27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
AVA
B y mid-morning a few days later, I’m at our small Open Pages office. It’s a space we use when in-person meetings make more sense than remote calls. Most of our work happens online, but for the gala, it helps to be here together.
I’m standing in front of a whiteboard filled with half-scribbled sponsor names, donation tiers, and color-coded deadlines.
But despite the pressure, a small smile tugs at my lips.
Jackson is my boyfriend.
My real boyfriend.
It still scares me, if I’m honest. Not because I doubt it, but because of how right it feels. How easy it was to slip into this new version of us.
But there’s no time for distractions today. Not with everything ahead of me.
Jenna tosses a stress ball in the air, her brows furrowed in deep concentration as she waits for the rest of the team to arrive.
Kim steps in next, carrying her laptop and a thick folder packed with sponsor notes, her expression focused. Evelyn follows, a determined look in her eyes, already shifting into work mode. Drew walks in last, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Sorry, was editing a donor reel,” he says, shrugging slightly.
I nod, offering a small smile. “Glad you’re all here. Let’s get started.”
Everyone settles. The air in the room shifts. It’s focused, sharp.
I continue, “Brad’s company pulling funding wasn’t a shock. But it leaves us short, and we’ve got five weeks to close the gap.”
Kim’s already nodding. “I’ve got two corporate leads I’ll hit this afternoon.”
“Evelyn, the community side?”
She flips to a tabbed page. “Strong. Bookmobile’s packed, after-school programs are full, and we’ve got enough volunteers to cover the rest of the month.”
“Perfect. We keep pushing forward. Not just filling that gap, but replacing it with something better.”
Jenna speaks up. “I’ve got a lead on two media companies; local, community-focused. Smaller dollars, but better long-term.”
“That’s the kind of shift I want,” I say. “We build something sustainable. Impact first.”
We spend the next hour refining sponsor leads, drafting campaign language, reviewing the updated venue deposit. The momentum shifts from repair to revival, and for the first time since the funding drop, it feels like we’re gaining ground.
“Evelyn, are we good on the venue?”
She nods. “Yes, the Ridgecrest Ballroom is holding the date for us. Just waiting on the deposit.”
As the meeting winds down, I look around the room.
“We’re not just patching holes,” I say. “We’re laying a foundation for the future. This gala will be the strongest statement we’ve ever made, and we’re going to make damn sure it works.”
Kim nods firmly. “We’re in.”
“So in,” Jenna says, grinning.
We break, each of us moving fast. There’s calls to make, content to draft, lists to hit.
As I gather my notes, Jenna pauses beside me, voice lower. “You okay?”
I nod. “Getting there.”
Her grin is quick. “Good. Now grab coffee with me because I fully intend to interrogate you.”
I raise a brow. “About what?”
Her eyes sparkle. “Don’t play coy. You know what. Or who rather.”
I laugh softly and nod. “Let me drop these off in the car, and I’ll meet you there.”
The coffee shop is already humming when I get there: a steady undercurrent of chatter and clinking cups. It’s warm from the afternoon sun pouring through the windows.
Jenna’s already grabbed a table near the window, two mugs in front of her. When she spots me, she grins and waves me over.
“You’re here. Good. Spill,” she says, sliding my coffee towards me.
I laugh, wrapping my hands around the warm mug she’s already ordered for me.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I say.
She leans back, studying me for a beat, eyes bright as ever. “So, what’s new with you and your fake boyfriend?”
“I…” I swallow, pulse kicking up. I glance down at my mug, fingers tightening around the ceramic.
Just say it.
I lift my gaze to meet hers. “It’s not fake anymore.”
The words land heavier than I expect. Saying it out loud makes it real in a way it hasn’t been, not even in my own head.
Jenna blinks. Then grins wide, leaning forward.
“Oh my God. I knew it. I knew it!” Jenna grins widely, squeezing my hand. “Ava, I’m so happy for you.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest, but underneath it, a new thought stirs.
Greg. My parents.
They don’t know yet, and Greg especially… I’m not sure how he’ll take it.
“You’ve been through hell. And now you’ve got someone who looks at you like you hung the damn stars.”
I shake my head, laughing softly. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
She squeezes my hand again, her grin softening. “Life can surprise you sometimes.”
She takes a sip of her coffee. “So... are you happy?”
The question lands deeper than I expect. I glance down at my mug, thumb brushing the rim. Then I look back at her.
“I am,” I say quietly. “More than I thought I could be.”
Jenna’s smile turns knowing, her eyes twinkling. “Good. Just promise me you’ll let yourself enjoy it. You deserve that much.”
We sit there a while longer, catching up about the gala, life, everything in between.
But as I walk out of the coffee shop, one thought won’t leave me.
Three weeks ago, I ran from a life I thought I wanted.
Now I’m building one I never saw coming.
