Page 50 of Chasing The Goal
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I stepped aside and let him in.
The air in the apartment shifted the second Jackson crossed the threshold. Like his presence nudged every molecule out of place. I could smell the sauce still simmering on the stove, the faint vanilla of the candle I’d lit an hour ago. It was warm, dim, soft—and suddenly, it felt too small, too fragile to hold this moment.
He looked around like he was remembering it all. Like he had the right to remember. Like he hadn’t disappeared without a word, without even asking if I was okay.
“Smells good,” he said, trying for a smile that felt like it didn’t fit his face anymore.
I didn’t respond. I turned back to the kitchen and shut the burner off. My hands moved on autopilot, reaching for plates, scooping pasta. I placed the food in front of him. No fanfare. Just noodles and sauce, still steaming. He murmured thanks, but I didn’t look up.
We sat across from each other at my tiny table, two feet apart and a thousand miles away.
“So,” he said quietly, “how far along are you? Have you been going to the doctors?”
“Sixteen weeks,” I said, not bothering to soften the edge in my voice. "And yes, I have been. Not that it mattered to you previously,"
Hisbrows rose. “Wow…" clearly ignoring my remark, "Well, you look… you look great.”
I didn’t answer that either. I just took a bite.
“I missed a lot,” he added, staring down at his plate like it held something heavier than pasta.
“You chose to miss it,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know.”
Silence. Just the clink of forks and the low hum of my fridge kicking on.
"We barely know each other, Jackson."
“I know. I know but I’ve been thinking about this—about everything I do know about you. The number one thing I do know for certain is you are a hell of a lot better person than I am.” He paused, like he wanted to be careful with his words. “I panicked when you told me, I really, honest to God did... I thought it meant the end of everything I had planned for my life. But now… I think it might be the beginning of something I didn’t know I needed.”
His voice cracked just enough that I believed he meant it. But that didn’t erase the weeks I’d cried alone. The nights I held my stomach and wondered if I’d have to face labor, and motherhood, and every damn thing after that… by myself.
I swallowed hard. “I have an appointment next week,” I said, my tone steadier than I felt. “They’ll probably do another ultrasound. You can come, if you mean it.”
“I do,” he said quickly, he reached across the table and put his hand on top of mine. “Please. I’d like that. Let me pick me up and take you,”
I nodded. “There’s also a few birthing classes I want to check out in a few weeks. Just… something to help prepare.”
“I’ll be there.”
I wanted to believe him.
“I’ll text you the details,” I added, quieter now.
His gaze lifted to mine. “Is my number still blocked?”
I didn’t answer. I stood, went to the counter, unplugged my phone, and unblocked him. It took three seconds. Three tiny, stupid seconds to undo weeks of silence.
“There,” I said.
He smiled—gentle, tentative, like he was reaching out with his eyes. “Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Okay.”
He looked around again, taking in the apartment like he was trying to memorize it. “I know I can’t fix what I did. But I want to do the right thing now. For you. For the baby. I promise I’ll do better.”
