We celebrate with pizza at Antonio’s—Jackson’s choice, of course.
The three of us squeeze into a booth, the table littered with empty plates and paper napkins.
Jackson chatters nonstop about the game, reenacting his goal at least three times while Gio listens like every word is important.
I can’t stop watching them, my boys, the way Gio leans in to hear every detail, the way Jackson’s eyes light up when Gio praises him.
It’s like they’ve always been this way—like there was never a time when they weren’t in each other’s lives.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of them together.
In a way, it feels like the universe is making up for all the years they didn’t have.
By the time we leave, Jackson’s energy has finally caught up with him.
He yawns all the way to the car, slumping against the seat belt as we pull onto the road.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see his eyes flutter closed.
“He’s out,” I say softly.
“Big day,” Gio murmurs, glancing in the rearview mirror with a smile.
When we get home, Gio parks in the driveway and comes around to Jackson’s side.
He unbuckles him carefully, lifting him into his arms with a gentleness that always makes my throat tighten.
Jackson’s head rests on Gio’s shoulder, his little body completely limp in trust as Gio carries him into the house with that easy strength I’ve come to love so much.
He takes Jackson straight to his room, and I follow quietly, leaning against the doorframe as Gio tucks him in, smoothing the blankets over him.
Jackson mumbles something sleepily that makes Gio smile, then he bends to press a kiss to his forehead.
I linger in the doorway, watching. The sight of Gio tucking in our son does something to me—something deep, something I can’t quite put into words.
I’ve seen him fight for us, bleed for us, but these quiet moments undo me more than anything else.
I could get used to seeing this for the rest of my life.
When Gio straightens, he glances over his shoulder at me, and his smile shifts into something softer, meant only for me.
And when he joins me in the hall, I slip my hand into his.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His sensual lips curve, and he leans down to kiss me once, soft and lingering. “I love you too,vita mia.”
We make our way to our room, the house hushed around us.
As we step inside, our fingers laced together, there’s a lingering electricity in the air—leftover from the game, from the joy, from the love that’s been building between us for months.
I sit on the edge of the bed, kicking off my shoes, and Gio drops down beside me, close enough that our knees touch.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then he reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingertips lingering against my cheek.
“I still can’t believe this is my life now,” he says quietly, like it’s a confession.
