Page 19 of A Little Crush (The Little Things #6)

“I tried that,” he mutters. “Didn’t take.” Without waiting for an invitation, he sits on the bench and offers me a fresh tissue. “All out of hankies. This’ll have to do.”

I take it and blow my nose, ignoring the deja vu accompanying it.

When I found out about Archer’s death, Jax was the only one I wanted.

The only person I felt comfortable enough to break around without adding to their grief.

Now here he is, watching me crumble all over again, and I can’t decide if I should push him away for what feels like the hundredth time or give in and stop fighting it.

The pull I’ve felt since the day I was born, or at least it’s the story our parents tell.

Not that it matters because the twinge in my chest has nothing to do with him.

Not this time. Nope. Seems my brother’s absence has stolen the spotlight once again, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful for it or even more pissed.

It’s funny. The way grief ebbs and flows. Not that someone’s death is something you ever truly get over, but some days it’s easier to stomach while others, it’s full-blown crippling. Like right now.

I know myself well enough to know there’s no way I’ll be able to stop these alligator tears from flowing.

I’m not that lucky. So, instead of pushing it, instead of pushing Jaxon away like I know I should, I crumble even more, too exhausted to do anything but give in.

To my emotions. My feelings. My grief. Curling toward him, I let down my walls and simply feel .

And it’s painful. And messy. And consuming.

But cathartic, too. Like a valve has been released, and the pressure can discharge the way it needs to.

As my body wracks with silent sobs, Jaxon runs his hand up and down my spine.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he coos. “I got you, Beautiful. I got you.”

I always appreciated this about him. The way he doesn’t lie or promise everything’s going to be okay. The way he doesn’t sugarcoat shit or rush me through my pathetic crying process I’ve perfected over the years.

“I miss him, too,” Jaxon rasps. “I miss him so much.”

Another sob wracks through me like a whip, and I lean into Jaxon’s side.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. But I’m so tired.

Tired of walking on eggshells. Of tiptoeing around each other or pretending like he hasn’t seen the most vulnerable pieces of me.

Even if it’s been years, he knows it as well as I do.

He knows what I’ve been through. Knows how hard I broke after seeing my brother’s lifeless body attached to machines in the cold, sterile hospital room.

Knows how torn apart I was when the doctor entered the room and told Maverick that Archer was brain dead but would be giving him one final gift before he’d be laid to rest. And when you share moments like that—like this —it’s not exactly difficult to fall into the same rhythm. The same dance. The same trap.

“I miss you, too, you know,” he rasps. “Fuck, Rore. What I wouldn’t give to go back to before. Before you hated me. ”

Shaking my head, I burrow closer to his chest, stealing his warmth as well his words.

I don’t know how he does it. How he manages to read my mind and lasso my wants and needs before turning them into his own.

It’s as if he knows how to put my mind at ease.

How to support and justify and give his stamp of approval no matter how unhinged I feel sometimes.

Like right now. When I feel like I can’t breathe, let alone voice my own thoughts.

My own feelings. Or the fact that I’ve missed him, too.

So damn much. Even platonically, he was my person.

And in a way, I think I’m grieving that loss as well.

The relationship we used to have until I screwed everything up.

I’m so sorry for screwing everything up.

My vision is blurred with tears as I peek up at him. His strong jaw. His long lashes. His slightly crooked nose after one too many fights on the ice in college. Swallowing past the knot in my throat, I whisper, “I don’t hate you.”

It’s the first fully truthful thing I’ve said since being home. Without my guard up. Without the line I drew in the sand. Without my shame holding me back. Simply the truth in all its messy glory.

“I don’t hate you,” I repeat. It’s surer this time but still as raw.

His gaze drops to my mouth, sparking the realization of exactly how close we are.

Something flashes in his pretty eyes, though I can’t place it.

Maybe he’s realizing the same thing. I can taste his breath.

Mint and alcohol. Probably from the champagne.

It brushes against my damp cheeks, proving our woven proximity since I’ve bawled all over his chest. But the funny thing is that if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s about to kiss me.

Giving me a look like this. The thing is…

I do. I do know better. Hell, I learned from the man himself.

And maybe it’s the tears. Maybe it’s the flashbacks of our past coming to haunt me.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion from tonight’s experience.

Honestly, I’m not sure, but I’m too tired to care.

Instead, I stay curled beside him, letting his eyes take their time as they rove my tear-stained face when footsteps echo down the hall.

They cut through the thick haze shrouding us in our little corner and bring me back to the present.

