coffee. I grabbed some decaf on the way back, too, because I wasn’t sure…can you have caffeine?”

I blink again, my chest doing something stupid.

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, a little.”

“Cool.” He nods toward the door. “I’m also making breakfast.”

I glance at the clock—eight thirty.

“I have to be at our training facility by noon today. When’s your train?”

I stretch my arms, still waking up. “Ten.”

He nods. “I’ll give you a ride to the station then.”

A few minutes later, we’re on his balcony, mugs in hand, staring out at the expansive view of Chicago.

The city stretches for miles, Lake Michigan glinting under the morning sun.

Jackson leans against the railing, sipping his coffee, casual, effortless.

Meanwhile, my brain is a mess.

I’ve spent the last four months telling myself I’d never see him again. That he was a ghosting asshole. And now, we’re here. Drinking coffee like we do this every Sunday morning.

I try to make small talk.

“So…the Stallions. How are they looking this year?”

He smirks. “That’s what you wanna talk about?”

I shrug, taking a sip. “I mean, I figured I’d get some insider knowledge.”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

I set my mug down and reach for my camera, pulling it from my bag.

Jackson raises a brow. “You travel with that?”

“Yeah.” I lift it to my eye, framing the lake. “I like taking pictures of things that feel important.”

Click.

The shutter snaps.

Jackson watches me, curious. “How long have you been into photography?”

I hesitate, adjusting the lens. “A while. I just… I don’t know. It’s a hobby.”

“A serious one?”

I meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Something shifts in his expression, but before I can overthink it, he nods toward the camera. “Let me see.”

I hesitate, then pass it to him.

He looks at the photo of the lake, his thumb brushing over the screen. “You’re good.”

My chest warms. “Thanks.”

He glances at me, serious now. “I mean it, Ivy. I meant what I said last night. I’m gonna support you any way I can.”

I swallow hard.

I think he means it.

But he’s going to have to show it.

We drive in comfortable silence to the train station.

It’s still early, the city slowly waking up as we pull up to the curb.

I turn to him. “Thanks for the ride.”

He nods, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

I hesitate, then ask the question that’s been sitting heavy in my chest since last night.

“When will I see you again?”

He exhales, rolling his lips together, then finally says, “Next week’s game is in San Francisco. I fly back Sunday night. Can I come see you on Monday?”

I raise a brow. “Don’t you have practice?”

He shakes his head. “It’ll be canceled after the flight. The boys need to rest on Monday.”

I toy with the strap of my bag. “I teach during the week. But I’ve got the whole afternoon free that day.”

His blue eyes hold mine. “I know an afternoon and a night isn’t much, but I need to see you.”

My breath catches.

He lifts his phone, smirking slightly. “And I have your number now. We can text if we need to iron out the details.”

We’re both stalling.

Both lingering.

And for a second, it feels like he’s going to kiss me.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply and unbuckles his seatbelt.

Before I can react, he’s out of the car, walking around to my side.

He opens my door, stepping close—too close. Close enough that I can smell the warm spice of his cologne, feel the heat radiating off his body.

His fingers brush my arm as I slide out, my bag slung over my shoulder.

I swallow hard. “Okay…so next Monday?”

“Monday.” His voice is low. Sure. “I’ll drive out in the morning. You teach, right? What time do you get done?”

“Right around three.”

“Perfect.” He pauses, then grins slightly. “I’ll see you in Riverbend at three.”

I turn, heading toward the entrance, but I can feel his gaze on me.

The whole way inside.