I need to talk to Jackson. I need to make sure we’re okay before I even think about what comes next. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my face and walk toward his room, rehearsing what I’ll say to him.
But when I open the door, the words die in my throat. The bed is empty, his floor a mess—the window half open. My stomach drops like a stone.
“Jackson?” My voice comes out too high, too sharp. I check the closet, the bathroom, even under the bed like I’m searching for a younger version of him who might be hiding during a game.
Nothing.
A cold sweat breaks out over my skin. My pulse is pounding in my ears as the only possibility slams into me—he left.
And after everything we’ve been through, my mind leaps immediately to the worst-case scenario—kidnapping.
What if someone took him while I was too wrapped up in my own turmoil to notice?
I’m already grabbing my keys and phone before the thought is finished, shoving my feet into the first pair of shoes I see.
I barely remember locking the front door behind me as I order an Uber and wait impatiently for it to arrive in five minutes.
There’s only one place Jackson would go—and I don’t care how much it costs to get me there as quickly as I can.
The drive to Gio’s house is a blur, streets rushing past in streaks of gray and green.
The Uber driver seems friendly enough, chatting to me the whole way.
But I can scarcely hear him, let alone speak, over the noise of my anxiety.
My throat burns from the harshness of my breathing.
By the time he pulls through the front gates and up to the top of the driveway, my whole body is shaking. I’m out before he’s even stopped completely, pounding on the door with the flat of my hand.
It swings open, and Gio is there—tall, broad, eyes widening when he sees me.
His beard is thicker than usual, as if it’s gone several days without trimming.
His hair is almost as wild as Jackson’s first thing in the morning, and his fine dress clothes are rumpled in a way that tells me he hasn’t been taking care of himself.
It’s enough to make my heart squeeze, but I’m too panic-stricken to stop and think about why he might look so tortured.
“Stephanie?” His voice is equal parts shock and relief. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Jackson showed up about an hour ago—said he wasn’t going home until we worked things out.”
“I…” Heat floods my face as I realize just how irrational I’ve been. “I blocked your number,” I admit…then deleted it so I wouldn’t be tempted to call you in a moment of weakness.
Gio just nods, his kind understanding another twist to my already-strained heartstrings. “Come in,” he says, swinging the door wide and stepping back.
Then I see him—my son, standing in the doorway to the sitting room, looking a little sheepish but unharmed.
All the air rushes out of me at once.
I’m across the room in seconds, dropping to my knees in front of him and pulling him into my arms.
I don’t care that I’m sobbing, that my voice shakes as I press my lips against the crown of his head. “Don’t youeverscare me like that again. Do you have any idea what I thought might have happened to you?”
His arms tighten around my neck, and his voice is small when he answers. “I didn’t think about… You probably thought someone bad came and took me again, huh?”
I nod against him, too overwhelmed to speak.
“I just… I just want Gio to come home,” he says, voice trembling. “I miss him. He was part of the family. Hebelongswith us.”
A fist clenches around my heart, because part of me has been aching for the same thing.
