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"When's the game?" I ask, smiling at Jackson as he gets my thumb in his mouth. I remove it gently and give him a good snuggle.
"6:05. You gonna go with Rose and Em?" Jasper moves closer, a wheel of his chair nudging my calf as he rests his knuckles against the skin of my lower back exposed as I lean over our son on the bed.
Since he blindsided me with the totally unrealistic suggestion that we leave Dillon six days ago, things have gone back to normal. We are both pretending the little fight never happened. I think I've finally made him see that art school just isn't going to work for me. It's about time we both accept that this is our life now.
"Yeah, Rose is having me over for an early dinner before so I might actually be dead by the time the game starts," I reply, continuing to get Jackson dressed.
"I'm sure it ain't that bad."
I give him a pointed look until he chuckles and grins. It still melts me a little every time, that grin.
"Well, don't eat too much then, baby. I don't know if it's clear but I'm quite fond of havin' you around," he says, his voice getting soft at the end.
"Of course you are," I murmur, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "I can cook."
He chuckles again and it warms me up.
"Do you want a ride to the school? I have a meeting with that one old biddy from your church with all the chins. She wants a painting of herself in her prime when she was all young and hot and Texas," I say, handing Jax off to his daddy and moving to our closet to rummage around for a pair of shoes.
"You don't mind waiting around for me after the game?" Jasper calls.
I emerge from the closet and pause for a moment to take in the beautiful sight Jasper with our son in his arms. Jackson sits up against his daddy's chest and smacks his little hands against Jasper's arm. They look so much alike. It's my whole world right there. My whole wide world.
I didn't even know it was possible to love this much.
"Alice?" Jasper snaps me out of my little day dream and looks at me with mild concern. "You still here with us, honey?"
"Yeah, sorry. We can wait after the game." I hope around on one foot, trying to get on my Converse sneaker without sitting down or untying the laces. "Jackson falls asleep better in his car seat anyway."
When I drop Jazz off at the high school I roll my window down and yell "have a good day, honey!" at the very top of my lungs. The high schoolers loitering around the front of the school snicker, but Jasper turns his whole chair around to blow me a kiss.
I savor these little moments. It'll be the highlight of my day given all the Dillon townspeople I'm going to be interacting with in the coming hours.
First up is Carol Clarke, an older women who saw a portrait I did of Jesus for the church last month.
Yeah, I'm not kidding. The pastor at Jasper's church commissioned me to paint a portrait of Jesus H. Christ, all pale skinned and blue eyes. The old Alice would probably have done something pretty subversive – maybe painted him totally naked with a giant cock – but new Alice recognizes that alienating the Dillon-folk will only make life miserable.
Anyway, Clarke liked my paint-by-the-numbers Jesus so here I am.
Apparently in her hay day she was some sort of beauty queen. She definitely has the look of someone trying way too hard to hold onto that youth (despite all the chins). The makeup is really caked on and she looks on at my casual outfit of jeans and tank top with distaste.
Well I don't like giant ass hair so I guess we're square.
She spends some time cooing over Jackson, talking about how much he looks like his daddy. That's all fine, until we get on the topic of the father of my child.
"I tell you what, Miss Alice, there's been some talk about just how wise it is to have your Jasper back with the Panthers," she tells me.
"Oh?" I say, taking my son out of her arms because I don't like where this is going.
"It's understandable, given how Jasper is now. And he obviously has a close relationship to Coach Masen. Even so… They lost last season," she reminds me. Somehow I manage to keep from rolling my eyes.
I want to dump the Coke she forced upon me when I got here all over her pastel suit. But living in Dillon I've developed a new mantra: what would Jasper do? I chant it now and manage to keep my cool. Jazz would want me to be polite. Jazz would tell me to ignore her crap and get paid. Because we really do need the money.
"You can't win state every year," I point out.
She blinks at me a lot. "What a ridiculous thing to say." Again, I hold in my snort because it's what Jazz would do. "Well, anyhoo. Let's get started. I was thinkin' about using these shots. That's the year I won the title, don't you know."
