Chapter 13

The warmthfrom the kitchen still lingered as we sat down, the air between us charged with something very new. The cake, fresh from the oven, steamed slightly when I cut into it, its sweet aroma filling the space. I served us both generous slices, accompanied by heavy cream and the rich, comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Melissa would have loved that I was finally acting on what she'd asked me to do, I thought, a pang of sorrow threading through the sweetness of the moment. I glanced at Jackson, who seemed to sense the shift in my mood.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, eyes full of concern.

I nodded, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. "I was just thinking about my wife, Melissa," I admitted, the words feeling both heavy and freeing. "She had a way of making even the simplest moments feel special, and she always wanted me to shake free from the cancer and her leaving."

Jackson reached across the table, his hand brushing mine in a gesture of comfort. "She sounds special," he said.

"She was," I replied, a tiny smile finding its way through the sadness.

"Can you tell me about her?" Jackson's voice was soft, treading lightly on a topic that still felt raw to me. "I'd like to know."

I took a deep breath, the memories flooding back with a clarity that pained me. "We met when I was still at school, childhood sweethearts and all that. She hated hockey; I played hockey. She was clever; me, not so much, so she helped me on a project for Chemistry. Next thing I know, we were engaged and married. I loved her from the first moment I saw her." I huffed a laugh. It really had been love at first sight. "Then, we had the girls, but after Melissa… after she found the lump…" I pressed a hand to my chest. "It was like being hit by a truck. We were in the doctor's office, and they told us… they told us she had six months, maybe a year, with treatment." The words felt heavy on my tongue, each one a reminder of the helplessness I'd felt. "She decided against the treatment, wanted her time with the girls to be at home."

"I can't even imagine how you both felt."

"Lost. Strong. I don't know."

"How did you manage? With the kids being so young?" Jackson's question was gentle.

I chuckled mirthlessly. "‘Manage'? I don't know if I did, really. The four of us focused on making memories, on giving Daisy and Scarlett as much time with their mom as we could. Then, when it got close, we contacted an agency, and Jamie came to the house to help with the girls, temporary at first, and Melissa and me…" Emotion caught in my chest. "She was incredible, right to the end."

"And Jamie stayed?"

"He did. He was with us until we left New York, but he's back now, to stay for good, or so he says."

Jackson nodded; his expression was somber. "And after? How did you…?"

I looked away, finding a spot on the wall to focus on, anything to keep the emotions at bay. "After is a blur. I threw myself into being a dad. It was the only thing that made sense. Grief… it changes you. It's there, always, but you learn to live with it, to build around it."

The room was silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling over us like a blanket.

Jackson finally broke the silence. "Oliver, I can't even begin to imagine what you went through. But I want you to know I'm here. For whatever you need. If you just need a friend in a new city, or you want… something else. I'm here."

"Thank you, Jackson," I said, meeting his gaze. "That means a lot."

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, and it wasn't handed out by rote—he actually meant he was sorry, and sadness flooded his expression.

"She left me with the two most wonderful parts of her—Daisy and Scarlett."

"She did," he said and smiled.

I loved his smile. I didn't want to see him sad.

He continued,"But sometimes, I worry… Am I enough for them? Am I doing this— being a dad— right? And then, I get traded and take the girls from everything they know, then I meet you, and I don't know anything anymore. Everything is upside down."

Jackson squeezed my hand,his gaze steady. "From what I've seen, you're more than enough. I'm not the best at knowing this, but they love you, so I'd say you're a good dad."

His words made me smile, and our fingers stayed laced on the table.

"I still wear my wedding ring." I glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

He shrugged, as if that didn't faze him at all. "It's her connection to you, to the girls. Why would you take it off?"

Oh fuck, he just said the absolutely perfect thing, and I had to change the subject before I completely lost control and demanded he take me upstairs right then.

I made sure our conversation drifted to lighter topics, laughter mingling with the clink of forks on plates. But as the last bites of cake disappeared, Jackson grew quiet, his expression turning serious.

"There was a reason I came here tonight, something I need to tell you," he began, his hand tightening around mine. "Because you're a key witness in the case… I shouldn't even be here. If we… if this," he gestured between us, "is going to be anything, I have to recuse myself."

The weight of his words settled on us, heavy and real. My heart raced, caught between the fear of what losing him could mean and the depth of what I was beginning to feel.

"I want more with you. Not just the kisses, but the cake and the coffee and the stupid messaging." Jackson said, his voice a whisper of certainty. "Do you want more with me? Because if you do, I'm walking into the station tomorrow and taking myself off the case."

The question hung in the air, fraught with implications and possibilities. I looked at him, really looked, seeing not simply the detective or the casual acquaintance from the rink, but the man who'd walked into my kitchen and somehow, unexpectedly, into my heart.

"Yes," I said, the word a testament to everything I felt, everything I hoped for. "I want more with you."

Jackson's smile was like a promise, one I felt down to my bones. We kissed briefly, and it was enough to seal the deal.

He didn't stay—I was alone with my girls, and I needed space.

I think he needed space.

Only, he had a hard time leaving—or I had a hard time letting him go. I found myself pinned against the cool wall, the texture of the paint barely registering against my back as Jackson's body pressed close to mine. His hands were firm on my waist, drawing me in, eliminating any space that remained between us. The urgency of this goodbye kiss caught me off guard and it was as if the world outside this bubble we'd created had ceased to exist.

Jackson's mouth moved against mine and the kiss deepened, but slowed, and I found myself responding with equal passion, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, as if I could somehow merge us into one. His scent enveloped me, a mix of the crispness from the outside air and something uniquely him, intoxicating and grounding all at once.

Time seemed to warp, moments stretching out as I sunk into the kisses.

We finally parted, foreheads resting together as we caught our breath. His beautiful green eyes, when they met mine, were a storm of emotions, and he pressed himself against me, our cocks hard.

"What you do to me," he whispered, then brushed his thumb across my cheek. "Oliver," he whispered, my name on his lips sounding like a vow. He moved a little. I leaned back, and all too soon, we were kissing and grinding slow and steady against each other. I laced my hands behind his neck and held him there, the kisses becoming nothing more than exchanging tender words in the darkness of the hallway.

"Fuck," I muttered, closing my eyes, so close just from this.

"Open your eyes, Oliver," he ordered in the softest tone, and I opened them as he captured one last kiss. And then, we were coming where we stood, arching into each other, losing our heads completely.

We stood for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, but then it was time for him to leave, and I had to let him go.

"Eww," I joked.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. "At least you don't have to drive home in it," he deadpanned.

One more kiss.

Then another.

And finally, he left.