APRIL

The thought had been ruminating in the back of my mind for a while - whether or not it was okay that we were still at Jackson's house. I had convinced myself it was fine, but the two of us sleeping together tipped it over the edge.

Saige's outbursts at school only made it worse, and that more than anything made it clear that this can't continue. For her sake and the sake of the trial, whatever is happening between Jackson and me has to stop.

"Move back home?" he says, and I realize we're having this conversation naked, in the back seat of his car, while he's inside me. They're not ideal circumstances, but we're not well-versed in those.

"I… yeah," I say, rotating my hips. Though the conversation has turned serious, he's still hard. That doesn't go unnoticed by either of us.

"Why?"

"You know why," I say, massaging his shoulders while I slow my hips and look at his face. "With Saige saying the things she did... it's confusing for her, for both of them." I let out a soft sigh. "It's confusing for me."

"Well, me too," he says, eyebrows furrowing. "But I told you last night that I loved you, and you said it back. What's that mean, then?"

"I don't know," I say, and it's the truth. I don't know anything for certain right now, not until my life settles down. "And did you wanna stop, or…" I glance to where we're joined and begin to lift off of him, but he keeps me in place with both hands on my waist.

"No," he says, then flips us so my back is against the cool leather of the seat.

With one leg braced on the floor and the other knee bent against the seatback, he positions his body over mine and rocks his hips in a steady rhythm. He rests one hand next to my head and uses the other to prop up the small of my back, arching it closer to him.

"You get why, right?" I ask, tilting my head as he pushes deeper.

"I don't wanna talk about it right this minute," he says, jaw clenched. "Can we just…?"

"Yeah."

I wrap my arms around his neck and submit my body to him, kissing his face while he makes a home inside me and lets me know what will always be his. I can tell, just by the way he moves, that he's staking his claim. He's telling me without words that he wants to be my only one, and I want the same. I really do. I know we're meant to be together, to share a life, to share our children. I don't want him with anyone else either, but timing never seems to work in our favor.

And I have to think of the bigger picture at the moment, which is Saige's quality of life and her future. I can't let my feelings for Jackson cloud my judgment and allow my baby to get taken away.

I don't want to lose Jackson, though, either. I already lost him once, and I can't let it happen again. It was the worst mistake of my life, letting him go, although it did lead me to Saige. If I let myself start thinking about 'what-ifs,' then I'll end up in a rabbit hole deeper than what I bargained for. It's easy to say that everything happens for a reason, that's what God teaches. But it's hard to know that reason when what could've been is staring you in the face.

"April," he grunts. "Come back."

I realize I must have gone dreamy and gotten lost in my own thoughts. He's always had the ability to recognize when I do that, and it makes me smile - just softly, barely there.

"I'm here," I say.

He meets my eyes for a long moment, then drops his head to plant kisses along my jawline and neck. "I can't get there," he says. "I'm… my head won't shut up."

"Mine, either," I say.

"But I don't wanna stop," he says, breathless as he still thrusts into me. "If we aren't gonna be able to…"

"I don't, either," I say, digging the pads of my fingers into his back. "But there's not enough room, and my back is getting burned." I drum my fingers on his shoulders as his hips have stilled. "Can we go home? Do you have time?"

He nods and pulls out, still hard as he tucks himself into his boxers and pants. I put on my shirt without bothering with a bra, and button my jeans as I get comfortable in the front seat.

He turns the radio on as we drive, and I look over and feel guilt settle in the base of my throat. I'm the one making all the decisions, jerking him around, letting him know when I need him and when I don't. It shouldn't be like this, I know, but there's not another option while all this is going on. I'm doing the right thing by moving out and not stringing him along anymore, though it might be the most difficult emotionally for both of us. But for our mental health, it's the best choice.

I reach to rest a hand on his thigh, rubbing it smoothly while he drives. His eyes flit to me, narrowed a bit, and a smirk plays at the corners of his lips.

"Remember that one time?" he says.

My cheeks flash red, because I know exactly what he's talking about. "No," I say.

"You do," he says. "Best road head I've ever gotten."

I shake my head with my lips pinched together. "So messy," I say.

