Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

IVY

I’m still recovering from the shock of seeing Jackson standing in my kitchen, casually chopping vegetables like we do this all the time.

Like he’s not some big-time coach. Like we didn’t have a wildly reckless night together that changed both of our lives.

And yet, here we are.

Dinner that night is nice. I hate that I don’t have a bigger table—my tiny two-seater is barely enough, and Jackson looks ridiculous sitting in my modest little kitchen, all broad shoulders and intensity.

He eats like he’s starving, like he actually enjoys my little pantry meal.

When we finish, he leans back in his chair, sipping a glass of water.

"So, Riverbend," he says, watching me. "Really, why’d you stay?"

I blink at the sudden shift. "What do you mean? I told you."

"You’re smart. Funny. A little bit of a smartass." His smirk is playful. "Could’ve gone anywhere. And I know you told me that first night. But I feel like you left something out of the story."

I twirl my fork between my fingers. I don’t really talk about this.

But Jackson is watching me, really watching me.

"My mom moved here when I was a kid," I finally say. "Met Carl, settled down. I was always the responsible one, helping out, looking after everyone. Yeah, I had that year in L.A., but when I got back, before I knew it, I was grown. Teaching. This just became home."

I shrug like it’s simple, like that’s all there is to it. But Jackson doesn’t buy it. He tilts his head, his gaze steady, his silence expectant.

I swallow. "The truth?" I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "I don’t know. Maybe I got scared. I always tell myself I stayed because it made sense—because my family was here, because I had a job. But the truth is, I don’t know who I’d be if I left."

I look down at my plate, pressing my lips together before forcing myself to meet his gaze again. "Here, I know what my life is. I know who I am. Out there?" I shake my head. "What if I leave, and I’m nothing?"

The confession hangs between us, heavier than I meant for it to be.

Jackson watches me for a beat, his expression unreadable. Then, he leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice low but sure.

"You wouldn’t be nothing, Ivy."

The way he says it punches at my nerves. Because it’s not just words. He believes it.

And I think, for the first time, I might want to believe it too.

Jackson nods, like he understands something I haven’t even said out loud.

I flip the question back at him. “What about you? Why did you never settle down?”

A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face. He shifts slightly in his chair.

“My job keeps me moving,” he says simply. “Football doesn’t really allow for—” He pauses, lips twisting, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Doesn’t allow for distractions.”

I feel something stupid clench in my chest at that.

“So, I’m a distraction?”

His eyes snap to mine. They flick over my face, unreadable, before his voice drops lower.

"No." He leans forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. "You’re something else entirely. I don’t think I can put you in any box, Ivy."

Something in the air shifts.

I can’t tell if it’s his voice or the way he’s looking at me, but my whole body goes hot, tight, on edge.

I stand abruptly, grabbing our plates. "I’ll clean up."

"No. Hell no." He’s already standing, taking the plates right out of my hands. "This is the only night I’m here this week. At least have one night where you can forget about the dishes."

I hesitate, my instinct to argue flaring, but he just jerks his chin toward the couch. "Go. Sit. Read or something."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You’re actually going to load the dishwasher?"

"You act like I don’t know how to function in a kitchen." His smirk is pure mischief as he turns toward the sink, sleeves pushed up, already rinsing off a plate. "I’ve got this. Go."

I linger for another second before finally exhaling and stepping away, grabbing my book from the side table. I sink onto the couch, flipping it open to a dog-eared page, but something feels… off.

Relax, Ivy. Just relax.

Except—I don’t know how.

I shift, stretching out my legs, trying to settle in. But my ears are trained on the sound of Jackson in the kitchen—the clink of plates, the low hum of the dishwasher starting up. My fingers tap absently against the page, my mind restless.

Is that what I’ve become? Someone who doesn’t even know how to sit still?

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to focus on the words in front of me.

And then?—

A knock at the door.

Loud. Sharp. Unfamiliar.

I sit up straight, my heart kicking up a notch.

Jackson turns from the kitchen, his eyes meeting mine, instantly alert.

I get up and move to open the door.

As soon as I do, I regret it.

Kyle stands there, hands in his pockets, his stupidly smug face scanning the scene.

His eyes flick to Jackson. “Didn’t realize you had company.”

Jackson doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t even blink.

Just stares, flexing his jaw. He looks like he’s ready to pounce.

Kyle shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. “Just wanted to see how you were doing, Ivy. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

What. The. Fuck.

My pulse jumps. “Because I don’t want to talk to you.”

Kyle smirks. “Come on. We go way back.”

Jackson moves.

