7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
AVA
T he following day, the dryer buzzes behind me, a low, persistent reminder that even when your life implodes, socks still need folding.
There’s a whole basket beside me of clean clothes, and my hands move on autopilot, folding without thinking. My mind’s somewhere else entirely.
I keep seeing Brad’s face.
Hearing his voice.
It was the way he said “Ava, please,” like I was the one who’d wronged him.
Like it wasn’t insane that he tracked me. That he’d shown up uninvited, like a scene out of a thriller movie.
I press the palms of my hands over my eyes, feeling like I’m stuck somewhere in the middle: no longer his, but not quite free. Just floating in this in-between space, waiting to land.
And then there’s Jackson.
He has been kind. Protective. He stepped between me and Brad without hesitation. Took that tracking app off my phone. Gave me space, safety, and a place to regroup.
In an instant, I’m eight years old again, hiding behind Jackson as he glares down at a kid twice my size who yanked my braid and called me a crybaby.
“No one messes with her,” he’d said back then, voice full of certainty.
Turns out, he never stopped being that guy.
And then he offered his fake dating plan.
A wry smile tugs at my lips. Only Jackson could offer something like that and make it sound practical. Like it was just a solution to a problem.
But what keeps circling in my mind isn’t the logistics. It’s the fact that I didn’t immediately say no.
Because part of me wants to say yes.
Somewhere between crashing into him at the wedding and now…
I started feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Safe. Seen.
And I’m not exactly sure what that means.
The dryer buzzes again, louder this time, and I flinch like I’ve been caught. I stand and walk over to it, tugging open the door. Warm air rushes out. I lean into it, eyes stinging. Maybe from the heat. Maybe not.
I gather the clothes and start sorting them into piles, grounding myself in fabric and motion.
I’m just finishing the last folded shirt when I hear the front door open.
There’s the unmistakable patter of sneakers, the muffled thud of bags dropped too hard, and Jackson’s voice, calm but firm, corralling all that energy before it can break loose.
“Noah, shoes stay on the mat. Liam, backpack in the cubby.”
“Yes, Daddy,” comes the twin chorus, followed by the clatter of compliance and half-hearted grumbling.
I smile before I even realize I’m doing it.
I carry the folded clothes down the hall and peek into the front room. The boys are tugging off jackets and handing them to Jackson, who catches each one like a practiced pro. He looks up when he sees me, his hair slightly windblown, keys still in hand.
“Hey,” he says. “Laundry day?”
I nod, lifting the basket in my arms. “Turns out neatly folded clothes are good for the soul. You were able to pick up the boys today?”
He lays their jackets over the back of a kitchen chair. “Practice was lighter today, and with the game tomorrow night, we wrapped up early. I like to pick them up when I can. Plus, Miss Taylor has the day off.”
“Hey Ava!” Noah says, bounding over like a ping pong ball set loose. “Guess what? We got to make volcanoes in science class. Mine erupted and hit the ceiling.”
I laugh and set the laundry basket on the bench by the stairs. “Sounds like an eventful day.”
Liam’s slower to approach. He hovers behind his brother, eyes flicking between me and the floor like he’s working up to something.
“Hi,” he finally says, quieter.
“Hi,” I answer gently. “Did you make a volcano too?”
He nods once. “But mine didn’t explode.”
“Explosions are overrated,” I whisper. “Sometimes the quiet ones are the coolest.”
That earns me the tiniest smile. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing. But it’s there. And it stays with me.
Liam leans in closer.
“Volcanos are where lava dragons come from.”
I open my eyes wide.
“I don’t think I’ve seen a lava dragon before.”
Noah shouts, “We’ll draw you one!”
Jackson stands a few feet away, watching the scene quietly. There’s something in his eyes: soft, maybe a little surprised. Like he didn’t see this coming, but he doesn’t mind it one bit.
“We are gonna do snacks and homework,” Jackson says after a beat, glancing at the twins.
Then he turns to me. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I admit.
A few minutes later, we’re in the kitchen.
Jackson’s slicing apples while the boys argue over whose worksheet has more problems. I help Liam sound out a few tricky words while Noah scarfs down a peanut butter sandwich.
Afterward, he collapses with a groan, dramatically declaring that his homework is “so hard.”
Jackson sets a glass of apple juice in front of Noah and Liam, then hands me a water bottle.
“You said you’ve got a game tomorrow?” I ask.
He nods, grabbing his own bottle. “Yeah. It’s a big one. We need this win.”
We hang in that rhythm for a while: homework, snacks, light conversation. Noah eventually declares himself “basically dying of hunger again,” which cues dinner prep.
After dinner and a few rounds of trying to convince Noah that yes, brushing his teeth is still required even if he “barely ate anything,” the house finally quiets down. Jackson walks the boys back to their room while I rinse a few dishes and stack them neatly in the drying rack.
Miss Taylor reappears from a late errand and offers to tuck the twins in. I think they like having a rotation of adults to choose from. It probably makes bedtime negotiations more exciting.
I wipe my hands on a dish towel and glance toward the guest room. My phone’s been charging on the nightstand, face down, untouched since this afternoon.
The moment I pick it up, it buzzes in my hand.
