3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
AVA
S unlight filters through sheer white curtains, soft and golden and far too serene for what my life currently feels like.
For a moment, I’m not sure where I am. My brain feels fuzzy, like it’s buffering, and the ceiling above me is unfamiliar. It’s high. Wooden beams. A fan lazily spins in the center.
Not my ceiling. Not my room.
I sit up too quickly and immediately regret it. The movement makes my head throb and my stomach twist. The blankets slide off my shoulders and pool at my waist, revealing a navy shirt that’s definitely not mine.
I blink down at it. It’s enormous. Soft and worn and hanging off one shoulder. It smells faintly of clean detergent and something warmer. Something… masculine.
Jackson.
Memories from last night rush back, tripping over each other in their haste. The wedding. The photos. The crash into him. The drive. Meeting his twin boys. That look in his eyes when he told me I could stay as long as I needed.
I inhale slowly, grounding myself. This is Jackson’s guest room. I’m in Jackson’s shirt. And it’s the morning after I was supposed to get married.
My eyes flick to the nightstand. My phone sits there like a landmine.
I hesitate, then reach for it. The screen lights up immediately. Dozens of missed calls and messages.
Brad (15)Mom (4)Greg (2)Jenna (2)
I drop the phone like it burned me.
A choked sound escapes my throat as I sink back against the pillows. This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I was supposed to wake up in a honeymoon suite this morning, sipping mimosas and giggling over wedding photos with my new husband.
Instead, I’m hiding out in my brother’s best friend’s guest room, wearing his shirt like it’s armor. The same guy who used to chase off bullies in middle school and walk me home when Greg couldn’t.
The shirt drapes over me like a dress, and for a second, I catch sight of myself in the mirror across the room. Hair a mess. Eyes puffy. Swallowed up in Jackson’s shirt.
He’s well over six feet tall. I’m 5’6” on a good day. I look like a kid playing dress-up in an adult’s closet.
Except there’s nothing playful about this.
Still, being wrapped in his shirt, in this warm, quiet room where no one’s freaking out or lying or asking anything of me, I feel… safe.
I don’t reach for the phone again. Not yet.
Instead, I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and let my bare feet settle against the cool hardwood floor. The room is quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the dresser and the occasional creak of the house settling. I pull Jackson’s shirt closer around me and pad toward the window.
Outside, the trees sway in the morning breeze, golden light dancing across the front lawn. It’s beautiful. Peaceful.
My stomach twists again, this time from nerves. I glance back at the nightstand. The phone is still there. Still a bomb waiting to go off. I cross the room slowly and pick it up again.
I can’t avoid it forever.
My fingers hover for a second before I swipe through the notifications. Text after text from Brad.
Please talk to me.
I swear, it’s not what it looks like.
Can we just talk?
Your parents are worried. Call them.
Ava, please.
A wave of nausea climbs up my throat.
I flip to the voicemail tab and see even more. Two from my mom. One from Greg. Several from Brad.
I don’t listen to any of them.
Tossing the phone back on the bed, I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes.
A knock sounds on the door, light and tentative.
“Ava?” It’s Jackson. His voice is low, like he’s afraid to startle me. “You up?”
I swallow hard. “Yes. I’m awake.”
The door opens a crack and Jackson peeks in, holding a steaming mug.
“Didn’t want to barge in,” he says. “Feel free to come downstairs and grab some breakfast when you want. Figured you might want some coffee.”
I breathe in the scent and close my eyes for half a second. “That smells amazing.”
He steps inside and hands it to me. “Milk, no sugar, right?”
I blink. “How did you know?”
He gives a small shrug. “Greg mentioned it when I called him last night. Said you’d probably want it that way.”
I take the mug, the warmth of it grounding me a little. “Thanks.”
I glance at the phone still resting on the bed. My stomach knots again.
“Did Greg… tell our parents?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jackson nods slowly. “He said he would. I’m not sure what he told them, but he promised to give you space. Just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”
I close my eyes briefly, guilt prickling under my skin. “My mom is probably losing it.”
“She’s your mom,” he says gently. “That’s kind of her job.”
A shaky breath slips out of me, and I nod. “I should’ve called them. I just… can’t. Not yet.”
Jackson doesn’t leave right away. His eyes flick to the phone still lit on the bed, then back to me.
“Let me know if you want to chuck that thing out the window. I’ll bring the shovel and help you bury it.”
A surprised laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Tempting.”
He smiles and I catch a dimple. “How about just coffee for now?”
I nod with a small smile. “That I can handle.”
The doorbell rings and I grab the mug even harder.
It can’t be Brad, can it?
As if he could read my mind, Jackson holds his hands up. “It’s Jenna. Greg gave her my address. She wanted to see you. Okay if I send her up?”
I let out a breath of relief and nod sheepishly.
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he stands up and heads out.
I’m halfway through the mug when I hear footsteps. They are lighter this time, followed by a soft knock.
“Ava?”
I glance up to find Jenna poking her head in through the barely open door, rolling two large suitcases behind her.
“I come bearing treasures,” she says, stepping inside with a half-smile.
I place the mug down and sit up straighter. “You went to the apartment?”
“Used the spare key.” She unzips them, then pulls out a couple of folded outfits, my favorite cozy sweater, and the fuzzy socks I always wear when I’m sick.
My throat tightens. “You didn’t have to—”
Jenna’s sudden hug nearly knocks the wind out of me.
“Of course I did.”
I hug her back, my eyes watering but this time in gratitude. “I’m so glad you are here.”
“You smell like man,” she giggles into my shoulder before pulling back, eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Is that his shirt?”
