Page 113 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I glance between them—Liam thoughtful, Noah shrugging like it’s no big deal, as if he didn’t just upend my heart.
My chest warms, unexpectedly.
“I’m glad you think so,” I whisper, brushing a hand over Noah’s hair again.
They both smile, already halfway to sleep.
I press my hand lightly against my chest, trying to steady whatever just shifted inside me.
I head to the living room and curl on the couch with a blanket and my laptop, the second period already underway. I answer a few last-minute gala emails, reviewing RSVPs, flagging a menu change, and keep half an eye on the screen as the SteelClaws dominate the third period.
When Jackson scores an empty net goal to seal the win, I can’t help the big smile that spreads across my face.
I close my laptop, fold the blanket, and head upstairs.
Not like a guest, not like I’m borrowing someone else’s life.
But like I’m home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
JACKSON
It’s been a few days since our first win of Round 3, but the buzz hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s building.
Game 2 is tonight, our last one at home before we head to New York.
And I want this one bad.
I stretch, rub the stiffness from my shoulder, and pad down the hall.
Ava’s at the island in leggings and a hoodie, hair pulled up in that sexy messy bun she swears isn’t intentional.
The boys argue over the last waffle while she moves around like she’s got an extra set of hands.
“Morning,” I say, voice still gravelly.
Ava looks up and gives me a tired smile. “Hey. Want coffee?”
“Always.”
I take in the scene while she pours a mug. On the fridge, her color-coded gala checklist is pinned beside one of Noah’s drawings. Her phone buzzes, and she silences it without even looking, reaching over to help Noah with the milk.
As I take a sip of the coffee she hands me, Liam looks up, serious.
“Daddy, did you know Ava can make lunch, answer her phone, and tell me where my socks are all at the same time?”
I glance at Ava, who’s trying not to laugh, and shake my head. “I’m starting to think there’s nothing she can’t do.”
Ava’s phone buzzes again. She glances down at it then up at me. “Miss Taylor just texted. Her fever broke and her appetite’s back. She’s hoping to be up and about in the next day or two.”
I nod, relieved. “Glad she’s feeling better.”
Ava smirks, thumbs flying over the screen. “She also wrote, and I quote, ‘Don’t get used to being in charge.’”
Chuckling, I check the time. A few more hours, then it’s back to the rink: skate, tape, film, and lock in.
By late morning, the house has settled into its usual weekday rhythm. The boys are at school, Ava’s on a call in the dining room, and I’m grabbing my gear bag from the garage.
