79. Jackson
Jackson
I watched Ryan walk away with Willow, her pink unicorn tutu bouncing next to his Special Forces strength.
Seeing them together felt like a complete, soft circle.
I leaned against the glass of the viewing suite, my heart aching with a fierce, quiet joy.
Willow’s immediate, total acceptance, the way she just saw the man who drew ducks and not the wounded soldier, was the purest welcome Ryan could have received.
She had already seen past the armor, just like in the letters, only this time it was in person.
Logan threw an arm around my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance.
“Told you, Hayes. The man’s a legend.” He was grinning, his eyes crinkled with genuine happiness.
“He’s quiet, man, but you can tell he’s the real deal.
And he drew Willow a duck! That’s how you win this team.
” Donovan stepped up next to us, his expression more serious as he watched Ryan and Willow head towards the seats.
“He’s good, Jackson. Really good. But he’s got a lot of miles on him.
” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.
“My brother was the same. He’d been home three weeks but was still flinching every time a car backfired.
Every sound is a threat when you’ve been living in that kind of noise for so long.
” He turned to me, his gaze steady. “What you saw since he’s been home, the flinching, the panic, that doesn’t just go away because he’s in Seattle.
The man is running on pure, adrenalized survival instinct.
He needs time to adjust, Jackson. A lot of time.
You’ve got to let him come home slowly. Don’t push him to be the man in the letters.
He needs to just be Ryan for a while.” I nodded, gripping the glass until my knuckles were white.
No words were needed, just me left staring at the man who had become such a vital part of my world.
“Do you like ice cream? Jackson has plain chocolate, boring!” she declared, wrinkling her nose.
“Hey, it’s a classic flavor,” I defended, trying not to laugh at her total contempt for my choice.
“Soldiers need special ice cream,” she informed me sternly, then reached into the small, sequined backpack she carried.
“For your tummy,” she announced, placing a handful of sticky, multi colored gummy bears directly into Ryan’s palm.
“They are Gummy Bear Soldiers. They will fight the scary feelings inside.” Ryan stared at the handful of candy in his hand, then back up at Willow.
The genuine, raw tenderness in his expression was a physical ache in my chest. He wasn’t just observing a child; he was observing a pure, untainted kind of kindness he hadn’t experienced in a decade.
“I will definitely deploy the Gummy Bear Soldiers later,” Ryan promised, carefully slipping them into his jacket pocket. “Good,” she declared, satisfied with his adherence to the new mission.
“Now, tell me about all the actual animals you have in the desert. Do you have a pet snake? Do you need me to draw him a tiny Teal Team jersey?” As she starts to take out her crayons.
I shook my head, smiling, feeling the absolute, undeniable rightness of this moment.
Ryan was here, laughing with a little girl who saw his scar and his trauma and decided he needed a hockey team and Gummy Bear Soldiers.
I walked over and sat down next to Ryan, pulling his arm over my shoulder, grounding myself in the reality of his weight against me.
The tension in his body was finally softening, melting into the safe space we had built.
He was home. And I had two soldiers now, one who drew ducks, and a handful of candy guarding his heart.
My phone buzzed—a text from Donovan, always the punctuality enforcer: You still defensive in there? Need you on the ice in 15. The team is asking about the Gummy Bear deployment.
I smiled, pulling my arm away from Ryan just long enough to tap out a reply.
Gummy Bears have been deployed. Tell Coach I’m en route.
And tell the team my ‘defenseman’ is safe and sound.
I leaned back, watching Ryan again. Willow, having finished the Gummy Bear transaction, was now looking intently at the Teal Duck.
“Can you teach me how to draw ducks, too?” Willow asked Ryan seriously.
Ryan nodded. “Yeah, of course, I drew some for your Uncle Jackson a while ago. What kind of duck should I draw next?” Willow brightened.
“Draw a duck that’s swimming so fast it has invisible flippers!
And make sure he’s carrying a chocolate chip cookie in his beak!
” Ryan laughed, a deep, easy sound that wiped years of desert fatigue from his face.
“Invisible flippers and a cookie rescue mission. Got it.”
“I should head out now,” I said, reluctantly standing up.
“Need to get on the ice before Coach declares war.” I ruffled Willow’s hair gently.
“I’ll see you later, champ. Be good for Ryan.
” “Bye, Jackson,” she chirped. Ryan stood, too, his hand immediately reaching for mine, grounding me again.
“Go,” he said quietly, his thumb stroking my wrist. “Do what you do. I’ll be here.
Waiting.” I squeezed his hand once, hard, then turned and walked toward the door, carrying the weight of his quiet promise and the image of my soldier talking to a six-year-old about invisible flippers and cookie rescue missions.
The locker room awaited. I felt ready for anything now.