I glance down at the oversized navy fabric hanging to my mid-thigh and tug self-consciously at the bottom. “I wasn’t exactly packing options.”
Her eyes soften. “Well, you’re rocking the ‘runaway bride meets luxury sleepwear’ look.”
I manage a weak smile. “It was either this or the wedding dress.”
“That’s fair.” Her voice softens as she sits beside me.
Her blonde hair falls in a messy bun on top of her head, a few strands escaping to frame her face, making her look equal parts put-together and chaotic in the way only Jenna can pull off.
“I figured the last thing you want is to put that dress back on.”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half something close to a sob. “God, no.”
She pauses, then smiles. “By the way, his boys are so freaking cute. I saw them downstairs. They were sitting at the kitchen island, arguing over pancake toppings.”
Despite everything, I can’t help it; a tiny, tired smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, they’re adorable. Like little mini-Jacksons. Dark hair, those same bright blue eyes. I just met them last night, but they seem really sweet.”
Her smile deepens. “It’s nice, seeing you smile.”
She hands me a hairbrush, and the familiar scent of my shampoo wafts up from the bag.
“I grabbed your essentials. Clothes. Toiletries. Phone charger. Laptop. The book from your nightstand. And,” she pauses dramatically, pulling out a zippered pouch, “backup mascara.”
“You’re the best,” I whisper, blinking fast.
“I know.”
We fall into a quiet lull as I run my thumb over the stitching on my favorite pajama top.
“You okay?” she asks softly. “I mean, not okay-okay, but…”
I nod slowly. “I’m getting there.”
I pause, then let the words spill before I can overthink them.
“The more I sit with it, the more I realize there were signs. Things I ignored. Things I didn’t want to believe.”
Jenna’s brows knit, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I’d catch Brad texting late at night and he’d say it was work. Or he’d cancel plans last minute and make it sound like I was overreacting when I got upset.” I shake my head. “I just kept convincing myself it was normal. That all couples go through stuff.”
“Ava, that’s not on you.”
“I know,” I murmur. “But it still feels like I let it happen. Like I saw the cracks and pretended they weren’t there.”
She reaches out, resting a hand over mine. “You trusted him. That’s not a flaw. That’s what love is supposed to be.”
“I feel stupid,” I whisper.
“You’re not. You’re human. And honestly? He never deserved you.”
Jenna’s gaze shifts to the coffee mug on the bedside table. “Jackson’s taking care of you?”
I nod again. “Yeah. He is.”
She watches me for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. Then she smiles slyly.
“So. Jackson Hart. The same guy you crushed on in high school. And now you’re living out some kind of post-wedding runaway romance in his mansion?”
I groan. “Please don’t make this weirder than it already is.”
“I’m just saying,” she sing-songs. “If a rich, sexy Pittsburgh SteelClaws player offered me coffee and a guest room, I might not be in such a hurry to leave.”
I throw a pillow at her. Jenna yelps and ducks, the pillow bouncing off the foot of the bed.
"Rude," she mutters, but she’s grinning as she flops onto the bed beside me again, picking up the pillow like she might toss it back. “You know I’m right.”
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “You are insufferable.”
“And you’re glowing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Look, I know things suck right now. But maybe this whole runaway bride thing isn’t the worst twist your life could take.”
I roll my eyes, but deep down my stomach flutters at the thought, which is ridiculous.
Jenna stays for another half hour, long enough to make sure I’ve eaten half a granola bar and to lecture me lovingly about hydrating like a functioning adult. But eventually, she stands, brushing her hands on her leggings.
“I need to get going. I’ve got to hop on a video call with the outreach team,” she says, glancing at her phone. “They’re panicking over the school grant deadline again.”
I shift on the bed. “Maybe I should log on too. Just for a bit. Answer some emails, check in with everyone…”
She gives me a pointed look. “Absolutely not. You’re on vacation.”
“Yes, for a honeymoon that’s not happening because my wedding exploded into flames,” I murmur.
“Which means you probably need the break even more now,” she counters. “Take the space. Breathe. We’ve got this.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek. “I hate leaving everything on your plate.”
“Ava, I know you are the founder of Open Pages but remember I’m the Director of Programs for your nonprofit.
And you hired me for a reason. I can handle a few extra emails and a bunch of over-caffeinated interns.
Just focus on… I don’t know, wearing cozy oversized shirts and not answering texts from your terrible ex. ”
A reluctant laugh escapes me. “Wow. So inspiring.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she says with a wink.
“And,” she says more softly, leaning in closer, “I’m glad you are here with Jackson. If you had to land anywhere… this doesn’t seem like the worst place.”
After a beat, she continues, “He’s always looked out for you, Ava. Even back then.”
I nod, chewing my lip. “I keep thinking about this time in middle school. These girls thought it would be hilarious to dump out my lunch tray while I was in the bathroom. I came back and all my food was gone—everyone was laughing. Everyone except Jackson.”
I swallow, the memory clearer than I expect.
“He got up, walked straight to the front of the line, bought me another lunch, and handed it back to me like it was no big deal. Then he sat next to me the rest of lunch, tearing into his pizza as if nothing happened.”
Jenna smiles with a glint in her eye. “Well, maybe now’s the time to see if he still wants to be that guy.”
I roll my eyes, but my face burns. “It’s not like that.”
The man gave me a guest room and a shirt, not a proposal.
“Uh-huh. And I’m definitely not about to eat all the donuts downstairs.”
As she heads out, I’m overwhelmed again by how fast my life has shifted. But also, oddly, how safe I feel.
Here.
With him.
And I have no idea what to make of that.