Chapter 39
JACKSON
Sofia comes home on a Tuesday, and none of us saw it coming.
The doctors said she was ready this morning—just like that.
Emma cries the entire drive from the hospital, happy tears this time, clutching the car seat like it might disappear if she lets go.
Chase drives five miles under the speed limit, white-knuckling the steering wheel, treating every bump like a personal attack.
Maya and I follow in my truck, giving them space for the moment they've been waiting weeks for.
We finally pull into the driveway behind them, and Ethan's already at the front door with my mom, who flew in yesterday and has been vibrating with excitement ever since.
"Baby!" Ethan shouts. "Baby here!"
Chase carefully extracts the car seat from the back. "Inside voice, buddy. Your sister's sleeping."
Ethan immediately drops to a whisper. "Baby sleeping."
The change is so abrupt it makes Maya laugh, a soft sound that gets caught in her throat when she sees my mom's face. Mom's trying not to cry and failing spectacularly, mascara already smudged at the corners.
We file inside, and Mom hovers, hands fluttering like she doesn't know what to do with them. Max appears from nowhere, sniffs the car seat suspiciously, then stalks off with his tail high like he's personally offended by this new interloper.
"He'll warm up to her," Emma says, laughing through tears as she watches him go. "He warmed up to Ethan eventually."
"Eventually being the keyword," Chase mutters, setting the car seat down. "It took six months and daily bribery with treats."
Sofia's still asleep, her tiny face peaceful under the pale yellow hospital blanket, unaware she's the center of this chaos.
Emma lifts her out of the car seat carefully.
She's been holding Sofia for weeks in the NICU, but this is different.
This is home, and the weight of it shows in the way her hands shake.
"Do you want to hold her?" Emma asks Mom, and her voice cracks on the question.
Mom nods, unable to speak, and takes her granddaughter carefully.
She settles into the armchair by the window, the afternoon light falling across them both, and Sofia fits in her arms perfectly.
Mom just stares down at her, tears streaming freely now, and nobody comments on it because we're all close to the same state.
"She looks like you did," Mom tells Emma after a long moment. "Same nose. Same chin."
Chase grins from where he's standing behind the chair. "Poor kid."
Emma elbows him without looking, her focus still on Sofia and Mom.
Ethan wants to see, so Chase lifts him with a grunt. "Gentle," he reminds, keeping one hand on Ethan's back. "Very gentle."
Ethan reaches out one chubby hand and touches Sofia's cheek with surprising delicacy. "Soft baby."
"Very soft. Can you say hi to your sister?"
"Hi, baby Sofia." Then, louder, with all the pride a toddler can muster: "I'm big brother!"
Sofia startles, eyes opening wide and unfocused. For a second, everyone freezes, holding their breath, waiting. Then she just blinks, looks around with those hazy newborn eyes that don't quite see anything yet, and goes back to sleep as if nothing happened.
"Tough kid," Maya says from beside me, and I can hear the approval in her voice. "Nothing fazes her."
We spend the afternoon in organized chaos.
Emma tries to establish routines while simultaneously accepting that newborns don't care about routines, schedules, or any human concept of time.
Chase handles Ethan, who's both fascinated and confused by his sister, wanting to help but not understanding why the baby doesn't do anything fun yet.
Mom helps with everything, the way she always does, making herself useful without taking over.
And Maya's in her element. She checks Sofia's breathing without being obvious about it, and shows Emma better burping techniques when she gets fussy. She's confident, the nurse who saved lives before Carson tried to destroy her, before she forgot who she was underneath all that trauma.
I watch her hold Sofia, watch the gentle way she supports her tiny head and talks in that soft voice she reserves for babies and scared patients. Something in my chest cracks open.
This. I want this with her.
Not right now, not tomorrow, but someday.
Mom catches me staring from across the room and raises an eyebrow in that knowing way only mothers can manage. I shrug like I'm not transparent, like she can't read every thought on my face.
Later, while Emma's feeding Sofia in the nursery and Chase is wrestling Ethan into pajamas, a process that involves far too much giggling and not enough actual pajama wearing, Mom corners Maya in the kitchen.
"Can we talk?" she asks, and there's something meaningful in her tone.
Maya glances at me, uncertainty flickering across her face. I nod. She's got this, whatever this is.
They disappear into the backyard, and I try not to hover by the window like a creep. I fail. I watch through the glass, trying not to be obvious about it while simultaneously being obvious.
Mom says something, gestures toward the pendant. Maya's hand goes to it immediately, an unconscious gesture she does when nervous, when she needs to ground herself. Mom reaches out and touches it, and Maya freezes like someone hit pause on her.
I can't hear them, but I can read the body language, the way Maya's shoulders are tense and then slowly relax.
Mom's smiling, saying something that makes Maya's eyes go wide.
Then Mom pulls her into a hug, and Maya's shoulders shake in that way that means crying, and I force myself not to go out there and interrupt whatever's happening.
