Chapter 11
ELEVEN
JACKSON
Waking up feels like crawling out of wet cement.
My eyes crack open, and the room immediately tilts.
Not dizzy exactly, but heavy. Like gravity decided to bully me and is on a personal mission to make me throw up.
My throat is so dry my tongue feels like sandpaper, and my head has that bruised, tender pressure that always shows up after a bad low, like my brain is mad at me for almost shutting the lights off.
I blink a few times, trying to reorient myself with the real world. When I shift into a seated position, my whole body complains. Andres is sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed, staring at me like I’m a wounded animal.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“Morning,” he says quietly, but I don't miss the worry in his voice.
I make a sound that’s supposed to be a greeting and it comes out like a dying animal.
Andres lifts his head, and those gorgeous brown eyes of his are soft, but there’s a sharpness to them.
The kind he gets when he’s holding back a lecture because he doesn’t want to scare me, but he’s scared himself.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I swallow and my stomach turns once. My head pounds.
“Like I got hit by a bus,” I chuckle weakly.
Andres's jaw tightens and his gaze pans over to the nightstand, where my phone glows faintly with my numbers on the screen. I reach for it and squint.
168 with a steady arrow.
Not perfect. High for morning but not dangerous.
“Could be worse,” I mutter.
Andres exhales like he’s been holding his breath since yesterday.
“You could’ve not been here,” he says quietly. Then he crawls up the bed, situates himself beside me, and grabs my hand. His thumb starts moving, slow circles, like he’s trying to soothe both of us.
I look up for a minute and stare at the ceiling, feeling the aftermath. The crash. The hangover. The humiliation that always follows, like my body is embarrassed it betrayed me in public.
And then I hear it.
Voices.
Not the TV. And way too close to be neighbors.
Voices in our apartment.
I freeze. “Are we being robbed?”
Andres's head turns and his mouth twitches.
“No, baby,” he says. “We’re not being—wait, you think I’d be lying in bed with you if there were a burglar in our house?”
“I mean… maybe?” I frown. “Then why are there… people in our living room?”
Andres presses a quick kiss to my shoulder. “Because you scared everyone yesterday.”
“Dre… it’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“Still,” he murmurs.
The voices get clearer when I sit up, and the first one I hear is Kai’s, low and intense. Isla’s softer but firm voice follows. Gael’s calm drawl and Adriana’s laugh, which is sharp at the edges like she’s trying to keep it light and failing.
They’re all here, in our apartment.
At seven o'clock in the morning, my first instinct is to sink back under the covers and pretend I’m dead.
My second instinct is to go see what the hell is happening because my name is probably being tossed around like a football.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
My body protests immediately. Andres follows, watching me like he’s ready to catch me if I wobble.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, waving him off.
He raises one eyebrow.
I concede. “I’m mostly fine.”
“I need you to try to eat before you talk to anyone,” he says, voice all command.
“I’m not a toddler, Dre.”
Andres's stare says, You were literally 28 yesterday; don’t test me.
I drag a hand down my face. “Okay. I’ll grab something.”
He stands, pulling on a pair of dark gray sweats—which makes my brain stutter—then reaches for my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s no debate anymore about what we are. He tugs me close and kisses my temple.
“You good to walk?” he asks softly, like he’s trying not to embarrass me.
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
Dre doesn’t look convinced, but he lets me lead. We step out into the hallway, and the sound of the living room hits me fully.
Kai is on the couch, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, eyes sharp.
Isla is beside him, one hand resting on her belly, the other holding his wrist like she’s keeping him grounded.
Gael is in the armchair, relaxed posture but alert eyes.
Adriana is perched on the edge of the loveseat, hair up, expression equal parts annoyed and worried.
The second they see me, all conversation stops. Like I walked into a room full of teachers. I pause in the archway, staring at all of my friends gathered together.
“Why do I feel like I’m walking into an intervention?” I ask.
Kai’s mouth opens immediately, but Isla elbows him. Hard. He shuts it with a grunt that makes Gael’s lips twitch. Adriana makes a sound that might be a laugh. Andres steps up behind me, his hand warm on my lower back.
“We need to talk,” Andres says.
I glance at him. “This sounds a lot like an intervention.”
Andres squeezes my hip gently. Behave.
“Sit down,” Isla says, soft but not optional. She points to the couch like she’s my mother and I’m five.
I stare at her. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
Isla’s smile turns sweet, and Kai’s eyes light up like Christmas.
“You heard her,” Kai says, pointing at Isla like she’s the law. “Sit.”
Traitors.
All of them.
Mumbling to myself about how this is bullshit, I shuffle over and sit, careful because my body still feels like it’s made of glass. Andres sits beside me immediately, thigh pressed to mine. His hand finds my knee and stays there.
Gael clears his throat. “How you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I answer honestly.