I look at the pictures of Carol Clarke in her glory days and even manage to fake a little interest.
"And then, I shit you not, she demanded I make her boobs bigger and her waist smaller," I say, brandishing a margarita as I rage about my most recent ridiculous client. "What does Carol fucking Clarke think I am? Fucking Photo Shop?"
Emmett lets out a big belly laugh. He sits next to me at the breakfast bar with Jackson on his lap. We both watch Rosalie attempt to make dinner. Thankfully she recognizes her own weakness and our entrée will be enchiladas prepared by her mother. Even Rosalie can manage to pop them in the oven.
The heaping bowl of guacamole that sits between Em and I on the counter isn't half bad.
"Should you really be cursin' in front of the b-a-b-y," she says, spelling out this final word. Emmett laughs again and I just scowl at her as she takes a huge scoop of guac on a chip and shoves it into her mouth.
"Are you listening to my bitch-fest at all?" I ask, pouting.
"Yes, Alice," Rosalie says, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I've been listenin' for the last nine months when you first started this portrait thing. I just don't get why you ain't used to it yet. I don't get why your surprised that these vain old women act all desperate to remember their youth."
I just go back to pouting, knowing that she's right and not liking it. Will I ever get used to it?
Ten minutes later we all migrate to the kitchen table. I have a bowl of Spanish rice in one hand, a bowl of refried beans in the other. Rose was solely responsible for this part of the meal and I regard the side dishes warily as I set them down.
Emmett struggles to get Jackson into his highchair. The fact that there is even a high chair at the Cullen house, purchased at Goodwill just for my son, is heart warming. Unlike the rest of Dillon, right here with Emmett and Rosalie, I feel totally welcome and loved.
We take our seats as Rose starts to dish out enchiladas.
"That smells so good, baby," Emmett moans.
"You can thank my mother," Rosalie replies dryly.
"Is that meat?" I ask, frowning as I observe the food on Emmett's plate.
"This end is cheese," Rosalie says, rolling her eyes. "I have no idea why I cater to your unnatural lifestyle, you little veggie freak."
"Thank you, Rosie," I say, grinning as she gives me way more food than I could ever even think about eating. I give Jax a litte rice when it cools.
"Here's to Alice's old biddies," Emmett declares loudly when Rose sits. He raises his beer for a toast. "May they always pay Alice lots of money to make themselves feel hot!"
"Huzzah," Rose says with a snort.
I raise my own glass and grin. Talking it out with Emmett and Rose never fails to brighten my mood and put shit in perspective.
"Shit, this food tastes like God's come," Emmett says, making me snort.
"Emmett!" Rosalie screams. "The b-a-b-y! Not in front of the b-a-b-y!"
It's good to know I'm not the only freak in Dillon.
"Yo, you coming, Alice?" Emmett asks as I get Jax out of his car seat.
"No," I call across the parking lot when I spot Em and Rose loitering a few spaces away by his truck. "I'm meeting Jazz here. He forgot his favorite whistle."
Emmett laughs and slings an arm over his wife's shoulders.
"We'll find Esme and save you a seat," Rosalie yells. I wave as they depart.
"Where's your daddy?" I ask Jackson quietly, scanning the area. There are people all over, grilling, drinking, laughing. Tailgating, that's what Jasper calls it.
I only spend a few minutes watching the festivities before Jasper emerges. It takes him a really long time to finally get to me because he's stopped every few feet by some fan either wishing him luck or giving him some unneeded piece of coaching advice. He's charming even to the men who think they could lead the Panthers straight to state even though they have no idea.
"Hey, baby," he says when he finally reaches me. He tilts his face up, obviously wanting a kiss that I very happily give him. "Hey, big-guy!" Jasper says, reaching for Jackson now.
"Da, Da, Da!" Jackson chatters away as he eagerly goes into his daddy's waiting arms.
"Did you bring it?" Jasper demands, looking at me after giving Jax a good hug.
