Page 20 of Always You (Guardian Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty

Alex

I sat at a table in the garden, under a tree that had already shed its burden of snow, so it was safe to sit there. The air was crisp and cold, but I’d brought a thermos filled with coffee to keep me warm. Part of me lingered outside because I wanted to see Harper leave. I was the one who’d let Jazz’s ex-wife through the gate to park in our small parking lot, so I had a heads-up, and hell, Jazz might need me.

Right?

Nothing to do with the almost-kiss.

The wrong, inappropriate, almost-kiss.

If only I could forget what it was like to kiss Jazz. We were so young, but no hookup or wannabe partner ever matched the same energy, excitement, and sheer possibility of what we experienced before I decided what was best and pushed him away.

I was still processing the fact that I’d leaned into him, sipping my coffee for warmth, when I noticed the door open. Jazz, Harper, and her mom exchanged what seemed like a last goodbye. They hugged, even Jazz and his ex, and I saw Jazz’s smile and hope flared in my chest. Yet, disappointment took over as our eyes met. Instead of signaling me to come over and talk, he turned and went inside without uttering a single word.

Why would he want to talk to me, anyway?

Moments later, to my surprise, Jazz reappeared. He came out carrying his own thermos of coffee, bundled up against the cold. There was a settled, contented aura about him as he approached, and he was different from how I’d seen in him earlier. His smile relaxed as he hovered opposite me.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice carrying a lightness that hadn’t been there before. “Okay if I join you?”

“Of course,” I replied, patting the spare seat—Marcus’s seat—showing there was room for him at the small table. The garden was quiet, a peaceful setting that seemed a world away from the emotional intensity of the family room inside. “How did it go?”

Jazz blew on his coffee before taking a sip, his eyes reflecting a serene happiness. “It went… well, better than I expected, honestly. We talked—a lot. And Harper, she…” He paused, searching for the right words. “She’s amazing. She’s grown into such an incredible person, and she still wants me in her life, even after I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up.”

“I stayed away.”

“You were a soldier.”

“I had time off?—”

“You were fighting a war that hooked you and wouldn’t let your mind leave.”

He considered me and gave me a small shrug, barely discernible under the puffiness of his big winter jacket. “I still take blame where it’s due. I could have done more, and I shouldn’t have ended up on the streets.”

“Did you ever feel you had a choice?”

He waited some more, then shook his head, and we fell silent.

“It was a good day,” he said with a smile.

I felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the coffee. “I’m glad, Jazz. I am. You deserved a good day.”

He chuckled, looking around at the snow-dusted garden. “I did, didn’t I? And it was—thanks to you too. Having you here, knowing you were nearby, it helped. More than you might realize.”

The admission stirred something in me: a mix of happiness and a poignant gratitude that we were here, in this moment together. Forget the almost kiss. This was what I was here for… to help.

“I’m just glad I could be here for you.”

We fell into a comfortable silence again, the kind you could only share with someone who understood you. In this same silence, I remembered long, lazy afternoons spent together, my head in his lap, and him reading a book—always reading—which made me feel warm inside.

Jazz filled a plastic cup from his thermos, tendrils of steam rising from it, and he sipped, his gaze lingering on the tree above us. “You know, sitting here after seeing Harper, it feels like I can breathe again.” He met my eyes, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that resonated with my own feelings. “Thanks, Alex. For everything.”

“It’s what friends are for,” I said, the phrase feeling a little too casual for that almost-kiss and all the days that lay between us.

Jazz nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he raised his tatty cup in a toast. “Here’s to friends, then,” he said.

“To friends,” I echoed, clinking my cup against his.

Another break of silence settled between us, and all I could think about was that damn near-kiss, and maybe I somehow telegraphed my thoughts, or perhaps I knew Jazz was thinking the same thing, but it wasn’t long before with a determined expression, he cleared his throat. I shifted, sensing the conversation would delve into territories we’d avoided.

“We, uhm… should talk about before,” Jazz said, his voice hesitant.

I played dumb because I wasn’t sure I was ready to confront whatever was lingering beneath the surface of our recent reconnections. “‘Before’?” I echoed, feigning confusion but knowing what he meant.

Jazz fixed me with a look that told me he wasn’t buying my act. “I wanted to kiss you, Alex.” His voice was soft but clear. He reached out, his gloved hand touching mine across the table, the contact enough to recall holding his hand and tracing the lines on his palm during the summer days long gone. “I wanted to kiss you,” he repeated, his eyes never leaving mine. “I thought that part of me, the part that craves connection outside of being a dad, had died. But I never stopped thinking about you. In all my dark moments, there was always you.”