"That's the best part," he says, with a wink. "Wanna try again?"

"No," I say, but move my hand inward to cup his erection over his pants. I squeeze generously, working the shaft with a firm hand, and he bites his lower lip.

"Damn you, April," he says, eyes jumping between my face and the road. "Fuck."

I giggle darkly and unzip his jeans with ease, unbuttoning them after, then slip inside to continue the motion over his boxers. He throbs in my grip, ready for action, and I keep my pace as slow as possible. I want to drag it out, to torture him. I don't want him to come, that's not my goal. I convince myself that I'm just keeping him warm until we get home.

He clenches the steering wheel with all he's got, twisting it in his hands as I play with the head of his dick and run my thumb over the tip.

"April," he warns, as I trace it with one finger and find the vein I love. "You have to stop."

"Why?" I ask, leaning over to press a slow kiss to his cheek. "Don't you like it?"

"Yes," he says. "But I like it too much."

"Oh," I say, then yank the waistband of his boxers down and tug him out - going against what he'd just said, he lifts his hips to help me with positioning. "Mmm, just look at you."

He closes his eyes for a moment while we're at a red light, and I pump him casually, using the other hand to massage his balls. He presses on the gas a little too hard and we jolt forward, which makes me chuckle, and I hold him a bit tighter and tease the head, then double over and take it in my mouth like I just said I wouldn't do.

"Jesus Christ," he says, one hand firm on the back of my skull. His voice is strained and forced, like he's about to climax any second, and that's not far from the truth. As I suck on the head and tease the shaft with two fingers, his hips jolt up and he spills into my mouth.

I swallow some of it, but due to the angle we're at, a lot slips out of my mouth to coat my chin and lips. What didn't make it there still shines on the surface of his dick, as the remnants leak out.

While rubbing his thigh, I lick him clean and he makes all sorts of sounds above me. We've stopped again, so I take his chin with one hand kiss him hard, feeling proud of myself.

"You just said you weren't gonna do it," he says, dick still out.

"I'm full of surprises, I guess," I say, then shrug. "You deserved it."

"Deserved it," he repeats. "What was it, a prize?"

"No," I say. "But you've been so good to me lately. And I haven't done anything for you."

"April," he says, glancing at me for a quick second before facing forward again. "This isn't a tit for tat situation. You don't have to thank me with road head for taking in my best friend. Amazing road head, yes. But… that's not how it works."

"I know," I say.

He shakes his head. "I don't think you do. I'm not doing this for any… I don't have any ulterior motives. I just love you. That's it."

He doesn't look at me when he says it, but the words hit like a ton of bricks. It puts me in such a difficult situation because I feel the same way, but we can't exist in a vacuum.

"I just love you, too," I say.

"Enough to give me road head, which you hate," he says, with a laugh.

"We can talk about all this, you know," I say. "I feel like I'm the one making all the decisions. We should have a two-way conversation."

"Sure," he says, as we pull up in the driveway of the house I've become so familiar with. "But… can it wait 'til after?"

Once we get in the house, our clothes stay by the front door and we end up in his bedroom. He bends me over and buries himself in me - condom included - without much waiting or warning. I let myself fall forward onto my elbows as he takes me, slamming his hips against mine in a rough manner, but not one without rhythm. I grip the comforter tight in both fists and let my eyes roll back, shivering as the beginning of my orgasm ripples through me and finds its way to every nerve ending.

My muscles contract first, tightening around him as if even subconsciously I don't want to let him go. Then, they turn to jelly and my knees go so weak he has to hold me up until he comes, too.

"That was what I wanted," he mutters, kissing his way down my back and nipping small sections of skin. "Not a rushed fuck in the car."

"Mmm…" I hum, rolling over bare and open. "Come here."

He gets on the bed, too, naked as I am. He pulls me close and pets my hair out of my face, then kisses the spot between my eyebrows.

"I don't want you to go," he says, lips barely moving.

"I know," I say, running my nails gently over his facial hair. "But right now, I don't think there's a way I could stay. You know?"

He nods. He understands. But sometimes, it's not about understanding. It's about knowing one thing for certain and feeling another, and not being able to decide which to listen to - your head or your heart.