"Is that all you care about?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I tease him. "Your stupid lucky whistle? No, 'I love you, Alice'? No 'how was your day, baby?'"
He grins up at me and I lose my train of thought for one little moment.
"I love you, Alice," he says quite seriously despite his big stupid smile. He grabs my hand and brings it to his cheek. "How was your day, baby? Now where's my damn whistle?"
"Such a charmer," I mutter, reluctantly breaking contact with him as I fish the stupid thing out of my pocket. I dangle it just out of his reach. He swipes at it twice before letting out a huff of frustration.
"I woulda never took you for a bully, Alice Masen," he says, grinning so I know he's just teasing me. "Pickin' on the helpless boy in the wheelchair."
I roll my eyes and let out a snort at that. Helpless my ass. He works hard to be more self-sufficient than most people with all their limbs working in proper order.
"You love this bully," I murmur, bringing my face close to his.
"I love my lucky whistle."
He kisses me then and doesn't stop when I put his stupid fucking whistle in the palm of his hand.
"What have we here?"
I lift my head really not pleased that our private little moment has been interrupted. Slowly I straighten as Jazz turns his chair around. As is standard for me here in Dillon, I immediately go on the defensive, crossing my arms over my chest and crafting my face into a neutral expression as I shut down. It's probably just some townie, either disapproving of me or here to tell Jazz how to coach the quarterbacks.
"Banner?" Jasper says, sounding both surprised and elated. I take it the giant stranger with critical eyes. Nope, definitely haven't met this guy. "Rob Banner?"
"Jasper Whitlock," he says with a smile. His friendly expression and obvious delight to see Jazz makes me relax fractionally as the giant approaches. This guy has to be a football type, with the size of his neck. I hate being around the football types sometimes. They are all so much bigger than me. It makes me feel small. "Sup, baby?"
He leans down somewhat awkwardly to embrace Jasper. Given the chair and the baby they do all right with that hand shake, back slapping, sorta hugging thing guys do.
"I thought you might be too big time now that you're goin' pro to say hello to your old quarterback," Jasper says good-naturedly.
"Yeah, it's been a long time. You know when I heard, I wanted to come see you but we had Florida in the swamp that weekend—"
What the hell is he talking about? Heard what? Ah, right. The accident. Obviously.
"Don't worry about it," Jasper replies, shaking his head as he continues to smile. "Don't you worry about it. You know watching you guys hand the Gators their asses that weekend was probably the best thing that happened to me." Jasper pauses and looks over his shoulder at me, his expression softening. "Well, maybe the second best."
That ever so rare for me blush tints my cheeks. That was the weekend I first asked if I could draw him.
"Banner," Jasper says, gesturing for me to stand by him. He rests his fist against my hipbone when I move closer. "This is my Alice."
He always introduces me this way. It's never his girlfriend or his baby momma. Just my Alice. The description is perfect to me.
"Ali, Rob graduated a year before we did. We had three good years together as Panthers before this one left to play college ball," Jasper explains.
Ah, that's why I don't know him.
"Hello," I say, giving him an awkward little wave.
"Hey there," he says, giving me a wide smile. "It's mighty fine to meet you. And who's this?"
Rob Banner seems to notice our son in Jasper's lap for the first time. I lay a hand on Jasper's shoulder and watch my boys, marveling as I do so often at my little family.
"This is Jackson," Jasper says, just about bursting with fatherly pride. "Our son."
"Well look at him," the giant replies. "You done good, Jay. You got yourself a great lookin' family."
Most people in Dillon don't include me in the "you done good, Jay," sentiment. They adore Jackson but me? Not so much. I decide I like Rob Banner a whole lot.
"Thanks, man," Jasper replies. "From what I've heard you're doin' pretty damn good yourself."
Rob Banner gives a cocky grin before we hear his name being called from across the parking lot. Yet another dude joins us. I study him with great interest because he must be the only person I've ever seen at a Panther game to show up in a suit. A really expensive suit too, from the look of it.
