Page 111 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
“Understood. I’ll hold down the fort.”
He gives me a grateful look. “Thank you for doing this.”
Then he’s gone. I glance at the clock, calling for the twins to grab their bags. “Let’s go, guys. We don’t want to be late.”
They barrel out the door, backpacks swinging. I follow, feeling half amused and half braced for whatever the rest of the day brings.
Back home, I dive into emails. Rental confirmations, floral approvals, table placements. I answer what I can and flag the rest for later.
When I pause to stretch, I find myself carefully looking around.
I realize this house used to feel temporary, like I was borrowing someone else’s life.
But now I know where the extra printer paper is. I know the rhythm of school drop-offs and what snacks Noah will actually eat without bargaining.
It doesn’t feel foreign anymore.
It feels like I belong.
I’m halfway through answering a florist’s email when my phone buzzes on the table beside me.
It’s Mom.
I hesitate.
It’s about time I tell them.
I swipe to answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Ava! How have you been?” she says, and I can hear the faint clink of dishes in the background.
I laugh softly, sinking into the kitchen chair. “Sorry. It’s been a madhouse here. Gala prep, last-minute sponsor calls… you know.”
“Of course,” she says. Then, more gently: “And how are you holding up?”
I pause. “I’m... okay. Tired. But good.”
“And Jackson? Your dad keeps asking if you’re still ‘taking up space in that hockey man’s house,’” she teases lightly.
“Oh God,” I say, my laugh catching in my throat.
“Well, you know your father.”
I shake my head. “Yeah. He’s subtle as a freight train.”
There’s a beat of silence on the line, the kind that feels like she’s giving me a nudge without saying a word.
“Mom,” I start, the word coming out softer than I intend.
“Mm?”
I swallow, exhale slowly. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. You and Dad both.”
I pause. “Jackson and I… Well, we’re... together. We’ve been seeing each other for a little while now.”
Silence. Then a sharp inhale.
“Oh!” she breathes, and I can practically hear her hand flying to her chest.
