95. Jackson
Jackson
I paced the length of the living room, the rug feeling like it was burning beneath my feet.
My phone was face down on the coffee table, but I could still feel it vibrating with every new notification.
The blurry photos of us at the park had gone viral an hour ago, and the speculation was a wildfire I couldn’t contain.
“They’re going to tear you apart, Ryan,” I choked out, my voice tight with a frantic, protective energy.
“The media, the trolls, they don’t care about the truth.
They just want a headline. I’ve spent my life playing their game, but you?
You didn’t sign up for this. I’m putting a target on your back just by being with me, and I can’t…
I can’t be the reason your peace gets shattered again. ”
I stopped by the window, my hands shaking as I gripped the frame. “What if they damage everything we’ve built? What if the noise becomes too loud for you to stay?”
I felt the shift in the air before I heard him move.
Ryan stood up from the armchair, his movements steady and deliberate, the soldier’s focus grounding the frantic electricity in the room.
He walked over and stepped directly into my path, forcing me to look at him.
He took my shaking hands in his, his grip a solid, immovable anchor.
“Jackson, baby, look at me,” he commanded softly.
I met his eyes, finding only clarity where I expected to see fear.
“I love you. Not just the version of you that skates, and not just the version of you that sends cookies. All of you. I’m all in, Jackson.
If the world wants to watch, let them watch. I’m not letting you go for anything.”
The words hit me with more force than any hit on the ice ever could.
The suffocating weight in my chest suddenly loosened, the frantic noise of the internet fading into the background.
He wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t looking for an exit.
He was holding the line. I let out a long, shuddering breath, leaning my forehead against his, feeling the steady, certain rhythm of his heart.
The media could scream all they wanted, as long as Ryan was standing here.