13. Morning Light

MORNING LIGHT

O ne second I was dead to the world, lost in the kind of sleep that only comes after days of running on empty, and the next my heart was trying to punch through my ribs. Fight or flight doesn't give a shit about context - that's what my first racing coach taught me. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

The knock came again, softer this time. Like whoever was on the other side knew better than to wake a kid at - I squinted at my phone - seven in the fucking morning?

Tommy's gentle breathing from the main room steadied me. He'd crashed hard after yesterday's excitement, his small body sprawled across the bed like he was trying to claim every inch of territory. Some battles weren't worth fighting.

My feet hit the cold hardwood - Clara's inn might be charming, but central heating wasn't its strong suit. The mirror caught my reflection as I passed - bed head, yesterday's sweatpants riding low, and exactly zero shirts. Whatever. Probably just Clara with fresh towels or something.

I cracked the door open and my stomach did this weird flip thing because standing there, looking way too put together for this hour, was Jake fucking Thompson. His uniform was missing, replaced by worn jeans and a soft-looking flannel that did nothing to hide those shoulders. The blush creeping up his neck when he realized I was half-naked? That was just a bonus.

"Morning, Sheriff." I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. "This a wellness check or are you missing our late-night chats?"

His eyes snapped up from where they'd definitely been checking out my chest. "I, uh-" He cleared his throat. "Thought you might need help getting settled. Took the day off."

That threw me. "You took a day off? For us?"

"Someone's got to show you around properly." He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal, like small-town sheriffs regularly played tour guide to strays they picked up on night patrol. "Unless you've got other plans?"

Through the door behind me, Tommy let out one of his cartoon snores. Jake's expression softened at the sound, and something in my chest twisted.

"Come in," I found myself saying. "Just keep it down. Kid's still out cold."

Jake moved like someone used to being careful - quiet steps, measuring the space before he claimed it. The morning light caught his face as he passed the window, turning those brown eyes almost gold. Made it hard to look away.

"Tea?" I offered, gesturing to the little kitchenette Clara had stocked. "Coffee maker's broken but there's some fancy herbal stuff Tommy's therapist swears by."

"Tea's good." He settled into one of the chairs by the window, and fuck if he didn't make Clara's mismatched furniture look like a deliberate choice instead of small-town necessity.

I busied myself with the kettle, needing something to do with my hands. The room felt smaller with Jake in it, like his presence took up more space than just the physical. Or maybe that was just me, hyper-aware of every move he made.

"You always make house calls this early?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Figured you could use a friendly face after yesterday's excitement."

Right. Yesterday. When I'd basically invited myself to live in his house. Real smooth, Blue.

"About that," I started, but he cut me off.

"Already set up the spare rooms." His certainty knocked me sideways. "Got some old baseball stuff Tommy might like, if that's okay."

The kettle clicked off and I poured hot water over tea bags, buying time to process that. Jake had already prepared for us. Had thought about what Tommy might want.

"You don't have to do all this," I said finally, setting a mug in front of him. "We can figure something else out."

"Already figured out." He wrapped his hands around the mug, and I definitely didn't notice how capable those fingers looked. "Unless you'd rather stay here?"

Tommy snuffled in his sleep, rolling over with the kind of abandon only kids can manage. Jake's eyes tracked the movement, something soft crossing his face.

"He seems peaceful," he said quietly. "Different from yesterday."

"Yeah, well." I sank into the chair opposite him, cradling my own mug. "Just a kid getting to be a kid."

Jake nodded like that made perfect sense. Maybe in his world it did. "Town's good for that. Letting people breathe."

The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable exactly, but charged with something I wasn't ready to name. Morning light painted stripes across the table, across Jake's hands still wrapped around his mug, across the space between us that felt both too wide and not wide enough.

The soft creak of Tommy's door shattered our quiet moment, and I turned to watch my son stumble out, pillow creases still marking his face. His superhero pajamas were twisted sideways - evidence of his usual restless sleep. But then he spotted Jake, and fuck if my heart didn't skip watching his whole face light up.

"Sheriff Jake!" Tommy launched himself forward with that pure kid energy I'd forgotten he had. Since the divorce, he'd gotten so careful around new people, like he was afraid of making the wrong move. But here he was, grinning at Jake like they were long-lost friends.

Jake caught him easily, one hand steadying Tommy's shoulder while the other ruffled his already chaotic hair. "Morning, buddy. Sleep okay?"

"Uh-huh." Tommy nodded enthusiastically. "The bed's bouncy and I could hear birds outside and Dad didn't even tell me to stop jumping on it."

