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Chapter Twenty-Seven

IVY

I should’ve known brunch with Cassie Knox would be a lot.

Jackson warned me. Kind of.

I should have pressed him for more details, but he was running out the door.

Because now, here I am, barely one sip into my orange juice, and she’s already grilling me like I’m on trial.

“So wait,” she says, tilting her head. “Do people not know you’re his girlfriend yet?”

I choke. Like, full-body cough.

Girlfriend.

That word.

I set my glass down very carefully. “Uh…”

Cassie leans in, eyes glinting like a bloodthirsty journalist smelling scandal. “I mean, they don’t, right? Because I read all the sports gossip, and all they’re talking about is Travis Carter knocking some girl up, but not you. Which means Jackson is keeping you a secret.”

I clear my throat.

Her mouth drops open. “Oh. Or are you…keeping him a secret? ”

I stare at her. “Well…it’s not really like that. We’re just figuring things out.”

Cassie snorts. “Oh, please. ‘Figuring things out’ is just code for ‘we’re basically in love but too stubborn to say it.’”

I nearly spill my juice. “Uh, yeah, we’re kind of still getting to that part.”

“No, because listen,” she says, ignoring my obvious spiral, and leaning in. “Jackson doesn’t date. Like, at all. I’ve been waiting years for him to meet someone. And then you show up, pregnant with his baby, and he’s not freaking out? He’s not running for the hills? Yeah. He’s in deep.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

Cassie smirks. “Babe. You think he’d let just anyone in his VIP box?”

“We didn’t talk much about it.” I frown. “It’s just so I have a good seat.”

She bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, you’re adorable. You have no idea, do you?”

My stomach tightens.

Do I?

Because…she’s not wrong. Jackson doesn’t date. He’s a high-profile coach in a massive city. He’s the kind of guy that has plans. Strategies. Focus.

And yet. He has no online dating history.

And he wants me here.

With his sister.

With his team.

In his VIP box.

“Oh,” I say, picking at my pancakes. “Cassie, it’s just a lot to process so quickly. I’m doing my best.”

Cassie winks. “Yeah. Oh. Take your time.”

Cassie grins like a lunatic as we make our way past security.

“This is gonna be fun,” she sings.

I’m less convinced.

The stadium is packed with fans, the energy already buzzing. The smell of beer, hot dogs, and cheap nacho cheese fills the air.

And yeah, I’ve been to games before.

But not like this.

Not as Jackson’s...whatever the hell I am. Girlfriend doesn’t seem like the right word, though.

The security guard scans our passes, nods, and we step into the exclusive VIP suite overlooking the field.

Cassie plops down onto a plush leather seat, kicking her feet up. “Ahh. Home sweet home.”

I sink into the seat beside her, my pulse hammering.

Because this is real.

The game. The cameras. The stadium filled with thousands of people.

Jackson’s world.

And now? I’m in it.

No hiding. No turning back.

Well… eventually no hiding. Until Jackson and I come up with a plan to make the announcement, we’ll have to stay low key.

Cassie nudges me, smiling. “Hey. You good?”

I swallow, glancing down at the field. Jackson is out there, clipboard in hand, totally locked in. Completely unaware that I’m up here freaking out.

I exhale.

And nod.

“Yeah,” I say, watching him. “I think I am.”

Cassie and I are mid-bite into our overpriced game-day snacks—which, as it turns out, are actually free in the VIP section, which still boggles my mind—when a woman in heels that cost more than my rent strides toward us with the confidence of a queen.

Reagan Connelly.

General Manager of the Stallions. Wife of Dallas Connelly, the star quarterback. Football powerhouse. She’s like if Erin Andrews wasn’t a reporter—but working for an organization. No one has succeeded more in the male dominated world of football management than she has.

She’s sharp as a tack, and judging by the way she sizes me up, curious as hell.

Her gaze flicks to me, assessing. “Cassie,” she greets smoothly before turning my way. “And…I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Shit.

I glance at Cassie, my stomach tightening.

Cassie barely hesitates. She beams, as effortless as ever. “This is Ivy. My friend.”

Friend.

Cassie’s friend .

Okay, so we’re still keeping this under wraps, I guess…

I school my expression, nodding. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Reagan’s sharp, calculating gaze lingers on me. “You must be a good friend to score a seat up here.”

Cassie laughs, casual as ever. “Oh, she’s the best. Wouldn’t want to watch a game without her.”

Reagan doesn’t look convinced.

My face burns.

She’s far from stupid. Known for her statistical brain, she runs the entire organization. She knows everyone up here. And I know exactly what she’s wondering.

