18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
JACKSON
B y the time I pull into the driveway the next day, my shoulders are burning and my quads feel like bricks. Coach pushed us hard this morning: systems drills, special teams work, battle drills.
Playoffs start tomorrow, and no one’s coasting.
But even with the soreness, practice was easier than being here. Easier than walking into a house that doesn’t feel as steady as it did a few days ago.
I kill the engine and rest my hands on the steering wheel.
There’s a photo clipped to the corner of the dash. It’s Claire, sitting in the bleachers with the twins on her lap. Liam’s cheeks are still round, baby-soft. Noah’s clapping, even though he had no idea what was going on.
For a second, I don’t move.
It used to calm me. Seeing them like that.
Today, it just makes something twist in my chest.
I don’t know if Claire would have understood what’s happening between me and Ava. I don’t even know what’s happening. But part of me hopes that maybe she’d tell me to stop holding my breath and start living again.
I glance up, needing something else to focus on. Anything.
The front curtains are pulled halfway open, and through the window, I catch a glimpse of Ava at the kitchen table.
She’s got her laptop open, one leg tucked under her, a pair of glasses perched on her nose I haven’t seen before. Her hair’s pulled up in some kind of messy knot, a pen caught behind her ear. She looks like she belongs here.
And maybe that’s what throws me.
I swallow and step out of the truck, shoes crunching lightly on the gravel. When I step inside, the house is warm and quiet. The smell of coffee lingers faintly in the air.
She doesn’t look up right away when I walk in. Just types something, scrolls, then types again. Her concentration’s intense, like whatever she’s working on requires her full attention.
Then she lifts her gaze, and something shifts.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey.” I hang my keys on the hook and drop my bag by the bench. “You’re working?”
She leans back. “Technically no. Don’t tell Jenna.”
I let out a quiet laugh, the tension in my chest loosening a little. “Your secret’s safe.”
“I just wanted to get ahead of things. We’ve got a fun event planned next week for the kids. They can dress up as their favorite story character. There will be story time, reading games, and free books. The works.”
She runs her finger along the edge of the table, like smoothing down a thought. “I thought maybe Noah and Liam would like to go, if that’s okay.”
That stops me mid-sip. “When is it?”
“Next Monday at 4.”
I do the math. Game 1 of Round 1 is Thursday, Game 2 is Saturday, both against the New Jersey Hawks. We’ll fly home Sunday.
“I’ll be here,” I say before I can overthink it. “I’ll take them myself.”
Ava’s eyebrows lift. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sounds like something they’d love. Plus, it’s a good cause.”
She smiles again. This one’s a little warmer. A little less careful.
And for the first time in a day and a half, I feel like maybe I haven’t completely screwed everything up.
I set my water bottle down and shift my weight.
“The first two games are in New Jersey,” I say, leaning a hip against the counter. “Tomorrow and Saturday. I was going to ask… Do you want to come with me?”
Ava meets my gaze, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to read between the lines.
“To New Jersey?”
“Yeah. You’re off until Tuesday, right?”
She nods. “Right.”
“You could go with me if you want. Stay through the weekend.”
She studies me for a beat, then closes her laptop gently. “I’d like that.”
Her voice is quiet, sincere.
She picks up her coffee again, fingers curling around the mug. “Even once I go back to work next week, I’ll still have some flexibility. I mostly work remotely. Just need Wi-Fi.”
“That’s good to know.” I pause, watching the way her expression eases. “I’ll tell the team manager to get your name on the list. They’ll handle the ticket, hotel block, all of it.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze lingers on mine for half a second longer than I expect before she looks back down and reaches for her pen.
And I realize this easy, steady rhythm between us is the first thing that’s felt close to normal since that night.
And yeah, maybe it’s still about playing the part. About keeping the fake dating plan going.
But I’m glad she’s coming. More than I should be.
A few quiet minutes pass with her typing, me nursing the last of my water. The house feels lighter than it has in days.
She finishes whatever she’s doing and stacks a few papers next to her laptop. “Everything’s pretty much squared away for the event Monday. Costumes, book stations, volunteers. It’s not complicated, but I like having everything lined up.”
“Where will it be?”
“The community center downtown,” she says. “It’s open to anyone who registers. I do it annually. Most of the kids come in costume. We’ve had everything from dragons to dinosaurs to a very confident six-year-old dressed as Sherlock Holmes.”
I grin. “They boys are gonna love this.”
“You think they’ll go classic superhero or something more sinister like a monster?”
“With them? Depends on their mood that morning.” I pause. “Liam might want to do matching costumes.”
She smiles into her coffee. “That would be adorable.”
I lean against the counter, watching the way her expression softens just talking about them.
Then I pull out my phone and open a text thread with Brian, our team’s travel manager.
“I let them know you’re coming,” I say. “I’ll have them email you the itinerary.”
Her brows lift. “You sure it’s not too late?”
“They block out extras for players’ guests,” I tell her. “It’s just a matter of adding your name.”
She nods and goes back to her screen while I fire off the message. Within ten minutes, Brian replies with a confirmation, plus a note that the flight and hotel info should hit her inbox shortly.
I relay that to her, and she refreshes her inbox.
“Here it is,” she says, already clicking into the email. “Wow, that was fast.”
But as she scrolls, her face changes.
Still.
Tense.
I step forward instinctively. “What is it?”
She doesn’t speak.
Just stares at her inbox.
I see the subject line that’s grabbed her attention.
It’s from Brad.
His name alone is enough to turn my stomach.
I still believe in us.
A steady anger builds in my chest, but I clamp it down. She’s staring at the screen like it might reach out and grab her.
“He doesn’t know when to quit, does he?” My voice is low. Clipped.
She blinks once, twice. “I blocked him on my phone but forgot about my email.”
Her hand hovers over the trackpad for a second longer. Then, with one quick movement, she clicks and deletes the message. Moves straight to her settings. Blocks his email address. Done.
Her jaw hardens as she deletes the email, but her hand shakes when she sets the mouse down. Just for a second, but I notice it.
Something in me snaps.
I hate that Brad still has that kind of hold on her, that he can get under her skin with nothing but a subject line.
I want to find him and make damn sure he never looks at her again.
But I don’t say any of that out loud.
Instead, I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. Just enough to steady her. To say: You’re not alone.
She looks up, startled at first. But she doesn’t pull away.
“Have you ever been to New Jersey?” I ask gently.
Her lips part, then close again. The tension in her brow eases just a little.
“A few times,” she says, her voice quieter now. “Mostly for conferences. I’ve never really seen the city.”
“Well,” I say, keeping my tone light, “this time you’ll get the full experience. Playoff madness and overpriced room service. Maybe we’ll even squeeze in something touristy.”
She finally smiles at that.
“I should start thinking about what to pack,” she says.
And not for the first time, I think to myself I’d do anything to keep her looking like this.
Steady. Safe. Smiling.
Brad’s not going to steal that from her again.
Not while I’m around.