Jake just laughed, this deep genuine sound that did weird things to my chest.

"Your dad's learning to pick his battles," Jake said, throwing me a look that was way too knowing. "Smart man."

Tommy beamed at both of us, and something in my chest cracked open. When was the last time I'd seen him this relaxed around anyone besides me? Vanessa's revolving door of nannies and "child development specialists" had taught him to be guarded, to measure every response. But here he was, chattering away to Jake about birds and bouncy beds like they'd known each other forever.

"Hey sport," I cut in, trying to sound more put together than I felt. "Maybe get dressed before you tell Jake all our secrets?"

"Can I wear my racing shirt?" Tommy bounced on his toes. "The one with your number?"

He still wore my merch proudly, even after everything. "Sure, buddy. Whatever you want."

As Tommy darted back to his room, Jake's eyes met mine. "He's a great kid."

"Yeah." My voice came out rougher than intended. "He makes it easy."

"Unlike some people who speed through small towns at midnight?"

The teasing note in his voice made me grin despite myself. "That was one time."

"So far." But he was smiling too, this small private thing that felt like a secret between us.

Tommy emerged in record time, proudly sporting my old racing number and a pair of jeans that definitely needed washing. But his smile was pure sunshine, and I couldn't bring myself to care about wrinkled clothes.

"Ready for the grand tour?" Jake asked, standing up. "I walked over, but we can take your car if-"

"Let me drive," I offered quickly. Maybe too quickly, but the thought of cramming into my car with Jake's broad shoulders was doing things to my concentration. "Least I can do after you're letting us crash at your place. Though let us get our things first. I was able to head home before getting here and grab some clothes.”

“Sure thing. I’ll help Tommy, if you don’t mind.” Jake offered.

I nodded letting the two spend some time together.

The drive to Jake's house was quiet, filled with Tommy's excited chatter from the backseat and the occasional direction from Jake.

Jake's house sat back from the road, all weathered brick and sturdy practicality. Nothing fancy, but solid. Real. Like him. A worn baseball mitt lay forgotten on the front steps, and actual fucking wind chimes tinkled from the porch ceiling. The whole scene was so perfectly small-town America it almost hurt.

"Home sweet home," Jake said softly, leading us up the steps. The key turned with practiced ease, and then we were stepping into his space - his actual private space - and my heart was doing that weird stuttering thing again.

The living room welcomed us with worn leather furniture and sunlight streaming through clean windows. Photos lined the walls - Jake in uniform, Jake with what looked like his mom, Jake with various townspeople at local events. A bookshelf stuffed with paperback mysteries and police procedure manuals dominated one wall. Everything felt lived-in, cared for. Nothing like the sterile perfection Vanessa had insisted on.

"This is so cool!" Tommy darted from room to room, his excitement echoing off the walls. "Dad, look! There's baseball stuff everywhere!"

"Used to play in college," Jake admitted, rubbing his neck. "Nothing special, but-"

"Are you kidding?" Tommy skidded to a stop, eyes wide. "That's awesome! Can you teach me? Mom says baseball's too dangerous but Dad says-" He caught himself, shooting me a guilty look.

"Your dad's right," Jake said firmly. "Baseball's about as dangerous as you make it. And I've got some old gear that might fit you, if you're interested."

Tommy's whole face lit up, and fuck if that didn't make my throat tight. Jake had thought about this, had planned for my kid's happiness before we even arrived.

"Come on," Jake continued, gesturing down the hallway. "Let me show you your room."

Your room. Not the guest room or the spare room. Your room. Like Tommy belonged here. Like we both did.

The bedroom was clearly meant for a kid - walls painted a soft blue, a desk by the window, even a few model cars displayed on shelves. Jake had obviously cleaned recently, but traces of his life still lingered: a high school trophy on the dresser, a few old comic books stacked neatly in the corner.

"This was your room," I realized aloud. "When you were young."

Jake nodded, something vulnerable crossing his face. "Figured Tommy might like it better than the actual guest room. More character."

Tommy was already exploring, running his hands over everything like he couldn't quite believe it was real. "Look, Dad! There's a baseball diamond right outside the window!"

I moved to look, and sure enough, the backyard offered a perfect view of the local playing field. Kids were already gathering for morning practice, their shouts carrying faintly through the glass.

"Thought he might like watching the Little League games," Jake said quietly. "When they practice. If that's okay."

The simple thoughtfulness of it hit me like a punch to the gut. "Jake, this is-" I had to stop, clear my throat. "This means a lot. More than you know."

