Page 84 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

And I’m left standing in the quiet, the weight of it all pressing in.

A sudden realization hits me then.

I can’t keep pretending this is fake anymore.

I draw a shaky breath because ready or not, I have to talk to Jackson.

And soon.

Chapter Twenty-Four

JACKSON

The puck snaps off my blade, hitting the boards with a clean thud.

I drive into another sprint, sweat already building, but Greg’s words from last night loop louder than any whistle.

“She’s my sister, Jackson. You might be my best friend, but if anything happens to her under your roof, that won’t matter.”

He hadn’t said it like a threat. Not like a warning. Just dead serious.

I angle back into the drill, pushing harder. Sweat stings the edge of my brow. Coach is barking shifts from the bench, but I’m already half a beat off.

Because it’s not fake anymore.

Not for me. Not even close.

I should’ve said something to her by now. About Claire, about that night, about why I pulled away.

I grit my teeth and push through the next drill, forcing the thought away.

Russo coasts up beside me as the whistle blows. “You good?”

I shake out my shoulders. “Fine.”

He eyes me for a beat. “You’re a shit liar, Jacks. You’ve got that edge. Like you’re trying to skate through a brick wall."

Not wrong. I don’t answer.

Game 4 tonight. Win, and we close out the first round. Lose, and things get harder fast.

I’m the first one off the ice. Gear half-stripped, towel slung over my neck, I sit in front of my locker, elbows braced on my knees.

Coach’s voice cuts through the low hum of the locker room.

"Dial in. We finish this tonight."

By the time I’m back home, the boys are racing through the living room, riding a post-school sugar high. Miss Taylor corrals them with practiced ease. Ava’s in the kitchen, phone tucked to her shoulder, jotting something down on a notepad.

The normalcy hits harder than it should. It feels like something I could want.

Something I could lose.

My muscles are loose, but my chest still carries that restless buzz. Game day edge. That’s part of it.

But not all.

Not with her standing there in my kitchen like she belongs. Like this isus.