Page 115 of Deacon

Her brows rose as she came closer. “Food?”

He smirked, clearly pleased he had found the right currency. “Best kind.”

Jade opened the box right there, and the pleased little sound she made almost hid the question. “Donuts?”

“From that bakery Blue found,” he said as he came inside. Once the door was clear, he added, “Kinsley & Peanut’s. Rook’s got a thing for their triple chocolate peanut butter muffins. Won’t let anybody near ’em. Mean bastard acts like they’re protected property.”

That pulled a real laugh from her, and some tension eased out of Jackson. I shut the door while Jade carried the box to the couch. His attention flicked to me before returning to her, as if he was still learning how to divide himself between us.

Jade chose a glazed donut with chocolate icing and inspected it like proof of his progress. “You got the good kind.”

His mouth tipped at one corner. “I’m learnin’.”

“I can see that.” Dry as the words were, there was a smile beneath them, and Jackson caught it.

For one painful second, I saw the life that should have been ordinary: Jackson walking into a kitchen with donuts for our daughter, Jade giving him attitude, me pretending not to enjoy any of it. I hated when my mind built those ghosts. They always looked too much like home.

Jackson took the far end of the couch and left the space between them for Jade to close. Eventually she shifted nearer while he asked about school and let her decide how much to give him. She talked about teachers, unfamiliar hallways, and what she liked better than expected. He listened without prying, hearing the gaps too. Her school life had already become something he tracked because it mattered to him.

I escaped to the kitchen before standing there became too much like watching something private. The sink was empty and the counter already clean, so naturally I started wiping it again while their conversation carried in from the living room.

“...and the art teacher actually knows what she’s talking about, She said my lines were clean and precise.” Pride slipped through Jade’s voice despite how casual she tried to sound.

Jackson answered with a low note of approval. “That helps.”

Jade didn’t hesitate this time. “A lot.” Whatever else was still wrong with her, this subject belonged to a part of her that felt steady.

Jackson must have heard the pride too, because he stayed with the subject instead of moving on. “What kind of stuff do you like doing most?” The question sounded casual, but he asked it like the answer mattered.

A small pause followed. Jade rarely showed people the parts of herself she cared about most, even when she wanted them noticed. “Drawing, mostly.”

“Yeah?” Jackson’s interest stayed easy, giving her room instead of demanding more. “What do you draw?”

Jade answered with the dry humor she used whenever sincerity got too close. “People sometimes. Eyes a lot. Hands when I hate myself.” She could joke about the frustration because admitting how much the work mattered would have left her more exposed.

His laugh came low and warm rather than dismissive. “Hands’ll do that.”

“Exactly.” Jade laughed too, softer now, and I heard some of the caution leave her voice. Jackson had found another place where she was willing to let him in.

He gave her enough quiet to decide whether she wanted to keep talking before asking, “You any good?” The challenge in it was light, almost teasing.

“I’m not terrible.” Translation: she knew she was good and wanted him to figure that out without making her say it.

His grin was audible from the kitchen. “That so?” He sounded exactly like a father calling his daughter on false modesty, and the normality of it caught me off guard.

Jade kept the modesty act going. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m amazing.”

“But you’re thinkin’ it.” He had her figured out quickly enough to make her laugh again, and the pride beneath his teasing was impossible to miss.

When the laughter faded, his voice gentled. “You gonna let me see some of it sometime?” He didn’t ask to be handed everything at once. Just one more piece.

The silence that followed had a different weight. “Maybe,” Jade said, and for her, maybe was permission cracked open.

Jackson understood that too. “Alright. I’ll take maybe.”

I paused over the same spotless patch of counter and closed my eyes for half a second. Their laughter shouldn’t have hurt. It was exactly what I wanted for her. Somehow that made the ache sharper, and I called toward the living room before I could sink too far into it. “You want anything?”

“Coffee,” Jackson said immediately, because apparently being injured and stubborn also made him predictable.