Page 33 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

As we get closer, every moment tightens the knot in my chest. I grip the edge of my seat as we turn down the street I used to call home.

Jackson slows in front of the building. Third floor, corner unit. The one Brad insisted was “more convenient.” Closer to the city. Closer to his work.

Never mind that I’d loved the little rental house I had before. The one with the wraparound porch and light that poured inthrough every window. This had been more practical, he’d said. And because I worked remote, the compromise fell to me.

My blood goes cold when we pull into the lot and I see Brad’s car parked out front.

Of course he’s here.

Jackson throws the truck in park and turns to me.

“Ready?”

Not even close. But I nod. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The building hasn’t changed. Same chipped brick, same dull gray door buzzer. As we climb the stairs, every step feels heavier than the last. By the time we reach the landing, I’m practically holding my breath.

Instead of unlocking the door and barging in, I decide to knock.

A few seconds pass, then the door swings open.

Brad’s face appears, and for a second, he looks startled. Then relieved. Like I’ve just come home.

“Ava,” he breathes. “God, I was starting to think…”

Then his eyes shift.

Land on Jackson.

And just like that, the expression changes. The open hope flickers into something guarded. His jaw twitches.

“I came to get the rest of my things,” I announce, before he can start whatever speech he’s been rehearsing.

Brad’s eyes cut back to me. “Come in.”

He steps aside. Jackson moves to follow, but Brad holds up a hand.

“Not you.”

Then, before I can respond, Brad turns to me with a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“He doesn’t need to be here. It’s just you and me, Ava. This is our place.”

Not anymore.

I lift my chin. “He’s with me.”

Brad’s fake smile hardens. “I’m not looking for a fight. He can wait outside. You don’t need him to babysit you.”

Before I can answer, Jackson speaks. His voice is calm, steady. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to help.”

His voice is so even it throws Brad off balance for a beat, but he still doesn’t budge.

“Just give us a minute,” I murmur to Jackson, and he nods once, stepping back.

I slip inside and close the door behind me.

There’s a half-finished mug of coffee on the counter, and my stomach knots when I spot one of our engagement photos still propped on the shelf near the door.