Not fast. Not aggressively. But deliberately.

And suddenly, he’s standing right behind me, his presence massive, looming.

“Who the fuck is this?” Jackson’s voice is low. Dangerous.

Kyle’s eyes flick between us. “You serious?”

Jackson doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away.

Kyle laughs. “Man, relax. I’m just saying hi.”

Jackson exhales slowly. His hands flex at his sides.

And then—his voice drops to a level I’ve never heard before.

“Yeah I know who you are. And I don’t want to see you again. If anyone comes near her again…I’ll kill ‘em.”

Kyle stops laughing.

My breath catches.

Kyle forces another chuckle, but it’s shaky now. “Alright, Jesus. No need to be a psycho.”

Kyle steps back, hands up. “See you around, Ivy.”

Jackson’s muscles are so goddamn tight I can feel the energy rolling off of him.

The door closes.

Silence.

I exhale shakily, turning to face Jackson.

“That was so weird. He doesn’t usually come talk to me. I’ve told him so many times to leave me alone, but…anyways, thanks for telling him even though I know you weren’t serious.”

“You think I’m joking?”

I stare at him.

I don’t.

And that terrifies me.

But even more?

I don’t hate it.

The air in the apartment still feels thick, charged from Kyle’s uninvited visit.

Jackson’s hands are on his hips, his jaw tight, his eyes still stormy from whatever dark thoughts are running through his head.

I sigh, trying to shake off the moment. “Jackson, it’s fine. I can handle myself.”

His head whips toward me, disbelieving. “What kind of psycho shows up unannounced?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

I shift on my feet. “He’s…He never really got over me. I don’t know. I’m not going to say he’s harmless, but I’m also not going to let him be on my mind all the time. Okay?”

Jackson’s eyes flash. “Well, I’m sure as hell not okay with this, no. Has he done that when I’m not here?”

Before I can respond, he moves in closer—so close I can feel his warmth, the barely-restrained frustration radiating off of him.

“No. He hasn’t. That was weird.”

His fingers find my chin, my throat, tilting my head up gently but firmly.

And damn him—it shouldn’t feel this good.

His voice is deep, rough, unshakable.

“You’re carrying my baby.” His thumb brushes along my jaw, slow, smooth. “But that’s not the only reason why I wouldn’t be okay if something happened to you.”

My breath catches.

His blue eyes pin me in place, holding me there like he needs me to hear every damn word he says.

“I care about you, Ivy. I still do.” His grip tightens slightly, just for a second, before relaxing. “I know it was just one night, four months ago. I know we lost the momentum of whatever that could have been.” He swallows, his voice dropping even lower. “But I care about you. Understand?”

I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

I just nod, because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

Jackson pulls back slightly, just enough to grab his phone from the counter.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look at me. “I’m ordering you a security system.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“A Ring camera.” He’s already scrolling, clicking through options like this is non-negotiable. “And a second lock for your door. And I’ll have someone come out here tomorrow to install a floodlight for the parking lot?—”

I let out a breathless laugh, my stomach flipping in the worst, best way. “Jesus, Jackson. You don’t have to do all that. Kyle’s harmless. I swear. Just a little socially awkward and out-of-pocket sometimes.”

He shoots me a look. “I’m not asking.”

I shouldn’t find this hot.

But I do.

God help me, I really do.

A few minutes later, we’re settled on the couch, the tension still hanging thick in the air.

I glance at him, then at the TV. “So…do you want to watch Monday Night Football or what?”

Jackson finally relaxes, chuckling under his breath.

“Damn,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’re my kinda girl.”

He grabs the remote, slinging an arm around me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean in.

Later, long after I’ve changed into pajamas and settled into bed, I wake up—starving.

I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen, flipping on the dim light and digging through the fridge for something that won’t make me regret my life choices at 1 a.m.

“Midnight snack?”

I jump, spinning around—Jackson is leaning against the doorway, his hair rumpled from sleep, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, his bare chest broad and sculpted in the low light.

My mouth goes dry.

“I—” I clear my throat, quickly turning back to the fridge. “Pregnancy hunger. Go back to sleep.”

He ignores me, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the place, like this is just normal now.

“What are we eating?”

I sigh dramatically, waving a slice of cheese in his direction. “This, apparently.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I need to know what little treats you like. You know, for the next time I buy you groceries.”

I blink. “You?—”

“Yeah,” he says casually, grabbing a glass from the cupboard like he’s lived here forever. “Can’t have you surviving on cheese slices alone.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to ignore the stupid flutter in my chest. “This is some weird caveman provider instinct, isn’t it?”