Brad (5 new messages)Brad (2 new voicemails)
I should’ve put it on airplane mode.
I don’t open them right away. I just stare at the screen, my thumb hovering. The little preview bubbles taunt me.
Please just call me.
You’re blowing this out of proportion.
And then one that makes my stomach turn:
I made a mistake, but we can fix this.
Fix what?
My grip tightens. I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I’m already pacing the room.
It takes me a full minute to press play on the first voicemail. Brad’s voice floods the speaker, too smooth, too composed.
“Ava, I just… I need you to hear me out, okay? I know things got out of hand, but what we have… it’s real. You don’t just walk away from something like that. I don’t deserve to be shut out like this.”
I delete it before it’s over.
The second voicemail is worse. It’s like emotional whiplash in audio form.
“Your brother and Jenna clearly have it out for me. You know that, right? They never liked me. They’ve probably twisted this whole thing in your head. Made it worse than it is.”
I press my thumb to the delete button and hold it until both messages are gone.
I don’t need to hear anything else. I’ve heard enough.
I tap Jenna’s name before I can second-guess myself. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey,” she says. “I was just about to text you. Everything okay?”
I sit on the edge of the bed and exhale. “Define okay.”
Her voice shifts instantly. “What happened?”
“He showed up yesterday.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence. “Brad?”
“Yeah. Here at Jackson’s house.”
“Oh my God. Are you serious?”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “He tracked my phone.”
“What the hell?” Jenna snaps. “That’s psychotic.”
“I know.” I rub my temple. “Jackson got rid of him, but… it shook me.”
“I don’t blame you! That’s next-level manipulation.”
“How’s everything going with Open Pages?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “No disasters?”
Jenna snorts. “Only the usual ones. A few interns thought it’d be a good idea to revamp the newsletter without telling anyone. But it’s fine. We survived.”
“You’re sure?” I ask. “I can help. If anything comes up—”
“Absolutely not,” she cuts in. “You still have another week and a half off. You are banned from emails. I’ll call security if I catch you replying to anything.”
I smile despite myself. “You’re the best kind of tyrant.”
We fall quiet for a moment. I lean my head against the headboard and let the silence settle between us.
I press a hand to my chest, grounding myself. “Jackson offered something. A way to keep Brad from coming back.”
Jenna pauses for a moment. “What kind of something?”
I pause, then let the words tumble out. “Fake dating. Just to throw Brad off.”
There’s a long pause. Then—
“Wait, what? Jackson offered to fake date you?”
“Yup.”
“And? What did you say?”
“I said no. He’s already done so much. I couldn’t pile that on too.”
“ Ava .”
Jenna sighs in her long, dramatic way.
“Don’t you understand that fake dating your literal high school crush is the plot of half the romance novels on my bookshelf? It’s basically fate.”
I groan into the pillow. “This is not a book.”
“Maybe not. But don’t pretend you didn’t think about saying yes.”
I don’t say anything.
Which says everything.
After I hang up, I just sit there for a while: phone still in my hand, the room dim except for the glow of the bedside lamp.
The hum of the house is faint around me.
The muffled sound of the TV from the den, a quiet clink of something downstairs in the kitchen.
I’m not sure if it’s Miss Taylor or Jackson, but either way, it’s comforting.
Normal. Familiar.
And yet… nothing about this is normal.
I set my phone down and walk over to the window, pulling the curtain back slightly. The porch light is on, casting a soft yellow glow over the front steps and part of the lawn. The same steps Brad stood on yesterday morning.
I wrap my arms around myself.
The thing is, Jenna’s not wrong. A small, annoying part of me did think about saying yes.
And not just to keep Brad away.
I think about the way Jackson looked at me yesterday morning: steady, unflinching. The way he stood between me and Brad without hesitation. The way he made space for me to breathe again without asking anything in return.
It wasn’t just protective.
It felt… like he saw me. And didn’t flinch.
A light knock at the door startles me.
“Come in,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
Jackson steps inside, hair still damp from a shower, a gray shirt clinging to his muscular frame. He holds up a small plate.
“Miss Taylor made cookies. Thought you might want one.”
My mouth lifts in a tired smile.
He crosses the room and extends the plate. I take a chocolate chip from the top. Still warm. I take a bite and close my eyes for a second.
“Okay,” I murmur. “She really is magic.”
Jackson grins.
He doesn’t leave right away. Just stands there, like he’s not sure if I need space or company.
“Thanks,” I say finally. “For yesterday. For everything.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me,” he replies. “But I’ll take it.”
He turns, broad shoulders cutting a solid silhouette in the doorway. There’s a quiet strength in the way he moves. Steady, unhurried. Like he’s built to carry weight and never complains about it.
He glances back from the hallway, lifts a hand in a small wave.
“Goodnight, Ava.”
“Goodnight,” I say softly.
He doesn’t say anything else. Just gives me one last look, and something about it sends a shiver down my spine. Then he turns and disappears down the hall, leaving a trace of warmth in his wake.
I stare at the cookie crumbs in my lap, but they aren’t what’s holding my attention.
It’s him. The way he stepped in. The way he offered without pushing.
And the way this fake dating idea won’t leave my head.
God help me, I’m actually considering it.