9. Jackson #2
Team security asks questions in a tone that says they’ve handled things like this before, even if everyone pretends they haven’t. A report number gets created. A plan gets put in place. Names get added to a list. Steve’s name gets treated like a contaminant.
I hang up and slide my phone back into my pocket.
Kai is still moving, still pacing, but now it’s pacing with purpose.
Isla sits on the couch, a blanket pulled around her shoulders even though the apartment is warm.
Adriana sits next to her, rubbing the side of her rounded belly and looking exhausted.
Isla’s eyes look dry in the way that says she already cried and hated herself for it. Kai stops in front of her, crouches, and takes her face in his hands like he’s holding the only thing that matters.
“Look at me,” he says, voice low.
Isla’s eyes lift.
“You did nothing wrong,” he tells her. “You hear me? Nothing.”
She swallows. “I just… I didn’t want you to lose it.”
Kai’s laugh is soft but edged. “Princess, I live on the edge of losing it.”
Gael lets out a breath from where he’s leaned against the kitchen counter. “Fucking facts.”
Isla’s mouth twitches like she’s trying to smile, but it breaks anyway.
Kai’s thumbs brush her cheeks. “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at him.”
“I know,” she whispers.
Kai presses his forehead to hers and stays there. Quiet. Still. The storm is contained only because she’s the one holding him.
Jackson stands near me, arms folded, jaw set. He watches Kai and Isla with a kind of reverence, like he’s seeing proof of something he wants to believe about the world.
That love can be loud and dangerous and still be safe.
Kai pulls back slightly. “Come on, Princess. I’ll get a hot bath going, and we can relax.”
“Uh… everyone’s still here, Kai,” Isla mumbles as he presses a kiss to her lips.
Kai’s mouth twitches. “And they know where the door is. Gael and Adriana are across the hall. And Jack and Dre are on the floor below us. It’s not like they have to go far.”
Isla’s eyes flick to me and Gael and Jackson, like she’s embarrassed we’re witnessing this.
Kai doesn’t care. He shifts his gaze to us. “So, thanks, guys… but I think we're going to take a bath and try to relax.”
He doesn’t have to tell us twice. I nod. “Heard. You guys have a good night.”
Kai nods, then looks at me. “Dre.”
“Yeah,” I answer.
His voice drops. “If he comes here…”
“He won’t,” I say, and I mean it. Not because I believe Steve has morals, but because now there are eyes on him.
Kai’s nostrils flare. “If he does.”
I hold Kai’s gaze. “Then it gets handled. Our way.”
Our way meaning masks, baseball bats, and shovels.
Isla reaches out and grabs my hand for a second. Her fingers squeeze. “Thank you,” she says quietly, like she’s trying not to cry again.
I squeeze back. “You’re family, and we take care of our family.”
Jackson steps forward, voice softer than usual. “You okay?”
Isla looks at him, and for a second her face cracks into something gentler. “I’m okay,” she says, then adds, looking over at Kai, “I will be.”
Jackson nods like he understands what she means. Kai stands and offers Isla his hand. She takes it and he pulls her up carefully, like she’s delicate. Like she’s the center of the earth and he’s making sure she doesn’t fall.
He turns toward the hall, then pauses and his eyes land on Jackson.
“Appreciate you,” Kai says, blunt and raw.
Jackson blinks like he didn’t expect it. “Yeah,” he says, equally blunt. “Of course.”
Gael takes Adriana’s hand and walks out before us, speaking low, probably reminding her to breathe and that everything will be okay.
Jackson exhales hard, and I watch his shoulders drop a fraction.
He turns toward me and mutters, “I hate this.”
“I know,” I say.
We stand there for a beat in the entryway, like we don’t know what to do with all the leftover adrenaline.
Then we start walking toward the elevator, and once inside, I hit the next floor down.
When the doors close, Jackson’s mouth opens, and I can already see the joke coming before he says it.
The way he reaches for humor when his insides are shaking.
“You know, if the legal route doesn’t work,” he says, voice too casual, “the insulin would just take care of the problem.”
My head snaps toward him.
“Jackson,” I say.
He raises both hands. “What? I’m just saying, hypothetically—”
“Ni siquiera lo digas,” I cut in, my tone rougher this time. “Ni en broma. ?Me oyes?”
Jackson’s eyes widen, and he swallows.
“I’m joking,” he insists, but it’s weaker now. “I hear you, baby.”
I step closer and lower my voice, because this is important and I want it to land.
“Escúchame, mi sol,” I say, steady and firm. “Esa mierda no se dice. Ni se piensa. Porque tú no eres ese tipo de hombre.”
Jackson’s throat bobs.
“And because I won’t watch you destroy yourself trying to be funny,” I add in English, softer but no less absolute. “We keep our hands clean. We keep you safe. We keep ourselves safe.”
He looks down, shame flushing his cheeks.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
I take his wrist and squeeze once. Not punishment. Just grounding.
“I couldn’t live without you, Jack,” I say quietly, because it’s the truth.
His lashes flutter. “Stop.”
“No,” I say, and my mouth twitches. “I’ll never stop loving you.”