Page 118 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
“I wanted to check in,” I say. “I know Jackson told you.”
“He did. I wanted to hear it from you. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. More than okay.”
“And he’s showing up the way he should?”
“He is. I feel safe. Home’s steady.”
A breath on his end, softer. “Good. I know who he is. It’s fast, and I’m still your brother, but I’m not here to throw a wrench in it. If you need anything, you call me.”
“Deal.”
“Eat something real tonight,” he adds, already moving.
I smile. “I will if you will.”
He laughs. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
The line clicks off, the knot in my chest easing.
I leave the TV on mute and my thoughts turn back to Jackson.
I know he’s hurting. I know his shoulder’s bothering him more than he lets on. I know how much he wants this. Not just for himself, but for the whole team.
As I’m getting ready for bed, a text comes through from Jackson:
We’ll fix it.
My heart clenches as I reply:
I know. I have no doubt.
Tomorrow, he comes home, and if nothing else, I want him to walk through that door and know he isn’t going through this alone.
The next day, when the front door opens, the boys are already running toward it.
“He’s here!”
The rapid patter of socked feet race across the hardwood. Noah makes it to the entryway first, Liam right behind him, both yelling over each other in excitement.
I set down the dish towel and step into the hall just in time to see Jackson drop his bag and scoop them both up. He has one arm around each boy, lifting them off the ground in a mess of limbs and laughter.
“Missed you, monsters,” he says, grinning, pulling them closer.
And then he sees me.
He lowers the boys gently, murmurs something about dinner, and they tear off toward the kitchen like it's a race.
But Jackson doesn’t move. Not at first.
He just looks at me.
I cross the last few steps and wrap my arms around his neck. His arms come around me instantly, strong and sure.
“Hi,” I whisper into his shoulder.
