Jackson swallows, throat bobbing hard. “More than I can describe. I miss the dream too, but dreams change.”
“For what it’s worth… I totally would’ve bought your jersey.”
Jackson laughs lightly and spins to look down at me. “That’s an idea. I have a few jerseys left over; I could put you in one.”
I dip down to grab the ball that came to a stop at my feet. Tossing it back and forth in my hands, I grin up at Jackson. “Just a little one-on-one? Low impact on your knee. We can play horse!”
Jackson does a mix between a sigh and a laugh that I find absolutely adorable. I dribble the ball around him, trying to make him dizzy, until he swoops easily around me to steal the ball. I stand frozen in the middle of the court as he shoots and makes it, his hand still raised in the air for one singular second before slowly lowering back to his side.
Suddenly, my heart aches for him. Honey comes to a skidding halt in front of Jackson, yipping in request for him to play with her. Jackson falls softly to his knees and buries hisface in her golden fur, the picture of a man defeated. Consoling people isn’t something I have much experience with, but I need to learn if I want to love Jackson right.
Love.
Hell.
“Jackson,” I say softly, running my hand along his slumped shoulders.
He keeps his head buried in Honey’s fur for a long moment, then lifts his teary gaze to mine. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” I drop to my knees with an awkward laugh. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, I squeeze the nape of his neck with what I hope feels like reassurance. “New dreams, right?”
“Yeah,” Jackson mumbles.
“Come on, Daddy. Let’s see what food options there are around this place. I want to eat, get fucked, then sleep for a million years. Sound good?”
Vulnerability from Jackson is rare, but I’m going to hold on to him so he knows it’s fine. He’s safe with me. I hold his hand tightly as I guide us back towards the kitchen. The fridge is full of food because Jackson thinks of everything, and he must’ve had someone stock the place before we arrived.
“Salmon?” I ask as I stare into the fully stocked fridge.
“Sure, I didn’t know you could cook,” Jackson says tiredly, folding himself into a chair at the island.
“I love to cook, but I just have to be practical, so I rarely do. Imagine if I’m cooking at the stove, have a seizure, and then the house burns down around me. Not practical at all.”
“Don’t you get warning signs for a seizure? Wouldn’t you have enough time?”
My nose twitches at the thought. Yes, I tend to get an aura that’s enough of a warning sign that I could theoretically keep the oven on and cook. But years of my mother helicopterparenting me, acting like I was one fuckup away from accidental death, well, it’s hard to break the habit.
“I do, I get auras. But I just don’t use the oven out of habit.”
Jackson leans against the island, keenly watching me turn on the gas stove. “So, how’d you learn?”
“Cindy taught me. Beau’s mom.”
“Not your own?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “No, not my mother. She’s fine. My parents are perfectly fine people. But they’re both attorneys who work extremely long hours. Sometimes, I’m not sure why they even adopted me.”
Jackson’s head cocks to the side. “You’re adopted?”
I spread some olive oil on a cookie sheet, delicately placing the salmon filets on it, then sprinkle it with spices and lemon. Grabbing rice pilaf from the pantry, I get it simmering on the stovetop.
“Yes, I was adopted,” I admit around a lump in my throat.
“I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t talk about it much. My biological mother was a teen when she had me, couldn’t give me the future she wanted, so she gave me up in a private adoption to my parents.”
“Do you know your mother?” Jackson asks, tone carefully neutral.
