Page 136 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I let out a hollow breath, something like a laugh and a sob tangled together.
She pauses before she leaves. “Ava?”
I look up.
“If it’s positive, just remember you’re not alone.”
I nod, throat thick. “Thanks.”
And then I’m alone with nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I always thought motherhood would be a choice—something for a future version of my life, after marriage and stability.
But Brad never wanted kids. Said it lightly at first, then more firmly as the years went on. So I adjusted. Told myself Open Pages was enough, that pouring my heart into other people’s children could fill the space. Maybe it did. Maybe I stopped asking what I wanted because it felt safer not to want at all.
Now I’m in Jackson’s house, wrapped in his sweatshirt, wondering what’s next for us. I don’t know for sure yet.
He’s kind. Steady. Ridiculously patient. The way he loves his boys makes something ache in my chest.
But that’s the thing. He alreadyhaskids. A full, beautiful life.
What if I really am pregnant?
What if it’s too much, and it pushes him away?
Is everything about to change forever?
Chapter Forty
JACKSON
Iwalk in through the mudroom, the familiar thud of the door closing behind me, and the scent of something citrusy hanging in the air. The house is quiet. The twins aren’t home from school yet. I toe off my shoes and round the corner into the kitchen, and there she is.
Ava’s at the table, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows, a half-full glass of water by her laptop. She looks up when I enter and gives me a soft smile. It’s the kind that tries to look normal but doesn’t quite stick the landing.
She seems distracted in a way that makes my gut clench.
“Hey,” I say, walking over and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “How was your day?”
She hesitates a beat. “Jenna came by.”
“Yeah?” I lean against the counter, trying to keep it casual. “What’d you two talk about?”
Ava tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You know Jenna. She brought lemon muffins and a million opinions.”
Her smile twitches, and before I can press further, she asks, “How was practice? Are you feeling ready for Denver?”
“Yeah,” I answer, grabbing a water from the fridge. “Lighter skate today, some treatment stuff, a little video. Coach is already drilling our zone entries for Game 1.”
She nods, eyes trained on the rim of her glass like it’s suddenly fascinating.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Just tired. Still catching up on sleep, I think.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I try to smile, but something doesn’t sit right. Her usual spark feels dimmed. Not gone, just… quieter. Like she’s pulled inward.
“It will probably take some time,” I say. “No one would bounce back overnight after everything you’ve had on your plate.”