To reality. Slowly, I pull away from Jaxon’s side, turn toward the sound, and find Dodger striding down the hall.

When he sees me, he stops short, his attention drifting to Jaxon before he clears his throat and tugs at the top button on his dress shirt. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I squeak.

“You didn’t come back.”

“I know.” My tongue darts out between my lips as I wipe the never-ending tears from my face. “Sorry, I was having a…”—I wave my hand around my face—“a moment.”

His mouth lifts on one side. “No worries. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay?”

The question hangs in the air, so I take a moment to dissect it.

Am I okay? Yes and no. But it isn’t any different than any other day of the week. My brother’s gone. My best friend’s been whisked away by the cutest rockstar ever, and the only man I ever relied on has been cut off from my life for years and is seated beside me with a tear-dampened shirt.

“I’m okay,” I breathe out. Maybe it’s a lie. Maybe it isn’t. But it’s a familiar reality. One I’m well-accustomed to. So, why hate it now?

“You sure you’re okay?” Dodger prods.

“Yeah, Dodge, I’m good.”

“Okay.” Dodger rocks back on his heels, looking unsure. Hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

With a deep, shuddered breath, I crumple the well-used tissue in my palm, adding it to the first while I watch him leave.

I’m not ready to follow yet. I should probably freshen up in the bathroom first, but I can’t find the willpower to do anything but sit in a dim hallway next to a man who’s impossible to read.

Even so, his words whisper in the back of my mind.

I missed you, too, you know.

Did he?

Even after all these years, did he miss me? Our friendship? Our talks? Or is he simply trying to make me feel better after watching me break down outside my brother’s reception?

“He seems like a good guy,” Jaxon tells me.

He. As in…Dodger. Right.

“He’s actually really great,” I admit. And it’s true. Dodger’s been nothing but a saint throughout this entire ordeal. Letting me take the lead. Going with the flow. I’m not sure I would’ve survived this trip without him, though I keep that to myself.

“Glad you’re happy,” he mutters.

“Thanks.” It’s forced. Awkward. And brings us right back to square one, making me miss the old Jaxon more than ever. “I, uh, I heard about the divorce. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He hesitates, but I don’t miss the way he shuts down even more, proving it’s a touchier subject than he’d like it to be. “I should probably check on Poppy,” he adds.

Another beat of silence hits, knocking me harder than I want to admit. How can I already miss him when he hasn’t even left me yet? I’ve survived without him for years. Hell, around a decade now, and the idea of going back to silence and awkward looks and stilted conversations feels…empty.

I feel empty.

Wiping his hands on his slacks, Jax begins to stand, but I grab the sleeve of his shirt to stop him. “Jax? ”

His eyes stay glued to my grip on him. It makes me way more self-conscious than I want to acknowledge. But the really surprising part? He doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah, Squeaks?” he rasps.

I force my fingers to loosen from his sleeve and link them in my lap. “For what it’s worth, I, uh, I’ve missed you, too.”

With a shallow but sharp inhale through flared nostrils, he stands to his full height and stares down at me, leaving me desperate to read his mind. To know what he’s thinking. How he’s feeling. If I crossed another line like I did all those years ago.

“It’s worth a lot, Rore.” The same raspy tone rolls over me, leaving prickles of awareness along my bare arms.

“I know we’re not the same people we once were, but…” My words get lost in my throat, though I know I’m too far gone to turn back now.

“But what, Squeaks?”

“But do you think you’d want to try being friends again?” I sniff, refusing to lose my nerve. “I don’t know. I just…after Maverick’s toast, I was reminded how…how frail life can be, and I feel like I’ve already lost enough people I care about, you know?”

Those dark green eyes threaten to swallow me whole as he stands motionless, towering over me the way he used to when I was a kid.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the defenses he managed to barrel over with one simple conversation and an offered shoulder to cry on, but I swear I see interest swirling in those vibrant eyes.

It’s enough to leave me off-balance, and I open my mouth to rescind my suggestion, but he cuts me off.

“Not gonna lose me.” Folding at the waist, he kisses my forehead, but I tamp down the butterflies left in its wake, refusing to entertain them when they’re not important.

Not in the big picture. What’s important is this.

This friendship. This connection. I’ve ignored it for so long, misconstruing it into something it isn’t, and therefore, avoiding it like it’s something ugly, when what I feel for Jaxon is the furthest thing from it.

And as long as I can keep the romantic meter in check, what’s wrong with moving forward and letting our past go in an attempt to salvage our platonic connection—one I’ve only ever felt with him?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Right?