Jackson’s last letter was a jolt of pure, electric adrenaline. Reading those words, the way he hinted at my personality and called me handsome—it felt like a thrilling confirmation of the hope I’d been trying to bury. For a split second, the desert didn’t feel so vast. But then, there it was, the mention of a child. It hit me like a physical blow, a cold reality check that sent my heart plummeting. The fear that I was falling for someone who had an entire life, a family, I knew nothing about, made my skin crawl. It threatened to snap the fragile thread of vulnerability I’d finally started to unravel, reminding me exactly why I kept my walls reinforced with steel.
I lay back on my bed after opening another care package from him. Who is this person, and fuck, he’s a professional hockey player? I look at the cookie boxes again, a totally different brand this time, and Jackson’s letter mentioned they were from Houston.
I feel a familiar shift on my mattress as Brody sits down at the edge. “So, are you going to tell me about the Cookie Monster then?”
I stare at him, giving him a blatantwhat the fucklook. He rolls his eyes and points to the box.
“Oh. His name is Jackson,” I say.
Brody’s eyes widen. “So he has a name! I’ve just been calling him Cookie Monster in my letters.”
I give him a stern, warning look. “Be nice, otherwise I’m not sharing these,” I say, pulling out two packets.
Brody’s eyes lock onto the food. “Jackson. Nice name. Honestly, Ry, he seems to have put you in a much better mood since you started talking to him.”
“It’s just nice to talk to someone without any judgment or background, you know?” I admit softly.
The second the words leave my mouth, Brody’s face completely falls. I panic. “Hey, I didn’t meanyoujudge me! I just mean… this is a totally clean slate. Jackson doesn’t know me, and he doesn’t have any expectations of me. We’re just being one hundred percent honest with each other. It’s refreshing.”
Brody looks at me, really looks at me. “You know you can talk to me about absolutely anything, don’t you? I’m always here, no matter what.”
The truth is right there, right on the tip of my tongue. I’m about to do it—I’m about to finally tell him I’m gay. I look at Brody, who is currently moaning in pure, sugary delight as he stuffs a second cookie into his mouth, crumbs tumbling onto hisuniform. He looks so ridiculous, so happy, that a genuine laugh bubbles up in my throat. This is it. This is the moment.
I take a breath to speak, but before I can even form the first syllable, a sudden, sharp burst of close gunfire rips through the air, the sound so loud it vibrates in my teeth. Fuck, that’s close!
Instantly, the conversation vanishes. Everyone grabs their gear and rushes outside to see what the hell is going on.
16
Letter
Jackson,
Hockey? Ok, now I’m picturing a big, muscly man… am I close? I know that I could look you up, but I like getting to know you this way for now. Is that ok?
So, it turns out closing your eyes while working wouldn’t be a great idea for you either! How do you feel when you’re out on the ice playing? It sounds like a great way to let out some anger. Is the ice really as freezing cold as everyone says it is?
I’m lying under the stars for the third night in a row tonight, thinking about hockey and the socks you sent me. I actually have them on right now, tucked right under my standard-issued boots. They’re keeping me warm even though you’re miles away. Speaking of keeping me warm, I’m picturing the man who wrote me such a hot letter. I was just wondering if I’m allowed to keep flirting. Is there anyone back home who wouldbe mad at me? You mentioned a child in one of your letters, and I definitely don’t want to cause any drama. I hope that’s not a husband or boyfriend who calls you Daddy, because if so, I’ll sadly stick to just writing about cookies.
Heavy question time: if you don’t let people see the real you, then how do you ever expect to be truly seen? I know it’s a lot, but I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently. I can’t tell you where I am or what exactly I’m doing, but I’ve been questioning a lot of things lately.
Splash
PS — Hmmm, you’re getting close with the cookies. I only had to share one packet this time, though!
17
Jackson
I re-read the line from Splash’s letter:“I hope that’s not a husband or boyfriend who calls you Daddy, because if so, I’ll stick to just writing about cookies.”A slow, wicked grin stretched across my face. Did Splash just call me Daddy? The thought hit me with the force of a hockey puck to the chest, sending a jolt of pure, electrifying realization through me. He was absolutely into me, wasn’t he?
I try to snap a picture of my abs, adjusting the framing to make sure there’s plenty of arm porn in there, too. I work hard for these muscles, damn it. I set the phone timer and prop it up on my window. I’ve just finished a brutal workout, I’m sweaty as fuck, and it’s the absolute perfect lighting.
Just as I position myself, my front door flies open, and Logan walks right in.
“Fuck! What the hell have I walked into?!” Logan yells, instantly slamming his hands over his eyes.
“Fuck off and help me!” I laugh, grabbing my phone and shoving it into his hands. “Look, I need to get a good shot without my head in it.”
