Page 41 of Double Play
It’s for the kid he used to be, who learned love was something you paid for with pain. It’s for the man he is now, who deserves a partner that says yes without flinching. I stand when the questions start to overlap because I’m not giving them more than they deserve.
“That’s all,” I say, and the PR guy steps in to end it.
As I walk out, the room behind me buzzes like a hive.
They all can fuck themselves if they have a problem with us, because I’m going to the only place that matters.
Back to him.
By the timewe get home, the adrenaline has finally started to rot. That’s what it feels like in my body, anyway. The fear from earlier is turning sour now that Jackson is safe enough to crash for the night. He’s quiet in the elevator, quiet in the hall, and when we step into the apartment, he kicks his shoes off like they weigh a hundred pounds.
The second I turn around from putting our bags in the closet, the TV is on, and Jackson is on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, knees bent. Kai must’ve texted him the clip becauseJackson doesn’t even have to search. He just hits play with a thumb that looks a little unsteady.
My face fills the screen.
The press room. The cameras. The question.
Jackson’s eyes stay glued to it like he’s bracing for impact, even though he already knows what I said. Even though I told him the second I walked into the training room.
Still, hearing it out loud is different.
He’s my boyfriend.
The word comes out of the speakers and into our living room like it’s a match thrown onto gasoline. Jackson’s breath catches. On the screen, I keep talking. I say I’m proud. I say we’re done hiding.
Jackson swallows hard and doesn’t look at me. For a second, I think maybe I fucked up by telling the world, but he keeps watching the video like he’s afraid if he turns his head, it’ll disappear.
When the clip ends, he replays it immediately.
“Jack,” I murmur, crossing the room and standing at the armrest.
On the third replay, I sit down next to him and slide my arm around his shoulders, pulling him into my side. Jackson folds into me without resistance, forehead pressing against my neck.
His voice is small when it comes. “You said it so… easy.”
“It is easy,” I tell him, kissing the top of his head. “Loving you is easy.”
He makes a sound that could be a laugh if it weren't edged with emotion.
“Well, my dad's going to know now,” he whispers.
“I know,” I say. “But we’ve got each other… and if I have to, I will be more than happy to put your father in his place.”
Jackson’s fingers curl into my shirt and my hand drifts down his arm, feeling for the CGM patch like it’s my own lifeline too.
“Have you checked it again?” I ask.
He nods and lifts his wrist. “One-eighty. Steady.”
Steady.
“Okay, I can handle that,” I murmur. “Now we shower.”
Jackson groans. “I’m too tired to shower right now.”
“Not a request,” I say, and I can’t help the smirk that slips out. “You smell like dirt, salt, and that sickly-sweet smell you get when you’re low.”
He huffs. “Rude.”
