Page 9

Chapter Nine

IVY

That night, I’m curled up on my couch, knees tucked under a blanket, my laptop balanced on my thighs. The soft glow of the screen illuminates my dimly lit apartment, casting shadows along the walls.

Jackson Knox’s face stares back at me from every angle. Piercing blue eyes. Dark hair. That perfectly trimmed beard.

I read a press release from late May about his hiring. Then a sports blog speculating on whether he can turn the Stallions’ struggling team around. There are a handful of interviews, but nothing too personal—he’s a coach, not a player, so his image isn’t everywhere. But still...it’s more than enough for me to get a good look at him.

And it’s unmistakable.

The man I met in May—the man who got me pregnant—is now the head coach of a professional football team. The one my family and I cheer for, no less.

I exhale slowly, my fingers hesitating on the trackpad. I should stop looking, but I can’t.

I hear Lauren sprint up the stairs like she’s on a mission, her boots thudding against the steps. Thirty seconds later, she bursts through my front door, eyes wide with curiosity, already tugging off her jacket.

“Okay, what’s the big emergency?” she demands, dropping her bag onto my tiny couch. “You texted me in all caps. I assumed someone died.”

I gesture toward my laptop, still open on my coffee table. “Just…sit down.”

Lauren narrows her eyes. “You’re freaking me out, babe.”

I take a deep breath. “So…are you a football fan? Like, at all?”

She snorts. “Absolutely not. You know I’m a hockey and baseball girlie. Football’s not my thing. Why?”

I hesitate, hovering over my laptop’s trackpad. “Because…”

I press play.

The screen flickers to life—a replay from today’s Stallions game. The camera zooms in on the sidelines, where a tall, broad-shouldered man paces, headset on, barking orders.

Jackson.

I hit pause.

Lauren leans in, watching as the camera lingers on him—his chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, intensity radiating off him.

The caption at the bottom of the screen reads:

"New Head Coach Jackson Knox leads the Stallions to a Week One victory!"

Lauren blinks. Then leans in closer.

I hold my breath.

Her head slowly turns toward me.

“No.”

I stay silent.

Lauren blinks rapidly. “No. No. No.”

I take another breath.

Her jaw drops.

“IVY.”

I bite my lip.

She grabs my arm. “Are you telling me that this Jackson—” she gestures wildly at the screen—“is your Jackson? The Jackson? The guy you hooked up with in May? The one who ghosted you? The father of your baby?!”

I nod. “Yep.”

Lauren stares at me. Then at the screen. Then back at me.

Her eyes shine with pure disbelief. “You… did not just sit here and let me find out like this.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I just figured it out today. When Carl was raving about this ‘great new head coach,’ no less.”

Lauren blinks. Then she places both hands on her knees, like she physically needs a minute to process this.

“I need a drink.”

I laugh, but she doesn’t.

Her expression turns dead serious.

“No, I’m serious.”

She stands abruptly, heading toward the kitchen. I watch as she pours a generous rum and coke, adding extra ice like she needs the chill to ground her.

When she returns, she sinks onto the couch beside me, taking a long sip before setting the glass down.

Her voice is quieter now.

“Sorry. I had to.”

“Have a sip for me, please,” I joke.

Her gaze softens, the teasing edge gone.

“Ivy, this is levels of huge I was not ready for when you texted me to come over.”

I let out a long, slow sigh. “I know.”

Lauren reaches for my hand, squeezing gently. “How are you feeling?”

I exhale, rubbing my forehead. “Like my brain short-circuited. I mean, I knew I was pregnant. I just didn’t know who he was until today.”

Lauren nods, processing. “And you haven’t talked to him? At all?”

“No. And he never reached out, so I assumed…I don’t know, that he moved on. That I wasn’t important to him.”

Lauren shakes her head, eyes flicking back to the screen where Jackson’s face is frozen in time.

“Well,” she says, firm but kind. “You have to tell him.”

I groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “Lauren.”

“Nope. I don’t make the rules.” She holds up a hand. “You don’t get to not tell him, Ivy. This isn’t just about you.”

I press my palms into my eyes. “I know. I just…I need to think.”

Lauren watches me for a beat, then squeezes my hand again.

“Okay. I’ll give you time,” she says, her voice gentler now.

I relax slightly.

“But not too much time,” she adds, giving me a pointed look. “Because this baby is not going to stay a secret forever. You met him in early May…it’s early September. You’re going to really start showing soon. And everyone is going to start asking you questions.”

I exhale slowly, my mind spinning.

She’s right.

