Page 55 of Stranded with the SEAL

And she’d never know her father.

It was Jax’s fault. All of it. His decisions had gotten Ralph killed, and Jax ate, slept, and bathed with the weight of that responsibility every day.

He’d driven all night to get here, not stopping to sleep and barely allowing himself to think as the seasons flew by his window. He owed Jessa that much. Hell, he owed her a lot more than this, but that was a debt he’d always be unable to pay.

Fatigue pulled at him, weighing him down as he stepped out of his car and made his way up the walk, flanked by rows of pink and purple flowers on either side.

What had the last two years been like for her?

Grief could change people — make them bitter — but she’d have had to stay strong for the child. Surely the baby would have brought her joy despite everything she’d lost, tempering the blow.

Maybe she’d even remarried.

The thought put him off. His own mind had yet to move on from Ralph’s death, and he couldn’t believe she would have been able to, either, even though the men must be on her like bees on honey.

She was a spitfire — all long legs and loud laughter that made it clear Ralph was the light of her life. She just glowed, in a way he’d never seen a woman glow. She was…mesmerizing.

He rang the bell and waited, his palms damp.

The front door opened and she appeared, her dark hair hanging straight to her waist, just as he remembered.

His chest felt tight. “Hi, Jessa.”

Something was different, an aloofness in her stare, and he was disappointed the light he remembered wasn’t shining today.

“Jax.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “What are you doing here?”

The action pushed her breasts together and her cleavage poked out of her shirt. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her chest, along with a rosy flush, as if she’d been working hard.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

She hesitated before stepping back for him to enter. The living room was nearly empty, a few open boxes scattered about and the carpet rolled up, a broom leaning against a wall.

“Are you moving?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He was aware of the tension in the air, the way she didn’t invite him to sit down or ask how he’d been, but he longed to know how she’d managed with the baby and where they were going now.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I drove all night.”

“Why?”

Eight hundred days he’d been waiting to say the words, more than two years of wishing for this moment to arrive, imagining what it would be like to ease her pain the only way he could. “We got him, Jessa. Steele is dead.”

The slightest lift of her chin was the only indication she’d heard him. She almost looked…

Angry.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry it took so long. I wanted to take him down earlier, I really did, but…”

“Get out.”

“What?”