Fall With Me (Playing For Keeps Book 4)

Statistically, the day couldn’t get worse.

It shouldn’t have gotten worse.

There was no way in hell the day had potential to get any fucking worse than it already had.

But then Jaxon caught me looking at him, so I ran to the snack table—the only logical choice—and then the server came over with his shiny tray and set down these teensy little lemon-cherry tarts, and they reminded me of my mimi, and thinking about my mimi reminded me of home, and thinking of home reminded me that my new home was flooded and unlivable, and thinking about my unlivable home reminded me that every single hotel within a sixty-mile radius was fully booked—thank you, Harry Styles—and thinking about the fact that I had no idea where I was going to sleep tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, made me anxious, and if there’s one thing about me? I’m gonna eat when I’m anxious.

“The crust was made with almond flour,” the doctor tells me, because of course it was.

“That’s not how Mimi makes it,” I whisper, picking at the blanket covering my lap. It’s blue and scratchy, and the only thing I hate more is the hospital gown I’m wearing. And also, the fact that I’m alone, that all of my family is at least one plane ride away, which really fucking sucks when all you want is a hug that makes you feel like everything’s going to be okay.

At least I have a bed for tonight.

“Anyway, Miss Hayes, everything looks good so far. You’re fortunate that your friend administered your EpiPen as quickly as he did. We’re going to keep you another hour to make sure you continue improving, but the good news is you should be able to go home soon.”

I shoot up in bed so fast my head spins. “An hour? But-but … but I can’t … shouldn’t I … An hour?”

The doctor tilts her head, smiling. “Most people are eager to get home after something like this.”

I bet most people also have homes that aren’t submerged in water.

“We typically keep a patient for four to six hours following anaphylaxis, so long as everything is going well. You’ve been sleeping for the last three hours, and your numbers are looking great. Like I said, you should be good to go in the next hour.”

I scratch at my throat, trying to rub away the dryness. “I can’t stay overnight?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re extremely low on emergency beds. Get some rest, and one of the nurses will be back shortly with your discharge papers.”

“But—” My mouth hangs open as I watch her leave. I don’t know what to do. Despite my three-hour nap, I’m so exhausted my brain feels like it’s decaying. Everything is foggy, and my limbs feel like they’re tied to anchors. I want to go home. Home to Augusta, to my parents. I want Mimi to make my favorite sausage and biscuits, and I want to curl up on the couch with my mom, lay my head in her lap while she twirls my curls around her fingers and we watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta.

I want to remember what it feels like when someone takes care of you.

Instead, I lay my head back down and force the heavy feelings away.

An hour later, I’m post–nap number two and feeling no more refreshed as I shuck my gown and pull on my clothes, the nurse prattling on about the signs of biphasic anaphylaxis, which is a second round of anaphylaxis.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask, looking around the room. “My purse?” Panic brings a shaky hand to my mouth. “Oh my God. My camera. Where’s my camera?”

“I believe your friend has all of your things out in the waiting room.”

I blink. “My friend?”

As if on cue, the door opens, and Jaxon stands there, wearing a blank expression, all of my possessions in his hands. “You ready?”

“Ready?” I look from him to the nurse. “Ready for what?”

“You shouldn’t drive for the next twenty-four hours or so, just to be safe,” the nurse answers with a smile.

“Can’t drive? But who will drive me—who will take me—but where will I—” I look between Jaxon—his expression still alarmingly blank, like he doesn’t feel a thing—and the nurse, and I shake my head. “No, but I . . . I don’t wanna.” I . . . can’t. Not after tonight. After he rushed to my side when he realized I could barely breathe. Not after he held my hands tightly in his, promised me it’d be okay. Jaxon Riley is the reason I’m still breathing, and I don’t know how to face him. Not when it feels like he’s seen me at nothing but my worst. “You can’t make me.”

His brow quirks, the tiniest twinkle of humor flashing in his eyes the only sign that he’s not a robot right now. “I’m extremely persuasive, and you’re extremely willing. There’s a fading hickey right here”—he jerks down the neck of his shirt, pointing to a barely-there bruise on his collarbone—“to prove it, and if I had to guess, there are at least five just like it on your body. We both know you’re getting in my car, honey.”

My mouth gapes, heat clawing up my neck, burning the tips of my ears, and I hate, hate, hate that my hand goes to my right hip, right where one of those hickeys still clings to my skin. I hate his satisfied smirk even more.

“Well, then.” The nurse rocks back on her heels, clasping her hands together, awkward grin as she watches us. “This is an odd dynamic.” She points at the door. “I’m going to head out. Lennon, be well.”

Jaxon holds the door for her, not taking his eyes off me as she passes. He’s back to being an asshole, I see, which is nice. I can handle asshole. What I can’t handle is all the innuendos, him joking that he’s willing to help me out, because I’m emotionally fragile enough that I might accidentally repeat what was a mistake in the first place, just to forget about all the other mistakes I’ve made, like nearly marrying a piece of shit with brains as big as his dick (minuscule), and eating a tart made with killer almonds.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I rode in the ambulance with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

“I don’t remember that. Musta been out of it.” I was most certainly not. I came to when the paramedics were shifting me onto the gurney, at which point I flew into a panic, latched on to Jaxon, and begged him not to leave me.