"I know," he says.

When I pick up Harriet and Saige from school, both of them have roving eyes, looking around like something might be missing. And to them, something - or rather, someone - is.

"Where's Daddy?" Harriet asks, falling into step on my right side and taking my hand. "Are we meeting him at home?"

"Him working late?" Saige pipes up from my left, small fingers intertwined with mine on that side.

"No, actually," I say, steeling myself for the delivery of the news. "We're actually going home to Mommy's house. We're not gonna stay with Daddy anymore."

Harriet stops dead in her tracks, feet planted defiantly. That causes Saige to mirror her actions, though she might not be completely sure why.

"No!" Harriet exclaims. "I wanna go home to Daddy's."

"You will," I say. "On Friday, like usual."

"No!" she shouts again. "Like we did. All of us, together. Like you were Mommy and Daddy."

I lick my lips and bring up the words I knew I'd have to use. I prepared for opposition like this, especially from her. But being a little sister, Saige copies mostly everything Harriet does. I knew I'd get it from her, too, but only secondhand.

"It's not gonna be like that anymore," I say. "At least, not for right now. I have a lot of other stuff going on, and we need to get back to our house and get things sorted out there. We haven't been there for a really long time."

"I don't wanna go there!" Saige interjects.

"You don't have a choice," I say, turning stern. "Neither of you do. Now, can you please get in the car?"

"I'm only going to Daddy's house. Not yours," Harriet says, arms crossed. "I want all of us to be there. I don't wanna be splitted up! It's not fair. None of my friends have splitted up parents, and it's your fault! You're making us go back home."

"Hattie," I say, a big lump appearing in my throat. "I'm very, very sorry that Daddy and I confused you-"

"You were in the same bed like a mommy and a daddy!" she insists. "I saw it! We saw your booty!"

"This morning," Saige adds. "I gotted in trouble."

"Yes, and we have to talk about that," I say, looking at her pointedly before shifting the attention back to her sister. "Harriet, baby. I'm sorry we confused you. Believe it or not, grown-ups make mistakes, too. All the time."

"What was the mistake you did?" she asks, clearly not grasping what I'm trying to say. I know I'm not saying it right. I'm not doing anything right lately, with anyone.

I take a deep breath. "Your daddy helped us when we really needed it. Now, we're doing okay and we're good to be on our own now. Back to our house, where we can figure stuff out. And when Dad and I are ready… I don't know. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Harriet puffs out her lips, eyebrows set low. In this moment, she is Jackson's twin. "I'm not okay," she says, defiantly. "I want Daddy."

I'm stubborn, and Jackson is, too. Somehow, the child we created was born even more headstrong and unyielding than both of us put together, and that's saying something.

"I'm sorry, sister, but all you got is me tonight," I say, knowing I can outwit her. She's five. I'm not the type of parent to give in to silly near-tantrums like this. "So, you can both either walk with me to the car, or I'll carry you. And if I have to carry you, you won't like how tonight looks when we get home. Time-outs for everyone, and iPads taken for a week."

Harriet's cheeks flush and her eyes shine with tears. Saige watches her, waiting for her sister's next move to see how she should move forward.

"You're mean!" Harriet growls, fists clenched by her side.

Saige looks between the two of us, unsure of how to proceed. Eventually, she breaks and scurries towards me, arms outstretched so I'll carry her.

"Harriet, are you coming?" I ask.

She doesn't answer, but her heavy footsteps tell me all I need to know. I lift Saige off the ground like she'd asked, and she immediately wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck, pulling herself close like a monkey.

"No fair!" Harriet whines once we get to the car. "You carried her. And you said whoever gets carried gets no iPad. So, Saigey gets no iPad!"

"Harriet Samantha," I say, kneeling to her level while Saige clambers into her car seat. "Who makes the rules? Me, or you?"

She pinches her lips and blinks hard, narrowing her eyes. I don't wait for her answer.

"I do," I say. "And your sister cooperated while you stood there and fought with me."

"She did not!" she opposes.

"I'm done arguing," I say, trying to keep my voice even though it badly wants to wobble. "Get in the car. Now."