His eyes met mine, warm and steady. "Everyone needs somewhere safe sometimes."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning I wasn't ready to examine. Tommy's delighted discoveries provided a welcome distraction - "Dad! There's a desk for my science projects!" and "Look at these awesome car posters!"

Jake showed us the rest of the house. The kitchen with its morning sun and well-used coffee maker, the back porch perfect for quiet evenings, and the bathroom we'd share. Everything practical, everything real.

"I know it's not what you're used to," Jake started, but I cut him off.

"It's perfect." And it was. More perfect than he could know. "Right, buddy?"

Tommy nodded enthusiastically, already arranging his few possessions on the desk.

"Well, these walls have seen plenty of posters over the years. Put up whatever you want, buddy. Just maybe let your dad help with the tape?" Jake offered

Tommy's answering grin could have powered the whole town. He dove back into unpacking, chattering about poster placement and desk arrangements and a million other details that suddenly seemed vitally important to an eight-year-old's happiness.

I found myself hanging back, watching Jake watch my son. There was something about the way he interacted with Tommy - gentle but not condescending, attentive but not hovering. Like he genuinely cared about making this transition easier for a kid he barely knew.

"Stop overthinking it," Jake said quietly, coming to stand beside me. His shoulder brushed mine, sending sparks down my arm. "This is good. For both of you."

"Yeah?" I meant it to sound casual, but vulnerability crept in anyway.

"Yeah." His voice carried absolute certainty. "Sometimes the best things in life are the ones we don't see coming."

We looked at each other for a moment and I couldn’t understand what’s going on in my head when I look at Jake.

"Dad!" Tommy's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Can we get lunch at Sarah's? Sheriff Jake says they have the best grilled cheese ever."

"Jake's right about that," I found myself saying, catching Jake's smile out of the corner of my eye. "But maybe we should finish unpacking first?"

"Already done!" Tommy gestured proudly at his organized chaos. "See? Everything's perfect."

Perfect. Yeah, that was one word for it.

"Ever tried The Grove's pancakes?" Jake asked as we piled back into my car. His suggestion caught me off guard - I'd assumed we'd head to Sarah's again.

"There's another diner?" Tommy perked up in the backseat. "Is it as good as Sarah's?"

Jake twisted around to face him, and fuck if that simple movement didn't make my heart stutter. "Even better, buddy. They make pancakes bigger than your head. Just don’t tell Sarah I said that.”

Tommy's eyes went wide. "No way."

"Would I lie to you?" The warmth in Jake's voice wrapped around us like a blanket. "Plus, they've got this secret blueberry recipe that'll change your life."

"Dad?" Tommy caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Can we try it?"

Like I could say no to either of them. "Lead the way, Sheriff."

The Grove sat tucked between a bookstore and what looked like an ancient hardware shop, its neon sign buzzing cheerfully in the morning light. Nothing fancy - just worn brick and clean windows - but something about it felt instantly welcoming.

A bell chimed overhead as we walked in, and the smell hit me first: butter, coffee, and something sweet that made my mouth water. The breakfast crowd was in full swing, regulars claiming their usual spots with the confidence of long habit.

"Jake Thompson!" A woman's voice rang out from behind the counter. "And company! Well, isn't this a surprise."

The owner - had to be the owner, with that air of authority - bustled over. Her nametag read 'Margaret', but Jake greeted her with a casual "Morning, Mags."

"Your usual booth's open," she said, already grabbing menus. Then she spotted Tommy and her whole face softened. "And who's this handsome young man?"

Tommy, usually so shy around new people, straightened up. "I'm Tommy. Sheriff Jake says you make magic pancakes."

"Magic pancakes?" Mags raised an eyebrow at Jake. "Is that what he's telling people now?"

"Just stating facts," Jake said, grinning. "Remember how many I could put away in high school?"

"Lord, don't remind me. Nearly ate me out of business." She guided us to a corner booth, sunlight streaming through spotless windows. "Coffee for you boys? And what about you, sweetheart? Hot chocolate?"

Tommy looked at me for permission, and my chest tightened. Even something this simple, he needed reassurance. Vanessa's rules about sugar and caffeine had gotten under his skin more than I'd realized.

"Whatever you want, buddy," I said firmly. "No rules today."

His answering smile could have powered the whole damn town.

We settled into the booth, Tommy between us like it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake passed him a menu, but kept talking, pointing out his favorites and making Tommy laugh with stories about epic pancake-eating contests from his youth.

