Page 15

I can’t help but replay the moment Jax told me he killed everyone, and the news of Bryce’s death hits me over and over again. I can’t help but feel guilty for my grief, for the part of me that’s sad over someone dying, someone who wasn’t a good person.

He tried to help me. Maybe he was a good person in the end.

Taking Sam’s advice, I spend the next two days trying to paint, attempting to channel the ache in my chest I can’t make sense of. But the grief and sadness for someone I logically know doesn’t deserve it remains, and while I know his death shouldn’t bother me, I can’t help it.

The pain flows out of me in dark swirls on my canvas, bleak shades of gray and black encompass the canvas until no white can be seen. And for a moment it reflects exactly what I’m feeling—how the darkness has eaten up so much of me I’m not sure there’s any space for happiness left.

I set my brush down, painting no longer the distraction and therapy I need, and decide to grab a coffee before trying again, a stack of blank canvases waiting for me in their spot by the window in the bedroom.

Perhaps one day, painting will once again help me process everything, help me feel better , I think to myself.

I walk towards the kitchen but stop as I hear a TV playing from the main living area, a room that I’ve hardly seen used.

Bright blue and red lights flash on the TV and I stop in my tracks, watching the scene play out before me. The news reporter is a young man, his skin so pale it seems to glow as the flashing lights reflect off him. I freeze as I take in the familiar view, where the forest meets the lake, and the outline of tiny islands in the distance.

“No more information has been released about the death of multiple people here last week when emergency services responded to a fire on Crowe Lake. Crews battled the fire for hours, unable to discern whether anyone had been trapped in the building, the fire too fierce by the time firefighters arrived on scene to warrant rescue efforts. The remains of these individuals were later found as rescue workers assessed the site, and those remains are currently undergoing analysis. We are told that dental records are the only possible way to identify the victims at this time.”

I don’t realize I’ve walked towards the TV, unable to peel my eyes from the images in front of me, barely breathing as I watch and listen to the news reporter as he keeps speaking.

“Police have been investigating the cause of the blaze, and they have not yet ruled out foul play. Stay tuned for more news about the fire that has devastated the Crowe Lake community.”

I close my eyes, willing the tears to stop running down my face, willing the broken pieces of me to go back in the box I so haphazardly crammed them into. I’m overwhelmed as I watch the images flash across the screen. It was one thing hearing about what happened that night, but seeing the aftermath with my own eyes is jarring.

This is not real. This cannot be real.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” Ryan says, and I jump at the sound of his voice, not having heard him walk into the room behind me. I wipe the tears away quickly, trying to fake some semblance of composure.

“I’m fine,” I say, my facade not at all convincing as I stare at him, at his eyes searching mine.

He gives me a sad smile. “I’d like to believe you, I really would, but no one can go through what you did and be fine. Not right away at least,” he muses, his gaze flicking between me and the TV. “What I can’t figure out though”—he pauses—“is why you look like you’re in mourning watching the news report. What happened to them is not your fault.”

I meet his golden eyes, the kindness behind them genuine, and I see how they’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling.

“I know… I’m not sad.” I pause as he gives me a look, one I can’t quite decipher, and I take a deep breath before continuing, “I’m not sad. I’m glad they’re dead, all of them,” I lie.

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

He goes to leave the room, his footsteps pausing as he reaches the hallway.

“Interesting that you’re fine, but you’ve scratched yourself raw.” He looks at my hand before meeting my gaze again. “You might want to clean the blood up.”

I look at my finger, which sure enough is dripping blood, and yet I didn’t even realize what I was doing, so distracted by the TV, so consumed by my own emotions, the physical pain not even registering until Ryan pointed it out.

I wince as I look at the damage I’ve caused, and when I look up at Ryan, to explain that it’s not what it looks like, he’s already gone.

*

I stalk back to the bedroom replaying everything Ryan said to me and what I said to him. The water and soap bite into my cut, and I grimace as I wash my hands in the bathroom sink before placing a Band-Aid around my thumb. The stone floor in the bathroom is cold and I try not to let it remind me of the floor at Rhett’s. I shift from one foot to the other as I try to shake the emotions that threaten to resurface, as I swallow down the frustration and anger of having something as simple as a cold floor now associated with a dark memory.

I look at myself in the mirror, hoping everything will go back to normal soon, willing myself to feel normal again. I want it all to stop—the constant onslaught of emotions that are too big to fit inside of my body, too heavy to carry by myself. I want to be happy again, to feel genuinely happy, and not just have fleeting moments of joy before my memories or feelings extinguish it.

