Page 59 of Power Forward

Hayden

I wince from the bitter wind coming in from the lake. I pull my hat further down over my ears before stuffing my hands in my coat pockets. When I lived in Boston, the winters were brutal for me after my injury. It was almost like my bones had become meteorologists and could sense the change in weather before it happened. But as the years have gone on, it’s only become worse, which is why I now call California my home.

Sure, sometimes the winters there can get cool, but it’s nothing like this.

I’ve only been out of the car for less than two minutes, and already my knees are beginning to feel stiff. The wind is making it feel like mid-twenties.

“It’s just a short walk,” Jackson tells me while he unbuckles Isabela from her car seat. We had to park near Millenium Park as the first parking lot we tried was full. Ryan stands next to me on the sidewalk, decked out in a Thunder hat and scarf, and the sight makes me smile.

“Where we going, Daddy?” Isabela asks, holding on to his shoulders when he lifts her out and sets her on the sidewalk.

“To a Christmas market,” he replies, shutting the car door and locking it. “No running off, okay? Either of you. There’s going to be a lot of people, so you need to hold my hand at all times.”

“You got it, Dad.” Ryan nods, stepping next to Jackson, ready to take his hand once Jackson’s finished putting his gloves on.

Isabela looks up from beneath her hat. It’s white with the Thunder logo on and a big fluffy pom-pom on top. But it’s so big on her that it’s fallen over her eyes. She pushes it back with her mitten-covered hands and shocks me when she asks, “Can I hold Hayden’s hand?”

Wait,what?

My head snaps to Jackson as his gaze immediately meets mine. I must not be doing a good job at hiding my surprise because his lips twitch, breaking out in a smile. “If you want to, peanut. As long as Hayden doesn’t mind.”

I have to swallow hard as emotion gets stuck in my throat. Shit. Am I going to get all emotional because a four-year-old wants to hold my hand?

It’s because she’shisfour-year-old.

I look down at her and smile. “Of course you can.” I hold my hand out to her, and my heart swells in my chest as she takes it with an excited squeal.

Is this what it feels like to be chosen? Like when a dog picks you out of a room full of people for a cuddle?

Ah, hell. Now I’m comparing Jackson’s daughter to a dog. I didn’t mean it like that.

Jackson’s expression is filled with pride as we make our way toward Daley Plaza, one of the locations for Chicago’s annual Christkindlmarket. Our hands brush against each other, and I sneak glances at him. I want to grab hold of his hand so badly, but I understand that he doesn’t want the kids to be confused before he’s had a chance to talk to them. Something he doesn’t want to do untilwehave spoken, but we’re both dancing around it. Digging up the past sucks, even if it’s necessary for us to move forward in our relationship. He deserves to know that I was the reason our relationship ended, and it wasn’t because of anything he did or didn’t do.

My steps falter when we turn the corner to Daley Plaza, and I notice the line to enter the market wraps around the corner.

Standing still in this cold weather is hell for me.

“Uh, Jax. I don’t suppose you can use your Thunder pro-athlete status to jump the queue?”

He chuckles. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work here. Maybe if I played baseball, it would be a different story.”

The image of Jackson in tight baseball pants and an unbuttoned shirt appears in my mind. His golden chest glistening with sweat. His round ass threatening to split the seams of his pants.

Fuck. Maybe I need to make this happen, like a one-man strip show.

I suppress a groan. And because he knows me so darn well, he arches a brow and throws a smirk my way. “You okay over there?”

“Mhm,” I hum, mentally stashing the thought away to bring up later.

He laughs, and we join the end of the line.

It takes twenty minutes by the time we get into the market, and my body is aching. I’m trying to hide my discomfort because Isabela is also crabby at having to wait. Jackson had to carry her for a bit, all while she hid her face in his neck and grumbled, but now she’s back to holding my hand, leading me toward the hut that sells mini Dutch pancakes.

“Look!” She points at the menu board and jumps excitedly. Then she looks up at me with big, innocent blue eyes and asks, “Buy me some?”

I practically melt into a puddle on the floor, but Jackson swoops in before I can pull out my wallet.

“Isabela, that’s not how we ask for things, is it?”

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