CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JACK
“Right, so the trick with carbonara,” I tell Madison as she hovers beside me in their kitchen, “is getting the eggs to cook without scrambling them.”
“That sounds impossible.” She’s got Sophia’s eyes but none of her mother’s caution. Curious about everything, unafraid to ask questions. “How do you not scramble eggs when you cook them?”
“Patience and temperature control.” I hand her the wooden spoon. “Want to try stirring while I add the eggs?”
“What if I mess it up?”
“Then we order pizza and try again next time.”
She grins. “Mom says you’re teaching her Māori swear words.”
“Did she now?” I glance toward the living room where Sophia’s pretending to read a magazine but really watching us. “Only the educational ones.”
Madison laughs. “Is it true you saved a whole family over the weekend? Mom showed me the video.”
“Team effort. Your mum saves people every day at the hospital.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t crawl into crashed cars.” Madison keeps stirring as I slowly add the egg mixture. “That looked terrifying.”
“Bit scary, yeah. But that’s the job sometimes.”
“Is that why you became a paramedic? To save people?”
The question catches me off guard. So simple, so direct. “Something like that.”
“Mom says you could be doing other things. Like, with your family’s business?”
I freeze for a moment, and consider how to respond.
“My family has their thing, I have mine,” I say carefully. “Perfect temperature—see how it’s coating the pasta but not clumping?”
“It’s working!” Madison sounds delighted. “This is actually easier than I thought.”
“Most things are once you understand the technique.” I add the pancetta. “I didn’t get to see the end of your soccer game, but I heard you did a great job.”
“Yeah. Dad thinks I should focus more on training, but I just like playing.” She makes a face. “His girlfriend keeps trying to get me to drink these gross green smoothies for ‘athletic performance.’”
“What’s your favorite position?”
“Midfielder. I like being where the action is.” She glances at me sideways. “Do you play any sports?”
“Rugby, badly. My sisters were the real athletes in the family.”
“Mom said one of them almost made the national team?”
“Emma. Broke her arm right before tryouts but kept playing for a week so she wouldn’t miss them.”
Madison’s eyes widen. “That’s hardcore.”
“Soccer’s great,” I say, “but women’s rugby players? There’s tough and then there’s TOUGH. My dad always used to tell me, ‘Son, men get into fights to impress women, but women get into fights to WIN.’ Watch a women’s rugby match and you’ll know it’s true.”
Madison laughs. “Your sister sounds badass.”
“All my sisters are. You’d fit right in.”
Madison blushes, for a moment, and then reaches out to add the final touch of pepper. “Is this done? It smells amazing.”
“Let’s see.” I taste it, nod. “Perfect. You’re a natural.”
“Jack!” She bounces slightly. “Can you teach me to make that pavlova thing Mom talked about?”
“‘Course. But that’s a whole project. Meringue takes patience.”
“Unlike pasta, which takes temperature control.” She grins, clearly proud of remembering. “I’ll set the table.”
As she bustles off with plates, Sophia appears in the doorway. She’s changed from her scrubs into jeans and a soft sweater, hair down, looking absolutely beautiful.
“You’re good with her,” she says softly.
“She’s a great kid.” I pull her closer. “Smart like her mum.”
“She really likes you.” There’s something vulnerable in her voice. “She doesn’t warm up to people quickly.”
“Well, I did bribe her with pasta.”
“Jack.” She’s serious now. “This is…this is a big deal. Having you here. Cooking for us. Being…”
“Part of your life?”
She nods, not trusting her voice.
“Soph.” I cup her face gently. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
She kisses me, soft and sweet, until—
“Gross! I’m trying to eat here!” Madison calls from the dining room.
Sophia pulls back, laughing. “The joys of parenting.”
“Ready!” Madison announces.
The table looks perfect—she’s even lit candles. We settle in, passing dishes, and for a moment it feels so normal, so right, that my chest tightens.
“So,” Madison says, twirling her fork expertly, “when do we leave for New Zealand?”
“Two and a half weeks,” Sophia answers. “The Saturday you get off school.”
“And we’re really flying all the way there? Like, over the ocean?”