"I don't like you, mommy," Harriet says, wavering as she starts to cry while buckling herself in. "I really, really, really don't like you."

"That's fine," I say, gritting my teeth to keep my composure.

Harriet has a mind of her own, but it's not like her to act out like this. At the end of the day, all the blame comes back to me. I know that much, and it only makes the situation worse.

Harriet storms upstairs when we get home, and I don't stop her. Saige stays with me downstairs in the drafty house, and I open some windows to get a spring breeze flowing in. The air is stagnant and old-smelling. Everything in here reminds me of him.

"Saigey," I say, after I'm done doing what I can for our living space. I already ordered a pizza on the way home, and all we have to do is wait for it.

She looks over from her spot on the middle of the rug in the living room. Her hair is tousled in the two braids I put it in this morning, frayed around her ears.

"I need to talk to you about today," I say, walking over. I sit down in the armchair and she crawls over quietly, pulling herself onto my lap.

"I was bad," she says, looking down out of shame. She picks at something on her dress and doesn't lift her head. "Then you got mad and sissy got mad."

"Hey," I say, very gently. I touch her chin and lift her face. "I'm not mad at you. I just need to know that you learned your lesson. That we don't talk about that kind of stuff at school?"

She nods. I close my eyes to try and think of some way to explain this morning in a way she'll understand. It's difficult, because I'm not even sure I understand.

"This morning, Jackson and I were in bed together and you saw us. And I wasn't wearing any pants!" I widen my eyes for effect, and she giggles. "I'm sorry you saw that. We should've locked the door. It wasn't for little eyes to see, and I'm sorry it confused you. But sometimes, grown-ups do funny things. And to kids, it's so, so, so weird, right?" She nods. "But I don't want you to worry about it. Me and Jackson will figure it out. It's not for you to think about, okay?"

"I didn't even thinked about it again, mommy, not all day," she says. "I just thinked about it right now 'cause you talked about it."

I smile and kiss her cheek. "Okay," I say. "Are you alright, then?"

"I'm good," she says. "Except I falled down and got another Band-Aid at recess and I bleeded a little. It still hurts."

She lifts her knee, where I see a blue bandage. I give it a firm kiss, and she smiles when I pull away.

"Magic Mommy kisses," I say, nuzzling her nose with mine.

Before the pizza comes, I turn on a TV show for Saige and make my way upstairs. I'm not content if Harriet and I aren't on good terms; I have to smooth things over. It's not fair to hold her accountable for being confused and upset. She's only five years old.

I knock on her closed door, but she doesn't answer. I push it open to find her laying in bed, facing the wall with a stuffed animal in her arms, legs pulled up to her chest.

"Lovey," I say, padding over. "It's Mama."

She doesn't move or give any sort of response. This might be the angriest she's ever been at me - the first time I've gotten the silent treatment, though I'm sure it won't be the last.

I sit on the edge of the bed and lay a hand on her side. I almost expect her to shove it away, but she doesn't. She lets it stay.

"I'm sorry we fought," I say, very quietly. "I don't want us to be mad at each other."

She breathes a little deeper and adjusts her grip on the stuffed animal, which I now see is a bunny. She runs its soft ears through her fingers repeatedly, and I mimic the motion over her ribcage.

"I love you, baby," I say. "And I don't like yelling at you. I'm sorry for how that happened, and I'm sorry for springing the news on you like I did. It probably didn't feel good."

"It didn't," she murmurs.

"I know," I sigh, and leave a big pocket of silence between us. "Things are confusing right now for everyone, and you're caught in the middle, aren't you? That can't feel good. And staying at Daddy's felt really good, when all of us were there. But that just can't happen right now. I don't know what the future will look like, whether or not we go back, but we just have to worry about what's happening right now. And right now, we need to stay here and go back to our old schedule. It doesn't mean he loves you any less, or that I do, or anything silly like that. Nothing is your fault, and we wanna keep your life as normal as we can."

I'm tempted to insert something about the trial involving Saige and her grandparents, but I leave it out. It's easy to forget that Harriet is only five with how mature she can be, but I won't burden her with that kind of information. Not until I have to.

