It’s after midnight when there’s a knock on my door.
I spent the last two hours cleaning glitter off my face and hands and out of my hair.
Wearing an old pair of pajamas, I set my glass of wine down on the floor and trek down the hallway. I freeze inches from the door.
Who would be at my door this late?
It’s either a serial killer or Jaxson Bridges.
I’m almost hoping it’s a serial killer.
It’s not like I’d answer the door for a serial killer.
I’d call the cops. The murderer would be caught. Amelia for president.
That’d be better than Jax.
When I look through the peephole, I loudly groan.
His eyes are red. He’s somewhat wobbling in place. And his hand almost falls limp after he gives another weak knock to my door.
“Amelia!” he yells. “Open this damn door, you laundry room sleeper!”
I take the two steps and swing the door open, every bit of pissed off.
“Shut up,” I hiss, grabbing the collar of his shirt and jerking him inside. “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to go to jail for drunk and stupid conduct?”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “I am here to check on your sleeping arrangements. Call me the sleep police.”
I cover my face with my hands. “I can’t deal with a sober Jax. You can bet your ass my patience doesn’t have room for drunk and annoying Jax.”
He rests his back against a wall, his shoulders hitting a picture frame, and his eyes are glossy and on their way to being bloodshot.
As much as I want to knee him in the balls, the memories of a wasted Jax sweep through my mind. When he and I stole his dad’s liquor from the apartment and drank it. When he teased me for being a lightweight but then vomited five minutes later. When I kissed him once and it was the first time I ever tasted whiskey.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice is hoarse and thick.
I cross my arms. “For someone who hates me so much, you sure seem to like showing up at my doorstep an awful lot.”
He chuckles. It’s not a nice chuckle.
It’s more of an … edgy one?
“I told you, sweet Millie, I’m here to see where you’re sleeping.”
“I’m calling River to come get you.”
When I turn to walk away for my phone, his hand captures mine. As much as I shouldn’t, I allow him to lace our fingers together. He drags me toward him, turning me, and my back is now the one against the wall. The whiskey on his breath reminds me of the first time he touched me in places I’d never been touched.
My mouth waters, urging me to get just one more taste, to see if it’s changed any. To know if it’s gotten smoother, finer, and more delectable with age.
Something that sounds like my name leaves his drunken lips in a whisper, and he cradles my chin in his strong hand. His breath brushes against my cheek, and I inhale, taking it in.
I don’t say a word.
I can’t say a word.
It’s as if any verbal communication will tear us apart.
Jax and I don’t do well with words.
We don’t say nice things to each other.
The only time there’s peace between us is when our mouths or hands are on each other.
He moves my chin, exposing my neck, and brushes three light kisses along my jawline, whispering my name between each one. My heart shakes at his touch, at the feel of his lips against my bare skin.
“Amelia,” he whispers into my ear, and I shiver. “What’s going through your mind right now?”
I don’t mutter a word.
His fingers dig into my waist through the thin fabric of my pants. “Tell me.”
When I open my mouth, he draws back and presses a finger on my lips.
“And don’t lie to me either.”
Our eyes meet. His full of despair and turmoil and need.
Reality hits me.
He’s drunk.
We’re both vulnerable.
This can’t happen.
I say his name through my closed mouth, and he slides his finger off my lips. “We can’t do this.”
I see the moment the truth of my words hits him. His head tips forward, his forehead against mine, and he rests it there for a moment. He plants a quick peck to the top of my hair.
“All you have to do is tell me,” he whispers.
“Why do you care?” I return his whisper.
“I told you not to ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
“What if I want this one?”
“You don’t.”
“Why are you here?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“Then, you need to leave. I’ll call you a ride.”
“Please”—his voice turns begging—“don’t kick me out.”
“Jax, we can’t do this.”
He withdraws his hand from my waist and backs away at my words. I open my mouth, positive he’s leaving, and I’m ready to stop him. But he doesn’t open the door. Instead, he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor with his knees up.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he lowers his head. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
My breathing is shallow as I stare down at him.
My heart is breaking in so many ways, and I don’t know if there will ever be something to fix it. To heal it from two men who can no longer be a part of my life like I once wanted them to be.
“I don’t know why I care,” he goes on, his voice strangled yet loud enough for me to hear. “It’s fucking killing me that I don’t have that answer for you. All these years, I’ve been a good man and kept my distance from you. Made sure we were never alone together again or put in any compromising situations.” He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine, but neither of us moves. “I knew at times, what happened between us would slip through the cracks, and I’d remember that I once had feelings for you, that I once craved every inch of you every single second of every single day.”
“Why didn’t you tell Christopher then?” I shiver, a cold chill hitting me, as if Christopher’s ghost were here at the mention of his name. I retreat a step—the thought of him a reminder that this is such a bad idea.
“For the same reason you didn’t tell him.”
I stiffen.
“Don’t you remember when you met him, Amelia?” He rises to his feet, using the wall for leverage, but still, he stumbles some. “He hated life. But then he saw you … and I don’t know. For the first time, he seemed to have found happiness. I hated to take that away from him.”
I shut my eyes, remembering every detail.
“And I thought …” Jax stops and shakes his head. “I thought that it’d be a little crush he’d get over. You two could flirt some, but never, never did I think you’d fall in love with him.”
My heart matches the hurt clear on Jax’s face.
“I didn’t intervene because my best friend was hurting, and I knew you were the only one who made him feel better.”
I’m shaking. I can’t pinpoint exactly where I’m shaking. Maybe because it’s everywhere. My hands. My voice. My arms. My thoughts. I hug myself, wishing that I could do the same to Jax, but I’m terrified that if I did, I might do more than hug. I might press my lips to his. Pour my heart out to him. Ask him not to leave. I’m struggling to stay on my feet, to not collapse onto the floor in the same position Jax was just in.
As if he senses I’m growing weak, as if he sees the tears welling in my eyes, he steps to me.
“I knew you could make him feel better because you always made me feel better.” His voice rises, and he sticks his fist to his heart. “You weren’t supposed to fall in love with him because I wanted you to fall in love with me.”