Page 10 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I glance up to find Jenna poking her head in through the barely open door, rolling two large suitcases behind her.
“I come bearing treasures,” she says, stepping inside with a half-smile.
I place the mug down and sit up straighter. “You went to the apartment?”
“Used the spare key.” She unzips them, then pulls out a couple of folded outfits, my favorite cozy sweater, and the fuzzy socks I always wear when I’m sick.
My throat tightens. “You didn’t have to—”
Jenna’s sudden hug nearly knocks the wind out of me.
“Of course I did.”
I hug her back, my eyes watering but this time in gratitude. “I’m so glad you are here.”
“You smell like man,” she giggles into my shoulder before pulling back, eyes scanning me from head to toe. “Is that his shirt?”
I glance down at the oversized navy fabric hanging to my mid-thigh and tug self-consciously at the bottom. “I wasn’t exactly packing options.”
Her eyes soften. “Well, you’re rocking the ‘runaway bride meets luxury sleepwear’ look.”
I manage a weak smile. “It was either this or the wedding dress.”
“That’s fair.” Her voice softens as she sits beside me.
Her blonde hair falls in a messy bun on top of her head, a few strands escaping to frame her face, making her look equal parts put-together and chaotic in the way only Jenna can pull off.
“I figured the last thing you want is to put that dress back on.”
I let out a breath that’s half laugh, half something close to a sob. “God, no.”
She pauses, then smiles. “By the way, his boys are so freaking cute. I saw them downstairs. They were sitting at the kitchen island, arguing over pancake toppings.”
Despite everything, I can’t help it; a tiny, tired smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, they’re adorable. Like little mini-Jacksons. Dark hair, those same bright blue eyes. I just met them last night, but they seem really sweet.”
Her smile deepens. “It’s nice, seeing you smile.”
She hands me a hairbrush, and the familiar scent of my shampoo wafts up from the bag.
“I grabbed your essentials. Clothes. Toiletries. Phone charger. Laptop. The book from your nightstand. And,” she pauses dramatically, pulling out a zippered pouch, “backup mascara.”
“You’re the best,” I whisper, blinking fast.
“I know.”
We fall into a quiet lull as I run my thumb over the stitching on my favorite pajama top.
“You okay?” she asks softly. “I mean, not okay-okay, but…”
I nod slowly. “I’m getting there.”
I pause, then let the words spill before I can overthink them.
“The more I sit with it, the more I realize there were signs. Things I ignored. Things I didn’t want to believe.”
Jenna’s brows knit, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I’d catch Brad texting late at night and he’d say it was work. Or he’d cancel plans last minute and make it sound like I was overreacting when I got upset.” I shake my head. “I just kept convincing myself it was normal. That all couples go through stuff.”