Finally, she rolls over. Her eyes are dry, as are her cheeks, and her face is more open than before. The anger lines are gone.

"Do you and Daddy not wanna be best friends anymore?" she asks, voice as tiny as she is.

My eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" I say.

"You don't wanna be over there anymore," she mumbles. "And you were being best friends while we were there. And now you're not."

"No," I say, cupping her jaw and stroking her smooth skin. "We're still best friends. We still love each other very much. Not quite as much we love you, but…" That gets a smirk out of her. "We're just in a weird, stressful time right now. When things settle down, we'll see where we're at. Is that an okay promise?"

"That we might go back?" she says. "All of us?"

"It's a definite maybe," I say. "It's an 'I'll think about it.'"

"That means almost yes," she says, lighting up a bit more.

I spend a moment just looking at her, marveling the beautiful, imperfect creation that Jackson and I made together, then smile. "How about we start this night over again?" I say. "It's just us girls in the house."

"Girls' night?" she asks, eyes widening.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings to announce the pizza.

"Pizza man, pizza man!" Saige shouts from downstairs.

Harriet clambers out of bed, good as new. "I'll get it!" she shouts, and I get up as well, following in her wake.

"A home visit? What does that even mean?" I sputter.

I'm sitting across from Cristina in her office a few weeks later, eyebrows pushed together, confused and frustrated. With one leg crossed over the other, my foot hasn't stopped bouncing since I sat down.

"A social worker will come to your house and observe how you and Saige interact," she explains. "They'll be a fly on the wall. The point is that you to act as if they're not there. Just act like you normally would."

"But why?" I ask, leaning in with both hands capped over one knee. "Why is it necessary?"

She exhales from her nose, glancing at the paperwork in front of her. "Because the Taylors claimed you don't give Saige the attention she deserves," she says. "Family court takes these kinds of accusations seriously, and it's important for our case that you prove the claims wrong."

My face heats up instantly as I close my eyes to try and compose myself. My hands shake, and a bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck slowly until it disappears inside the collar of my dress. I didn't think the Taylors could get any worse. I guess I'd been wrong.

I open my mouth, unsure of what's about to come out. "This isn't fair," I say, words exploding from inside as I burst up from my chair. "Saige is my daughter!"

"I know," Cristina says, keeping her cool while nodding.

"Maybe not biologically, maybe she's not my blood. But legally, that child is mine and she has been for three years. Three fucking years, Cristina! How can these people just come in and take her away from me? How is this even being entertained by the courts?"

She shakes her head, but doesn't look away. Her will is just as strong as mine, if not stronger. Unconsciously, I take a moment to thank God that I found her to represent my case.

"It works in strange ways, the legal system," she says, laying her hands flat on her desk. "But I know everything there is to know about those ways. I'm going to make sure she doesn't go anywhere. I promise you I'm not going to let that happen."

Wavering, I collapse back into the chair and instantaneously dissolve into tears. Hunched forward, I bury my face in my hands and sob harder than I have in a long time; so hard, it feels like my lungs might come out of my throat. I know I must look like an idiot, she must think I'm a fool, but I can't stop.

"April," she says, after giving me a significant amount of time to just cry. "Can I ask where Jackson is today?"

I resist the urge to cry harder at the mention of him, sniffling violently while wiping my nose. Seeing this, she hands me a tissue that I crumple in my hand after using. After that, she hands me the whole box.

"He's… at work, probably," I say, voice still waterlogged. "We were married, at one point. I didn't tell you that. And there have always been feelings, there are still feelings, but being with him was confusing for all of us." I shake my head. "I thought it was best for everyone if we spent some time apart."

She watches me with dark brown, knowing eyes - eyes that clearly hold a lot of intelligence and a lot of thoughts. I can't help but blink into them and feel comforted.

"What I know is this," she begins. "Right now, the best thing possible is to surround yourself with people who are in your corner. You need a support system. This isn't going to work with you acting as an island, April. You still might get Saige back, but your mental health will suffer. Look how it's already affecting you."

I dab at my eyes and hiccup, realizing what sort of state I'm in. It's not a good one, that's for sure.

