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Chapter Thirty-Six

IVY

We go upstairs and I sink deeper into the couch. Jackson picked up a vintage sofa from a resale shop already and had it delivered. I can’t believe this man. I’m completely blissed out, my limbs feeling like warm honey after what we just did.

Jackson disappears into the kitchen for a minute, and when he returns, he’s got my favorite snack in hand.

I smirk. “Reese’s Pieces?”

He plops down beside me, handing me the bag. “Do you like these or something?”

I kick back, laughing as he feeds it to me.

Then, sitting on the couch with me, he grabs my feet, pulling them into his lap, massaging slow, firm circles into my arches.

I let out a breathy moan, sinking deeper into the cushions. “You’re spoiling me.”

Jackson smirks, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “Get used to it.”

We settle into a comfortable silence, scrolling through Pinterest together, his arm draped lazily around my shoulders. I savor the warmth of his touch, the quiet intimacy of this moment, when he suddenly asks,

“So…what kind of nursery do you want?”

My head snaps up. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

His expression is unreadable for a beat—serious, determined. “Yeah. What? You thought I’d just slap some furniture together?”

I snort. “You don’t strike me as a ‘Pinterest dad.’”

He smirks. “Baby, I’ll build you a fucking medieval castle if you want me to.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but there’s a strange tightness in my chest. Like I’m standing on the edge of something big, something terrifyingly real.

We start scrolling through nursery themes together, and Jackson—unsurprisingly—is comically opinionated.

“That crib looks like a death trap.”

On some wallpaper I suggest: “Why does that look like something from a haunted house?”

On baby mobiles: “I’m sorry, but baby mobiles have always creeped me out.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you are such a dad already.”

His laughter fades into something quieter, something deeper. He brushes his fingers along my belly, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing the feeling of this moment.

“Guess I am,” he murmurs. His gaze flicks up to mine, searching, holding. “Does that mean you want to live here?”

I swallow, suddenly overwhelmed. The way he looks at me, like he already knows the answer. Like he already knows me .

“Come on,” I whisper. “Did you really think I didn’t?” My fingers trail over his jaw, my heart racing. “I love you, too, Jackson.”

His breath catches, and for a second, we just sit there, wrapped in the weight of everything we’ve already become. Then he exhales, squeezing my hand.

“Well,” he says gruffly, “we better head to your apartment then. Pack some stuff.”

“What?”

“If you’re moving in, I’m not letting you haul a damn suitcase alone. Come on, let’s go get your things.”

Whoa— this is happening now.

Tears burn at the edges of my eyes, but I just nod, biting my lip. Because this man— this man —is really in this.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.

It’s past midnight when I wake up, thirsty, back at my apartment.

I pad out to the kitchen and stop in my tracks.

Jackson is sitting at the table, notebook open, sketching something out.

I tilt my head. “What are you doing?”

He glances up, sheepish. “Figuring out nursery layouts.”

My heart stumbles.

I step closer, looking over his shoulder, and sure enough, he’s got a rough blueprint of the house.

“What about sleep?”

“Sleep? What’s that?”

“Real funny.”

He exhales. “I don’t want to half-ass this. I don’t want to just be a weekend dad. I want more. I want you.”

I swallow hard. “It’s just happening so fast.”

He nods. “I know.” Then, his eyes flicker. “Hey, I had an idea.”

I raise a brow. “That sounds dangerous.”

He smirks. “What if you came on a trip with the team?”

I blink. “Seriously?”

"Well, maybe just one. Before you can’t travel anymore.”

“Where are you next week?” I ask.

“Next week we’re in Miami.” Jackson leans forward, grinning. “You wanna come?”

I exhale. “Yeah…I’ll come to Miami. After that, I, uh, probably shouldn’t travel since the baby is getting further along.”

Jackson nods. “Right. When’s the due date again?”

“February 6th.”

Jackson stills. “Pretty sure that’s the Super Bowl this year.”

I gasp. “Get out!”

He chuckles. “Swear to God.”

I groan dramatically, covering my face.

Jackson grabs my wrist, tugging my hands down, smirking. "Guess we’ll have to win it early then."

“So. Miami.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

“Yeah. You’re football royalty now. You’ll have to meet the other WAGs.”

“WAGs?”

“Wives And Girlfriends of the team. And, you know, Cassie will be there, too. Welcome to the family, babe.”

My stomach twists. Family.

He says it so easily, like it’s already set in stone. Like I belong in this world of stadiums and cameras and high-profile relationships where my life isn’t just mine anymore.

And sure, I’ve survived the first wave of reporters. I’ve smiled at the right moments, let Jackson’s confidence ground me when I felt like I might unravel.

But this is just the beginning.

Miami means bigger crowds. More eyes. More pressure.

And the WAGs? That’s a whole other world. I’ve seen the pictures, the way they always seem polished, effortlessly poised.

That’s not me.

I’m a small-town teacher who got caught up in something bigger than she ever imagined. And as much as I want to believe I’m ready for it, my nerves won’t quite settle.

Jackson squeezes my hand, snapping me back to the moment. His touch is steady, like he can feel the wheels turning in my head.

“Hey.” His voice is softer now. “You good?”

I force a smile. “Yeah.”

And maybe I will be.

Eventually.

But as much as I love him—as much as I want this—I’m not sure I’ll ever feel totally over the hump. Because once I step into the spotlight, there’s no going back.