Page 105 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I curl up on the couch with a blanket, watching the game. It’s fast and physical. I can feel the tension in every shift, every zone battle. Jackson’s focus radiates through the screen. Sharp. Relentless.
I don’t think I breathed during the final two minutes.
When the buzzer sounds and the SteelClaws seal the win with an empty-net goal, I exhale all at once, grinning like they can see me from three states away.
They did it. Again.
I type out a message before I can talk myself out of it.
You did it. We’re proud of you.
I miss you.
I stare at the screen for a second, then hit send.
It’s late now. The house is dark except for the soft glow of the TV and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background.
I pull the blanket a little closer around me and let myself settle into the quiet.
Just one more day.
And then he’ll be home.
Chapter Thirty
JACKSON
The front door opens before I can even reach for the handle.
Noah barrels out first, arms flung wide. “Daddy!”
I barely have time to crouch before both boys launch into me, backpack straps bouncing, shoes untied, full-volume chaos. I pull them in close. They’re warm, loud, and exactly what I need.
“Did you see the games?” I ask.
“We watched the first periods!” Liam says proudly.
“And I told Ava that dragons can skate!” Noah adds, grinning.
Ava laughs softly behind me. I glance up, catching her smile. God, I love the way she looks at them.
"I missed you guys," I say, kissing the tops of their heads.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a welcome blur of building Lego towers and chasing them in the backyard. Ava effortlessly moves through it all like she’s always belonged here.
I can’t stop watching her. Can’t stop feeling how much I want the noise to die down, the day to end, the house to quiet so I can finally be alone with her.
Dinner is all chatter and overlapping voices, Noah and Liam trading stories, Ava laughing beside me, Miss Taylor chiming in with her usual calm presence. When I pass the garlic bread, Ava brushes her fingers against mine. A small, accidental touch.
But it lingers.
After dinner, Miss Taylor herds the boys upstairs to get ready for bed. The moment they disappear down the hall, the house feels quieter. Dimmer. Settled.
She pauses. Looks up at me.
“I missed you,” I murmur.
Her breath hitches. “I missed you, too.”
