Page 18 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
There’s a seriousness to him that reminds me of myself as a kid.
Earlier today, when I asked if he wanted help finishing his Lego build, he didn’t answer right away. Just gave me a long look before handing over one of the small blue pieces without a word.I wasn’t sure if that meant I passed a test, but a few minutes later, he let me help him sort the colors.
I think that was his version of trust.
The thought makes my chest ache, warm and heavy.
I’m not sure what I’m doing here, or what it means that, even after just one day, I already feel more at ease in Jackson’s house than I ever did in the apartment I shared with Brad.
I close my eyes and just breathe. Just existing in this small quiet moment.
And I’m surprised how the idea of tomorrow doesn’t feel like something I have to survive.
It feels like something I might be okay walking toward.
The house is still when I wake up.
There’s a faint glow behind the curtains, gray and peaceful. For a moment, I consider rolling over and hiding under the covers, pretending the last few days never happened. Pretending I didn’t agree to maybe show up at a hockey rink this morning, as if my whole life hasn’t just been flipped upside down.
But instead, I sit up.
The floor is cold beneath my feet as I stand and stretch. I pull on jeans and one of my long-sleeved tees Jenna brought over, then pad down the hall in my socks. The house creaks softly, like it’s just waking up, too.
In the kitchen, Jackson is hunched over the counter, zipping up a massive black duffel bag with the Pittsburgh SteelClaws logo stretched across the side. His hair is still damp from a shower, and there’s a coffee mug half-drained beside him.
He doesn’t hear me at first, and for a moment, I just watch him: steady, focused, strong.
He straightens when he spots me. “Hey. You’re up.”
I nod, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Didn’t want to bail on my maybe.”
That gets a real smile from him. Quick but warm.
“Glad you didn’t.”
“I wasn’t sure if I would go,” I admit, grabbing a travel mug and filling it with coffee. “But… I kind of want to.”
He watches me for a second, then nods like he gets it. “It’s low-key. Just skate drills and puck work. No spotlight.”
I nod, but there’s still a nervous flutter in my chest. I’m not sure what I expected this morning to feel like. Panic, maybe. Regret. But instead, there’s a strange sort of calm.
Until the doorbell rings.
I freeze.
Jackson frowns, already stepping toward the foyer. “It’s early for deliveries,” he mutters under his breath, setting his gear bag down.
I follow him toward the entryway slowly, unease prickling beneath my skin.
My stomach sinks. It’s early and they aren’t expecting anyone. And suddenly, before the knob even turns, I know who it is.
Jackson pulls open the door.
And there he is.
Brad.
