Page 87 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector
I text Miss Taylor:
I’ll see you all at the house.
A simple reply buzzes back a minute later:
Got it. They’re already begging for a snack stop on the way.
By the time I’m in my truck, keys in the ignition, some of the post-game rush has faded. What’s left is quieter.
Heavier.
I should’ve said something before. Should’ve told her why I pulled away that morning after we... after everything changed.
I drive with the windows half down, cold air cutting through. The adrenaline fades, but my head stays anything but clear.
When I pull into the driveway, the house is still dark. Miss Taylor’s car isn’t back yet. She and Ava must’ve taken the boys for snacks after the win.
I head inside and strip off my jacket. I’m halfway through a bottle of water when I hear the crunch of tires in the driveway.
The front door swings open and the twins barrel straight toward me, still bouncing with leftover energy.
“Daddy! You did it!”
I crouch to catch them both. “You two were my good luck charms, huh?”
Noah nods furiously. “I yelled so loud!”
“Me too!” Liam says, wide-eyed.
Ava follows them in, slower, quieter. She sets her bag by the door, meeting my gaze across the room. It’s a small movement, but it pulls my attention like a magnet.
Something in her look makes the air thicken.
Miss Taylor herds the boys down the hall with promises of one quick story before bed, leaving us alone in the living room.
I set the water bottle down. My pulse kicks harder now than it did during the game.
Ava shifts her weight, hesitates, then steps closer.
“Jackson…” Her voice is soft, but sure. “We should talk.”
Something shifts in my chest, the words catching in my throat, but I completely agree.
Yeah, we should.
Chapter Twenty-Five
AVA
The words are out before I can second-guess myself.
Now the quiet stretches thick between us, heavier with every breath.
Jackson sets his water bottle down, slow and deliberate. His jaw flexes once, then again. But he doesn’t look away.
I swallow. My pulse is everywhere… in my throat, behind my ribs, in my fingertips.
“I need to know,” I say, my voice steady, though my breath catches. “Are we really going to pretend that night didn’t happen?”
