Page 221 of The Last Good Man

Several matches unfold simultaneouslytothe crowd’s delight while I’m frozen in a corner.

I’m not a sports person––I’ve never been––and although the sight of blood doesn’t necessarily make me queasy, I can’t say I’ll become a fan anytime soon.

The jabs are brutal, and the thought of seeing him here makes me weak in my knees.

An hour passes without a glimpse of him. Maybe he’s not a participant, or something has come up and prevented him from being here.

The young woman attending his sister’s birthday comes to mind, and Iget a bad feelingabout that.

And then something else happens.

As painful as it is, realizing that I have no place in this man’s life pushes me to the brink of desperation.

What am I doing here?

He said what he said, but maybe there was a reason I didn’t respond to him the way he expected me to.

Maybe I knew better than him.

He and that young brunette would have everything if they were a couple. A house, kids, and families nearby.

It’s a good life if you ask me. I lived that life before I started searching for a man.

Jax was a fluke in a long line of predictable men, and maybe that’s my fate. No man at all.

With my mind made up, I push off the wall and spin around when I get swallowed by the crowd and dragged closer to the boxing ring.

I struggle to remove myself from the river of people, my arms flailing like I’m swimming upstream when a hand curls forcefully around my shoulder and yanks me away.

Taking small, quick steps, I walk backward, unable to see the person pulling me out of the room.

We enter a dark corridor, and I stop, firmly planting my feet down and refusing to move.

I open my mouth to protest, but he’s faster than I am.

“What are you doing here, Melody?” Jax asks, his voice strained, his eyes beaming with fire.

“What?? Am I banned from seeing a match?”

“Who told you about this place?” he barks, seething with fury.

Oh… Okay.

This doesn’t even have to do with us.

Is he afraid I might talk about his shady business? He thinks I’m a rat? Or is he with someone else already?

A wave of fury sweeps through me as I finger his chest. He wears a suit and a dress shirt like he’s some kind of boss, and despite how blindsided I am by my irrational anger, it’s impossible not to notice that he smells like he’s about to go out, hitting a club.

And now I begin to wonder… Who is Jax London, after all?

Is he the troublemaker?

The shrewd businessman?

The playful character?

The family man?

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