Jackson jerked back in his chair, leather creaking beneath him. The reaction would’ve been comical if my heart wasn’t trying to pound its way out of my chest.
“How pregnant?”
“Twenty-four weeks.”
The math clicked behind his eyes. “So it’s yours, then.”
My stomach twisted. “Not necessarily.”
I watched his expression shift as he processed everything I’d confessed during our sessions at Harbor Hall—the drinking, the blackouts, the mess I’d made of things with Elena. The moment it all connected, his eyes went wide.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Pretty much.”
“How long has it been? Since you had a drink?”
The number came easily—I’d been counting each day. “Ninety-one days.”
Pride bloomed across his face, softening the usual stern lines. “Shit, Chase. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
There it is.
The warmth in his voice made me want to squirm. Some might’ve called his cursing and casual demeanor unprofessional, but they’d never understood what I needed. Jackson had always been real—calling me on my bullshit while showing me exactly who I could become.
I cleared my throat, deflecting again. “Well, hold on to your horses, because I not only got one job, but two. And a sponsor. Go me.”
“That’s great, but don’t think we are done talking about this pregnancy.”
I shifted in my seat, sadly unable to escape his knowing look. “There’s not much to say right now. It’s a girl, she’s due March 26. It might be my baby, it might not. We haven’t talked about it much. The first day I saw her, she fucking collapsed in my arms and let out what seemed like twelve weeks of tears.”
Jackson nodded, his expression softening. “Makes sense. You were her safe space. She probably didn’t have a shoulder to cry on until you came home.”
“Nah, she still had Tessa.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “From what you’ve told me, she and Tessa are very close, but you knew her worst demons before her best friend ever did. She trusted you to keep her safe long before she was pregnant.”
My chest tightened as I remembered all the ways I’d failed her. “Yeah, and look at what a bang-up job I did.”
Jackson leaned back, fixing me with that look that meant he was about to call me on my bullshit. “Let’s talk about what you’re doing now. Two jobs, regular meetings, a sponsor. That’s not nothing, Chase.”
“It’s not enough.” The words were snappy—not at him, but at myself. “Not after everything she’s been through. Everything I put her through.”
“And what does Elena think about your efforts?”
I shifted again. What was it with fucking therapists and their questions? Can’t a man just self-loathe in peace?
“We haven’t really talked about it. I mean, I fix things around her house when I can. Make sure she’s safe. But...”
“But you’re avoiding the real conversations,” Jackson finished for me.
“I don’t want to push her.” My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the armrest again. “She’s got enough stress with the baby and everything.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe Elena needs to see you can handle the hard conversations now? That you’re strong enough to face things head-on instead of avoiding them or drowning them?”
The truth of his words would have knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting. All this time, I’d been trying to prove myself through actions—jobs, repairs, sobriety. But maybe what Elena really needed was for me to show up emotionally, to be present for the scary parts, the uncertain parts.
Jackson checked his watch. “Our time’s about up, but think about this: sometimes the strongest thing you can do is just show up and be vulnerable. No fixing required.”