“All the way,” I confirm. “Sixteen hours to Auckland, then another couple to Queenstown.”
“I’ve never been on a plane that long.” Her excitement is infectious. “Do they really have beds in first class?”
“Some planes do indeed,” I say carefully. “Still an adventure no matter what, though—movies, meals, maybe spot some islands out the window.”
“Cool! Will we all sit together?”
“Nah, we’re putting you on the wing.” I catch Sophia’s eye. “Thought you might enjoy the fresh air.”
Madison rolls her eyes dramatically. “Ha ha. Very funny.” She points her fork at me. “At least come up with original dad jokes if you’re going to try.”
I clutch my chest in mock offense. “Original dad jokes? That’s a high standard. I’ll have to up my game.”
“You’d better,” she grins, then turns thoughtful. “Sixteen hours though. That’s, like, forever.”
“It goes faster than you think,” I assure her. “Especially with good movies and real food.”
“This is going to be amazing.” Madison takes another bite. “Oh! Can we see those glow worms Mom mentioned?”
“Waitomo Caves? Probably! They’re about two hours from Auckland.”
“And we’ll meet your whole family?”
“If that’s alright. They’re pretty keen to meet you both.”
“What are they like?”
“Loud,” I say immediately. “My sister Charlotte runs the family business, very organized. Emma, as you know, is the rugby coach—she’ll probably try to recruit you. And Lily’s the baby, doing her PhD in marine biology.”
“The one living Mom’s dream,” Madison says with a grin.
“Exactly.”
“And your parents?”
“Dad’s…traditional. Mum’s lovely but has opinions about everything.” I pause. “Fair warning—she’ll probably try to feed you constantly. It’s her love language.”
“I can handle that.” Madison looks thoughtful. “Do they know about us? Like, that Mom and I are coming?”
“They know I’m bringing two very special people to meet them.”
“Smooth,” Madison says approvingly. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“The boyfriend thing. Way better than Dad’s girlfriends.” She makes a face. “Tiffany kept calling me ‘sweetie’ and trying to bond over ‘girl stuff.’ Like, I just met you, lady.”
“Madison,” Sophia warns.
“What? It’s true. She tried to give me a crystal for ‘positive athletic energy.’” She looks at me. “You don’t believe in crystal healing, right?”
“Only if the crystal’s been properly prescribed by a medical professional.”
Madison laughs. “See? Normal. Mom, he’s normal.”
“Mostly,” Sophia agrees, catching my eye.
We finish dinner with easy conversation—Madison telling stories about school, asking about New Zealand wildlife, wondering if she’ll be able to understand our accents.
“Right,” I say once we’re done. “Who wants to learn about pavlova?”
“Me!” Madison jumps up. “Is it really the national dessert?”
“There’s some debate. Aussies claim they invented it, but they’re wrong.” I start gathering ingredients. “It’s named after a Russian ballerina, Anna Pavlova, who toured both countries in the 1920s.”
“Food history! I love this.” Madison watches as I separate eggs. “Mom, are you helping?”
“I’ll supervise,” Sophia says, settling onto a bar stool.
“Now,” I tell Madison, “the secret to good meringue is making sure no yolk gets in the whites. Even a tiny bit will ruin it.”
She watches intently as I demonstrate. “Why?”
“Fat prevents the proteins from binding properly. It’s all chemistry.”
“Like the pasta temperature thing. Science cooking!”
We work together, Madison asking constant questions, Sophia occasionally offering commentary. When we get to the whipping stage, Madison’s fascinated by the transformation.
“It’s like magic! How does liquid become solid?”
“Air bubbles trapped in protein networks.” I show her how to test for stiff peaks. “See? Perfect.”
“This is the coolest thing ever.” She carefully spoons meringue onto the parchment. “How long does it bake?”
“Hour and a half, very low temperature. Then it cools in the oven overnight.”
“Overnight?” She looks disappointed. “So we can’t eat it tonight?”
“Afraid not. But I’ll make another one before we leave for New Zealand. Deal?”
“Deal.” She high-fives me with a slightly sticky hand.
