Page 129 of The Jack*ss in Class

“You were broken,” I said quietly. “We all were. But you were... It was like part of you went with her.”

Dad was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with a vulnerability I’d rarely heard.

“You’re right. Part of me did die with her. The part that believed the world was fair, that good things last forever, that love is safe.” He took a deep breath. “But, Flynn, that’s not the lesson I want you to learn from losing your mother.”

I looked up, caught by the intensity in his voice.

“The lesson isn’t to avoid leaving, or to avoid loving so deeply it could devastate you to lose it.” His eyes held mine, unflinching.

The water bottle crumpled slightly in my grip.

“I’ve seen the way you hold back, the way you’ve held back with every girl,” he continued. “Your no serious relationships, only date a girl for two-weeks rule isn’t just about keeping things simple. It’s about keeping yourself safe. About never risking what I went through when I lost your mother.”

The accuracy of his assessment left me speechless. I didn’t even know he knew about my rules.

“But son, life isn’t safe. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to live it to the fullest. If I’d played life safe all the time, I’d be the guy who sits in an office eighty hours a week. I certainly wouldn’t have met your mother, wouldn’t have all you kids, wouldn’t have loved at all.”

He stepped closer, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Your brothers aren’t going anywhere, Flynn. Neither am I. Neither is Jules, or this house, or the life you’ve built here. Denver will always be home. But if you limit your life to what feels safe, you’ll miss out on the greatest joys it has to offer.”

“What if—” I started, then stopped, the fear too big to name.

“What if you lose someone again?” Dad’s grip tightened. “You might. That’s life. But I promise you, as someone who’s been through the worst of it, the regret of playing it safe is far more painful than the grief of having loved fully.”

The truth of his words settled into me, unlocking something that had been bound tight for too long.

“LA is waiting for you, son. So is the rest of your life. Don’t let fear of what might happen keep you from everything that could be.”

The knot in my chest finally loosened. I blinked hard against the sudden burning in my eyes. “I miss her.”

“I know. I miss her too. Every day. But Flynn, I wouldn’t trade a single moment with her, even knowing how it would end.” Dad pulled me into a hug, strong and sure.

As we pulled apart, I saw something in my father’s eyes I hadn’t noticed before. A strength that came not despite his grief, but because of it. He had loved and lost and somehow found the courage to keep going, to raise eight children alone, to build a life that honored her memory without being consumed by it.

“Now,” Dad said, cracking a smile, “let’s grab those drinks before they send a search party.”

Back in the living room, the celebration had continued. Isak and Jules were arguing over the last of the nachos, which was so typical it almost made my heart hurt. I was going to miss this yes. But Dad was right. There was so much more I’d miss if I stayed.

Gryff caught my eye from across the room, a silent question in his expression. I nodded slightly, a wordless reassurance that I was okay. He understood, as he always did.

But it was Tempest I sought out, finding her helping Aunt May and June arrange plates on the dining room table for dinner.

“Can I steal her for a minute?” I asked my aunties, who both grinned and made a shooing motion.

“Go be all romantic and gross somewhere else,” she said. “I’ve got this.”

I led Tempest onto the back deck, the spring eveningcool but pleasant. The yard where we’d played football since we could walk stretched out before us, familiar and unchanging.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Tempest asked, studying my face. “You seemed... somewhere else, after they announced your pick.”

“I’m better now,” I said honestly. “Just had to work through some stuff.”

She nodded, not pushing, but her expression remained curious.

“It was about leaving. About what that means,” I clarified.

“Your family,” she said, understanding immediately.

“Yeah.” I leaned against the railing, our shoulders touching. “It all kind of hit me that the last time our family was split up was when my mom died.”

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