I hear the click of the door and footsteps slowly make their way through the room, footsteps that I could recognize as Jax’s even if I was unable to see him in the mirror. His presence fills the space and I turn around, walking towards him and meeting him halfway between the bathroom door and the bed, willing myself to lock away everything I was feeling.

“I’ll never get over how much I love seeing you here,” he starts.

“In your room?”

“Our room,” he replies simply, his eyes twinkling. “I hope you know this house is as much yours as it is mine, love. And I hope you view it that way, as your home.”

I kiss him lightly, tenderly, as he wraps his muscled arms around me. “Anywhere that you are is my home, Jax,” I murmur, and he smiles against my lips. I melt into him, wondering how such a hard body can be so gentle and feel so soft wrapped around me.

I roam my hands over him as my kisses become more frenzied, filled with both the need for Jax and the desire for everything to go back to normal.

“I want this. I want you,” I say to him as his green eyes search mine. I try to sound convincing, try to look at him the way I used to, when in reality it feels forced reaching out to him for this, for more than just this.

“Love…” He starts quietly before trailing off. His hands firmly wrapping around me.

“Jax,” I respond, “I need this.” I all but plead. But honestly, I don’t even know what I need besides everything going back to how it was before .

I need to forget what he felt like. I leave the unspoken words on the tip of my tongue as I reach towards Jax again, hoping he doesn’t see through the facade.

I want to remember what his touch feels like, and to feel the all-consuming warmth of him surrounding every inch of me.

I need to remember what it’s like to have soft hands and tender kisses caress my skin, to want to have someone devouring every part of my body and soul.

I take a step back from him and his arms fall by his sides as he takes a deep breath, hesitancy etched onto his features, the conflict behind his eyes obvious.

My back arches as I pull my shirt off over my head, and the familiar pull of freshly healed skin causes a flash of fire to sear across my body. I ignore the feeling, focusing instead on the cool air as it hits my naked chest, my nipples pebbling in response to the cold.

I slowly pull down my pants, shimmying out of them while I steal a quick glance at Jax, his eyes tracking my every move.

I gently toss my pants aside and make myself look at him again.

I don’t ever remember feeling vulnerable near him, but the boldness I’m used to feeling is nowhere to be found, and I resist the urge to cover myself.

If I can pretend everything is fine, maybe it will be.

“I don’t recall ever having to beg you for it, Mr. Turner,” I say, hoping the forced playfulness in my tone hides my hesitation, that my shallow breathing looks like arousal and not panic.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jax says softly as he takes a cautious step toward me.

“I’m ready for this.” The words roll off my tongue, my lie as effortless as loving Jax.

I close the gap between us, my eyes following the tattoos across his chest as my hands find their way to his pants. I pull them down quickly before turning around and facing the bed.

I want to look at him, I want to take my time with him. But something in me just can’t, and I close my eyes trying not to linger on the thought of not being able to go back to who I was.

I feel Jax behind me, the heat of his body and the hard length of him pressed against my rear.

I flinch as his hand touches my skin, tracing the scabs that cover my back.

“Sorry.” His voice is all but a whisper. “I am so sorry, love.” I can feel the emotion laced through his words.

“You didn’t do this, Jax.”

He doesn’t respond and instead moves his lips to my back, placing gentle kisses on top of angry skin. It doesn’t hurt, though, and instead I start to relax. I move forward slightly and bend over the mattress, lowering myself down until I’m sinking into the soft duvet. Jax is close behind me, and it’s not long until his lips are brushing against my ear.

“What do you want, love? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

“I want …”

I don’t know what I want.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me, Jax.”

He lets out a groan and I swear I can feel some of the hesitancy leave his body as his hips slowly grind against me.

I push myself deeper into the mattress, my face in the blankets, a cocoon of my own making.

I try to remind myself to arch into him and not away from him as his hands roam my skin. To want this, to want him, just like I used to. But the control I have over my own body starts to slip, and with each passing second, I can feel tension invading my bones and bile start to rise in my throat.

Focus, Evi.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture Jax as his hands continue to caress my skin gently. But despite the gentleness of his touch, I can’t contain the familiar feeling of panic as it starts to take hold of my body.

Fuck you feel so good, Evi. I freeze at the sound of Tanner’s voice in my head. And for a split second, it feels like he’s here.

I can feel his skin against mine.

I can smell him beside me.

I can see him on top of me.

I dig my nail into my skin.

Focus, Evi.

I hear Jax’s voice, but it sounds far away. Despite how hard I try to bring myself back to him, I struggle to focus and the present moment suddenly feels impossible to grab onto again.

I don’t realize Jax has stopped running his hands over my back until I feel the mattress beside me sink under his weight.

“Look at me, love,” he commands.

My body heaves as I try to focus on his voice, and I shake my head as I try to banish the image of Tanner from my mind.

