Page 64 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

Eventually, he stands. “I should check on the boys.”

I nod and he hesitates, like there’s something more he wants to say. In the dark, his blue eyes look almost black when I meet his uncertain gaze.

But instead, he just disappears back inside with a nod, leaving me with the night and everything still left unsaid.

Sighing, I head up to the guest room behind me, shutting the door behind me. I sit on the edge of the bed and kick off my slippers, toes curling against the rug. My legs feel heavy. My heart even more so.

We talked.

But somehow, it made the distance feel wider.

I change quickly and slide beneath the covers, the sheets cool against my skin. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the last twenty-four hours.

One night and everything feels different.

I don’t know what I expected. An answer, maybe. But instead, I’m left with the same questions, and Jackson’s hesitation still hanging in the air.

A small, traitorous voice whispers again before I can stop it.

Was it just a mistake for him?

I force a steady breath, willing it away, but it lingers anyway.

It’s only been a week and a half since I walked away from everything.

Maybe I need some space to clear my head too.

I close my eyes, exhaustion pulling me towards the edge of sleep.

Maybe tomorrow everything will feel a little less uncertain.

Chapter Eighteen

JACKSON

By the time I pull into the driveway the next day, my shoulders are burning and my quads feel like bricks. Coach pushed us hard this morning: systems drills, special teams work, battle drills.

Playoffs start tomorrow, and no one’s coasting.

But even with the soreness, practice was easier than being here. Easier than walking into a house that doesn’t feel as steady as it did a few days ago.

I kill the engine and rest my hands on the steering wheel.

There’s a photo clipped to the corner of the dash. It’s Claire, sitting in the bleachers with the twins on her lap. Liam’s cheeks are still round, baby-soft. Noah’s clapping, even though he had no idea what was going on.

For a second, I don’t move.

It used to calm me. Seeing them like that.

Today, it just makes something twist in my chest.

I don’t know if Claire would have understood what’s happening between me and Ava. I don’t even know what’s happening. But part of me hopes that maybe she’d tell me to stop holding my breath and start living again.

I glance up, needing something else to focus on. Anything.

The front curtains are pulled halfway open, and through the window, I catch a glimpse of Ava at the kitchen table.

She’s got her laptop open, one leg tucked under her, a pair of glasses perched on her nose I haven’t seen before. Her hair’s pulled up in some kind of messy knot, a pen caught behind her ear. She looks like she belongs here.