21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
AVA
N o, no, no.
It’s Brad.
My hands go cold. Suddenly, the noise of the room, the cheerful hum of kids, and the music all sounds muffled, as if I’m underwater. Everything slows. He’s just inside the door, scanning the room like he’s entitled to be here. Like he belongs.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I instinctively move, half a step forward. I could call security, but that would cause a scene. And that’s the last thing I want.
When Brad starts walking toward me, I force my feet to move.
I feel someone at my side before I see him.
Jackson’s presence is unmistakable. Solid, steady, radiating tension just under the surface.
I glance up, just enough to meet his eyes. I shake my head and glance over at Liam and Noah.
Jackson hesitates, jaw tigid, gaze locked on Brad.
Protective.
Dangerous.
“Go be with the boys,” I murmur under my breath. “Please.”
His brow furrows, but after a long second, he nods. I catch the flicker of frustration in his eyes before he turns back toward the story corner where Liam and Noah are still flipping through picture books, thankfully oblivious.
When Brad reaches me, he’s all smiles, all polished charm. “You blocked me on everything,” he says lightly, like we’re catching up over coffee. “So, I had to get creative. Imagine my surprise when I saw this event advertised on Open Pages’ socials.”
He gives me a once-over, like he’s sizing up a competitor. “Hope New Jersey was fun, by the way. Looked cozy.”
My stomach twists.
“I need you to leave,” I manage, keeping my voice even even though my hands are shaking. “This is a children’s event.”
Brad’s eyes flick toward the crowd, then back to me. “Relax. I’m not here to cause trouble.” His smile hardens. “Just wanted to check in on how our money’s being spent.”
My breath catches, this time for an entirely different reason.
Because that’s when it hits me.
Brad’s investment firm.
Donor tier: platinum.
Renewal window: next month.
A chill slides down my spine.
He knows it, too. The satisfaction in his face says it all. He’s here to remind me of what he still controls.
I realize, with a sickening jolt, just how much I stand to lose.
Brad adjusts his jacket sleeve like this is just another meeting, like we’re in a boardroom instead of surrounded by children in paper crowns and glitter glue.
“I won’t stay long,” he says, tone clipped. “Just thought I’d stop by while I was in the neighborhood.”
Liar.
He lives across town. He’s never once “stopped by” any Open Pages event.
His eyes cool, and his expression hardens. Cruel and cold in that familiar, polished way. The way he used to speak when he was laying someone off or spinning a public relations failure into a win.
“I’m disappointed, Ava.” He lowers his voice and leans slightly closer. “After everything I’ve done for you. For your nonprofit.”
I flinch before I can stop myself.
“You didn’t do it for me,” I say, throat dry. “You did it for the tax break and the press coverage.”
He lifts a shoulder, like that’s beside the point.
I want to turn and walk away, but my feet feel rooted in place.
Then Brad glances around again, slow and deliberate.
"I’m recommending my firm pull funding," he says, his tone flat and final. “We’ve had a good run, but it’s time to redirect our charitable giving.”
The edges of the room blur. My fingers go numb.
That donation is fifteen percent of our budget. It covers grants and the mobile library vans.
And just like that, Brad threatens to rip it all away.
All because I left and didn’t come crawling back.
I force a breath. “You’re punishing the kids, not me.”
Brad’s mouth tightens. “That’s not how I see it.”
Then, before I can form a response, he turns and walks out the door like this was just a quick errand he checked off his list.
My hands tremble. My legs feel like stone. I stand there, frozen, trying to absorb what just happened.
The buzz of the room rushes back in. Kids laugh, parents chat, someone near the snack table asks about gluten-free cookies.
I stare at the spot where Brad was just standing. It’s empty now, like he never existed. Like he didn’t just gut my budget in under two minutes.
“Ava?” A hand touches my elbow, light and careful.
Jackson’s expression shifts the second he sees my face. Whatever I’m doing to hold myself together, whatever mask I thought I was still wearing, it’s clearly cracked.
“What did he say?” he asks. His voice is low and controlled, but there’s an undercurrent of barely restrained anger, like a storm waiting to break.
I shake my head quickly. “I’ll tell you later.”
He hesitates, searching my face. But then he nods. Doesn’t press. Just steps in close enough that I can feel the heat of his body beside mine. Like a buffer between me and the rest of the room.
His cologne, musky and familiar, grounds me in the moment. I take a shaky breath.
I press my palms to my thighs and straighten.
“I should check on Jenna,” I say, my voice thin. “And make sure cleanup is covered. I think the raffle drawing starts soon.”
“Ava.”
His voice stops me. I look up.
“You don’t have to pretend like that didn’t just happen.”
Something in my chest clenches.
“Yes, I do,” I whisper. “At least until this is over.”
He doesn’t argue. Just nods again. I turn before I lose the fragile thread holding me together and start toward the donation table, blinking hard to keep the blur from my eyes.
I duck into the break room, where the overhead lights hum and the smell of leftover coffee lingers in the air. Jenna’s already there, sorting through a bin of half-used sticker sheets. Her eyes are narrow the moment she sees me.
“Ava,” she says carefully, straightening. “What's wrong?”
I close the door behind me and lean against it, my hands gripping the handle like it’s the only thing holding me upright.
“Brad,” I manage. “He showed up.”
Jenna’s expression hardens instantly. “What? Are you okay?”
I nod before I can think better of it but then shake my head.
“He said his firm is pulling funding.”
The words feel like stones in my mouth.
Jenna’s whole body stills. “Wait. What ?”
“He said he’s recommending they don’t renew their donation next month.”
Her breath hisses through her teeth. “Unbelievable.”
I laugh, but it’s a bitter, unraveling sound. “It’s fifteen percent of our budget, Jen. I counted on that money. We all did.”
“I know,” she says immediately. “He’s using his influence to punish you.”
“Exactly,” I whisper. “He knows how much it matters. That grant program, the bookmobiles. The vans are already scheduled through next spring.”
Jenna steps in closer and squeezes my arm. “Hey. Look at me.”
I meet her steady gaze, even though my chest knots.
“This is not the end,” she says fiercely. “We’ll find other donors. We’ll make this work.”
Hot tears press behind my eyes again, but I blink them back.
I swallow against the lump in my throat. “I just hate that he can still do this. That he knows exactly where to hit.”
Jenna softens, her grip gentler now. “You’re allowed to be rattled, Ava. But we are not defeated.”
I let her words settle over me, like armor.
Then I straighten, just a little.
“I need to finish the event,” I say. “I need to get through today before I fall apart.”
Jenna nods. “Then let’s get through today. But when it’s over, we regroup, and we make a plan.”
I exhale slowly. “Deal.”
She opens the door for me, and the sounds of the event spill back in. Laughter, footsteps, someone calling for more juice boxes.
I step through it, shoulders squaring, my eyes scanning the room.
When I spot Jackson, he’s kneeling next to Liam, handing him some glitter, Noah bouncing beside them, mid-dragon growl. His head turns slightly, and our eyes meet across the space.
There’s no question in his face, just quiet readiness.
Like if I so much as lift my hand, he’ll come.
And I almost want to.
Not because I can’t handle this.
But because for the first time in a long time, I won’t have to do it alone.
I know he’ll be there.
He always has been.
For a second, I’m five years old again, gripping Jackson’s hand as he yanks me out of the path of a speeding bike in the school parking lot.
“I’ve got you,” he’d said back then.
Just like he does now.
And that’s enough to keep me going.