His gaze moves over me, cool and disinterested. “Musta.”

“Well, let’s go, then.” I reach for my things, my camera, tucked neatly in its bag, hooked over Jaxon’s arm. My coat, my purse. My beanie, stuffed in the pocket of his coat. But he twists out of reach.

“I’ll carry it.”

“But I⁠—”

“Can you just fucking relax?” he barks out. “For fuck’s sake, Lennon, you nearly died today.”

“I did not,” I argue, embarrassment making my palms itch. There’s something there, something dark dancing in his hazel eyes that makes me want to step back. But as he steps toward me, I force myself to stay, to hold his gaze as he looms above me.

“I watched you choke. I watched you gasp for air. Saw the fear in your eyes as your goddamn life flashed before them while you held my hands like I was your only lifeline.” His chest rises sharply, and the slightest tremor runs through him before he clenches his jaw. “And then you passed out, and I thought you were going to die in my arms. So forgive me, Lennon, if I’d rather carry your shit for five minutes so you can take it easy.” He flicks his head at the door. “Now march your ass down the hall and out to the parking garage.”

My fists ball at my sides, tears stinging my eyes. I haven’t had an allergic reaction since I was eight. I was careless today, lost in my head, the same place I’ve been since I walked away from Ryne not even three weeks ago. And now Jaxon has this hanging over his head, the knowledge that for a few minutes, someone’s entire life was in his hands. But the last thing I want to give him right now is my humility, my hurt, my tears.

That must be why I snarl out, “Yes, Dad.”

“You can call me Daddy, honey. My only stipulation is that I’m buried eight inches inside you while you do it.”

I gasp, and when he grins, I stomp past him.

“Len,” he snickers out. “Wait.”

I spin around, expecting some sort of an apology. He throws my coat over my face.

“Put this on. It’s cold out.”

If I thought I was angry before, it’s nothing compared to when we climb into the elevator, joined by a nurse who is, apparently, a big fan of Jaxon’s. She’s got him backed into the corner while she twirls her long blonde ponytail around her finger, asking him about his tattoos.

“I’ve seen them on your Instagram,” she tells him. “I’d love to get a good look in person, though.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, and I swear to God he’s only entertaining her to piss me off.

“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” She winks, the tip of her tongue poking the corner of her mouth, and I decide if I have to go into biphasic anaphylaxis, there would be no better time than right now.

Instead, I offer coolly, “Hospital doesn’t really seem like the best place for that.” But what the fuck do I know?

She doesn’t take her eyes off Jaxon. “I know a room.”

“Hear that, Len?” Jaxon grins at me. “She knows a room. Should we take a detour?”

“Better yet, Jax, you should take her to Cabo. I hear girls love that.”

“Speaking from experience, huh?”

“Extremely underwhelming experience.”

Our elevator friend steps to the right, trying to block me from Jaxon. “Do you have any tattoos the pictures don’t show?”

“Yeah, actually, he does.” The doors pop open, and I grab Jaxon’s wrist, yanking him forward, pushing him out ahead of me. “He’s got an arrow pointing to his giant cock, and I traced it with my tongue before he fucked my throat.”

Howls of laughter bounce off the walls of the parking garage as the shocked nurse disappears behind the elevator doors, and I storm ahead of Jaxon, no idea where I’m going or what kind of car I’m looking for.

“You jealous, honey?”

“As fucking if. It’s rude as fuck to flirt with you when you’re with someone else. I could’ve been your girlfriend for all she knew.”

“I’ve never found jealousy hot, but I gotta tell ya, honey, I’ve got half a mind to yank down those leather pants, bend you over the hood of my car, and remind us both how good it feels to have that tight little cunt strangling my cock.”

“Jaxon!” I spin around, crashing into his chest, because for someone reason he’s right behind me. “Stop saying that word!”

“Cock?”

My eyes dart around the garage before I whisper, “Cunt.”

“Hmm . . .” His lower lip slides beneath his teeth as he thinks. “Nah, don’t think I will. Filthy word for my filthy girl.”

“I’m not your—ugh, forget it. Where are we going? Is your car even here? You rode in the ambulance with me.”

“It’s right there.” He points down the row to a bright blue two-door Porsche, because obviously. Arrogant, ostentatious car for an arrogant, ostentatious man. “Garrett and Jennie dropped it off. So I guess two scary things happened today.”

I raise my brows.

“You nearly died, and Garrett got behind the wheel of my baby.” He pats the hood of his car, grinning as he opens the passenger door for me. “Now c’mon, honey. Come sit that pretty little cunt in my car.”

I roll my eyes, smacking his arm out of the way as I climb inside. “If your mission is to finish what the almonds started, congratulations. You’re well on your way to annoying me to death.”

He chuckles, but it’s a quiet sound, and when he tucks my things into the front trunk and climbs into the driver’s seat, all traces of humor seem to have disappeared. He’s tense as he pulls out of the garage, withdrawn, and the sudden iciness makes my skin crawl.

