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Chapter Sixteen

JACKSON

I roll my shoulders, exhaling slowly as the cameras flicker to life.

I’ve done this a million times.

Press conferences. Media briefings. Talking about the game, the team, the plays.

But today?

Today, I’m fighting like hell to focus.

Because Ivy’s in my head.

Because I haven’t stopped thinking about her.

And because if I don’t get it together, these reporters will eat me alive.

I adjust my mic, nodding toward the front row. “Alright, let’s get started.”

A reporter in a navy Stallions polo leans forward. “Coach Knox, how’s the team looking heading into San Francisco?”

Easy. Routine.

“We’re strong. Coming off a great win, but we’re not getting comfortable. We’ve got work to do.”

Another reporter, one I recognize from The Tribune , speaks up. “Dallas Connelly seems to be hitting his stride. Thoughts on his development?”

I nod. “Dallas is a competitor. He’s locked in, and we trust him to lead this offense.”

It’s all going fine.

I answer, nod, keep my cool.

Until the question that blindsides me.

Kara Richards, one of the sharper journalists in the room, lowers her notepad and smiles like she’s about to ruin my day.

“Coach, I have to ask—Chicago’s a big city, and you’re new here. Has anyone special caught your eye yet?”

My jaw tightens.

Not where I thought this was going.

I grip the table, forcing a neutral expression. “I’m focused on football, Kara. I think that there’s a trophy we all want to win that would look very special .”

A few reporters chuckle. A safe, coach-like answer.

But she doesn’t let it go.

“Oh, come on. Play along a little. The news could use a feel good story. There’s no mystery woman keeping you up at night?”

Jesus Christ.

A flash of green eyes and soft laughter slams into my chest.

I blink, pushing the image of Ivy out of my head.

“The only thing keeping me up at night is the Stallions defense,” I say smoothly. “We’re working on some adjustments for Sunday.”

The room chuckles, and Kara sits back, smirking.

I move on, but my pulse?

Still hammering.

I barely make it out of the press room before Drew falls into step beside me.

"You know, I thought the press conference would be the highlight of my day, but actually,” he turns to me with that smug, I know something you don’t want me to know grin, " this is the highlight of my day."

I exhale. "Not now, Drew."

“Oh, no, now is exactly the time.” He keeps pace with me, hands in his pockets like he’s just making casual conversation. “I mean, first, you tank that question about a mystery woman ,” he makes air quotes, "and now, I finally figured out what was up with those women who snuck past security last Sunday.”

My spine stiffens, but I don’t slow down.

He keeps talking. “See, at first, I bought the influencer thing. Made sense. Happens all the time. But then I got curious—because something about them seemed…off. So I did some digging.”

Fuck.

I keep my expression blank. Drew continues.

“So imagine my surprise when I find out”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“ they’re not influencers. No socials. No brand deals. No sponsored content. Nothing. Just two random women from nowhere sneaking into the players’ tunnel.”

I finally stop walking and turn to face him. "Drew. Focus on the game. And your fucking job."

He lifts his hands, grinning. "Oh, I am focused. But you know me, Coach. I like my job. I also like knowing what the hell is going on with my boss. The one who preaches to the team that a solid foundation of character is the most important part of being a team player?”

“I’m only going to tell you this once. Stay the fuck out of my personal business. Understood?”

Drew doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look the least bit intimidated. Instead, he just grins wider, like he’s already won.

Drew lifts his hands, still grinning. “Whatever you say, Coach.”

I watch him walk away, feeling a sharp pulse of irritation.

The guy's a pain in my ass. But he's not totally wrong.

It doesn’t feel good to be hiding something. But this is more complicated than just black and white. I drag a hand down my face, my mind already spinning.

Drew is starting to ask questions.

What happens when everyone else does too?

I get back to my place, kick off my shoes, and throw myself onto the couch.

I should be reviewing plays.

I should be prepping for San Francisco.

Instead, I’m scrolling through my phone.

Through her messages.

Through the picture she sent of her small-town train station, captioned: Back to the real world. Small towns do have their charm, though.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Typing. Deleting.

Typing again.

Finally, I just say fuck it and hit send.

Jackson: Hey. How’s your night going?

Ivy: Nothing too wild. Had dinner at my parents again tonight. You?

Jackson: They know you’re pregnant, right?

Ivy: Yes.

Jackson: Do they know who the father is?

Ivy: Not yet.

Jackson: You waiting for the right moment, or just keeping me a secret?