As I slide the pavlova into the oven, Madison starts cleaning up without being asked. Sophia joins her, and I watch them work together, comfortable in their rhythm.
“Mom, can Jack stay for movie night?” Madison asks suddenly.
Sophia glances at me. “I’m sure Jack has things to—”
“I’d love to,” I interrupt. “If that’s okay?”
“Yes!” Madison pumps her fist. “We’re watching ‘ The Princess Bride ’. Mom can quote the whole thing.”
“As you wish,” Sophia says in a perfect Westley impression.
Madison groans. “See? Every. Single. Line.”
We settle in the living room, Madison claiming the middle of the couch. As the movie starts, she provides running commentary.
“Okay, so this is the best sword fight ever filmed. The guy actually learned to fence left-handed for it.”
“Inconceivable!” Sophia and Madison shout in unison at the screen.
I’m not really watching the movie. I’m watching them—the way they mouth the dialogue, Madison’s head gradually dropping onto Sophia’s shoulder, Sophia’s fingers absently playing with her daughter’s hair.
This. This is what I want. Not the estate, not the business meetings, not the charity galas. This cozy living room with these two amazing people.
“You okay?” Sophia whispers.
I realize I’ve been staring. “Perfect.”
By the time Westley mostly-dies, Madison’s mostly asleep.
“Should I carry her up?” I offer quietly.
“She’s fifteen,” Sophia smiles. “And would be mortified. But thank you.” She gently shakes Madison’s shoulder. “Bed time, baby.”
“Mm’already asleep,” Madison mumbles.
“Come on. School tomorrow.”
Madison sits up, blinking. “Oh. Hi, Jack. Did I fall asleep?”
“Right about the time they entered the Fire Swamp.”
“Classic.” She stretches. “Thanks for dinner. And the science lesson.”
“Anytime.”
She hugs her mom, then, surprising me, gives me a quick hug too. “Night, Jack. Thanks for being normal.”
After she heads upstairs, Sophia walks me to the door.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “For tonight. For being so good with her.”
“I meant what I said. I want to be part of your life. Both your lives.”
She kisses me, slow and deep. When we break apart, her eyes are bright.
“Two and a half weeks,” she murmurs.
“Two and a half weeks,” I agree. “Then you meet my slightly abnormal family.”
“Can’t be worse than Troy.”
“Famous last words.” I kiss her once more. “Breakfast tomorrow? Before shift?”
“The place with the good pastries?”
“Six thirty? I know it’s early, but—”
“It’s perfect. I’ll already be up anyway.”
“It’s a date.”
I drive home with the ghost of her kiss on my lips and the echo of Madison’s laughter in my ears. Six-thirty tomorrow morning—just the two of us, good coffee, her smile across the table.
Two and a half weeks until New Zealand. Until I have to navigate introducing the woman I love to a world I walked away from. Not because I’m ashamed—fuck no. My family worked hard for what they have. But that’s just it—it’s theirs, not mine.
I chose ambulances over board meetings. Chose saving lives over stock portfolios. Chose to matter in ways that can’t be measured in profit margins.
The weight of not telling Sophia sits heavy in my chest. It’s not about trust—Christ, I’d trust her with my life. But once people know about the money, everything changes. Every gesture gets questioned. Every gift becomes suspect.
I just want more time being Jack-the-paramedic, not Jack-the-heir-who-disappointed-his-family. More dinners where we argue about pasta techniques. More movie nights where I’m just the guy Madison calls “normal.”
Tomorrow at breakfast, I’ll probably chicken out again. Order her coffee, watch her review staffing schedules, and convince myself that waiting until New Zealand is better. That showing her is better than telling her.
My phone buzzes. A text from Emma: “Mum’s beside herself with excitement. She’s already planning menus for your ‘special friend.’ Fair warning, she’s assuming wedding bells.”
I groan. My family’s going to scare Sophia off before she even processes the estate situation.
But then I remember Madison’s hug. Sophia’s trust. The way they both just accepted me into their lives.
Maybe—just maybe—they’ll accept all of me too.
Even the parts I’ve spent years running from.