Page 110 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

Let him RSVP.

Let him show up.

Let him see who I’ve become.

The next few days pass in a blur of vendor calls, last-minute RSVPs, and too many emails to count.

When Tuesday arrives, it’s the kind of morning that feels like it’s holding its breath.

Game 1 of Round 3. A big day for Jackson.

It starts with the low sound of coughing.

Miss Taylor shuffles into the kitchen, wrapped in a cardigan and moving slower than usual. Her skin is pale, eyes a little glassy.

“Morning,” I say gently. “How are you feeling?”

She waves it off, her voice rough. “Just a little tickle. I’ll be fine after some tea.”

But when Jackson comes in from the garage, already dressed in joggers and a SteelClaws hoodie, he stops short the second he sees her.

“Miss Taylor, you look like hell.”

She snorts, but it turns into another cough. “Thanks, sweetheart. You sure know how to flatter a woman.”

I glance between them, then step in. “Why don’t I take the boys today? I can get them ready and drop them off. You stay in and rest.”

Miss Taylor opens her mouth like she might argue, then sinks into the kitchen chair with a sigh.

“I’ll make their lunches,” I say, already moving. “Anything else?”

Jackson nods. “I’ll give you directions to their school. We’ll make sure their folders and water bottles are in their backpacks. I’ll help.”

Jackson turns to Miss Taylor.

“Please rest. We need you better. We’d be lost without you.”

Miss Taylor nods, her stubbornness finally giving way.

“I’ll head back to the guest house then. I have everything I need there.”

I offer a soft smile.

“Text us if you need anything.”

She shuffles out, the door clicking softly behind her.

From there, it’s full tilt.

Jackson slices apples while I assemble sandwiches. The boys come clomping down the stairs, yawning and squinting. I help Liam find a clean shirt while Jackson tries to get socks on a squirmy Noah. Someone’s toothbrush ends up in the wrong cup. There’s toothpaste on Noah’s cheek and a sneaker wedged under the couch.

It’s chaotic.

And oddly grounding.

When we finally get the twins wrangled into shoes and coats, Jackson grabs his keys and gives them a round of fist bumps.

“I’ve got skate and media this morning, then locker room prep and warmups. I probably won’t be back until after the game tonight.”