I feel as though I’m losing hold of my breath, and no matter how quickly I try to breathe, I can’t fill my lungs fast enough as panic brings me straight to the edge and threatens to throw me into the chasm below.

“Look. At. Me.”

His voice carries an authority I can’t ignore; gentle yet commanding.

I shift slightly so I’m facing him, and our eyes meet.

I can’t quite read what it is he’s feeling, his eyes ablaze with an emotion I don’t have the energy to try and understand right now.

He takes my face in his hands, firmly, yet with a tenderness I’ve missed.

“You are here, love.”

A small sob escapes my lips as the tears start to run freely down my face.

“You are here. You are safe. Breathe with me.”

Strong arms pull me towards him as Jax holds me tightly against his chest. I stop trying to hold in the emotions as they flood through me, sending wave after wave of anguish to the surface. I hear Jax’s voice quietly beside me, narrating the rhythmic sound of his own breathing.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

I cry until I have no tears left, and the hurricane of emotions in my chest has dissipated, the pain replaced by exhaustion.

It doesn’t take long before all I hear is the sound of Jax’s heart beating steadily in his chest. His melodic voice and the warmth radiating from his body lull me until I’m not quite asleep but not quite awake.

I’m somewhere in between, somewhere where I’m free from the nightmares that plague me at night and the memories that haunt my every waking moment.

Jax shifts slightly, unintentionally startling me as he pulls a blanket over top of me and wraps it snuggly around my naked body.

“Thank you,” I mutter quietly, as my eyes find him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t… I didn’t think I would react like that.” I can’t help the embarrassment that coats my words as they come out of my mouth. It shouldn’t be so hard to be with someone you’ve been with before, should it?

“Love,” Jax says with a sigh, “you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.”

His lips find my forehead as his thumb wipes a tear off my cheek.

“I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t miss this… the taste of you is my favorite flavor, and I would do anything to lose myself inside of you every day. But it’s not the oxygen I need to breathe, love… you are. Never forget that. All of this”—he gestures vaguely—“can wait. I can wait. What’s important is that you’re okay. And I’ll be here every step of the way.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

He continues to run his hands over my skin in smooth, repeated patterns, pausing only to wipe the tears from my cheeks. I sense that his movements are deliberate, keeping my focus on his touch rather than the thoughts swirling around inside my head.

I don’t know how much time has passed before I’m truly able to relax, his presence calming every part of me. He adjusts the buttery soft blanket around me so it’s snug against my skin.

“You’re good at this.”

“I’ve had practice.”

My eyes dart to him both at the realization that I had spoken out loud and his response.

“You’ve done this before?”

“I have,” he says, and something I can’t decipher lies behind his words.

“For who?”

“My sister.”

The grief in his words is palpable, and the pain behind his eyes is almost too much to bear.

I remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Jax has a sister.

Confusion and curiosity battle within me as I both want to know more and realize I really don’t know much about him at all.

“I didn’t realize you have a sister,” I start tentatively.

“Had.”

Shit.

Words escape me for a moment as the gravity of his words sink into me. Past tense. Had .

My heart breaks for him knowing what kind of loss he has faced. I have often wondered what the cause of the darkness behind his eyes could be, and now it seems as though I have figured out a piece of that puzzle.

“I’m so sorry…” I start, unsure of what else to say.

“It was a long time ago, love. A really long time ago.” He lets out a sigh as if he’s trying to keep his own emotions at bay.

“We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.”

“All in or all out, love, remember?” he says with a sad smile.

I nuzzle into him, whether to comfort him or myself, I’m not sure. All I know is the story that’s about to leave his lips is not going to be a happy one.

“We were young when we entered the foster system together. I was seven and she was a year younger than me. We had already been through so much together, losing our mum and dad, only for children’s services to take us away from all the other family we’d ever known. I know they were trying to do what they thought was best, and they didn’t want us to be near a family that built their empire on criminal activities, but they didn’t seem to care who they gave us to.” He trails off as if getting lost in a memory.

“I can’t imagine, Jax. I’m so sorry.”

“The first house wasn’t too bad, but it didn’t last long before they decided they weren’t ready for kids who were dealing with so much. Alice—my sister—used to cry a lot, especially at night. And I think they got sick of her waking them up constantly. So, we got moved to another house and the pattern continued. No one wanted to put in the time to actually help her, to try and understand what she was going through. They thought just because she was a kid she should be resilient enough not to feel her losses so deeply. But Alice was always that way, she felt everything deeply. Even as a toddler—I have vague memories of Mum consoling her when she accidentally stepped on ants or when the flowers she picked would wilt and die.”

