43 back to Springfield
The drive back to Springfield feels quieter than the drive home.
Not awkward quiet, just tired quiet.
The kind that settles in after four straight days of family chaos, too much food, and staying up too late talking in kitchens while football plays in the background.
Logan drives with one hand against the steering wheel and the other wrapped around a gas station coffee that smells burnt enough to qualify as a chemical weapon.
The radio plays softly somewhere underneath the sound of tires against wet pavement, neither of us paying enough attention to know what song is even on anymore.
Outside, Missouri looks aggressively late November. Gray sky. Bare trees. Flat empty fields stretching beside the highway while cold rain streaks across the windows every few minutes.
I curl deeper into my hoodie and stare out the passenger window.
My body feels heavy in that weird post-holiday way where everything slows down at once. The crash after all the noise.
Logan reaches into the paper bag between us without looking away from the road. "If you eat all the fries again, I'm leaving you at the next gas station."
"There are literally six left."
"Exactly. Respect the process."
I snort quietly and steal one anyway.
He shakes his head dramatically. "Unbelievable."
The easy teasing settles something in my chest a little.
Things with Logan feel lighter than they did before Thanksgiving break. Not completely normal, maybe, but better. Less tense around the edges.
Especially when Jackson gets brought up.
I noticed it yesterday during dinner when Mom casually mentioned football and Logan didn't immediately start glaring at the wall like he wanted to fight somebody.
I wait almost twenty minutes before finally asking carefully, "You don't hate him anymore?"
Logan sighs immediately. "I didn't say that."
"But you don't," I press quietly.
Another stretch of highway passes before he answers. "I still think he handled everything horribly."
Fair.
I stare down at the sleeves of my hoodie, picking at loose thread near my wrist.
"But," Logan says after a second, "I also think he's trying now."
Something warm twists low in my chest.
I glance over at him carefully. "That's weirdly emotionally mature of you. Are you sick?"
"Don't ruin the moment."
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Logan drums his fingers against the steering wheel for a few seconds before his expression shifts slightly more serious again. "I'm mostly just scared you'll get hurt again."
That knocks the teasing right out of me.
I look back toward the window. "I know."
Neither of us say anything for a minute after that.
Rain taps softly against the glass while another little town passes outside, already hanging Christmas lights way too early.
Finally Logan exhales quietly. "You know why I got so pissed, right?"
I swallow slightly.
Because of Dad.
Neither of us actually say it out loud at first. But the history sits between us anyway.
The lies. The cheating. The years our mom kept convincing herself things would get better before finally realizing they wouldn't.
I still remember being thirteen and hearing her crying downstairs after she found another text on Dad's phone. Logan had sat outside my bedroom afterward because neither of us knew what to do with any of it.
He hated our father loudly.
I hated him quietly.
"I know," I say softly.
Logan nods once. "Watching you after the whole 'get in line' thing felt familiar."
That one hurts a little.
Not because he's wrong.
Because he isn't.
"I know Jackson isn't Dad," Logan says quickly. "I know that."
"But?"
"But I saw what it did to you."
I blink hard for a second, suddenly very interested in the rain outside.
Logan sighs again before nudging my knee lightly with the back of his hand.
"But," he says, softer now, "I can also tell he actually cares about you."
My chest tightens immediately.
Because that's the problem, isn't it?
Jackson does care.
That's what makes all of this so much harder.
-
By the time we get back to Springfield, the sun's already starting to disappear behind thick gray clouds. Campus looks busy again after break, students dragging duffel bags through parking lots while cold wind cuts between buildings hard enough to sting.
Everything feels alive again after four days away.
The second Logan parks outside the dorm building, my stomach flips.
Jackson.
I haven't seen him in four days. Which feels stupidly long somehow.
Logan notices immediately. "You're nervous."
"I'm literally not."
"You checked your reflection in the window twice."
"I was looking outside."
"Sure."
I grab my bag before he can keep talking and climb out of the car.
Cold air hits my face instantly.
The dorm lobby is crowded and loud when I walk inside, people talking over each other while elevators open and close nonstop near the front desk.
And then I see him.
Jackson's standing near the common area couch in a gray Bears hoodie with Scott beside him saying something dramatic with his hands.
Jackson looks up.
The second he sees me, something in his expression changes instantly.
Not huge, just immediate, like his entire face softens without him meaning it to.
And God, my heart reacts embarrassingly fast.
Scott notices too, because of course he does.
"Oh my God," he says loudly, looking between us. "This is already painful."
Jackson shoves him lightly without looking away from me. "Leave."
"With pleasure."
Scott grins at me while walking backward toward the stairs. "Welcome back, Coleman."
"Thanks," I laugh.
Then it's just me and Jackson standing there awkwardly for half a second while people move around us.
Which is ridiculous considering we've been texting almost constantly for days now.
But texting is different.
Seeing him standing here in front of me again feels dangerously real.
"Hey," Jackson says finally.
"Hey."
His eyes drop toward the bag slipping off my shoulder. Without even thinking about it, he reaches over and takes it from me automatically.
I let him.
Neither of us seem to realize how natural that was until afterward.
Something warm flickers quietly between us.
Jackson clears his throat slightly. "How was Jefferson City?"
"Loud."
"That checks out."
"My mom tried emotionally blackmailing me into staying another two days."
"Did it work?"
"Obviously not."
His mouth twitches into a smile.
God. I missed that smile.
We start walking upstairs slowly together, shoulders brushing once in the narrow stairwell.
"So," Jackson says, "did Logan survive the drive?"
"Barely. He listened to exactly one country song and acted like he deserved a Congressional Medal of Honor afterward."
"That's honestly brave of him."
I laugh softly.
The conversation comes easier now. Not effortless yet, but easier. Like we're both cautiously stepping toward something neither of us wants to scare away.
Jackson tells me Thanksgiving at home was chaos. I tell him Logan nearly caused a fight over pumpkin pie. Jackson looks genuinely horrified.
"Your family scares me."
"They should."
"Good point."
By the third-floor landing, I realize I'm smiling so much my cheeks hurt.
There's still tension underneath everything though.
Nothing between us is fully defined yet.
We haven't talked about what this actually is now. Haven't talked about where we go from here. We just... started finding our way back toward each other somehow.
And neither of us seem ready to ruin that yet.
Jackson checks his phone suddenly and groans.
"What?"
"Team meeting in ten minutes."
I wince dramatically. "Football schedules are genuinely insane."
"You're telling me."
We stop outside my hallway. For a second neither of us move.
Jackson shifts my bag higher onto his shoulder before handing it back slowly, his fingers brushing briefly against mine.
The contact is tiny, but it still sends heat rushing straight into my chest.
"I'll see you after?" he asks quietly.
Something stupidly soft unfolds in my ribs.
"Yeah," I answer before I can overthink it. "Okay."
Relief flashes across his face so quickly I almost miss it.
Then Jackson smiles once more before jogging backward toward the stairs.
"Don't unpack without me judging your Thanksgiving snacks."
"No promises."
"Traitor."
I watch him disappear down the hallway toward the team meeting with a smile I can't seem to stop.
And for the first time in weeks, everything feels a little lighter.