The sincerity in his words and the raw emotion in his gaze left me breathless. In that fleeting moment, words escaped me, leaving me in shock and my heart thumping loudly. It was a revelation, a baring of his soul I hadn’t expected, even though part of me had sensed the undercurrents during our almost kiss.

“Jazz…” I started, unsure of what to say. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts, a thousand responses. I’d felt it too, that pull, that desire to bridge the gap between us with a kiss.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Jazz interrupted, his hand retracting, but the intensity in his eyes never wavering. “I just… I needed you to know. Because for so long, I’ve been hiding from everything, from everyone, including myself. But you, Alex… I couldn’t pretend you didn’t exist.”

I took a deep breath, my gaze drifting to where his hand had touched mine, still feeling the warmth of his touch. “Jazz, I…” I paused, collecting my thoughts. “I felt it too. But maybe it was just the intensity of the moment.”

“It wasn’t just the moment,” Jazz said, a hopeful undertone in his voice. “At least, not for me.”

The admission hung between us, a truth neither of us could ignore.

I nodded. “Then, let’s not ignore it,” I said, meeting his gaze again. “When you leave the program, maybe we explore this, and see where it goes, with no pressure or expectations. Just get back to being friends outside of this.” I waved at Guardian Hall.

A smile, tentative but real, spread across Jazz’s face. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice warm. “Why?”

“You mean, why do we need to wait?” I asked, already armed with many reasons we needed to both be on solid ground, how he was still recovering, how I was in a position of authority, how he was still working our program, but he shook his head to stop me.

“No, you always said as soon as you inherited your trust fund that you would tour the world, see everything, taste and touch it all. So, why did you stay in Chicago and use your trust fund to create Guardian Hall?”

Because of you. Because I needed to be there for you.

I couldn’t be that honest. The memories flooded back as vividly as if they happened yesterday.

“I was in college, at one of my first AA meetings, newly sober, filled with passion and focus,” I began, the scene unfolding in my mind. “There was this guy, Lonny Dalgleish, a former Army guy. He would come in off the streets for the meeting and sit at the back, observing everyone. He didn’t speak at first, but after a few weeks, he became part of the furniture and shared a little about himself. He’d been sober for six months but had no support since he’d come home; his family was gone, and he had no siblings.” I cleared my throat, understanding that honesty was important. “It made me think, made me wonder, what would happen if you came home and didn’t have help. If what happened to Lonny happened to you. I knew you were married by then, with a small baby, that you’d built a family, but…” I rubbed my eyes. “You were always in my thoughts. It was always you.”.

He said nothing as I echoed the words he’d used, and I paused, the weight of those days pressing down on me.

“I tried hard to help Lonny. Pulled in Marcus too. I wish I could say it was a success story, but maybe we went about it the wrong way. He disappeared one day, and we never tracked him down. But that… that whole situation, it made us realize there was a need, and I had all this money sitting there, and I wanted it to make a difference.” I rolled my eyes at myself. “So, I ditched the family firm and did something else. I was young and idealistic.”

“Strong and brave to go against your family,” he said, and I felt warm.

“It didn’t feel brave. Dad disowned me. Mom called it petty rebellion and claimed she could handle me being gay, but turning my back on my birthright was an embarrassment, and I was so unlike Lance and Clarke, who were ‘a credit to the family’.” I air-quoted that last part.

“What about them? Your brothers, I mean?”

“Married with kids, and I haven’t seen them or my parents since I chose to do my thing.”

“Huh?” His surprise showed. “None of them?”

“Nope.”

“Well, fuck.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. That was years ago, and it’s their loss.”

“True.”

“So, with Lonny, being in AA working on my sobriety, my family disowning me, coming into my inheritance, it was all a wake-up call. I switched my major from business to psychology. Marcus was already training to be a doctor, and the idea of Guardian Hall became a thing between us,” I continued, a mix of pride and reflection in my voice. “It wasn’t just about offering a place to stay. It was about providing a support system, which Lonny and many others lacked. It’s about helping people transition back to civilian life, giving them the necessary tools and support.”

Looking out at the grounds of Guardian Hall, I could see more than just the physical structure; I saw what it represented. “Every day here, I think about what could have been for Lonny. And I work to ensure that others might have a different story to tell, a chance at a better ending.”

This time, he reached over and held my hand as tightly as he could, even though we both wore gloves.

What I wouldn’t give to feel my fingers laced with his.

Skin on skin.