Page 61 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

Another pause. Then: “I saw that pic Ava posted last night. The team dinner thing.”

My fingers tense on the steering wheel.

He lets out a quiet breath. “She looked happy.”

I keep my eyes on the windshield, jaw clenched. I don’t trust myself to speak.

Greg’s quiet for a moment. “I appreciate you doing this, man. I know it’s a lot.”

The knot in my chest tightens.

“Just looking out for her,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of that’s both true and safe to tell him but guilt hits like a fist to the ribs.

“It’s not like she can stay with me in my glorified closet of an apartment,” Greg says, a hint of self-deprecating humor in his voice. “I basically just sleep there between shifts.”

I counter, “Hey man, we’re both thirty. Maybe it’s time you upgrade to an actual adult apartment?”

We both laugh.

“Let’s get together sometime soon,” Greg says. “Maybe after your next home game, if you’re free and I’m not stuck in surgery.”

I chuckle. “That’s a big ‘if.’”

“Yeah, well. You bring Ava. I’ll bring my hospital pager.”

After he says that, he pauses. “Wow, it’s like you really are a couple.”

You have no idea.

I’m saved from having to respond when he says: “Okay. I’ve got to scrub in, but I just wanted to check in. Thanks again, Jackson.”

“Anytime.”

The line goes dead, and I drop the phone in the passenger seat, staring at it like it might burn through the leather.

Greg doesn’t know I crossed a line.

Guilt sits heavy in my chest, but it’s tangled up with other things too: desire, hope, the terrifying ache of wanting more.

I shift in my seat, stretching my shoulder until it cracks.

I’m sore as hell, half-exhausted, and nowhere near ready to face her.

But I’m going to have to go home eventually.

Chapter Seventeen

AVA

The scent of garlic bread and roasted vegetables wafts into the living room. The twins are on the floor in front of me, arguing gently over a puzzle piece shaped like a duck.

“It goeshere,” Liam says, pointing at a gap near the corner.

Noah frowns, turning it in his hands. “It doesn’t fit. You’re upside down.”

“I’m not upside down,” Liam mutters. “The duck is.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips as I tuck my legs beneath me on the couch. The room is warm, cozy, even familiar now. But there’s a weight in my chest that hasn’t eased all day.