Page 35 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
My fingers lock around the handles. The comment isn’t angry. It’s worse. It’s calculated guilt.
I set the bag down carefully on the bench by the door and don’t answer.
Instead, I pivot. “I need my grandma’s quilt. It’s not in the bedroom, is it?”
He hesitates. “No. It’s in the attic.”
Of course.
I exhale, already knowing this isn’t going to go smoothly.
“Can you pull it down?”
“I would,” he says, crossing his arms, “but I can’t reach the cord, and I don’t know where the stepstool is.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
“It’s no big deal,” he says with a shrug. “I can get a new one and you can come back later.”
I give a strained smile. “Or I can see if Jackson can reach the cord.”
Brad’s jaw clenches. “You don’t need him for this.”
“I do,” I say evenly. “And I want him here.”
He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt like it might help him stay in control.
“You can come back in a few days when I’ve got a new one. We can… talk then too.”
That quiet dread I’d been managing all day spikes sharp in my chest.
Talk then too?
As if I’m not clearly leaving him.
And without waiting for his response, I turn and walk to the front door.
Time to let Jackson in.
When I open it, Jackson’s standing there: arms folded, gaze steady, like he’s been waiting for the cue.
The second he sees my face, he straightens.
“I need your help,” I say, stepping aside to let him in.
He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask questions. Just follows me inside.
Brad appears a second later. “You’re really bringing him in here?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
Jackson stands beside me without a word, his presence a calm wall of quiet strength. I can feel the shift in the air. Charged, unspoken. Brad definitely feels it too. I see it in the hardening of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes.
“Could you help with the attic cord?” I ask.
Jackson nods. “Lead the way.”
We walk down the hallway, the tension thick enough to taste. Jackson moves with steady purpose, stopping beneath the low ceiling. One easy stretch and he pulls the cord. The wood creaks as the attic ladder unfolds.