By the time I get back to the house, Jackson’s truck is in the driveway. My pulse kicks up.
Inside, the house is quieter than I expect. Miss Taylor probably took the boys to the park.
I set my bag on the kitchen island and turn to find Jackson leaning in the doorway, freshly showered, hair still damp, a water bottle in hand.
He grins, causing my heartbeat to quicken even more. “Hey. How’d your meeting go?”
I cross to him without thinking, wrapping my arms lightly around his waist. He doesn’t hesitate. He just pulls me in, solid and warm.
He smells clean and warm, with that musky undertone I’ve come to associate with comfort.
“Good,” I say into his chest. “Really good.”
His hand brushes up and down my back once, easy. “Knew it would.”
I smile, but my mind’s already drifting. Back to the list of sponsors. The blacked-out logo. The blank space waiting to be filled.
Jackson draws back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. “You’re in your head.”
“Little bit,” I admit, exhaling.
"You’re allowed to breathe, you know," he whispers softly, his hand rubbing my back. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and it makes something twist in my chest. I pull back enough to look up at him.
“You ready for the game tonight?”
“Yes. It’s a big one. Game 1 of Round 2 against the Boston Outlaws.” He raises a brow. “You coming?”
I hesitate. “I want to, but…” I glance toward my laptop still open on the counter. “I’m so behind. The new sponsor leads, the edits for the silent auction page... I think I need to watch from home tonight.”
He nods, no hesitation. “Okay.”
“Really?”
He leans down, brushing a kiss to my temple. “Of course. I get it. You’ve got a lot riding on this gala.”
“I’ll be cheering you on,” I say, quieter now.
“I know you will.” His eyes warm. “That’s enough.”
My stomach growls, and we both laugh.
“Come on,” he says, eyes warm. “You need food. I’ll make something before I head out.”
After he leaves, it’s not long before I’m planted at the kitchen island with my laptop. There’s still a long list of follow-ups from the gala meeting, and Kim already texted that one of the new sponsor leads wants a call tomorrow.
Work is piling up faster than I expected: calls to return, final edits to approve, new sponsor packets to prep.
A notification pings on my phone. I glance over. It’s a group text from Evelyn about table placement for the gala. I tap out a quick reply, then set the phone down, my eyes lingering on the screen.
Miss Taylor comes in later that evening later, the boys trailing behind, her cheeks flushed, arms full of LEGOs.
“Ready for the game?” she asks, smiling as she sets the stack down.
I nod, forcing my attention back to the present. “Absolutely.”
The twins run past us toward the living room, voices bubbling over with excitement.
“Daddy’s gonna win!” Noah calls over his shoulder.
Miss Taylor follows them with a smile. “Okay, first period only tonight. Then it’s off to bed. Deal?”
“Deal!” They chorus.
She glances at me, her expression gentle. “First game of Round Two. Big night for him.”
“I know.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to.
We settle in just before puck drop. The twins bounce on the couch, jerseys slightly crooked, faces bright. Miss Taylor sits nearby, and I take the chair by the window, tucking my legs beneath me.
The pre-game broadcast rolls through highlights from Round 1: SteelClaws goals, big hits, shots of the team celebrating.
And then one clip catches me off guard.
A quiet moment from earlier this week.
Jackson kneeling by the boards, talking to a shy young fan clutching a handmade sign. No cameras posing for the shot. No showmanship. Just him: patient, steady, giving the kid his full attention.
The camera cuts back to the studio, but the image lingers in my mind.
That’s who Jackson is.
Not the phony charm, not the headlines.
Not like Brad, who was always performing, always angling for the right shot.
Jackson doesn’t need to perform. He just... is.
And with him, I’ve never had to be anything but myself.
The thought warms through me, sinking deeper than I expect.
As the game starts, I can’t stop watching him. The way he moves on the ice: controlled, powerful, relentless.
The twins last about halfway through the first period before Miss Taylor ushers them to their rooms with promises of highlights in the morning.
I stay in my chair by the window, laptop open in front of me, but my eyes are glued to the screen.
It’s a close game. The Boston Outlaws are every bit as physical as Jackson said they’d be. Fast, relentless.
And the longer it goes on, the more the tension coils low in my stomach.
Every time he’s on the ice, I can’t look away. Every time he takes a hit, my breath catches.
By the time the final buzzer sounds, the score is clear.
SteelClaws 2, Outlaws 4.
A loss.
The camera cuts to the ice: Boston celebrating, Jackson skating off, head down, jaw set hard.
Pressure builds in my chest, and I swallow, trying to force back the lump in my throat.
I know tonight was a setback, and it won’t sit easy with him.
I close my laptop slowly, the screen going dark. The house is still around me. Quiet in a way that feels heavier than before.
Three weeks ago, I would’ve told myself it wasn’t my place to care this much.
But now, I know better.
And I care more than I ever thought possible.