I slam my door shut and slide down against it, my face burning with embarrassment. The cloth robe clings to my still-damp skin, and I can't stop replaying the look on Jackson's face when he saw me. Complete shock, followed by something I can't quite identify. Something that made my stomach flip in ways I've been trying to forget for over a year.

"Fuck," I whisper, pressing my palms against my eyes. Of all the ways I imagined seeing Jackson Anderson again, standing naked in his sister's bathroom was not one of them. The worst part? For just a split second, when our eyes met in the mirror, I felt that familiar jolt of electricity I've been trying to kill since my birthday party.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I stand to grab it. Emma's name pops up.

Emma: I'm really sorry. I'm the worst. Are you okay?

Me: Fine. Just mortified beyond belief.

Emma: He feels terrible. Says he's sorry.

Me: Tell him it's fine. These things happen.

But it's not fine. None of this is fine. Jackson Anderson, the man who's occupied way too much space in my head for way too long, is now living in the same house as me. The same man who couldn't even be bothered to kiss me back when I finally worked up the courage to make a move. The same man who's been avoiding me ever since, making it crystal clear that whatever I thought was between us existed only in my imagination.

I toss the phone aside and walk to the window, looking out at the tree-lined street. Three weeks. That's how long I've been hiding in this house, using Emma's guest room as my sanctuary while I try to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. Three weeks since I walked out of the pediatric clinic and haven't looked back.

The nightmares started two months ago. Always the same. Lily's small hand in mine, her voice asking why the medicine isn't working anymore, her parents' faces when I had to tell them there was nothing more we could do. I wake up gasping, soaked in sweat, her voice echoing in my ears. Five years old. She should have been starting kindergarten this fall, not lying in a hospital bed fighting a battle she was never going to win.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the image away. The doctors said I did everything right, that sometimes cancer just wins no matter what we do. But knowing that doesn't make the guilt any lighter. It doesn't make the sight of her empty bed any easier to bear.

A soft knock interrupts my spiral. "Maya? Can I come in?"

Emma's voice is gentle, cautious. I know she's been worried about me, probably more than she should be considering she's growing another human while chasing around a seventeen-month-old.

"Yeah."

She slips through the door, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing one of Chase's old hockey shirts that hangs comfortably on her frame. At nine weeks, she's barely showing, but I can see the subtle changes—the way she holds herself, the slight fullness in her face.

"I'm really sorry about that," she says, settling into the chair by the window. "I completely forgot to tell him you were staying here. Baby brain is real, I swear."

"It's fine, Em. Not your fault I picked the exact wrong moment to take a shower."

She studies my face, and I can see the concern etched in her features. Emma's always been able to read me like a book, even when I don't want to be read. "How are you doing? Really?"

"I'm fine." The lie rolls off my tongue automatically. I've been saying it so often these past few weeks that it almost sounds believable.

"Maya."

"I said I'm fine."

She doesn't push, which is both a relief and frustrating. Part of me wants her to call me on my bullshit, to force me to talk about the mess inside my head. But another part of me, the bigger part, just wants to be left alone to wallow in my guilt and self-pity.

"I still can't believe you gave Max away," I say, needing to change the subject from my own disaster of a life.

Emma's face softens. "Yeah, I miss that little guy. But Mom fell in love with him at the wedding, and we all know she's lonely all the way in Calgary because she's too stubborn to move. He's loving life though."

"Your mom needed him more than you did."

"Exactly. And honestly, with the baby coming and Ethan being a hurricane in toddler form, it was probably for the best. Max deserves more attention than we could give him right now." She grins. "Plus, she treats him like her third child. It's ridiculous and adorable."

"I think he's more spoiled in Calgary than he ever was here," I say, remembering the photos Emma's mom sends of Max in little sweaters and sleeping in what looks like a human bed.

"Oh, absolutely. She sends me pictures of him wearing pajamas and eating off actual plates. I'm pretty sure he has his own bedroom now."

We both laugh, and for a moment, everything feels normal.

"I think he's more embarrassed than you are," she says after a moment, bringing us back to the Jackson situation.

"I doubt that's possible."

She laughs. "Fair point. Anyway, come have dinner with us. Your favorite lasagna, remember? You used to beg me to make it when we were in college."

My stomach growls traitorously. I haven't eaten much today, just picked at some toast this morning. But the thought of sitting at a table with Jackson, trying to make small talk while pretending I'm not dying of embarrassment, makes my skin crawl.

"I'm not really hungry."

"Bullshit." Emma's tone is firm now, her protective instincts kicking in. "You've barely eaten anything in weeks. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to worry about me. You have enough on your plate with Ethan and the baby and Chase's schedule. I'm fine."

"Stop saying you're fine when you're clearly not." She leans forward, her green eyes intense. "Maya, you're my best friend. You're family. I'm going to worry about you whether you want me to or not."

The word 'family' hits harder than it should. I've been feeling like such a burden lately, taking up space in their house, moping around while Emma deals with pregnancy hormones and a toddler. She didn't sign up to be my personal caretaker when she invited me to stay.

