Page 49 of Redeeming Melodies

"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than intended. "He makes it easy."

"Unlike some people who speed through small towns at midnight?"

The teasing note in his voice made me grin despite myself. "That was one time."

"So far." But he was smiling too, this small private thing that felt like a secret between us.

Tommy emerged in record time, proudly sporting my old racing number and a pair of jeans that definitely needed washing. But his smile was pure sunshine, and I couldn't bring myself to care about wrinkled clothes.

"Ready for the grand tour?" Jake asked, standing up. "I walked over, but we can take your car if-"

"Let me drive," I offered quickly. Maybe too quickly, but the thought of cramming into my car with Jake's broad shoulders was doing things to my concentration. "Least I can do after you're letting us crash at your place. Though let us get our things first. I was able to head home before getting here and grab some clothes.”

“Sure thing. I’ll help Tommy, if you don’t mind.” Jake offered.

I nodded letting the two spend some time together.

The driveto Jake's house was quiet, filled with Tommy's excited chatter from the backseat and the occasional direction from Jake.

Jake's house sat back from the road, all weathered brick and sturdy practicality. Nothing fancy, but solid. Real. Like him. A worn baseball mitt lay forgotten on the front steps, and actual fucking wind chimes tinkled from the porch ceiling. The whole scene was so perfectly small-town America it almost hurt.

"Home sweet home," Jake said softly, leading us up the steps. The key turned with practiced ease, and then we were stepping into his space - his actual private space - and my heart was doing that weird stuttering thing again.

The living room welcomed us with worn leather furniture and sunlight streaming through clean windows. Photos lined the walls - Jake in uniform, Jake with what looked like his mom, Jake with various townspeople at local events. A bookshelf stuffed with paperback mysteries and police procedure manuals dominated one wall. Everything felt lived-in, cared for. Nothing like the sterile perfection Vanessa had insisted on.

"This is so cool!" Tommy darted from room to room, his excitement echoing off the walls. "Dad, look! There's baseball stuff everywhere!"

"Used to play in college," Jake admitted, rubbing his neck. "Nothing special, but-"

"Are you kidding?" Tommy skidded to a stop, eyes wide. "That's awesome! Can you teach me? Mom says baseball's too dangerous but Dad says-" He caught himself, shooting me a guilty look.

"Your dad's right," Jake said firmly. "Baseball's about as dangerous as you make it. And I've got some old gear that might fit you, if you're interested."

Tommy's whole face lit up, and fuck if that didn't make my throat tight. Jake had thought about this, had planned for my kid's happiness before we even arrived.

"Come on," Jake continued, gesturing down the hallway. "Let me show you your room."

Your room. Not the guest room or the spare room. Your room. Like Tommy belonged here. Like we both did.

The bedroom was clearly meant for a kid - walls painted a soft blue, a desk by the window, even a few model cars displayed on shelves. Jake had obviously cleaned recently, but traces of his life still lingered: a high school trophy on the dresser, a few old comic books stacked neatly in the corner.

"This was your room," I realized aloud. "When you were young."

Jake nodded, something vulnerable crossing his face. "Figured Tommy might like it better than the actual guest room. More character."

Tommy was already exploring, running his hands over everything like he couldn't quite believe it was real. "Look, Dad! There's a baseball diamond right outside the window!"

I moved to look, and sure enough, the backyard offered a perfect view of the local playing field. Kids were already gathering for morning practice, their shouts carrying faintly through the glass.

"Thought he might like watching the Little League games," Jake said quietly. "When they practice. If that's okay."

The simple thoughtfulness of it hit me like a punch to the gut. "Jake, this is-" I had to stop, clear my throat. "This means a lot. More than you know."

His eyes met mine, warm and steady. "Everyone needs somewhere safe sometimes."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning I wasn't ready to examine. Tommy's delighted discoveries provided a welcome distraction - "Dad! There's a desk for my science projects!" and "Look at these awesome car posters!"

Jake showed us the rest of the house. The kitchen with its morning sun and well-used coffee maker, the back porch perfectfor quiet evenings, and the bathroom we'd share. Everything practical, everything real.

---