He smirks. Doesn’t deny it.

I sigh, relenting. “Fine. I’m a Reese’s Pieces girl. Basic, I know.”

Jackson grins like he just unlocked a critical piece of information. “Noted.”

We snack together in comfortable silence, standing in my tiny kitchen.

It’s stupid. Too easy. But… I like it.

Way more than I should.

Later, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come.

It’s too quiet.

Or maybe it’s too much knowing he’s here.

I chew my lip, debating for a solid thirty seconds before finally calling out into the dark, where Jackson is sleeping on the couch.

“Hey, Jackson.”

A pause.

Then—his voice, deep and immediately awake.

“Yeah?”

He’s there in an instant.

Standing in my doorway, brows drawn together in concern. “You okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I hesitate, suddenly feeling ridiculous. “I was just going to say… if you want to sleep in my bed…you can cuddle. I’ll allow it.”

The silence stretches.

I can barely make out his face in the dim light, but I swear his lips curve at the edges.

“Cuddle, huh?”

I shrug, trying to play it cool even though my heart is slamming against my ribs.

Jackson exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Then—he moves.

And when he slides into bed beside me, his body warm, solid, too damn big for my mattress?—

I don’t regret it.

Not even a little bit.

I wake up to warmth.

And it’s not the kind that comes from blankets or the cozy morning light streaming through my blinds.

It’s Jackson.

His heavy arm is slung over my waist, his chest rising and falling steadily behind me. His breath fans against my neck, warm and slow.

I freeze.

This is dangerous.

Because for a few seconds, it feels so good. Too good.

Like something that isn’t just circumstantial.

Like something that could be real.

I swallow, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to untangle myself before he wakes up and I do something stupid—like actually let myself enjoy this.

But then he shifts, groaning softly, stretching.

And his voice, still rough with sleep, shatters me.

“Mmm.” His fingers flex slightly where they rest against my stomach. “Shit. You’re warm.”

My pulse spikes. “Uh—yeah. I mean. That’s probably just my pregnancy hormones?”

Jackson lets out a low chuckle, his lips brushing my shoulder. “Whatever you say, Reese’s Pieces.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

This is too much.

I need to get up.

A little while later, I’m standing in the kitchen, watching Jackson make breakfast—on a Tuesday , mind you—like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You set up my security system, bought my groceries, and now you’re making me breakfast?” I tease, sipping my coffee. “Are you trying to wife me up?”

Jackson smirks, flipping a pancake onto a plate. “That depends.”

I narrow my eyes. “On what?”

He gives me a slow, lazy look. “Would you say yes?”

My stomach does a full somersault.

But I keep my cool, arching a brow. “You’re awfully cocky for a guy who slept on my couch last night.”

He grins. “Correction. I started on the couch. I ended up in your bed. That’s called winning .”

“Winning?” I gasp dramatically. “We cuddled. That’s all. You didn’t score any points.”

Jackson leans in slightly, his voice dropping. “That so?”

“That’s so. And don’t get all cocky about it.”

“Well I definitely advanced the ball into enemy territory.”

I refuse to acknowledge how much an actual football analogy makes me shiver.

After breakfast, we both get ready for the day.

Jackson throws on a hoodie and jeans, looking way too good for a guy who just woke up. I try not to stare, try to ignore how easy this feels—like a weirdly domestic morning I secretly loved.

I grab my bag, heading for the door, but before I reach it, a question burns in my throat.

I shouldn’t ask.

But I do.

"So when will I see you again?"

Jackson hesitates, like he wasn’t expecting me to say it.

"Next week we play at home."

I raise an eyebrow. "And?"

His lips twitch. "Can you come Friday after school? Stay with me for the weekend?"

My stomach does that thing again—the dangerous, fluttery thing I don’t want to think too hard about.

"I’ll keep you entertained. I promise." His voice is teasing, but there’s something else there, too. "But you’ll also have some relaxing time on your own on Saturday if you can handle that."

I ignore the warmth spreading through my chest and force a casual smile. "Cool. Yeah. I can do that. I always have papers to grade, right?"

"Right."

"I think there’s a five o’clock train I can catch. Sounds good."

"Okay. See you Friday."

"I’ll let you know when I book my ticket."

He nods, and we step outside together. The cool morning air is a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering between us. “It’s almost jacket season,” I remark.

Jackson heads toward his car, slinging his bag over his shoulder. I watch as he slides into the driver’s seat, and for a second, our eyes meet through the windshield.

And then—I get in my own car and pretend my heart isn’t racing the entire drive to school.