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Chapter Forty-One

JACKSON

We pull out the win.

It’s a hard-fought battle, but we got it done.

Now? I’m exhausted, sweaty, and fucking starving.

All I want is a hot shower and to see Ivy.

But first?

This damn press conference.

I step up to the podium, rolling my shoulders. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

The reporters chuckle, cameras flashing.

“Coach Knox,” one of the ESPN guys starts, flipping through his notes, “great game today. The offense really found its rhythm in the second half. What was the key adjustment?”

I nod, relieved we’re starting with actual football. “Yeah, we made a few halftime adjustments—tightened up the O-line, switched to a faster tempo. I told the guys, ‘Just trust the system, execute, and we’ll be fine.’ And they did.”

A couple more normal questions follow. I almost let my guard down.

But then?

Kara fucking Richards—the reporter who’s been dying to dig into my personal life—leans forward, all but salivating .

“Coach Knox,” she says sweetly, “you mentioned trust just now. That’s important on and off the field, right?”

My gut instantly tightens.

I fold my arms. “What are you getting at, Kara?”

She grins like a cat with a trapped bird. “Well, given the recent attention surrounding your personal life, do you feel like you’ve been a distraction to the team? Travis Carter’s situation was already causing waves, and now with your—shall we say— own baby mama drama, do you worry about the focus of your players?”

The room goes dead silent.

I can feel Drew shifting beside me. Reagan is standing in the back, arms folded.

Everyone is waiting.

I grip the podium. Stay calm.

And then?

I smirk. Because fuck them.

I lean forward, looking Kara dead in the eye.

“You know, Kara, everyone falls in love.” My voice is even, unwavering. Deadly calm. “That’s not a distraction. That’s life. ”

A few gasps ripple through the room.

Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you’re confirming you’re in love with her?”

I don’t hesitate. “Damn right, I am.”

The room erupts. Cameras flash, voices overlap.

I lift a hand. “Actually, why don’t we settle this right now?”

I turn to the side entrance of the room, where I know she’s waiting.

“Ivy, sweetheart—come here.”

A noise runs through the crowd as the door opens.

And then, there she is.

Ivy steps in, hesitant at first, then standing taller.

Her green eyes lock onto mine.

I reach out, pulling her next to me.

“This is Ivy. She’s my…” I search for the word. I haven’t proposed to her yet, because, well, I don’t want it to be rushed. I want to take my time with her, make it special. “She’s my girl.” I settle on.

She smiles back at me.

“Anyone else have anything else to say?” I challenge, looking back at the reporters.

Silence.

Not a single fucking word.

I smirk. “Okay. Let us focus on the games, please.”

And with that?

I walk Ivy out of the damn room.

Ivy is quiet as we drive through Miami.

Not upset. Just seems like she’s processing.

And I get it. That was a big moment.

I just told the entire country I love her.

I reach over, grabbing her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You okay?”

She exhales a laugh. “I don’t know. This is all kind of insane, right?”

I squeeze her fingers. “Maybe. But I meant what I said.”

Her eyes flick to mine. Soft. Curious. A little stunned.

I smirk, turning into a private entrance of a high-rise.

Her brows knit. “Where are we going?”

I park, hop out, and open her door before she can even reach for the handle.

She gives me a look. “Jackson.”

I just grin. “Come on.”

We take a private elevator up forty stories to the rooftop.

And when the doors open?

Ivy’s breath catches.

Because this view? It’s unreal.

The entire city stretches out below us, lights glittering along the coastline. The ocean, dark and endless, fades into the horizon.

A single table is set near the edge, candles flickering in the warm Miami breeze.

She turns to me, eyes wide. “Did you rent out the rooftop of this hotel?”

I shrug. “I know a guy.”

She just stares at me. “You know a guy ?”

I smirk. “Coach perks, baby.”

Ivy shakes her head, but she’s smiling. That soft, small smile I’d do anything to keep on her face.

I pull her chair out, guiding her down, then take my own seat across from her.

The waiter brings over two glasses of sparkling water, nodding before disappearing into the shadows.

For a second, neither of us speak.

We just soak it in. The view. The moment. The fact that, for the first time in weeks, we actually have time to talk.

Then?

I exhale. “Alright. Let’s get into it.”

Ivy blinks. “Into what?”

I lace my fingers together, resting my elbows on the table. “This. Us. What happens next.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “That’s a big conversation.”

I nod. “Yeah. But I don’t want to wait. You know how I feel about you. I want to be there for you. I want to be with you. I want to be a dad to this baby. And I know we still have a few things to figure out.”

I reach across the table, taking her hand.

“But I need you to know—I’m all in. No hesitation. No doubt.”

Her fingers tighten around mine.

Her eyes glisten in the candlelight.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Then tries again.

“What if I don’t know what I want?” she whispers.

I squeeze her hand. “Then we take it one step at a time.”

Her lips part, like she’s about to say something else?—

But before she can?

A voice interrupts.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Coach Knox and his mystery woman.”

Ivy stiffens.

I turn.

And my entire mood fucking shifts.

Because walking toward us, smirking, cameras flashing behind her? Is Kara Richards.