Chapter 17

The shiftfrom intimacy to chaos was jarring. Lying there with Jackson, I felt my world was good, and I'd even used the L word, until his phone shattered the silence. I'd watched the change in Jackson's expression as he listened to the voice on the other end, the tension in his jaw, the sudden hardness in his eyes. When he hung up, his gaze met mine, heavy with a weight he seemed unsure how to share.

"Lazlo got shot, and someone tied up the security guard," he finally said, his voice low, the words hitting me like a physical blow. Lazlo was always eager to help, always with a smile ready, despite the chaos he sometimes faced. It made little sense.

"What?"

"I know I'm off this case, but…" He stared at me for a moment. "I have to go."

"Of course, I get it, I?—"

"I need to take you home," he said, already up and getting dressed.

I scrambled to follow, yanking on my wrinkled shirt as my mind raced with questions and a sinking feeling of dread.

"I want to come with you," I began, but he pressed a finger to my lips and shook his head. There was so much unspoken in that moment. It wasn't my place to rush to a crime scene. I wasn't a cop. This was a friend of mine. This was something to do with the clinic, but worse was that if I went, I might compromise something. "I wish I could go with you," I amended, and couldn't help feeling sidelined when it mattered most.

In his car, the conversation shifted rapidly to Lazlo's condition, the senseless violence, and what it might mean for the clinic. Each question I posed seemed to weigh heavier on Jackson, his responses short, tinged with anger and resolve. He couldn't tell me anything, and the last thing he needed was me asking anything.

When we reached my gate, he unbuckled his seatbelt as I did mine, then dragged me over to him, kissing me deeply and holding me tight as if he never wanted to let me go. The kiss felt like a promise, but it was also me asking him to stay safe.

Then, he was gone, leaving me in the dark, both literally and metaphorically.

Standing there, watching the taillights disappear, I felt a mix of emotions. Concern for Lazlo, frustration at being left behind, and a nagging fear for Jackson's safety. The night that had started with such promise had taken a dark turn, leaving me upside-down. I punched in the gate code, then waited until it closed behind me before trudging up to the house.

Back inside, the familiar sounds of the Great British Baking Show filled the living room and Jamie was there, his long frame stretched out on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand, completely absorbed in the show. The normalcy of the scene felt almost jarring.

As soon as I walked in, Jamie's attention snapped to me, his relaxed demeanor changing instantly as he scrambled to his feet. "Back already? Shit, you look knackered?" he blurted out, ready to spring into action. "What did hot-cop do?"

I slumped to the other end of the sofa, and Jamie must have seen something in my expression because he paused, then his gaze shifted, landing somewhere on my throat. His eyes narrowed, and a smirk slowly spread across his face as he pressed a hand to his neck. "Hmm, is that a birthmark? Or did Jackson take a bite out of you?"

Horrified, I reached up to cover the mark, feeling my face heat.

"So, I take it you did the nasty?" he poked, but I couldn't bring myself to banter. "Oli? You're worrying me. If you're home, then where's the cop, and why do you look like death warmed over?"

"Shit, J," I muttered and bent over my knees, my chest tight.

"Was he terrible in bed?" Jamie teased, but his tone was filled with concern.

"No," I said, though my voice sounded weak.

Jamie's expression softened as he took in my state, the jesting falling away. "Ollie, mate, talk to me. You look like you've been through the wringer."

His concern was genuine, and the events of the night replayed in my mind. Each minute with Jackson, the call about Lazlo, the sudden and stark end to the evening, I kept going over every moment.

"Someone shot one of the staff at the clinic—Jackson had to leave, and he gave me a ride back."

"What? Who?"

"Lazlo."

"The young guy at reception?"

"Yeah, he's a good kid. Young, motivated, and he loves working there, and I was only talking to him a few days ago." I closed my eyes and covered them with my hands. "Someone's shot him."

The room fell silent except for the muffled voices on the TV. Something about raspberry and white chocolate and one presenter wearing a floppy hat. What that had to do with baking I didn't know, but Jamie and the girls loved this show. Jamie's hand landed on my shoulder, a silent message of support, and he squeezed.

"Christ, Oli, that's rough." Jamie's voice was low, the usual playful edge gone.

I nodded, feeling the full weight of the evening. I dropped my hands and opened my eyes, meeting Jamie's gaze. "I don't understand it, Jamie. The clinic, it's a haven, a place that's supposed to be above all the… the violence and darkness of the streets. Lazlo, he's just like Joe, someone who wants to make things better."

"Was he shot at the clinic?" Jamie asked, and I had to admit, I didn't know.

"I guess so. Jackson said the security guy had been knocked out, so yeah, the clinic, Jackson wouldn't tell me anything."

"It could have been a drive-by." Jamie shuddered. "I've lived in the US for eight years, and I still don't get the gun thing," he murmured. Then he shook his head, his expression grim. "Some people want to watch the world burn. Doesn't matter who gets caught in the flames."

The bitterness in his tone matched the helplessness I felt. Lazlo, with his whole life ahead of him, suffered, and now, the man I loved was out there trying to fix the broken things.

The man I loved.

"I told Jackson I was falling for him," I whispered.

Jamie blinked at me, then muted the TV. "Really?"

"I still have Melissa in here." I pressed a hand to my heart. "And sometimes I have these dreams and she's telling me she wants me to be happy, but it all seems impossible."

"Aww, Oli," Jamie sighed. "I know it isn't easy, but Melissa was all about love, and she'd want you to find someone to make you happy."

"I know."

"And does this idiot cop of yours make you happy?"