"I should probably start looking for my own place," I say, avoiding her gaze. "You guys don't need me cluttering up your guest room."

"Are you kidding me?" Emma's voice rises slightly. "Maya, you're not cluttering anything. This is your home for as long as you need it. And if you think I'm letting you disappear into some apartment alone while you're going through this, you're out of your mind."

"I'm not going through anything. I'm just... regrouping."

"Regrouping." She says it like it's a foreign word. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Before I can answer, there's a commotion downstairs. Ethan's babbling mixed with Chase's deeper voice, and then another voice that makes my pulse quicken. Jackson.

"Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!"

I can hear Ethan's excited squeals, the sound of little feet running across the hardwood floors. Emma smiles at the noise.

"He's been asking about Jackson all week. Chase showed him pictures from the last game, and now he's obsessed with hockey."

I move to the window, angling myself so I can see the backyard. Jackson is out there with Ethan, showing him how to hold a plastic hockey stick. Even from here, I can see how patient he is, crouching down to Ethan's level, guiding his small hands on the stick. The sight does something stupid to my chest.

Jackson's always been good with kids, especially since Ethan was born. I've watched him with his nephew, seen how patient and gentle he is. He's going to be an amazing father someday.

"He's gotten bigger," I say before I can stop myself.

Emma joins me at the window. "The off-season training. Chase says Jackson's been hitting the gym religiously. Something about wanting to be in the best shape of his career for this season."

I can see what she means. Jackson's shoulders are broader than I remember, his arms more defined. He's wearing a simple gray t-shirt and dark jeans, but somehow he makes it look effortless. His blond hair catches the late afternoon sun, and when he laughs at something Ethan does, I can see the smile lines around his green eyes.

"You know," Emma says carefully, "maybe having Jackson around will be good for you. You two used to be close."

I tense up. "We were never that close."

"You were friends. Good friends. I always thought..." She trails off, seeming to think better of whatever she was about to say.

"Thought what?"

"Nothing. Just that you two got along well." Emma's voice is deliberately casual, but I can see something in her eyes. "Maybe you can get back to that."

"Maybe," I say, though I seriously doubt it. You can't go back to being just friends with someone after you've kissed them and been completely rejected.

She gives me a look. "Get dressed and come down for dinner. I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Em—"

"No arguments. You're coming downstairs, you're eating my lasagna, and you're going to stop hiding from my brother. He's going to be living here too, and you can't spend the next however long avoiding each other."

She's right, and I hate that she's right. I can't spend the next few weeks tiptoeing around Jackson, especially not in a house this size. Eventually, we're going to have to face each other like adults and move past the awkwardness.

"Fine," I say. "But if this turns into some weird family therapy session, I'm ordering pizza and locking myself in here."

"Deal."

Emma leaves me to get dressed, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror above the dresser. My black curls are still damp from the shower, and there are dark circles under my brown eyes that no amount of concealer can hide. I look like hell, which is pretty much how I feel.

I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater, something comfortable and not at all flattering. The last thing I need is to look like I'm trying to impress Jackson Anderson. That ship sailed over a year ago when he made it clear he wasn't interested.

The voices downstairs get louder as I approach the kitchen. I can hear Chase telling some story about practice, Emma laughing, Ethan babbling happily from his high chair. And Jackson's voice, deeper than Chase's, with that slight rasp that's always done things to my stomach.

I hover in the doorway, watching them. It's such a domestic scene, so normal and warm and everything I used to dream about being part of. Back when I thought Jackson might feel the same way about me that I feel about him.

"Maya!" Emma spots me first. "Perfect timing. Lasagna's almost ready."

Jackson turns, and our eyes meet for the second time today. This time, thank God, I'm fully clothed. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel, his face slightly flushed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with awkwardness. Chase clears his throat.

"So, Maya, Jackson was just telling us about the new apartment he's looking at. Place in downtown Hartford with a view of the river."

"That's nice," I manage, moving to help Emma with the salad. Anything to avoid looking at Jackson.

"What about you?" Jackson's voice is closer now. He's moved to the other side of the kitchen island, directly across from me. "Are you... how are you doing?"

One of them obviously told him about Lily, about why I'm here. I can hear the concern in his voice, the same protective tone he uses with Emma when he thinks she's in trouble.

"I'm fine."

"Maya quit her job," Emma says, shooting me a look. "She's taking some time to figure out what's next."

"I didn't quit my job," I correct. "I left."

Same thing really.

"You loved being a nurse," Jackson says, and there's something in his voice that makes me look up at him. His green eyes are serious, focused entirely on me. "Emma used to talk about how good you were with the kids, how much you loved helping them."

"Yeah, well, people change."

"Do they?"

I can't tell if he's talking about my career or something else entirely. The way he's looking at me, like he's trying to see inside my head, makes my pulse race.

"Maya, Maya!" Ethan's voice breaks the tension. He's reaching for me from his high chair, his face covered in what looks like mashed sweet potatoes.

"Hey, buddy," I say, grateful for the distraction. I grab a washcloth and clean his face, which makes him giggle. "You're a mess."