Adriana nods like she expected that. “Good. So you’re too tired to argue today.”
“Not likely. Why is everyone here?”
Kai leans forward again, eyes intense. “Because you scared the shit out of us.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
Andres's hand tightens on my knee.
“Don’t,” he murmurs, low. “Don’t apologize. Just listen.”
My throat tightens and I nod. Andres turns slightly, facing me more fully. His eyes are steady, but there’s something raw underneath. Something that makes my stomach twist because I know that look.
That look is love mixed with fear.
“Yesterday scared me,” he says quietly. “It scared all of us, and I’m not going to downplay that. But, baby, I was so scared your eyes weren’t gonna open.”
The room is silent. Even Kai doesn’t interrupt. Andres continues, voice calm, but every word is weighted.
“I know lows happen, trust me. I know you manage your diabetes every day and you do it well.” His thumb rubs over my knee. “But twenty-eight, Jackson. In the middle of a game.”
Heat crawls up my neck. Shame, fast and ugly.
I look down and Andres's fingers slide under my chin and tilt my face up gently.
“No,” he says, firm. “Look at me.”
I do.
His eyes are glossy because he’s holding it together. Barely.
“I thought I was going to lose you,” he admits.
My chest aches like it’s being cracked open.
“I’m right here,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “But I need you to tell me. Alert staff. Something. Not just when it’s already too far.”
I swallow hard. “I thought I ate enough. False lows can—”
Gael speaks up calmly. “Jack, you knew it wasn’t a false low. You’re pushing it, carnal.”
Adriana nods. “You’re ignoring signs.”
My stomach twists. “I wasn’t ignoring—”
“Yes, you were.” Kai scoffs loudly. “I could see you from third doing that thing you do when you go low. That hand flexing thing and the constant blinking.”
I forget that Kai knows all my tells, just like Dre.
Gael too.
Isla elbow-checks him again and Kai grumbles, but he shuts up.
Andres's gaze stays locked on mine. “I think it’s time for an endocrinologist visit,” he says.
My instinct is immediate. Defensive.
Annoyed.
“I don’t need—”
Andres cuts me off, Spanish slipping out like a warning. “Mi sol,” he says, voice low, “no empieces.”
I clamp my mouth shut because if Andres is pulling out that tone, it means he’s trying very hard to be gentle and he’s close to losing it. He takes a breath and continues softer.
“Not because you’re failing,” he says quickly, like he knows exactly where my brain went. “Not because you’re doing something wrong. But because your settings might need adjusting. Because stress and travel and games are always changing things.”
My throat burns, and I look away to hide the emotions I’m struggling to keep in check.
Isla’s voice comes in quiet. “You should feel safe in your own body, Jackson.”
That one hits too hard. I swallow, and the room blurs for a second.
Gael nods toward my watch. “And because… this isn’t just you anymore.”
I glance at him and he looks at Andres, then back at me. “You’ve got someone who loves you. Like… really loves you.”
“We all do. But Andres… he’s living it with you.” Adriana leans forward, eyes soft.
Andres's hand slides up my thigh with steady pressure. “I’m not trying to control you,” he says quietly. “I’m trying to keep you alive so that we can have a lifetime to be together.”
My chest squeezes and I stare at him, and the truth is right there, plain as day: I scared him. I scared all the people who love me. Part of me hates that because it makes me feel like a problem.
But a bigger part of me… a bigger part of me feels something else.
Loved.
Seen.
I blow out a shaky breath. “Okay,” I whisper.
Andres's shoulders drop slightly, relief immediate. “Okay?” he repeats, like he needs to hear it again to believe it.
“Okay,” I say again, louder. “I’ll make the appointment.”
Kai exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the inning change yesterday.
“Thank God,” Adriana mutters.
Gael’s mouth twitches. “Good.”
Isla smiles, soft and proud.
Andres leans in and kisses my temple slowly, like a reward.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, and I roll my eyes, but it doesn’t have heat in it today.
“Dre,” I complain weakly and that makes him smirk.
“Okay, now we need to get you food.”
I sigh. “Yeah… if I remember correctly, you told me to eat first… but then I was sidetracked.”
Kai stands abruptly. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“Oh! Pancakes!” Isla squeals, clapping her hands.
Kai leans down and kisses her belly. “Oat pancakes for everyone.”
“You good with that, mama? Or do you want me to order something in?” Gael asks Adriana, who doesn’t look too enthusiastic about the pancakes.
She gives a sheepish smile. “Can you order?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Amor, se me antojan chilaquiles… y de paso tú también.”
The tension in the room eases, and normal conversation starts again, lighter now, like we all just survived something. Andres keeps his hand on my knee the entire time. Like he’s reminding me.
You’re here. You’re safe. You’re not alone.
I lean into him slightly, shoulder brushing his, and the thought of needing help doesn’t feel like weakness anymore.
It feels like love.