Page 61 of Savage

He cleared his throat before answering. “I’m not sure I trust myself, and so that’s not a good idea Wynter. I’m not made of stone.”

“Night then,” I whispered across the quiet.

“Night.” His reply was so definite and my spirits sank. I so wanted to feel his lips against mine again and for his hands to touch my skin.

I then lay there, looking up at the ceiling, a variety of wild, so not-Wynter thoughts circling my head, very aware of the sounds of Jaxon’s breathing so close beside me.

After around half an hour, thoughts of my father resurfaced and I wondered if Jaxon was asleep. How was he able to drop off so quickly with a semi-naked female so close? It made me doubt my allure.

I bit the bullet, I couldn’t sleep, not with Jaxon there.

"Jaxon?" I spoke out into the quiet.

"Yeah?" I felt a twinge of regret for speaking as he responded in a sleep-heavy voice.

The air was thick with all the things I wanted to say. "Are—you awake?"

"I am now," he replied with a sour, semi-amused tone.

"Sorry. Can I ask you something?"

"Always," Jaxon husked in a softer voice. I noted his ‘always’ as he had said that in the car; like he welcomed anything I had to say. It caused the hairs on my arms to stand up and I pushed them under the covers. I then rolled onto my side and leaned onto my elbow, propping my head up with one hand.

"Why do you fight with your dad so much?" I willed the strange queasy feeling in my stomach to settle as I brought up the subject of his father.

The was a moment of pause, had he fallen asleep again? “It’s complicated.”

Curiosity got the better of me and I needed to know more. "How so?"

He released a puff of air and shifted in bed, turning to face me, mirroring my position. "Maybe we’re—too alike?"

I fought off the unexpected urge to laugh at his words. “I wouldn’t say you’re alike at all. You’re much more volatile." An image of my dad's face swam into my memory. He was angry, red-faced and his hair was dishevelled. I swallowed several times, shaking away the out-of-the-blue vision as Jaxon stated tiredly.

"You’d be surprised. Marcus has had his moments in the past. Besides, he’s supposed to be the calmer one. He’s the adult."

"I suppose so. Do you resent him for the number of times he’s been married?"

My eyes roamed over his face, it was partly shaded and so hard to read. "That’s part of it but the way I remember him treating my mother towards the end of her life is probably the biggest factor."

"What do you mean? When she was ill? But you were so young." My confidence in my ability to encourage him to talk to me was suddenly unshakable.

“I can still remember it like it was yesterday. He was so distant when she needed him most. I don’t think I could ever forgive him for letting her down. He went to pieces when he should have been strong,” Jaxon explained, a twinge of resentment evident in his tone. “And considering how young Chris and I were, he moved on pretty quickly. He wasn’t there for me—for us. I had to take care of Chris by myself.”

A thought occurred to me. “My mother told me he loved her very much.”

He was quick to answer. "Then why did he shack up with someone else six months after her death?"

He had a point. Six months was a bit fast for a widower with kids to ‘move on’ I could agree with that one. When my parents had separated, Daisy had sworn off men for years. A twinge of something unidentifiable entered my system.

“He took down all the photographs of my mother and started dating within weeks and I hated him for that.”

"Oh," I sighed, my mouth forming the shape of the word.

Jaxon smiled but there was little humour in it. "Yes—oh."

Pursing my lips, I took a moment before I responded. "Grief affects people in different ways you know, sometimes it causes you to act impulsively, without thinking things through. My friend Melody went off the rails when her dad died."

Jaxon snorted, not buying my possible suggestion as to why a man would act irrationally after the death of the woman he loved. "You really do have an answer for everything.”

---