Who the hell is Ivy?

I’m half-expecting her to press for more, to dig deeper. But instead, after a long pause, she simply nods.

Cassie and I exchange a look as Reagan crosses her arms, one perfectly arched brow raised.

“So,” she says smoothly. “What do we think about the current baby daddy scandal?”

I swallow, my pulse spiking. Wait. Is she talking about me? No. It’s got to be Travis.

She gestures toward the field. “We’re down. Is that what’s distracting the team today?”

Cassie recovers first, laughing easily. “Oh, please. The Stallions are still in this. It’s barely the second quarter. We’re a fourth quarter team.”

Reagan isn’t fooled. Her sharp gaze flicks between us, lingering on me.

“Mm. Sure.” She tilts her head. “But if I were, say, a betting woman, I’d wager that at least one other player on this team is dealing with a baby situation right now.”

My heart slams.

She knows.

She knows? How, though?

I force myself to stay calm, to breathe, to pretend I’m not internally spiraling.

Cassie leans in, smirking. “Reagan, honey, you love a good scandal. But I think you’re seeing ghosts. Travis knocked some girl up. Big deal.”

Reagan’s lips twitch, like she’s fighting a smile. “Right. Because Jackson Knox—most eligible bachelor in Chicago, famous for never settling down—is just totally unfazed by all of this?”

I grip my drink too tightly.

Cassie shrugs. “He’s a professional.”

Reagan studies me for a beat longer, then smirks.

“I suppose we’ll see.”

Then, like before, she turns on her heel and walks off.

Cassie sighs, turning to me. “Okay, now crisis averted.”

I stare at her. “Cass. She knows.”

Cassie waves me off. “Maybe. But she won’t say anything unless it’s beneficial for her. You’re fine.”

I bite my lip, glancing toward the field, where Jackson is pacing the sideline, barking orders.

Fine.

Sure.

But for how long?

The car ride after the game is quiet. The hum of the city, the blur of neon lights, the weight of everything that happened this weekend—it’s all sitting between us.

I shift in my seat, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. God, this is weird. Harder than I expected.

“Sucks that you lost the game today.” My voice is soft, careful.

Jackson exhales, jaw flexing. “Yeah. Tough one.”

I hesitate. “I wasn’t…a distraction, was I?”

His head snaps toward me, eyes sharp. “Of course not.”

I study his face for a beat. His furrowed brows, the slight shake of his head—like he’s actually offended I’d think that.

Finally, I nod. “Okay.”

He grips the wheel tighter, glancing at the road. “Next week’s in New York.” A pause. Then, softer: “And after that…bye week.”

My stomach flutters. Bye week. Which means a whole weekend off, with no team travel on the weekend.

“So,” he continues, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “When am I going to meet your family?”

My heart stumbles.

I blink. “What?”

Jackson smirks slightly, but his voice is steady. Serious. “Your family. Your mom, Carl. I mean, they know you’re pregnant, right? You said they don’t know about me yet.”

I swallow.

It’s not that I don’t want them to know.

It’s just…I don’t know how to tell them yet.

Jackson sighs. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot. But they’re gonna find out eventually, right?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

I just have no idea how to introduce them to the man who got me pregnant in one wild night and then ghosted me ( kind of ).

Before I can spiral, we pull into Union Station.

Jackson parks, turning to face me. His hands settle on the wheel, but his eyes never leave mine.

“I hate this,” he mutters.

I let out a shaky breath. “Hate what?”

He gestures to the station, his voice low. “You leaving.”

Something tightens in my chest.

Me too.

I try to lighten the mood. “I mean, I could just quit my job and?—”

“Don’t even joke about that.” His jaw flexes. “I’d never let you give up your life for me. You’re not going to be some kept woman. You love everything about being in Riverbend. And you’ve worked to build the life you have. It wouldn’t be fair for me to take it from you.”

I open my mouth, but he beats me to it.

“I’m gonna be there for you, Ivy. I mean it. You and the baby.” He reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And not just with groceries and home security systems.”

My throat goes tight.

I can’t do this right now. Not when I have to get on that train. Not when I feel like one wrong move will shatter me into a million pieces.

So instead, I lean in, pressing my lips against his.

A slow, deep, lingering kiss.

His hands tighten on my waist. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

When I finally pull back, his forehead presses against mine.

“See you soon, Emerald Girl.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, grab my bag, and slip out of the car.

As I walk toward the station, I don’t look back.

But I feel his eyes on me the whole way.

And when my phone vibrates in my pocket?

Jackson: Text me when you’re home safe.

I don’t even hesitate.

Me: I will.