Ivy: Little bit of both.

Jackson: You like having a secret, don’t you?

Ivy: I think you do too.

Jackson: Guilty.

Ivy: Well, enjoy it while it lasts. Won’t be a secret forever.

Jackson: I know. Kinda looking forward to it not being a secret, actually. I mean at some point.

I pause, staring at the screen. That wasn’t what I planned to say.

But it’s the truth.

Her reply comes a few seconds later.

Ivy: Me too. And…I’m looking forward to seeing you Monday.

Jackson: Yeah?

Ivy: Yeah.

A slow grin spreads across my face.

Jackson: You miss me?

Ivy: Goodnight, Jackson.

I laugh, tossing my phone onto the couch.

Jackson: Sweet dreams, Emerald Girl.

I stare at the ceiling for a long time after that.

I should be focused on the game.

But here I am, thinking about Monday.

Thinking about her.

Looking forward to seeing her.

The game in San Francisco is on West Coast time, so it’s all I can do to fly back in late with the team to Chicago, and pass out.

Monday, Ivy is teaching during the day anyway, so I don’t rush.

Then, when I finally pull into Riverbend on Monday afternoon, it’s exactly what I pictured—and somehow, not at all.

A historic main street with brick buildings. A few old-school diners and coffee shops. A welcome sign with a corny slogan about “small-town charm.”

The only thing that the town is really known for is that it’s an old train town on the stop from Chicago all the way to Santa Fe.

I slow down at a red light, watching as people walk along the sidewalk, waving at each other. Like they all know each other.

This place? It’s the opposite of everything I know.

I shake my head.

Could I live here?

No.

No.

I breathe out, forcing that thought away.

I pull into a gas station to grab a coffee, needing to shake the travel fatigue.

As I walk inside, the bell jingles over the door. The cashier—a guy in his late forties with a Riverbend High football hoodie—squints at me.

Then his eyes widen.

“No shit.” He lets out a laugh. “You’re him. ”

I grab a bottle of water, keeping my face neutral. “Not sure what you mean.”

He grins. “Yeah, okay. I might not be a Stallions guy, but I know a big-time coach when I see one.”

I should’ve expected this. Chicago isn’t far, and football people? They know football people.

I just nod, handing him a twenty. “Just passing through.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, giving me that look. The one that says I know there’s more to the story.

I take my change and walk out before he can ask more.

I take the long way through town, getting a feel for the place.

Where would Ivy even want to live? A house? A bigger apartment?

How the hell am I supposed to be there for her when my job keeps me moving?

Would she ever even want me here?

Well I’m not just gonna have her raise this kid alone. Even if she doesn’t want me, I need to be close to her. And the kid.

Kid.

That word makes me grip the wheel, hard.

None of this makes sense yet.

But tonight? I’ll see her.

I’ll hold her.

I’ll get one step closer to figuring this out.

I just hope like hell she wants me to.

I pull into the grocery store, head in, and load up on healthy food to give to Ivy. What does she even like to eat?

God, this is so crazy. I know nothing about this woman.

“Damn. Two dollars for a cucumber?”

An old woman beside me cackles. “You must not be familiar with inflation, Sonny. They were ten cents in my day.”

She gives me a funny look. “Yeah, I know. It’s just…My uh…” what do I even call Ivy? “My girlfriend is a teacher. Teachers don’t make enough. It’s ridiculous.”

“Well then. Lucky she has you.” The old woman has a little twinkle in her eye.

“Well, yeah. I hope.”

“You hope?”

“It’s…it’s complicated.”

I just hope she wants me , I think.

The old woman picks up a zucchini and inspecting it like it holds the answers to the universe. “Complicated, huh? That’s just a fancy way of saying ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.’”

I huff out a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “That obvious?”

She tosses the zucchini in her cart. “Son, I’ve been married for fifty-two years. Trust me, none of us know what we’re doing.”

I nod, glancing back at the overpriced cucumbers. “Good to know.”

She eyes me, amused. “So, you’re out here buying groceries for a woman you’re not sure wants you?”

I roll my lips together, exhaling through my nose. “Something like that.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Hotshot,” she says, leaning in a little. “A man who buys a woman food? That’s a man who wants to stick around.”

That throws me. I wasn’t expecting some kind of cosmic grocery store wisdom today.

But she’s right. I wouldn’t be standing in the produce aisle stressing about organic vs. non-organic fruit if I didn’t want to be there for Ivy. If I didn’t want to figure this out.

