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Am I too broken?

Before he left, I asked him to go on this thing with Harper and her boyfriend. I hadn’t mentioned that she’d said it could be a double date, but I wanted it to be.

A knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts.

“Jazz, it’s me,” Alex called.

I opened the door. He seemed uncertain and hovered, but then, with a tilt of his chin and not a single word, he stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and hugged me. The closeness was immediate and grounding.

“Are we okay?” he murmured into my hair. “Is this a thing? Are we… an ‘us’?”

“Do you want it to be?” I asked, feeling so freaking vulnerable I thought I might crack.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Yes,” I managed to say, the word feeling like a key turning in a lock. “And you’re okay with people knowing?”

He nodded. “I’ve talked it over with Marcus and the team, and we’re…” he paused, “… putting things in place so that your welfare is considered and so that I…”

“What?”

“So that I don’t fuck up.”

“You’re mine, I’m yours, there’s nothing to fuck up.” I was adamant.

A sigh of relief escaped him. Then, he pulled back just enough to look at me, a smile beginning to curve his lips. “Then, let’s go get pizza,” he said, his voice steady now, imbued with a lightness that felt like a promise. “And check out Harper’s boyfriend.”

The weight that had settled on my shoulders began to lift. We were anus, and that was what mattered. The rest would work its way out.

With a nod, I grabbed my jacket, my heart lighter. As we left my room, the hallway seemed less daunting, the outside world less intimidating. Alex’s presence by my side felt right.

We walked to the pizzeria, and as we arrived for what Harper called our double Alex date, the place was buzzing with the casual din of a Saturday afternoon. Harper spotted us first, her face lighting up as she sprang from her seat and rushed over to hug me.

“Dad!” she exclaimed, her infectious enthusiasm filling the room.

Her boyfriend, Alex, rose from his seat as we approached. He was a tall—lanky—teenager with curly hair falling over his forehead, a tentative smile, and shoulders back as he extended a hand toward me. “Sir, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, hishandshake firm. He met my stare with his own, and I could see his nerves and how Harper held his hand in reassurance.

“Nice to meet you, too, Alex,” I replied, evaluating him as fathers often do. He looked sharp in a button-down shirt and dark pants, with a straight posture but relaxed enough not to appear stiff. I appreciated the respect and earnestness in his eyes.

As we sat down, I leaned in a little, my voice low, but friendly. “You treat my daughter right, you hear?” It was the standard warning, half-joking, butentirelyserious.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice steady, and I nodded, satisfied with his response.

As I settled into the booth, I felt a spontaneous urge to connect with my own Alex, whose presence next to me was a grounding force. Without thinking, I took his hand, intertwining our fingers.

Harper caught the motion, her eyes flickering to our joined hands and her mouth dropped open.

“Dad?”

I could bluster and tell her I needed emotional support, which is why I was grasping Alex’s hand, but she deserved me to be honest with her.

“I’m withmyAlex,” I said, smiling at her.

At first, she was confused, but then she returned the smile.

“Iknewit!”

The waiter came by to take our order, and the conversation turned to lighter topics—school, Harper’s upcoming projects, and general small talk.