Hundred and Seventy Two

Hundred and Seventy Two
By morning, I looked like I’d fought a war last night. I woke up and walked around the house, looking for Declan, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I stopped in front of the mirror in our room. My hair was a tangled mess, my eyes were swollen, and I was wearing Declan’s sweatshirt because it was the closest clean thing I could find, and because it still smelled faintly like him.

Which, annoyingly, made me both comforted and miserable.

Noah had already left, I guess Declan had dropped him off. Fuck, I couldn’t believe I had slept through all that. 

I noticed Declan’s gym shoes weren’t in the shoe rack. Oh, so he was at the gym. Probably blowing off some steam. I decided to wait for him, but after pacing for an hour and almost talking myself out of it twice, I grabbed my keys and drove to Jacob’s place.

I only realised he might be at work when I was almost there.

Thankfully, he wasn’t. The moment he opened the door, coffee mug in hand and wearing that old, faded blue t-shirt that said ‘World’s Best Dad’, I burst into tears.

He froze mid-sip. “Oh, wow. Okay. We’re crying. That’s the vibe today.”

I half-laughed through the sobs. “Don’t start.”

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. Come in, Wills.”

He stepped aside, waving me in with mock drama. “Kitchen therapy or couch therapy?”

“Coffee therapy,” I mumbled.

“Ah, advanced level. Got it.”

He poured me a mug while I slumped onto the couch, curling up into myself. His new apartment smelled like coffee. Safe, familiar, uncomplicated. 

He sat across from me, tucking one leg under the other. “So, which Ashwell broke your heart this time? The big one or the small one?”

“The big one,” I muttered. “The small one just drew a family portrait where everyone had triangle heads and I looked like a mushroom.”

Jacob snorted. “Flattering. He’s not a very good artist, huh.”

“Yeah, well. It’s been that kind of week.”

He didn’t push. Just waited. He’d always been good at that, knowing when I needed silence to gather my thoughts and be able to speak.

Finally, I said, “We fought. Declan and I.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Let me guess…his mother, the custody thing, or… something else?”

“Everything,” I said, sighing. “Mostly the reporter thing at Noah’s school. I panicked. And he got angry. And I got angrier. And now he’s in the guest room.”

Jacob grimaced. “Yikes. That doesn’t sound very good.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I know, I know. But Jacob, it’s not just about him. It’s about Noah. I keep thinking, what if being with Declan ruins things for him? What if I’m
dragging him into a world that will just keep hurting him?”

He didn’t say anything right away, just stirred his coffee thoughtfully. Then, in that calm, maddeningly practical voice, he said, “You know what your problem is?”

I peeked through my fingers. “You’re about to tell me, aren’t you?”

“You think loving someone means keeping them safe from every single possible problem.”

He leaned back, gesturing with his mug. “But sometimes, love’s about holding their hand through the storm. Noah doesn’t need a perfect life, Willow. He needs parents who show up.
Which he does, times three.”

I blinked at him. “You’re including Declan in that?”

He shrugged. “Of course. He’s in it now. Like it or not. And you know what? The guy’s trying. He’s not some rich prick playing savior, he’s learning to be a dad. You should see how he
looks at Noah. It’s like he can’t believe he gets to.”

That did something awful and warm to my chest.

I looked down, my voice surprisingly small. “You’re surprisingly pro-Declan for someone who once called him ‘a plague on your existence’.’”

Jacob laughed lowly. “Yeah, well. He grew on me. Like fungus. Or a dog that chews your shoes but looks really sorry afterward.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “That’s… a weird metaphor.”

“Maybe.” He sipped his coffee smugly. “Look, Willow. You and Declan, yeah, it’s messy. But it’s real. I spent years trying to make something real with you, remember? And even then, I
knew he was the ghost in the room. He’s not anymore. That’s a good thing.”

My throat tightened. “You’re being too nice to me.”

“I’m not. I’m being honest.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You deserve someone who fights for you. Declan’s doing that, even if he’s…dramatic about it.”

“He’s so dramatic,” I muttered.

“Exactly. You need that balance. God knows I hate that man, I always will, a little bit. But one thing I am sure of is you and Noah are in good hands.”

I smiled weakly. “You really believe Noah’s okay? After all this?”

Jacob’s eyes softened. “Willow, that kid has three people who’d walk through fire for him. You think that’s not enough? That’s everything.”

He stood, stretching. “Also, side note, when he’s a teenager, he’s gonna use all this emotional chaos to guilt-trip us for cool sneakers. And so many gadgets.”

I snorted. “He already does that.”

“Then we’re doomed.”

We laughed, and I instantly felt better. 

Jacob had always had this uncanny way of pulling me out of my head and planting me firmly back in the world.

After a moment, I asked softly, “Do you ever wish things had been different? Between us?”

He thought about it. “Sometimes. But not in the way you think.” Then, with that crooked smile that had once made me fall for him, he said, “If things had been different, maybe we wouldn’t have ended up as… weirdly functional co-parents-slash-emotional-support-exes. Which, honestly, might be my greatest achievement.”

I laughed through a tear. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah, but a lovable one.” He paused, “I am glad, that we don’t hate each other.”

“Me too.”

We fell into an easy silence, the kind that only people who’ve been through too much together can share.

Outside, the late morning sun streamed through the window, landing on the half-empty mug in my hands.

Jacob stood, glancing toward the clock. “You gonna call him?”

“Declan?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I groaned. “He’s probably still angry.”

“He’s not angry,” Jacob said, smiling. “He’s scared. There’s a difference. And you scare him more than his mother ever could.”

“Comforting.”

“True.”

He walked me to the door. “Go home, Willow. Apologize. Then make him apologize, too. Then maybe make out or whatever you people do after emotional destruction.”

“Jacob!”

“What? I’m just saying, use your weapons wisely.”

He winked, and I shook my head, laughing as I stepped into the hallway.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

He softened. “Always. Now go fix your life before I regret being mature.”

On the drive home, I replayed his words. Three parents. That’s everything.

Maybe he was right. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw Declan’s car there. The sight made my pulse quicken.

Inside, I could hear him in the kitchen, talking softly on the phone. His voice was low, calmer than it had been in days.

I paused in the doorway, just watching him, the way his shoulders moved when he talked, the faint crease of exhaustion around his eyes.

I saw my home. Under that kitchen light, making his stupid protein shake.