She pats my arm like I’m some lost puppy and wheels her cart away.

I stare after her for a second, then grab the damn cucumber and toss it in my cart.

It’s time to see Ivy.

I pull into the small lot outside her apartment. It’s a different location from the one I went home to back in May. She must have moved.

I kill the engine, gripping the wheel as I take in the sight of her place.

So this is why I couldn’t find her last time. She moved.

It’s a cozy little building, nothing fancy. A string of lights is draped across the small porch, and there’s a bike leaned against the railing. Her bike, I assume. The place suits her—warm, inviting, practical.

But it’s small.

Not in a bad way, but smaller than I’d like for her. Smaller than she deserves.

Then, like the universe is trying to knock me flat on my ass, I see her.

She’s walking toward the door, holding a paper bag against her hip, keys in hand, completely unaware of me sitting here.

And fuck.

The dress she’s wearing—a light brown, patterned thing that moves with her—makes my throat go dry.

She’s gorgeous. Absolutely, stupidly gorgeous.

And I hate that I even have the thought, but she’s here. Alone. In an apartment that suddenly feels too damn small for a woman carrying my child.

I exhale sharply, pushing that thought aside. I’m not here to control anything. I’m here to show up.

I grab the groceries from the passenger seat, step out of the car, and walk toward her.

She looks up at the sound of my footsteps.

Her breath catches.

I stop a few feet away, watching her face shift from shock to something unreadable.

“Hey,” I say, holding up the bags. “Figured you could use a few things.”

She stares at me, and for a second, I have no idea what she’s thinking.

Then, she sighs, shaking her head with the faintest smile.

“You bought me food?”

I smirk. “You gotta eat, right?”

Her eyes soften just a little.

I take a step closer.

“So…can I come in?”

Ivy steps aside, letting me into her apartment. It’s cozy—small, but warm, lived-in. A bookshelf filled with paperbacks, a candle burning low on the counter, a throw blanket draped over the couch. It smells like vanilla and something floral.

I set the grocery bags on the counter. “Figured you might need a few things.”

She raises an eyebrow, peering inside. “What, exactly, did you get?”

I smirk. “Healthy stuff. You’re eating for two now.”

She pulls out a bag of baby carrots and holds them up, her expression deadpan. “Carrots?”

“They’re good for you.”

She digs deeper, pulling out almond milk, protein bars, and a bag of quinoa. She lets out a soft laugh. “Did you Google ‘pregnancy superfoods’ before this?”

I cross my arms, leaning against the counter. “Maybe.”

She shakes her head, but I catch the tiny smile she’s trying to hide.

I watch as she moves around the kitchen, pushing up the sleeves of her flowy dress, putting away what she can fit in her cabinets. The space is small, too small, but she fits into it perfectly.

Still, something in me doesn’t like the idea of her staying here, carrying my kid, with no extra space. And all alone.

I push that thought away. Not my decision.

She pauses, turning to me. “So… are we eating these superfoods, or are we ordering a pizza?”

I glance at the clock. It’s late—and dark outside.

“I’ll cook.”

“You really cook? That wasn’t just for show when you made me breakfast?”

I smirk. “I have to survive somehow.”

She props a hand on her hip. “Alright, Gordon Ramsay. Show me what you got.”

I pull out chicken, veggies, and pasta, rolling up my sleeves like I actually know what the hell I’m doing.

We move easily around each other—her slicing tomatoes, me handling the chicken. It’s too natural, too comfortable, but I don’t hate it.

For a few minutes, it’s just the quiet sounds of cooking. The soft scrape of a knife against the cutting board. The hiss of oil in the pan. The occasional bump of our arms.

And then, before I can stop myself, I say it.

“So…uh…how was your day?”

She gives me a funny look.

I groan. “Sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”

She smirks, shaking her head. “You mean…normal conversation?”

“Yeah.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “This isn’t usually how my nights go.”

Her expression softens slightly. “Me either.”

“So is this like…what couples do? We just hang out, eat, and chat?”

She laughs, and then there’s a beat of silence. Then, she nudges me with her hip. “Well, since you asked—my day was fine. A little long. I have a tough class this year so my weekdays are pretty draining.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Tough how?”

She sighs, stirring the sauce. “Couple of rowdy kids. A lot of energy. I think I finally figured out how to get them to chill out, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Bribery.” She grins. “They’ll do anything for extra recess.”

I chuckle. “Smart.”

Something in my chest settles.

This is easy. Too easy.

And for the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m losing control.