Another sad smile finds its way to his lips, and he kisses me tenderly on the forehead before continuing.

“We moved houses together for a year. The last house we were in together was horrible. I remember it as though it were yesterday. They beat us the day we arrived and every day we stayed there with them.”

A memory of something Ryan once said rings loudly in my head. ‘ I’m not exaggerating when I say no one could believe their eyes when Jax showed up at our house that morning. He was black and blue, covered in bruises and scars. He had been through it. ’

“I got it bad, but Alice got it the worst. They wouldn’t stop until she stopped crying, but she was only seven at the time. Fucking seven years old. Of course she was going to cry. Her screams still haunt my nightmares…” He trails off and shakes his head, as if trying to erase his own memories that threaten to overwhelm him.

“A few months later we were removed from their care, but they separated us. That’s when I met Ryan—living with him and our foster parents. And it was the last time I saw Alice until I was eighteen.”

“What was she like when you saw her again?” I ask quietly, hoping for the best but dreading the answer I know I’m about to hear.

“Broken, love. She was completely broken.” He closes his eyes before continuing, “My luck improved after that last house, but Alice’s hadn’t. As soon as I turned eighteen, I went back to my family—working with my uncle and cousins—and tried to find her. I looked everywhere, but all I could find were records of a few hospital stays before she turned fourteen. The last thing on her file was a missing person’s report just before her fifteenth birthday… She ran away from foster care, and no one had seen her since.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath as his hand fidgets with the blanket wrapped around me, seemingly trying to collect himself.

“I didn’t know where to look for her. I hadn’t seen her since I was eight, and no one in our family had kept tabs on her. I knew the address of her last foster home and that’s it. But trying to find a missing teenager in a city is like looking for a needle in a haystack, and it felt like that. I found her, eventually, completely by chance. I was walking home from a job with my cousins and I saw a girl leaning up against the side of the building.”

He lets out a shaky breath and my heart stills in my chest as I wait for him to continue, hanging onto his every word.

“It was winter and bloody freezing, and all she was in a skirt and slinky top, shivering against the wind. I didn’t think much of it at first, after all, it wasn’t unusual to see young girls in certain occupations. But there was something about her that made me walk up to her. Her hair wasn’t as blonde as I had remembered Alice’s being, but as I got closer, I knew it was her. Her eyes hadn’t changed, the mix of green and blue was unmistakable. And the birthmark she always had was still there, a patch of freckles on her lower arm, so close together she used to call it her Dalmatian spot.” He lets out a strained laugh and I don’t know how to respond, the love and the grief of his memories woven so tightly together. So, I run my hand over his chest until it rests just above his heart.

“She didn’t recognize me at first, after all, I had changed a lot in ten years. But when she did… I’ll never forget the way her eyes lit up. At the time it was the happiest I had ever felt. Finding her. I had dreamed of the day since they separated us. But the joy was short-lived.”

“What happened to her?”

“Life, I guess. She was so lost, love. All the happy memories so far in the past that she lost all hope of it getting better. She was an addict. And a sex worker. And she put up a hard fight to turn it around, but in the end, she couldn’t, and we were too late finding her. I was too late.”

“I am so sorry.” I feel the grief surge through him as he closes his eyes.

“She killed herself a few weeks before I turned nineteen. And then I killed the guy who got her hooked on drugs, the one who called himself her pimp.”

It’s my turn to feel a wave of grief wash over me, both at the profound loss Jax experienced so young, and at the idea of him losing so much of his own innocence before he even had a chance to experience life.

“I’ll never forgive myself for not being able to help her.”

You remind me of someone I used to know.

I’m shocked by the realization.

“So that’s what you meant by—”

“You reminded me of her, love,” he whispers. “The way you were when I first saw you. So free-spirited and so full of life. It reminded me of how Alice always was as a little kid. Covered head to toe in paint, smiling, and always having fun. And when I saw you again—I saw how much you had changed. And while the circumstances were different, it reminded me how dark life had become for her. And I just couldn’t let it happen to anyone else. Not when I had the ability to help.”

I feel like a piece of the puzzle has clicked into place now that I know why Jax chose me, why he stuck around through all my ups and downs. And I find peace in his confession that I didn’t realize I was waiting for.

We keep talking for hours, trading stories, and learning about the trials and tribulations we have both experienced growing up. We talk until the pain and sadness from the past doesn’t feel as intense, as if we are both helping the other shoulder the burdens we have been carrying for so long. We don’t leave the bedroom until our growling stomachs force us from the bed and into the kitchen for dinner, and for a few hours I feel lighter, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what Jax meant when he said emotional pain is like a splinter, and the sooner we pull it out, the sooner we talk about it, the easier it is to heal.