I just don’t know if I’m ready.

I laugh. “Even if I wanted to, what am I supposed to do here? Call him? Go to a game and ask to see him? Where do I even start? Plus, he didn't want to see me again! It feels so weird, Lauren."

“Okay, first of all? I need you to take a deep breath before you spiral into an overthinking coma.”

I huff out a breath, dragging my hands through my hair. “I’m not spiraling.”

Lauren gives me a look. “Babe. You just found out your baby’s father is a literal NFL coach. You’re allowed to spiral. But only for, like, five more minutes. Then we make a plan. Spiraling, even if it’s understandable, is not helpful.”

I let my head fall back against the couch. “A plan.”

“Yes. A plan.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Because you are not going to just sit here for the next five months hoping the baby slides out and Jackson Knox never finds out and we all live in ignorant bliss. That’s not an option and you know it.”

I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I know. ”

Lauren plops onto the couch next to me, legs curled under her. “Alright, so let’s go through your options.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “I have options ?”

She holds up a finger. “One—you call him. Somehow.”

I snort. “Right. Hey, Stallions front office? Can I speak to your head coach? I think he knocked me up in May.”

Lauren makes a face. “Yeah, okay, maybe not that.” She holds up another finger. “Two—you go to a game.”

I scoff. “And do what, exactly? Wave at him from the stands while very obviously pregnant? Try to get in the front row and yell at him? Hold up a sign?”

Lauren shrugs. “Hey, I bet that would get his attention, actually. What are you thinking for the sign?

She puts on a fake announcer voice, miming holding up a giant poster.

“‘HEY, COACH KNOX—REMEMBER ME? YOU KNOCKED ME UP!’”

I throw a pillow at her, but gently.

She laughs, dodging it. “Fine, fine. But if you’re not gonna call him or show up, then what’s left?”

I chew on my lip, anxiety twisting in my gut. “I don’t know, Lauren. It’s just…weird.”

Lauren softens. “What feels weird?”

I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. “The fact that he never tried to see me again. He wasn’t that into me. What if he doesn’t even care?”

Lauren tilts her head. “You sure about that?”

I glance at her. “Pretty sure, yeah. He ghosted me. Probably something weird about me. He just didn’t like me…enough.”

Lauren softens immediately, setting her phone down and reaching for my hand. “Hey, hey, don’t do that,” she says. “Ivy, don’t make this about you not being enough. You are enough.”

I shake my head, blinking rapidly as the tears threaten to spill over. “I just don’t get it. We had such a magical weekend, Laur. I know there are one-night stands, I know that’s how these things work, but…why wouldn’t he at least have the decency to reach out?”

Lauren squeezes my hand, her voice firm but kind. “Babe, maybe it wasn’t about decency . Maybe something happened .”

I exhale sharply, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Like what? What possibly explains him disappearing into thin air?”

Lauren purses her lips, thinking. “You make a good point.”

I sigh, my voice tired and a little defeated. “I don’t want to think that weekend meant nothing either. But honestly? If he wanted to find me, he could have. This town is tiny. It’s not hard.”

She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but then she stops. Instead, she just exhales and nods.

“Let’s sleep on this, and reconvene,” she says softly.

I look away, blinking hard. “Okay.”

Lauren squeezes my hand one last time, then stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, okay?”

I nod, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”

She leans down, wraps her arms around me in a firm, steady hug. “You’re not alone in this, Ivy. No matter what happens.”

I let out a shaky breath, holding on just a little tighter. “Thanks, Laur.”

She pulls back and gives me a small, reassuring smile before grabbing her bag. “Get some rest. No more stalking your baby daddy on YouTube.”

I manage a weak laugh as she heads for the door.

When she’s gone, I sit in silence for a moment, staring at my laptop screen.

Jackson’s stupidly handsome face is still frozen there—a reminder of everything I thought I left behind.

And everything I now have to face.

The final bell rings the next day, and my classroom erupts into noise—desks scraping against the floor, chairs clattering, backpacks zipping. My students, full of chaotic fourth-grade energy, stampede toward the door like they’ve been released from captivity.

“Walk!” I call after them, raising my voice over the commotion.

A couple of them slow down slightly, but I’m not convinced they won’t sprint the second they hit the hallway.

I exhale, running a hand over my face.

This group is tough.

They’re smart, but they’re also bold—testing every boundary, constantly challenging me. If last year’s class was mostly sweet, this year’s is a pack of tiny lawyers, always looking for loopholes in my instructions.

As I finish stacking worksheets, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Miss Bennett, can I get a Band-Aid?”