"You really ate twelve pancakes?" Tommy asked, awe coloring his voice.

"And lived to regret it," Jake admitted. "But hey, sometimes you've got to commit to the bit, right? Though the blueberry ones are my favorite, but Mags makes this special apple cinnamon version that's pretty incredible too."

Tommy absorbed every word like Jake was sharing state secrets. "What about chocolate chip?"

"Solid choice." Jake nodded seriously. "Very respectable pancake option. But trust me on the blueberries, okay? They're like tiny bursts of happiness."

"Dad?" Tommy turned those green eyes on me - my eyes, everyone said, though right now they sparkled in a way mine hadn't in years. "Can I try both?"

"Whatever you want, sport." The words came out rougher than intended. "Sky's the limit today."

Jake caught my eye over Tommy's head, something soft and understanding in his expression. He got it - got why this mattered, why watching my son order pancakes without fear of judgment felt like a tiny revolution.

Mags returned with our drinks: coffee for Jake and me, hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream for Tommy. She didn't even blink when Tommy ordered both blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes, just winked and promised extra syrup.

"This is so cool," Tommy whispered once she'd left. "Mom never lets me get two kinds. Says it's ex-excessive." He stumbled over the word, and my heart clenched.

"Well," Jake said easily, "sometimes excessive is exactly what you need. Right, Dad?"

The casual way he said it - 'Dad', like we were all in this together - did something weird to my insides. "Right. And hey, if you can't finish them all, I bet Jake will help."

"Challenge accepted." Jake's grin was infectious. "Though fair warning, I take my pancake duties very seriously."

Tommy laughed again, that pure kid sound I'd missed so much. "Dad, show Jake how you cut them in perfect triangles like the pit crews do!"

"Like pit crews?" Jake's face scrunched in confusion, making Tommy giggle harder.

"You know, fast and precise!" Tommy demonstrated with his fork, making whooshing noises. "Like when they change tires super fast! Dad knows all about it because?—"

"Whoa there, speed racer." Jake held up his hands in mock surrender. "You're gonna have to slow this down for the small-town sheriff who doesn't know much about racing."

Tommy's jaw dropped in exaggerated horror. "Sheriff Jake! Don't you watch any races?" He turned to me, eyes wide. "Dad, we have to educate him. This is an emergency!"

"Clearly." I tried to hide my smile, watching Jake pretend to look appropriately chastised. "A serious law enforcement emergency."

"The most serious," Tommy nodded solemnly before brightening. "Oh! Can we show him the cool videos sometime? The ones with all the?—"

"Maybe after breakfast, champ." My chest felt warm, watching my kid light up like this. "Let's let Jake master pancake aerodynamics first."

"Aerodynamics?" Jake raised an eyebrow, playing along perfectly. "Do I need a special license for that?"

Tommy dissolved into giggles. "No, silly! But Dad says everything's better with proper downforce." He paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "What kind of car do you drive, Sheriff Jake?"

"Just an old truck." Jake shrugged, but his eyes danced with amusement.

"Dad knows all about cars!" Tommy offered eagerly. "He could probably make your truck better! Even though Mom says—" He caught himself, smile faltering slightly.

Jake smoothly redirected, that natural instinct for keeping kids steady showing again. "You know what my truck really needs? An expert opinion on proper siren timing. Think you could help with that sometime?"

I found myself watching them, caught in the easy flow of their interaction. Jake had this way of drawing Tommy out, encouraging without pushing, finding the perfect balance between attention and space. Even when my kid went full car enthusiast on him, he rolled with it, turning his own lack of knowledge into something that had Tommy playing teacher.

"Dad?" Tommy's voice pulled me back. "Can we show Sheriff Jake the simulator sometime? So he learns more about racing?"

"Sure, buddy." The words came easy, watching Jake's fond eye roll. "Though maybe we start him on something simpler first."

"Hey now." Jake pointed his fork at me, trying to look stern but failing. "I'll have you know I dominated the bumper cars at the county fair."

Tommy's laugh bubbled up pure and bright. "That's not the same thing!"

"No?" Jake winked at me over Tommy's head. "Guess I need some professional instruction then."

The pancakes arrived - stacks of golden perfection that made Tommy's eyes go wide - and Jake immediately started arranging them for optimal sharing. He cut Tommy's into perfect triangles, showed him the best syrup-to-butter ratio, and somehow made the whole thing feel like a grand adventure instead of just breakfast.

"See?" Jake said as Tommy took his first bite of blueberry pancake. "What did I tell you? Magic."