"No! You!" he says, which makes everyone laugh.

"Thanks, kid. Really needed that confidence boost."

Jackson watches me with Ethan, and I can feel his eyes on me even when I'm not looking at him.

"You're good with him," he says quietly.

"Kids are easy. It's adults that are complicated."

"Yeah," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes me think he's not just talking about Ethan. "They really are."

Dinner is less awkward than I expected. Emma keeps the conversation flowing, asking the boys about hockey, talking about her doctor's appointments, complaining about pregnancy symptoms. Chase chimes in with upcoming games, and Ethan provides entertainment by throwing food and babbling nonsense.

I mostly stay quiet, pushing lasagna around my plate and trying not to notice how Jackson's hands move when he talks, or how his eyes crinkle when he laughs at something Emma says. Trying not to remember how those hands felt when he helped me up after I tripped at last year's Christmas party, or how his laugh used to make me feel like the funniest person in the world.

"So, Maya," Chase says during a lull in conversation, "what are you thinking for your next move? Back to nursing, or are you considering something else?"

I've been avoiding thinking about the future, about what comes next. All I know is that I can't go back to the pediatric clinic. I can't walk into another room and see another kid fighting a battle they might not win.

"I don't know," I admit. "I'm not sure I want to go back to nursing."

"What?" Emma's fork freezes halfway to her mouth. "Maya, you're an amazing nurse. You can't just give up."

"I'm not giving up. I'm just... exploring other options."

"Like what?"

I don't have an answer for that. I don't have answers for much of anything lately. The truth is, nursing was all I ever wanted to do. It was my calling, my purpose, the thing that made me feel useful. Without it, I'm just drifting.

"I'm figuring it out," I say, which is code for 'I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with my life.'

Jackson's watching me again, and I can see the concern in his expression. It's the same look he gets when Emma's upset about something, that protective big brother instinct kicking in. Except I'm not his sister, and I'm not his responsibility.

"You don't have to figure it out right now," he says. "Sometimes you need time to process things before you can move forward."

"Exactly," Emma agrees. "That's why you're staying here. No pressure, no timeline. Just take the time you need."

I nod, but the words feel hollow. How much time do I need? How long can I hide in Emma's guest room, pretending I'm going to get my shit together eventually? How long before I become a permanent fixture, the sad friend who never left?

After dinner, I help Emma clean up while Jackson and Chase take Ethan upstairs for bath time.

"He's worried about you," Emma says as she loads the dishwasher.

"Who?"

"Jackson. He keeps looking at you like you're going to disappear."

"He's just being nice. He feels bad about earlier."

"Maybe."

Jackson appears in the doorway, his hair slightly mussed.

"Bath time successful?" Emma asks.

"If by successful you mean I'm soaked and Ethan managed to flood the bathroom floor, then yes."

"Sounds about right." Emma grins. "I'll go check on them. Maya, you don't have to finish the dishes."

"I've got it," I say, but she's already walking away, leaving me alone with Jackson.

The silence stretches between us again. He moves to the coffee maker, going through the motions of making a pot. I focus on wiping down the counters, hyper-aware of his presence.

"Maya," he says finally. "About earlier—"

"It's fine. We're adults. These things happen."

"I should have knocked."

"You should have. But you didn't know I was here, so..." I shrug, trying to play it off like it's no big deal. Like the sight of him in that doorway didn't make my heart stop.

"Chase said you've been having a tough time."

I stiffen. "He talks too much."

"He's worried about you. We all are."

"You don't need to worry about me. I'm not your responsibility."

"I know that." His voice is quieter now. "But I care about you. I've always cared about you."

The words hit me right in the chest. I want to ask him what he means, want to demand an explanation for the past year of silence. But I'm too much of a coward, and he's too much of a mystery.

"I'm fine," I say instead, the automatic response that's becoming my default.

"Are you?"

I look up at him, and there's something in his eyes that makes my stomach flip. The same something I thought I saw earlier in the bathroom mirror, before embarrassment took over.

"I'm working on it."

He nods, accepting the non-answer. The coffee maker beeps, and he pours two cups, sliding one across the counter to me.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"The coffee. And for... caring, I guess."

"You don't have to thank me for that."

We stand there in comfortable silence, drinking our coffee. It's the first time we've been alone together in over a year, and despite everything, it doesn't feel as terrible as I expected. There's still tension, still all the unspoken words between us, but there's also something else. Something that feels almost like the friendship we used to have, before everything got complicated.

"I should probably head to bed," I say finally. "I'm tired."

"Yeah, me too. Long day."

I rinse my mug and head for the stairs. At the doorway, I turn back. Jackson's still standing by the coffee maker, watching me.

"Jackson?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again."

"You're welcome," he says, and there's something soft in his voice. "Now go to bed."

I head upstairs, my heart beating faster than it should. I want to believe that Jackson cares about me as more than just Emma's best friend. I want to believe that his rejection wasn't about not wanting me, but about something more complicated. But wanting something and believing it are two different things.

And that, more than anything, terrifies me.