I turn and see Landon, one of my more… spirited kids, holding up his finger.

“What happened?”

He shrugs. “Paper cut.”

I sigh, grabbing a Band-Aid from my desk. “Alright, let me see.”

He sticks out his hand. There is no cut.

I lift a brow. “Landon.”

He grins. “I just like Band-Aids.”

I press the Band-Aid into his palm. “It’s time to go home.”

As he laughs and heads out the door, I lean against my desk, taking a deep breath.

It’s only September, and I’m already exhausted.

Right as I reach for my water bottle, a voice startles me.

“Ivy.”

I jump, spinning around to see Principal Howard standing in the doorway.

Oh, great.

She’s tall and intimidating, always carrying herself with an air of calm authority. She doesn’t smile much, and she never pops in without a reason.

I straighten immediately. “Hi, Principal Howard.”

Her eyes sweep the classroom before landing back on me. “Tough group this year?”

I let out a short laugh. “You could say that.”

She nods, stepping inside. “I’ve heard a few of them are high-energy.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Principal Howard crosses her arms, watching me carefully. “How are you doing?”

I pause.

The way she asks, it feels pointed. Like maybe she knows something. Or suspects something.

I paste on a practiced smile. “I’m good.”

She lifts a brow. “You sure?”

I force a nod. “Yeah. Just adjusting to the new dynamic. New school year and all.”

She studies me for a second longer, then nods. “Alright. If you need anything, let me know.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thanks.”

She gives me one last look before stepping out.

As soon as she’s gone, I turn toward the window, watching as the last few buses pull away from the school.

That’s when I see him.

Or think I do.

A man, standing near the parking lot.

Tall. Dark coat. Familiar stance.

My stomach tightens.

It’s only for a split second, but I swear to God—it looks like Kyle.

My pulse spikes.

But then a bus moves, blocking my view for half a second.

And when it clears?—

He’s gone.

I blink rapidly, trying to convince myself I imagined it.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him.

I shake it off, forcing myself to exhale.

I’m probably just on edge.

Or maybe my brain is working overtime because of everything with Jackson.

Either way, I don’t have time for this.

I grab my things and head for the door—just as Lauren bursts in.

Her eyes are wide, her grin bigger than usual.

“I come bearing gifts,” she announces, waving an envelope in the air.

I frown. “What?”

She shoves it into my hands. “Open it.”

I narrow my eyes but do as she says.

And then I freeze.

Two tickets.

To next week’s Stallions home opener.

I stare at them. “Lauren.”

She claps her hands together. “We’re going.”

I blink rapidly. “You hate football.”

“I hate watching it on TV,” she corrects. “But a live game? With hot athletes everywhere? That’s a different story.”

I shake my head, still processing. “Lauren. I can’t go to this.”

She tilts her head, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she leans in, voice firm but light. “You can. And you will.”

“Why?”

A slow grin spreads across her face. “Because your baby daddy is gonna be there, and it’s time to make a move.”

Dread curls in my gut.

“What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

She shrugs, all casual, like she didn’t just drop a bomb on my life. “I don’t know. But we’ll think of something.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Our train leaves at 11 a.m. Saturday for Chicago. I booked us a hotel. This is on me.”

I blink. “Lauren.”

She holds up a hand. “Or, well, technically, it’s on Jacob.”

I let out a breath of laughter. Of course.

Jacob—Lauren’s slightly older, overprotective lawyer husband who, thankfully, adores spoiling her.

Lauren pulls out the tickets, flashing them in front of me. “I had to tell him the truth to justify taking the trip, and he went all full lawyer mode on me. He could tell I was hiding something. He’s sworn to secrecy. And honestly he thought it was amazing. He’s cheering you on.”

I stare at her. “You told Jacob before I even decided if I’m doing this? He’s cheering me on ? What does that even mean?”

“It’s already been done.” She smirks. “Come on. And it means he’s in the circle of trust now. Don’t worry. He won’t tell anyone.”

I exhale sharply, staring at the tickets like they might set themselves on fire.

“Lauren,” I say slowly, “this is insane. ”

She grins, completely unfazed. “Oh, babe. We passed insane the moment you got knocked up by an NFL coach. This is your life now.”

I let out a strangled laugh, half panic, half disbelief.

Lauren grabs my wrist, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So. Are you in?”

I swallow hard.

The truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing.

But Jackson Knox is about to find out he’s going to be a father.

And I need to be the one to tell him.

I take a deep breath, look my best friend in the eye, and nod.

“Alright. Let’s go to Chicago.”