Because Jackson Morgan was home.
The quarterback. The Marine. The boy who grew up in this clubhouse, the kid Hannah practically raised. He was back from basic, taller, sharper, his smile sparking the room like a flare.
The Saints roared his name. Men clapped him on the back, dragging him into hugs. Hannah’s eyes shone, August beamed, and even Mac was smiling.
Thirteen weeks gone, and Jackson Morgan wasn’t the boy who’d left. The buzzed haircut made his jaw look sharper, his shoulders broader. The uniform clung in all the right places— dress blues and muscle, a clean edge to everything about him. He filled the doorway like he owned it, sunlight haloing him from behind.
My brain short-circuited.
Holy hell.
He looked good. Too good. Unfair-to-humanity good. My stomach flipped in a way that made zero sense.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. My acceptance letter crinkled in my fist as the whole room swirled around me, voicesrising, laughter spilling. He was swallowed in embraces and slaps on the back, and still my feet stayed glued to the floor.
He laughed—deep, rougher than I remembered. Like the boy I’d sparred with had been sanded down into something steadier. A man.
And then his eyes found mine.
The sound around me dropped out. I was back on that porch thirteen weeks ago, his breath warm against my lips, his voice low and rough:Don’t. Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.
And then all the insanely confusing bullshit at the lake house.
He cut through the crowd, boots heavy on the clubhouse floor, shoulders filling every inch of that damn uniform. Everyone surged toward him like a tide—slaps on the back, shouts of “Semper fi!”—but his eyes stayed on me.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly what I needed: the human embodiment of unfinished business striding toward me like he owned the oxygen in the room.
I straightened, forcing my chin up. Defensive mode:on.“Well, well,” I said loudly, before my throat could betray me. “Look who survived boot camp.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the guys nearby. Jackson’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to grin. “Good to see you too, Malibu.”
Malibu. Damn him. The nickname hit its mark, same as always, a lazy little reminder of every fight and almost-kiss we’d ever had.
I folded my arms, letting the acceptance letter crinkle loudly in my fist. “You missed a lot while you were off getting screamed at by men in funny hats. Jewel was born. Dalton nearly killed me teaching me to ride. Oh, and I got into college.”
That landed—his smirk flickered, pride breaking through. “Yeah? Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I said, tilting my chin. “Guess I’ll be a Bulldog now too. You gonna be able to keep up with me?”
He cocked his head, watching me the way a cat watches a bird that thinks it’s safe on a branch. “You always did run a little ahead, Malibu.”
I glanced behind me, gauging the distance between the chair I had just vacated and where I now stood in case my legs were to give out. Because beneath the banter, beneath the armor, there was a heat in his voice that said he hadn’t forgotten either—that night on the porch, that almost-kiss, that cut-short moment that had lived rent-free in my brain ever since.
So I did what I do best. My smile was sharp enough to draw blood. “Careful, Marine. Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”
The words hit him like a slap and a dare at once. His eyes darkened, his jaw ticked, and for one suspended beat I thought maybe he’d close the distance and prove me wrong.
But then Hannah’s voice cut in, proud and calm as ever, breaking the spell. “Boys, girls, simmer down. We celebrate Holly’s acceptanceandJackson’s return tonight. They’ve both earned it.”
The crowd cheered, the moment broke, and I tried to remember how my lungs worked. Dalton immediately climbed onto a chair like some kind of overgrown toddler, waving his soda can overhead. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present—our resident genius and our shiny new Marine!”
The room whooped, Maria laughing so hard Jewel startled in her arms. Even Mac cracked a grin, which around here was basically the equivalent of a standing ovation. Dalton pointed his can at me, then at Jackson. “Now, I’m not saying there’s a competition brewing, but…one of you is gonna trip over your own ego first semester.”
“Semester?” Diego drawled, smirking. “Pretty sure the Marines don’t hand out midterms. He’s got a few more months of getting yelled at ahead.”
Laughter rolled, and Jackson ducked his head with a grin, not denying it. He’d be gone again in days, off to Camp Geiger and infantry school, but tonight? Tonight he was here.
Dalton scowled like he’d been personally attacked. “Fine! Then Holly’s gonna have to carry the team GPA on her own, and Jackson’s just gonna flex in a uniform until people love him.”