When they come back inside ten minutes later, Maya's eyes are puffy, and Mom's beaming like she just won the lottery.
"Everything okay?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"Perfect," Mom says, squeezing Maya's shoulder. "We were just having a conversation."
Maya meets my gaze and nods, a small smile playing at her lips.
Dinner is takeout because nobody has the energy to cook, and honestly, nobody cares.
We crowd around the table. Emma, with Sofia sleeping in a bassinet beside her chair, Chase with Ethan on his lap, trying to eat mac and cheese without making a mess.
Max eventually decides to join us, jumping onto the windowsill to supervise and judge our food choices.
"This is nice," Emma says quietly, looking around the table with soft eyes. "All of us together."
"We should do it more often," Mom says, stealing a spring roll from my plate. "Before I have to fly back to Calgary."
Chase shifts Ethan higher on his lap. "How long are you staying?"
"Another week. I want to make sure Sofia's settled before I leave."
"Translation: she wants to hog her granddaughter," Emma teases, but there's no bite to it.
"Accurate," Mom agrees shamelessly. "Completely accurate and I'm not apologizing for it."
After dinner, after Ethan's been wrestled into bed and Sofia's been fed and changed, we collapse in the living room with that bone-deep tiredness that only comes from good days.
Mom's holding Sofia. Chase and Emma are curled up together on the loveseat, and Maya's tucked against my side on the couch.
"I have something to say," Mom announces, and everyone looks at her because when she uses that tone, you pay attention.
"I'm proud of all of you." She looks at each of us in turn. "Emma, for surviving a terrifying pregnancy and bringing this beautiful girl into the world. Chase, for being the partner Emma deserves, for stepping up every single day."
She turns to me. "Jackson. For finding your way back to what matters."
"Hockey?" I joke because I can't help myself.
"Family. Love. The things that last longer than games, longer than championships." She turns to Maya, and her expression softens even more. "And you. For surviving hell and coming out stronger, for refusing to let what happened define you."
Maya's hand finds mine, squeezes tight.
"Also," Mom continues, a smile tugging at her lips, "I'm thrilled that you two finally figured out what everyone else has known for years."
"Mom..."
"I gave you that pendant," she begins to tell me, ignoring my protest. "Told you to give it to the person you love most. Took you long enough."
Maya's blushing, cheeks pink in the lamplight. "He was worth the wait."
"I should hope so. I raised him better than to waste a decade being an idiot."
"Thanks, Mom," I say dryly.
"You're welcome, sweetheart." She stands carefully, hands Sofia back to Emma. "I'm going to bed. You all should, too. Tomorrow's going to be exhausting."
She kisses Emma's forehead, pats Chase's shoulder, hugs Maya longer than necessary, and squeezes my arm as she heads upstairs.
Emma yawns five minutes later. "I'm going to put her down before she wakes up screaming for food."
"Want help?" Maya offers, already halfway off the couch.
"No, you've done enough today. Go be young and in love or whatever." She grins. "Just quietly. Mom's room is right above yours, Jackson."
"I hate you," I tell my sister.
"No, you don't."
Chase carries the bassinet upstairs, moving carefully. Emma follows, Sofia held against her chest, and the house quiets as they disappear. The house settles into nighttime rhythms. Creaking floorboards, the heater kicking on, the distant sound of water running through pipes.
Maya leans against me, exhausted but content, her body warm along my side. "I'm so glad your mom doesn't hate me."
"Why would she hate you?"
"For corrupting you?"
I laugh. "Pretty sure I corrupted you."
"Mutual corruption, then."
Max jumps onto the couch with an annoyed meow, like we've kept him waiting, and settles between us with his usual dramatic flair. Maya scratches behind his ears, and he purrs immediately.
"This is it, isn't it?" she says softly, and there's wonder in her voice.
"What?"
"Everything we've been fighting for. Emma forgave us. Your mom approves. Ethan has a healthy baby sister. I have a job starting next month. We don't have to hide anymore, don't have to pretend or lie or sneak around."
"Yeah. This is it."
She's quiet for a moment, fingers still working through Max's fur. "I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"That it won't last. That something will go wrong. That I'll wake up and realize this was all..." She stops, swallows hard. "I've never been this happy. I don't know what to do with it."
I turn her face toward me. "You live in it. You let yourself have it. You stop waiting for the other shoe to drop."
"Easier said than done."
"I know, but I'm not going anywhere. This..." I gesture around the house, at the life we're building here. "...this is ours now. You don't have to earn it or prove you deserve it. You just get to have it."
Her eyes are wet. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Mom was right. I spent years being an idiot, too scared to risk what we had for what we could be, too comfortable in the safety of friendship to reach for more.
But we made it. Through the lies and secrets, through Emma's anger and the trial, and every obstacle that could have torn us apart.
We made it, and now, sitting in the house where Maya first arrived broken and suicidal, watching her sleep peacefully in my arms, I can see how far she's come.
Not perfect, and certainly not without scars.
But whole in ways that matter. And I get to be here for all of it.