"Yeah," I whimper, still sniffling. "The last few weeks have been really hard."

She clasps her hands together and leans forward, even closer. "You need to think of yourself, too, during all this," she says. "Your relationship with Jackson in no way should hinder the trial or the verdict."

"What about the Taylors, though?" I ask. "They hate him."

"It doesn't matter what they think," she assures me. "It matters what the judge thinks, and how Saige is thriving. What does she think of Jackson?"

"She loves him," I say, easily. "She adores him, and he feels the same about her."

"Then, I don't see where the uncertainty is coming from," she says. She extends an arm and pats my hand - solid and affirming. "You take care of your family, April. You do what you need to do."

Cristina's words sit with me for the rest of the day and into the night. The girls and I have an easy evening full of coloring pages and macaroni, and they fall to sleep easily after a bath and two stories. Then, I'm left alone in the empty house that hasn't stopped feeling scarily cavernous since Matthew's death.

This place has never felt like mine, but now that feeling is only accentuated. Nothing in here belongs to me, at least that's how it seems, even if I was the one to pick it out. This isn't my space. My heart isn't here.

I know full well where my heart is. A person holds it, not a place.

Jackson and I have communicated sporadically over the past few weeks, mostly exchanging texts to coordinate Harriet's pickups and dropoffs. It hasn't been much more than that, but I want that to change. Cristina was right. I need to take care of myself and my family, and right now I can't do that alone. At least, I don't want to. I want to be with him.

So, I pull out my phone and type out a message to him.

SENT, 9:38pm- hey, are you around?

I keep my phone unlocked and set it on the coffee table next to me, looking over every couple seconds. No typing bubble comes up on his end, even after a full ten minutes have gone by. So, I pick up the phone and try again.

SENT, 9:50pm- I really need to talk to you. I had a conversation with my lawyer that really helped me see things clearer. I wasn't fair to you when I pushed you away. I'm really sorry, J. It was selfish, and I always do stuff like that to you. I want to be better at that. I'm sorry that I'm not. Can we get together and talk this through? I miss you so much.

My thumb hovers over the little blue arrow, stomach jumping at the thought of sending this risky, heart-on-my-sleeve text. But, with one swift breath, I follow through.

Yet it still goes unanswered. I can't leave that text hanging, so I give in after a considerable amount of time has passed and call him.

The phone rings and rings, and on the first try it goes to voicemail. The second time, though, he picks up frazzled and breathless, sounding very unlike himself.

"Hey, what's up," he breathes. "I'm kinda in the middle of something right now."

I squint and look off to the side, wondering what it is that he could be in the middle of. I don't think he's working tonight, unless he's on-call. But if that were the case, he wouldn't have picked up the phone at all. I would've gotten the picture and given up after the third try.

"Um…" I say, clearing my throat. "Did you get my text?"

There's a long pause before he answers where it seems like he might be talking to someone else. "I… no, doll, I'm sorry. I didn't. I mean, yes, I got the text. But I didn't get a chance to read it yet. I see the notification, but I'm just a little preoccupied right now."

"Preoccupied?" I echo.

"Yeah," he says.

Then, I hear a strange sound. One I haven't heard from his end of the phone in years. A baby crying. A baby that sounds very upset.

"Jackson," I say, thoroughly confused. "Is that a baby?"

He clears his throat again and make comforting sounds, like he's the one soothing the baby. He doesn't answer me. His mind is elsewhere.

"Jackson," I say. "Are you at home?"

"What?" he says. "Uh, yeah. I'm home. Sorry, I just have a billion things going on. I have to hang up, but we'll talk soon, okay? I gotta go."

And before I have any say in the matter, the line goes dead.

I stare at the screen, seeing that the conversation was less than a minute long. My brain goes haywire trying to figure out what just happened. He said he was home, which means there's a baby at his house? A very fussy one, no less. It didn't sound like an infant cry, but it wasn't a little-girl cry like the ones I hear so frequently. I don't think he has any friends with young children; and if he does, why would he be the one soothing them? None of it makes sense, but he seemed so harried. I don't want to bother him with a call back.

