Page 109 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
She’s right.
It’s not about the gala. It’s about control. Subtle, deliberate. Just enough to knock me off balance.
“Maybe he won’t even show,” I murmur.
“Or maybe he will,” Jenna replies, voice calmer now. “And if he does, we handle it.”
When I hang up, I stare at the screen, my fingers tapping against the edge of the keyboard.
Not fear. Not anymore.
Just anger.
I spent too long shrinking myself for his comfort.
Never again.
Footsteps sound behind me.
Jackson appears in the doorway, holding a plate.
“You’ve been at it for hours,” he says, setting it down beside me. Grilled cheese, tomato soup, and apple slices.
“I know your gala’s in crunch mode,” he adds, “but you still have to eat.”
As I glance at the plate, a memory rises, uninvited—
Brad, leaning in the doorway while I scrambled to launch our fall literacy campaign. No offer to help. No concern if I’d eaten.
Just a clipped, “Pressure brings out your best, Ava.”
Brad expected perfection.
Jackson reminds me I’m human.
And that makes all the difference.
He kisses the top of my head. I try to smile, but it slips.
He notices. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
I turn the screen toward him.
“Brad RSVP’d.”
Jackson’s jaw hardens. “Do you want to take him off the list? Call security?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “He might not even come. But if he does…”
Jackson doesn’t flinch. “He won’t get near you. And I’ll be there. Even if we go to Game 7, it’s scheduled a few days before the gala. I’m not missing it.”
The knot in my chest eases. Just enough to let in a breath.
I nod. “Okay.”
He squeezes my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles before stepping back.
I turn to the screen and sit a little taller.