Tommy's expression of pure bliss said it all. "Dad, you have to try these!"

Before I could react, he was loading up his fork, holding it out to me with syrupy determination. Something lodged in my throat watching him - this simple act of sharing joy, of wanting me to experience what made him happy.

"Good, right?" Jake's voice was soft, meant just for me, and fuck if that didn't make my heart skip.

"Yeah," I managed, though I wasn't just talking about the pancakes anymore. "Really good."

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of laughter and stolen bites, Jake and Tommy tag-teaming the chocolate chip stack while I pretended to protect my blueberry portion. It felt easy, natural, like we'd been doing this forever instead of just meeting days ago.

Watching them together - Jake teaching Tommy the fine art of creating whipped cream mountains, Tommy soaking up every word like gospel - I felt something shift in my chest. All these months I'd been trying to be everything for my son: father, friend, protector, guide. The weight of it had been crushing me, though I'd never admitted it out loud.

"Ever been to Oakwood Beach?" Jake asked as we finished the last of the pancakes. His casual tone couldn't quite hide the hint of excitement underneath.

Tommy's head snapped up. "There's a beach?"

"About twenty minutes up the coast," Jake said, grinning at his enthusiasm. "Nothing fancy, but the waves are decent."

"Dad?" Tommy turned those hopeful eyes on me. "Can we go? Please?"

I hesitated. We should probably finish unpacking, get Tommy settled, start building some kind of routine. That's what all those parenting books said, right? Structure and stability and all that shit.

But Jake was watching me with this quiet understanding, like he knew exactly what war was playing out in my head. "Weather's perfect for it," he offered. "And everyone needs a beach day sometimes."

Fuck it. "Why not?" The way Tommy's face lit up made any potential custody judge's disapproval worth it. "Though we don't have swim stuff."

"Store on the way," Jake said easily, like he had every detail figured out. Maybe he did.

The drive up the coast felt surreal. Tommy chattered excitedly from the backseat while Jake pointed out local landmarks, and I kept catching myself watching him in the passenger seat. The way sunlight played across his profile, how his hands moved when he talked, the easy smile that seemed permanent now that his sheriff's mask had slipped.

The beach spread out before us, surprisingly empty for such a perfect day. No fancy boardwalk or tourist traps, just clean sand and endless waves. Tommy practically vibrated out of his new swim trunks, waiting for permission to run wild.

"Go on," I nudged him. "Just stay where we can see you."

He took off like a rocket, kicking up sand and letting out a whoop of pure joy that hit me right in the chest. When was the last time I'd heard him sound so free?

"He's a great kid," Jake said softly, settling onto the sand beside me. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, but not so close it felt intentional. "Really great."

"Yeah." My throat felt tight watching Tommy splash through the waves. "He makes it easy."

"That's because of you, you know." Jake's words caught me off guard. "The way you see him, really see him. Not everyone does that for their kids."

Something in his voice made me turn. Jake was staring at the ocean, but his eyes had gone distant, focused on something I couldn't see.

"You're good with him," I said before I could stop myself. "Better than most people. He usually takes forever to warm up to anyone, but with you it's like-" I waved vaguely, not sure how to finish that thought.

Jake's smile had an edge of sadness. "I just don't want any kid to grow up like I did."

The words hung between us, heavy with unspoken history. I wanted to ask, to understand what could make someone as steady as Jake sound so raw. But he was still staring at the waves, shoulders tense like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Dad!" Tommy's shout broke the moment. "Watch this!"

We both looked up to see him attempting what I think was supposed to be a cartwheel. Sand flew everywhere as he tumbled, popping up with the biggest grin I'd seen in months.

"Ten out of ten, buddy!" I called back, and his laugh carried across the beach like music.

"He's fearless," Jake said, that sad edge gone from his voice. "Reminds me of someone else I know who likes to go fast."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." The joke felt natural, easier than addressing whatever moment we'd just had. "Though these days I'm more interested in keeping up with him than breaking speed records."

Tommy ran back to us, dripping and breathless. "Dad! Sheriff Jake! The waves are perfect! Come on!"

"You heard the boss." Jake stood, brushing sand from his shorts. The movement drew my eyes to the solid muscle of his thighs, and fuck, this was getting dangerous. "Race you to the water?"

Tommy took off immediately, Jake close behind. I watched them splash into the surf, their combined laughter rising above the sound of waves. Something warm and terrifying bloomed in my chest - not just attraction, though yeah, that was definitely part of it. But something deeper, more complicated.

Hope, maybe. Or possibility.