"Yeah."

Jamie nodded in all seriousness, then grinned, poking his glasses up and punching me in the arm.

"Go, Oli!" he said, and gave me that awful fake-crowd noise he did whenever he celebrated. I'd noticed Scarlett did the same thing, absolutely besotted with her Uncle Jamie. Then, he curled on his side and picked up his tea, sipping it and wrinkling his nose. "Cold." He headed out to the kitchen, but stopped at the door. "Want a cuppa? Coffee?"

I pressed a hand to my belly. I felt nauseous.

"Water is good." I followed him out, added, "Give me five."

Heading upstairs, I checked on Daisy first. She was my chaos-girl, the covers everywhere, sprawled across the mattress, her hair in disarray, a book under one hand and her beloved Annie-bear tucked into her side. Annie-bear was something Melissa and I had given her when she was only a year old, a fluffy teddy with enormous amber eyes. Melissa kissed the bear every time Daisy asked her to. I made sure to kiss Annie-bear now, tucking her in with Daisy, then covering her with the quilt and pressing a similar kiss to my baby girl.

"Love you," I whispered.

"Daddy," she mumbled in her sleep, and my already full heart just expanded a little more. I'd do anything to keep her and Scarlett safe, and it hurt that they'd already lost their mom. What were Lazlo's parents thinking right now? Did they know? Were they scared? Was he still alive?

I shook away the thoughts, drew the door nearly closed, then headed to Scarlett's room. She was the neat sleeper, and her room was immaculate. The therapist we saw as a family after Melissa's diagnosis explained that this was partly about control, and mostly, the way Scarlett was. I crouched by her bed, taking in the face that was so much like Melissa's, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Love you," I murmured and stroked the hair from her face.

I loved them so much. So, was there enough capacity in my heart for more love? Would I have to shift out some of the grief that still lived there to make space for Jackson? I had to do the right thing for my kids, and was bringing a cop into the house the right thing? What if someone shot him tonight while he was out? What if being a cop got him killed? Could my heart handle losing someone else? Could the kids handle losing another parental figure?

Was I getting ahead of myself?

With a sigh, I headed back downstairs, catching the time on the wall clock. Why did it feel as if days had passed?

Because everything had changed.

"We need to talk about this falling for the cop thing," Jamie said when I was back in the kitchen.

"Nothing much to say," I said, and Jamie rolled his eyes.

"Sit. I want to hear everything."

So, I told him, and he smiled, and by the time I went to bed, he'd managed to calm me down and make me see I hadn't fucked things up. Still, I didn't sleep well, and my first thoughts when I woke up were about Lazlo and Jackson. I scrambled for my phone to stop my alarm and saw a simple message.

Jackson: L's okay. Security guard okay. Talk later X

I rapidly tapped out a reply.

Oliver: Thank you for letting me know. Stay safe X

I loved that we both sent kisses, because somehow, in all of this, it meant something. Jamie and the girls were making breakfast, and I kissed and hugged both of my daughters before tousling Jamie's perfect hair and earning a growl.

"Leave it, you arsehole! I have a meeting for a research project." He wore a green waistcoat over a snowy white shirt. The waistcoat had gold-colored thread in a random pattern, and he rocked the style, embracing his eccentric Brit persona, complete with nerdy professor glasses. He looked like an academic dressed like this, and he was so damn clever. His area of specialty was math, but not just math—incomprehensible-to-anyone-normal math.

"Math?" I asked innocently, and Scarlett giggled.

"It's maths, and you know it," Jamie fake-snarled and passed me a mug of coffee.

"Math," I replied. "Right, girls?"

"Yep," Scarlett said, her smile widening.

"Maths, with an s, is short for mathematics, heathen," Jamie began with exaggerated patience and sipped his tea, his eyes bright with the familiar teasing. I needed this right now.

* * *

The video room was dim,the glow from the screen casting us all in a bluish light. Clips from the New York versus Carolina game flickered across it, showing New York's aggressive play and the decisive saves of their goalie. The guys were focused, analyzing the play-by-play, while Coach pointed out the strengths and how New York had exploited Carolina's weaknesses.

"They won this one because their goalie's on a hot streak right now, but watch his left hand, there's a delay," one of the assistant coaches said, rewinding the footage to highlight the point.

I nodded along, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying the previous night's events. Lazlo's face, so full of life every time I saw him at the clinic, was now overshadowed by the news of the shooting. The reality of violence had shaken me more than I wanted to admit.

"Cowen!" Coach's voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present. "Mind joining us here?"

I straightened up, realizing I'd been called out. The room turned to me, waiting.

"Anything you want to add about their goalie?" Coach asked, his eyes sharp.

I quickly gathered myself, needing to lighten the mood and steer away from my distracted silence. "What, you mean, apart from his insane love of Milk Duds and a need to swim naked?" I quipped.

Laughter broke out, rippling through the room, a welcome release from the tension.

Coach shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips despite the attempt to stay serious. "All right, focus up. Let's use what we know; do you have anything useful?"

"Yeah, he gets cocky in the third period if NY is up by two," I added, and Coach nodded at me for that valuable insight.

As the session continued, I forced myself to concentrate, absorbing every play, every move. This was my team now, and if we were going to win against my former teammates, I needed to be fully present, to bring everything I had to the ice.

And not to think about falling in love, or Lazlo getting shot, or worrying about grief, or thinking the worst in every freaking scenario.

I had to stay in the present, and right now, that was hockey.

Still, that didn't stop me from staring at my phone when I got the chance.

Because I was falling hard, and it felt a lot like love.