Page 46 of Reckless and Rooted
“I know you want answers, but if you can just let me rest tonight, I promise I will tell you everything tomorrow.”
Hypocritically, I say, “Everything?”
“I swear,” he promises, curling his arm tighter around me and letting his breath even out, passing out before I can say another word.
All night I was up, checking on Jax and making sure he was still breathing and okay. He must have a concussion, so that fear that he might not wake up had me unable to close my eyes and fall asleep.
Then, when the sun starts to rise, I do too.
Sitting still has never been my forte, and Jax has an apartment that could use picking up.
First things first, I tiptoe my way into the bathroom, my bladder getting less and less space to breathe these days. Then, I work my way through the living room, picking up laundry and putting it in a laundry basket before wandering back to the bathroom where a small apartment washer and dryer sit, and I start a load.
I gather all the trash up and tie up the overflowing trash, setting it out on the little landing and making my way back inside to wash the few dishes in the sink. It seems he uses mostly paper plates, so the job is quick.
All the while, my gaze keeps tracking back to his nearly naked form, feeling both sad at the bruising near his ribs and appreciative of the grown man he’s become. His body is no stranger to the muscles he’s formed over the last decade, putting him far away from the boy I’d left at eighteen.
As I clean up, I think about last night, how terrifying it’d been just watching him get beat to hell while I stood there helplessly. My brain couldn’t compute, and I wish and regret that I didn’t intervene and make them stop.
But the baby inside of me stopped me from doing so.
That’s something I can’t ever regret, and if Jax knew the truth…If he knew that I was protecting something other than myself…
I shake my head, my long hair coming loose from the braid, and I take a minute to pull it free.
“Well.” I startle, looking over at Jax, who’s lying there on his back, his eyes looking at me with a curved smile on his lips. “I could get used to this sight every day.”
I move toward him, unable to hold back. I sit on the rumpled bed, falling into his open arms when he sees me coming, and soaking in the warmth from his hug.
His chest rumbles as he hums. A hand strokes over my arm while his other bands around my back.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, sitting up to get a good look at his face. The bruising is worse in the daylight, but I hold in my flinch at the sight of it.
“I’m fine, City Girl. I’ve had worse done to me before.” He smiles, but it makes him wince.
“That’s not very comforting, Jax,” I say, running my finger over his cheekbone and smiling when he kisses the tip of my finger.
Before I can get dragged back under his spell and be tempted to stay in his bed all day, I get up, quickly running over to the coffee pot, pouring two cups.
“I knew I smelled something delicious,” he says, and I turn to give him a look over my shoulder, laughing when he winks, innuendo obvious.
“Well, you have zero creamer in your fridge, so you’re gonna need to fix that stat,” I state, bringing over the two black coffees. I wasn’t a huge fan of black coffee, but after not sleeping all night, this mama needed whatever she could get.
“Yeah? You planning on sticking around?” There’s a certain hesitancy in his voice, an almost nervous infliction that makes me feel that pool of guilt puddle in my stomach all over again.
I look at him then, deciding right then and there that today is not a day to grill him on why he was attacked. Jax is a grown man, and I don’t need to meddle in it. Not yet. He will tell me when he was ready, just like I will tell him about the baby I am growing. Soon.
Instead, I look at him and nod. “I’m sticking, Jaxon Cash.”
Fully sitting now with the mug of coffee in hand, he leans forward enough, urging me to do the same and says, “Good.” Then he presses a chaste kiss to my lips, as if this whole situation is completely normal.
I find myself praying that it can be.
By the time the sun is fully risen in the sky, we’ve made a half-assed breakfast of a split toaster pastry and a half bowl of stale cereal, gotten dressed—or just refreshed, in my case—and made our way out the door for a walk around the property.
Jax had been embarrassed about his breakfast options, but I was decidedly keeping the mood light. Just one day of normalcy, one day that we could just pretend our lives were that—normal—and breathe like we were a newly dating couple with no history.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his own, and I scoot close, happy to be wearing an oversized sweater that both keeps me warm in the cool October air and hides what is quickly becoming obvious.
