Page 135 of Pucking Daddy

Jaxon’s gaze lifts, meeting mine. Steady. Certain.

“It is.”

Something inside me cracks wide open.

The line goes dead.

I want to hug Jaxon so bad right now. My fingers itch to reach out, to take some of the weight off his shoulders, even if it’s just for a second.

But I don’t know if he would want me to, so I stay still.

He’s still just sitting there, phone in his hand, jaw tight.

That’s just the way he is, I tell myself. He doesn’t let anyone in. So I try not to be disappointed.

But then Jaxon moves towards me.

His hand finds mine first, warm and solid, like he needs to anchor himself. My breath catches, and before I can even process it, he pulls me closer.

Right into him.

I don’t hesitate.

My arms come up around his waist instantly, holding him tight, my cheek pressed to his chest. His heart is beating fast. Or maybe that’s mine.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just holds on.

His hand slides up my back, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweater, and something in my chest squeezes so hard it almost hurts.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur against him. “This is really messed up.”

His hand comes up, brushing my hair back from my face, stopping me mid-sentence.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly. “I know I made the right choice.”

***

Today is the evaluation.

I turn off the alarm on my phone and push myself upright, dragging a hand through my hair, already running through a mental checklist.

Apartment. Lily. Breakfast. Routine.

The only difference is that Lily has no school today but will stay home for the evaluation this morning.

I force myself out of bed and move quickly, pulling on clothes that strike that impossible balance between comfortable and presentable. Not trying too hard. Not too relaxed. Somewhere in the middle.

The apartment is already spotless, thanks to Mrs. Henriksen’s magic touch.

Still, I move through it anyway, straightening things that don’t need straightening. I adjust the throw pillows on the couch. Wipe down the already-clean kitchen counter.

Then I hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Morning,” I hear his gravelly voice.

My breath catches just at the sound of it.

I turn. Jaxon stands at the bottom of the stairs, hair still slightly damp, shirt half-buttoned like he didn’t quite finish getting ready. His gaze is already on me.