Page 61 of Jax

“I suppose I’m still enjoying my youth,” I answered, wafting my hand and turning to look back over to where Max staring at the two of us through the bars of her stall. Her look was piercing, and the guilt churned in my stomach. She knew, and I knew. Only us. That was the way it should stay.

I looked away from her quickly and heard a snort before she ambled over to her hay basket and picked at the strands at the bottom of the bag like she had a habit of doing. Her ears were flat against her head and every so often when the rain crashed on a weak section of the roof, creating a large rattle, she’d jerk her head up in its direction but wouldn’t startle like before.

Maybe she was getting her confidence back at long last.

“What about…?”

I turned back at the sound of Jax’s voice, seeing his eyes burn down into the hay, as his mouth began the mumbled question. Like a psychic connection, I heard his true question loud and clear in my head.

What about the farm?

The farm was the name Jax and I had called it, but it wasn’t. The farm was a training facility for thoroughbred race horses of the highest quality. It was one of the most prestigious names in the horse racing world and was worth every penny.

A name so heavy, no normal man could hold it without a little cheating here and there. And cheating they did. They cut corners, made backroom deals, and buried their dirty secrets six feet under. Although horse racing was never a pure business, it never had to be so dirty.

My eyes softened on his features. I wasn’t sure how to answer. Be honest? Lie? Or perhaps bend the truth? I supposed there was no right answer. So, I gave no answer at all.

I wasn’t sure what telling Jax would do. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d come back, not after all this time. He had left it behind a long time ago, and from the looks of things, hadn’t even thought once about going back. If he couldn’t even ask the question, would he be able to hear the answer?

I didn’t think so.

The longer I looked at Jax, the concealed trouble underneath his tight lips and ticking jaw, the conflict beneath the deep brown of his eyes told me everything I needed to know, and everything I didn’t want to—except the one thing I was too afraid to ask. Until now.

It was the impulse that pushed my mouth open, and in the chaos of my mind, the question that had been on the tip of my tongue ever since Jax left me fled from my mouth before I could stop it.

“Do you regret leaving?” I blurted it out. My hand slapped over my lips to seal them shut, but the question was already out there. It was too late.

Jax looked shocked for a second, the whites ringing his eyes and eyebrows perked up high on his forehead as he looked down on me. But the second the shock faded, and his sharp eyes were glowering down, the expression became neither harsh nor kind but stern and honest.

“No.”

My heart broke. Somehow the little pieces that had been keeping me together since he left had been like little Band-Aids that promised he would regret leaving. Would regret saying goodbye to me and the farm. I had fooled myself. How stupid could I get?

He’d never looked back. Not even once. Not even for a second.

“I see…,” I whispered. My eyes turned down and away into the bed of the hay, as if the raw material was the only thing stopping me from sinking deep into the ground under the heaviness weighing on my shoulders.

“But, Ronnie—” Jax’s mouth opened, and something different about the tone had me listening.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

I didn’t get to hear what he had to say. For once, I was relieved by the intrusion, reveling in the loud, familiar voices and the thrashing bangs against the barn door.

“JAX!” the voice bellowed through the rushing storm and in a second, Jax pushed himself up from the hay, leaving me in the cold of the barn.

The rustling stopped for a moment after he shoved his shirt on. A pile of clothes landed on my lap.

A sharp hiss snapped from my lips, and while my body had been in its dull state after Jax’s specialty painkiller—that I didn’t want to recall—I remembered the reason why I was curled on one side of my body all this time. I peeked down to see the bruises along my ribs were growing darker in the small amount of time since I’d been gifted them.

“Put them on,” Jax grumbled, tightening the belt around his waist as his eyes scanned my body. “They’re wet, but it’s better than my brothers seeing you naked.”

I watched his expression frown, and that comfortable feeling of being naked in front of him was replaced by shame, embarrassment, and an unhealthy dose of self-consciousness.

I struggled to put on my wet clothes from my seat on the floor, agreeing that I didn’t want his brothers to see me naked. While trying to ignore the throbbing down my side, I forwent the bra and panties—not that I was certain where my panties where—and awkwardly tugged on my shirt then jeans.

The pain in my side slowly climbed and, my breathing caused Jax to hesitate a moment, one last confirming check over me before heading to the door.

With a loud creak, the ring of chains, and annoyed growls, a huddle of men, soaked head to toe, came rushing in through the door.

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