I arch a brow. “Relájate,the food isn’t going anywhere.”
He grins, mouth full and cheeks stuffed to the brim. “Never.”
Doing the responsible thing, I open his pump app on my phone and send him a much-needed bolus. Knowing my luck, the pizza, wings, and sweets will be wreaking havoc on his blood sugar at four in the morning, so I’m just trying to help him and me.
We put on a movie that neither of us cares about, something loud and dumb with a predictable plot, and Jackson slowly melts into me like his body finally understands it’s time to rest. His head on my chest, my arm around his waist, my fingers tracing his vine tattoos on his arm.
At some point his breathing deepens and I look down and find him asleep, face soft, mouth slightly open. I kiss his forehead, adjust our position a little, and hold him closer.
This is what I want.
Not the headlines.
Not the fans.
Just this quiet.
Just him.
After a three-game series,the flight back to San Jose is rough. We hit a big patch of turbulence over Colorado, and Jackson’s stomach does that unhappy flip-flop thing the entire time. He tries to joke through it, tries to play tough, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw locks. Two diet ginger ales later, he’s got the armrest up and is curled into my side.
When we finally land in SJ, he looks like he survived a war.
I kiss the side of his head and whisper, “We’re home, baby.”
He exhales. “Never leaving the ground again.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “About that… you kind of play professional baseball and flying is like a requirement,mi sol.”
He flips me off weakly.
I love him so much it feels dangerous.
Days off meanno practice or meetings. No film reviews or workouts… just hanging out.
It means the boys get to breathe.
We end up at a spot in San Jose that Kai likes because the portions are massive and the staff doesn’t treat us like zoo animals. Patio seating. The weather is cooperating, and the chef is fantastic about subbing things for Jackson.
Kai shows up wearing soon-to-be-dad energy like a crown, phone on the table face-up because Isla is pregnant and he’s one of those men who actually listens when his wife says,Be available.
Gael rolls in ten minutes later, still looking half-asleep and half-in love, which is the most annoying kind of happy.
Though I can’t fucking talk, whenever I look at Jack, my mouth instinctively curls into a grin. He sits beside me, thigh pressed to mine under the table. His smile is the brightest today, and I am living for it.
I watch him eat like I’m greedy.
Kai starts talking about baby names like he’s naming a whole franchise. Gael talks about Adriana craving pickles with hot sauce and how he almost fainted in the grocery store when he saw the total after she sent him for “snacks.”
Jackson laughs, and then his pump vibrates. His watch shows his CGM numbers in the corner and I can see the 85 with the arrow trending down. I catch the tiny flinch in his hip. The way his hand almost goes to his pocket… and then doesn’t.
He keeps talking.
Keeps laughing.
Ignoring it completely.
This fucking man.
