86. Jackson
Jackson
I woke up to the silence of the house, which, after two months with Ryan, now felt wrong.
I reached out, finding the space next to me cold, and immediately a knot of dread tightened in my stomach.
I threw on a pair of sweats and found him in the kitchen.
He was standing by the counter, gripping the granite so hard his knuckles were white, staring down at a few official-looking papers, the kind with crests and heavy black ink that screamed military.
He hadn’t heard me come in. The air around him felt thick, charged with the same tension I’d felt the morning he arrived.
This wasn’t about Brody anymore; this was about choosing a life.
I came up behind him, not touching, just standing. “Ryan,” I murmured, his name a soft anchor in the quiet room.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. “I have to make a choice, Jackson. By tomorrow.”
“I know what those are,” I said, my voice steady.
“But I need you to listen to me for one second, without the soldier’s brain taking over.
” I reached out and gently laid my hand flat on his back, feeling the tense coil of muscle under my palm.
“We started this with honesty. We asked to be seen. We asked to be taken seriously. And for the first time in my life, I felt both of those things with you. I felt it when you were thousands of miles away, and I feel it now when you’re standing right here. ”
I shifted my hand, running it slowly up to the back of his neck, giving a gentle squeeze. “If you walk away, you’re not just abandoning me, you’re abandoning the man who draws ducks. The man who showed up on my doorstep with a cookie and a terrifying vulnerability.”
I stepped around him, pulling his head into my chest, holding him fiercely.
“You said you didn’t know if you were strong enough to choose this life.
You are. The strongest thing you can do is put down the gun and pick up a coffee mug.
Stay here, with the noise of the waves and a crazy cat, and let me love you.
” I tightened my grip, burying my mouth in his hair.
“I love you so fucking much, Ryan. I’ve been in love with the paper and ink version of you since the first letter, and the real, breathing, man in my arms?
He’s everything. Don’t go back to the dust. Stay home, stay with me, where you belong. ”