So, I take the phone upstairs and get ready for bed. I plug it into the charger and go through my routine, then slide into the same side as always.

I lie there awake, hands folded under one cheek as I stare out the window. The thought of the strange phone call keeps me up for hours, until I finally fall into a restless sleep.

After I drop the girls off at school the next day, I check my phone quickly before pulling out of the parking lot.

RECEIVED, 8:13am- Hey. I know last night was weird. Come to the hospital and I'll explain everything. -J

I can't help but smile at his message, though I wipe it from my face as soon it comes. I am not a lovestruck young girl. I refuse to behave like one when we're trying to handle our situation as adults.

SENT, 8:14am- You don't have to sign your texts, you know ;) and sure. I can head there right now.

I put the phone down and shift the car into drive, headed to the place I haven't been in so long. The roads are familiar, I don't even need to think about navigation. I could drive to Grey Sloan in my sleep.

I can't park in the place I used to because I'm not longer employed here, but I don't mind the walk through the parking lot. It's a beautiful day, and if I ignore the twisting in my gut from whatever Jackson has to explain, then I'm able to find myself feeling somewhat at ease. Being in this place where so many memories were made is comforting. It feels more like home than home does.

When I walk through the doors, I'm greeted immediately by a couple of nurses that were always my favorite. "Dr. Kepner!" they say, excitedly. "How are you? What are you up to?"

I give them each a big hug and tell them I'm looking for Jackson, and they tell me he's in the attendings' lounge. I thank them and head that way, running into a few familiar faces as I go. I give out plenty of hugs, but the biggest smile is definitely saved for Dr. Bailey, who's just coming out of the lounge that I'm headed towards.

"Kepner!" she says, eyebrows raised. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Looking for Jackson," I say, hugging her tightly.

"Ah," she says. "Mr. Sulks-A-Lot is in there, brooding. He's been in a mood all day. Something's definitely going on."

"I know," I say. "That's why I'm here."

"Well, you better snap him out of it," she says. "He has a big surgery at 1, and I need his head in the game."

"Will do, Dr. B.," I say, with another smile.

She smiles back, then her expression turns serious as she gently holds my upper arm. "I've heard about what's going on between you and Matthew Taylor's family," she says, keeping her voice low. "And about you quitting your job at the clinic. I just want you to know that if you ever want to come back here, there will always be a place for you. We're your family, Kepner."

My eyes well up with tears, but I don't let them fall, even though my chest swells with gratitude. "Thank you," I say, squeezing her hand. "I… you don't know how much I needed to hear that."

"All you gotta do is holler," she says. "And you can start work the next day. That's my word. You understand?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she says, then pats my bicep. "Now, get in there and figure out what's up with that moody man."

I give her one more smile and hug, then open the door to the lounge, which is thankfully empty save for Jackson on the couch. He doesn't look over at the sound of the door; instead, he continues to stare out the window with an absent expression on his face, looking totally lost.

"Hey," I say, hands clasped at my waist.

He jumps before acknowledging me, eyes flighty and unlike I've seen them in a while. Usually, he's the picture of stability and focus, but that's far from the case right now.

"Sorry," I say, inching forward. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," he says.

I point a thumb behind me. "I was just talking to Bailey," I say. "She said I could have my job back whenever I wanted it."

His face lifts a bit. "That's awesome," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "It is. I think… after all this dies down, that I will. I will come back."

"That's amazing," he says, nodding.

"Yeah," I say again, coming even closer. I can feel whatever's on his mind in the air between us, crackling like static. "So… what is it that you wanted to talk about?"

He takes in a shallow breath, then presses his lips together. He gestures towards the empty half of the couch and says, "You should sit."

"Okay…" I say warily, lowering down to sit across from him. "You're making me kinda nervous."

"Well," he says, quirking one eyebrow and laughing humorlessly.

"What is it, Jackson?" I ask.

He closes his eyes and rubs one of them with a closed fist, then sighs. "You heard the baby on the phone last night, I'm assuming," he says. "The crying."

"Yeah," I say. "Who was that?"

He lets out another long, loud breath. "Uh… well, long story short," he says. "Last night, I found out that I have a son."