"Excuse me, Jazz, Alice," Rob says, patting Mr. Suit on the shoulder. "This is my man, right here. My soon-to-be-agent, Mr. Grant Halbert."
"All you gotta do is sign, baby," says Mr. Grant Halbert, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. "We can drop the soon-to-be."
Mr. Grant Halbert nods politely at both of us, but it's obvious he isn't really all that interested.
"Jay here was my quarterback here at Dillon," Rob Banner explains. I resist the urge to look at my watch. All I wanted to do is find the only people I like in Dillon in the stands. "To this day, the best quarterback I've ever seen."
I can tell by Jasper's expression that he's touched. Hell, even I'm touched, but it's so tragic at the same time.
"I mean," Rob continues. "He had the cannon and the best sports mind of anybody I know."
None of this is really new news, but it's a nice little reminder that Jasper is special. It's not just the weird hero worship thing of Dillon. He's not a myth. He's the real deal, even if the cannon part isn't so true anymore.
"It's nice to meet you, sir," says Jasper, polite as ever as they shake hands. If there was some non-awkward way for me to slip out of here and take Jackson with me I would.
"Right on, man," says the slick Mr. Grant Halbert. I have to hold in a snort because this dude is like forty but is using the lingo of his much younger clients anyway. "Played QB myself down the road at Westerby."
This does surprise me. Everything about this guy just reeks East coast, but I guess he too is a Texas boy.
"Then a little division two down in Iowa after that," Mr. Grant Halbert continues.
"Yeah, you graduated and became an agent?" Jasper asks. Again, I have to stifle a sigh that Jazz is prolonging this interaction. But he actually likes people, likes talking to them. In some ways we are so unalike.
"I didn't have the armor to go pro so I did the next best thing."
"Really?" replies Jasper.
"Absolutely, man," Mr. Grant Halbert says, nodding a lot. "Get to talk Football all day. Friends with some of the greatest players in the world. And the money's pretty great."
Jasper looks like he could talk to this guy all day, but thankfully Rob Banner has some sense to be equally bored with this conversation.
"Jay, we should get in there. And don't you have a game to coach?" he asks.
"Yeah," Jasper replies. "Just had the little lady bring me my lucky whistle." He holds it up and they both laugh. I roll my eyes at the little lady thing. There will be words between us later about that one.
"Damn, it was great to see you," Rob says, backing away towards the entrance to the stadium.
"You keep in touch, okay?" Jasper replies.
Rob runs off the join someone across the parking lot while Jasper and I both catch Mr. Grant Halbert staring at the chair.
"Price of glory," he murmurs. Jasper nods. "Listen, Jasper, it was great to meet you. If you're ever in the Big Apple, ring me up."
He hands Jasper a card.
"Hey," he says, noticing Jackson only because he makes a grab for the card. "Cute kid."
And then he's gone too.
"All right," I say, plucking Jackson out of Jasper's lap. "Emmett's going to think I ditched them and your players are probably missing you."
Jazz is just staring at the card.
"Jazz?" I say, nudging him slightly. He blinks up at me, his mind obviously a million miles away. "The game?"
"Arrow," he murmurs, showing me the card. I glance at it before I go back to staring at him, not getting what he's trying to tell me at all. "Arrow Sports. Isn't that Phil's agency?"
"I don't have any freaking clue," I say because I really don't.
"They are smaller, but have a good rep for really giving their clients personal attention."
"Is that right?" I reply, really having no interest in anything that just happened in the last ten minutes. When the sports talk starts up, I totally tune out. "Jazz, the game?"
"Right," he says, jumping a little when he realizes that he's the parking lot and not in the field house. "Right! I gotta go."
He cranes his neck, a single I learned long ago means he wants me to lean down for a kiss. He gives me and Jax both quick pecks before he's off, moving at a speed that is truly impressive.
So it's all coming together now, especially for those of you who are reading Under These Lights.
The dialogue in the last section between the guys was straight out of the show. I really do not own that.
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