Page 92 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
She smiles again. “Still. I never thought I’d be here now. With you.”
“Neither did I.” My voice comes out lower than I expect. “But I’m damn glad we are.”
When we finish eating, I reach for my coffee, fingers curling around the mug. “There’s something I should tell you.”
Her gaze fixes on mine, open and steady.
I draw a breath. “For a long time, I thought letting myself move on would mean I’d stopped loving Claire. Like it would erase her, somehow.”
Ava doesn’t speak. Just leans closer as she listens.
I go on, slow and certain now.
“But love doesn’t work that way. I realize that now. It changes. It shifts. Claire will always be a part of me. But being with you is not replacing her.”
I hold her gaze, my heart thudding.
“I think Claire would want this for me. I think she’d want me to be happy.”
Ava’s eyes shine, and she reaches across the table, her fingers sliding over mine.
She squeezes my hand, then hesitates. I can see her turning something over in her mind, her eyes thoughtful.
“You’ve lost so much,” she murmurs. “Claire… your dad… it must’ve felt like such a weight to carry.”
I swallow hard but nod once.
She shifts her gaze down, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I still remember your dad’s funeral. I was sixteen. You seemed so... far away, even though you were right there.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice cracking. “It was a blur. I’d just been drafted that spring. He got to see it before he passed. He was so damn proud; told everyone who’d listen.”
She laughs quietly, touching my hand. “I remember. He would say ‘my boy made it big.’”
“Yeah.” I pause, feeling the old ache and warmth twine together. “After he died, Mom decided to move down to Tennessee. Said the house felt too empty, and her sister needed help. She needed the change as much as anyone.”
“That must’ve been hard. Everything changing at once.”
“It was. But Mom’s tough. She’s always been good at finding new ground when the old one gives way. She came back up to help after Claire... but eventually, she needed to go home again.”
We sit with it, her hand still over mine.
After a quiet moment, Ava asks softly, “Do you talk to her much now?”
“She tries to visit every offseason. She says she likes to wait until things slow down so she can really just... be here.”
I smile faintly, feeling warmth spread through me. “I texted her this morning, actually. She said to tell you hi.”
Ava’s eyes soften, her thumb sweeping lightly over my knuckles. “Tell her hi back for me. I always liked your mom.”
We linger over coffee, not rushing the meal.
When we get back home, the twins are sprawled on the living room floor, a puzzle halfway done between them. Miss Taylor’s nearby with a book in her lap. She greets us with a knowing look, but doesn’t say a word.
Ava shrugs out of her coat and tucks a stray hair behind her ear, her eyes bright and soft, and for a second, everything feels impossibly easy.
Then her phone buzzes from where she left it earlier.
She hesitates, glances at me, then picks it up.
