Page 9 of Broad Shoulders

The realization hits me anew. He’s really staying. He came back for me, found out about Kai, and he’s still not leaving.

“Makai Road is nice,” I say. “Close to the beach. Pu’uwai Lane gets pretty touristy during peak season.”

Jackson nods, taking in the information. “Maybe you could come with me and give me your opinion? I could use your guidance.”

I should say no. I should maintain the distance I established yesterday. But the hopeful look in his eyes makes my resolve waver.

“What time?” I ask.

We look at three properties in quick succession, taking my car since it’s equipped with Kai’s car seat. The first property is perfectly located near a secluded beach, but black mold creeps up the exterior walls. The second property has beautiful mountain views and modern appliances, but the water pressure is so weak that the shower barely trickles. The third house seems promising until we walk in and the smell of cigarette smoke hits us.

“Paint won’t get rid of that,” I murmur to Jackson as Kai starts to fuss, probably from the smell. “It’s in the carpet, the curtains, everything.”

After checking out one more bungalow, Jackson suggests calling it a day. He looks discouraged, his shoulders a little slumped as we walk back to my car.

“Don’t worry,” I find myself saying. “You’ll find a place. The rental market moves quickly here. New places come up all the time.”

I’m surprised by my own encouragement. I’m still not sure how I feel about Jackson making long-term plans to stay on the island. It’s wonderful watching him with Kai. But having Jackson around permanently feels complicated in ways I haven’t fully processed.

“Want to grab coffee or something before heading back?” he asks as I buckle Kai into his car seat.

I hesitate, my instinct to maintain distance warring with my desire to give Kai more time with his father.

“Sure,” I hear myself say. “I know a good place not far from here.”

I drive us to one of my favorite local spots—an outdoor café nestled among flowering trees just off the main road. We have to park a little distance away, but the walk is pleasant.

The café is busy with its usual mix of locals and in-the-know tourists. We find a table under a giant plumeria tree, its sweet fragrance filling the air. I order a fresh fruit smoothie and Jackson gets an iced coffee with coconut milk.

Kai sits somewhat precariously on Jackson’s lap. I watch as Jackson tries to find a comfortable way to hold him, his large hands still awkward but determined as he supports Kai’s wobblyhead and back. He’s trying so hard, and there’s something endearing about his careful concentration.

“Kai’s so lucky,” Jackson says, looking out at the lush landscape surrounding us. “Growing up in a place like this. Must be paradise for a kid.”

I smile, following his gaze. “It is. When I was growing up, I practically lived outside—swimming, hiking, building forts in the jungle behind my house.”

“You were a little wild child, huh?”

“Definitely. My friends and I used to sneak out at night and go cliff jumping at this spot only locals knew about. Drove my mom crazy.”

Jackson grins. “I can just picture you, a fearless island girl leaping into the ocean.”

I laugh. “You say that like you never did anything like that as a kid.”

He takes a sip of his iced coffee. “I was a different kind of trouble. We moved around a lot, which meant I was always the new kid. I got into fights, skipped school. Baseball straightened me out, though. It’s harder to rebel when you’re practicing for hours a day.”

“Is that how you got so good at it? All that practice?”

“Partly. I was also terrified of disappointing my coach. First adult who really believed in me.”

Kai drops his pacifier, and we both reach for it at the same time. Our fingers brush, and I pull back quickly, startled by how muchthat fleeting touch affects me. Jackson picks up the pacifier and sets it aside on a napkin.

“So what else did little Alana get up to on this island?” he asks, adjusting Kai, who’s starting to squirm.

I tell him about the time my friends and I “borrowed” a hotel’s paddleboard and accidentally drifted too far out, how a kindly fisherman had to bring us back to shore. I share memories of island festivals, secret beaches, and the ancient sacred sites my grandfather used to take me to.

Realizing I’ve been talking too much about myself, I steer the conversation back to him. “Tell me more about your time with the Stallions. What was one of your favorite moments?”

His face lights up as he describes the feeling of hitting a walk-off home run in the playoffs, the electricity of the crowd, the weightlessness rounding the bases. As he speaks, his love for the game radiates from him.

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