He clears his throat as he turns onto the road. “Where to?”

“Oh. Uh . . .” Fuck. Pulling out my phone, I review my earlier message thread with my landlord. His only response to me asking if it was safe to sleep in the living room since the collapsed ceiling was in the bathroom was u fuckin serious????

Rick has clearly never struggled, and it shows.

But it’s nearly midnight, and I have no clue where I’m sleeping tonight.

“Lennon? What’s your address?”

“Um, could you actually . . . could you take me to my car? I have some stuff to get.”

He doesn’t answer, just shifts into the left lane, checks to make sure the road is clear, then pulls a U-turn. The drive back to the community center is painfully silent, and the exhaustion of the past month fully sets in the longer I sit here in the dark next to a man who has probably second-guessed jabbing me with my EpiPen at least once tonight.

I just want a place in this world. Friends I make all on my own. I want to build a life that’s all mine, my hopes and dreams, my failures and my lessons. I want to grow into the person I was always meant to be, and I want to do it all on my own without someone else’s hand forcing mine.

And here I am, trying, and it’s all gone to shit in a matter of days.

What am I doing? Where do I go from here? I don’t know the answers, but I want to find them, so as I close my eyes, I remind myself that tomorrow is a new day, and I can start over as many times as I need to.

The car rolls to a stop, and when I open my eyes, we’re parked beside my car. I unbuckle my seat belt, climb out of the car, and look back at Jaxon. His eyes are⁠—

“Unbelievable. Were you looking at my ass?”

His gaze flicks to mine. “You’re wearing skintight leather pants, honey. Don’t know how the hell you got ’em on. Make your ass look gorgeous, though.” He cocks his head, eyes on my jutted hip. “Second-guessing whether I would’ve been able to yank ’em down in the parking garage.”

I swear, my eyes are going to have a permanent place rolled to heaven. “You’re a pig.” I swallow my pride. “But thanks for saving my life, and thanks for the ride. See you around.”

I shut the door behind me, pop the front trunk, and yelp when it slams before I can grab my things.

Jaxon’s hands come down on the hood on either side of me, his chest pressed to my back as he cages me in. Warm breath tickles my ear, rolling down my neck. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting my stuff.” I swallow. “Getting in my car.”

“Ah. And then? What was your plan after that?”

Finding the closest Walmart, because according to the couple I follow on Instagram who have been road-tripping through North America for the last eight months, Walmart allows overnight camping in its parking lots. “Driving myself home.”

He curses under his breath. “You were there, right? When the nurse told you not to drive for twenty-four hours? Or are you purposely choosing to be careless with your life?”

There it is again, all of it. Humiliation, anger, frustration at the way my life has taken such a sudden turn. All of it bubbles to the surface, making my blood run hot. I turn in his arms, pushing against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even blink.

“What happened tonight was an accident. That’s the reality when you live in a world where there are traces of tree nuts all over the place. Sometimes things slip by you. But I’m fine. I feel fine, and I don’t need you on my heels just to make sure I get tucked safely into my bed tonight.”

He makes no move to leave, to get out of my way, so I slip under his arm, heading for my car. I’ll get my things at the arena. Surely he won’t keep them from me forever.

Jaxon’s one step behind me the entire way, and the second I open my door, I know it’s a mistake. The interior lights up, illuminating the shit show inside. A matching set of berry-pink luggage, all of it opened, clothes spilling out. A garbage bag full of hair products. Several pairs of shoes strewn about, and every blanket I own on my passenger seat.

Jaxon steps closer, his eyes moving over the mess, and my heartbeat pounds in my ears as I wring my hands, frantically trying to build a story in my head. “What the fuck is this?” His gaze comes to mine, and I panic, blurting out the truth.

“It’s-it’s-it’s—” My chest tightens, and Jaxon watches as I place my palm over my thrumming heart. “A pipe burst, and now my upstairs neighbor’s bathroom is in my bathroom, and every goddamn hotel in this damn city is booked because”—I laugh so I don’t cry—“that’s how life is going for me lately.”

His eyes ping to my phone, screen still lit up, Walmart typed in my Maps search bar.

“It’s only for tonight,” I rush out. “A couple days, at most. Until I can find a hotel. Or a new apartment.”

He’s not saying a damn thing, just standing there, staring at me, watching me fumble through this. It only serves to heighten this utter humiliation, because really, how could it get any worse? First, he finds me on my honeymoon, sans husband. Then he finds me at his workplace, where I run from the room to vomit. Then I nearly kick the bucket in front of him over a fucking tart. And now this. Me, standing here, no husband, no friends, and nowhere to sleep tonight but my cold car.

Finally, he blinks. Turns back to my car, slams the door, and yanks my keys from my hand. Aims the fob over his shoulder as he heads back to his car, locking mine, and opens his passenger door. “Get in the car.”

“What? No, I’m not⁠—”

“Get in the fucking car, Lennon. I’m not standing here in the middle of the night, arguing with you over whether you’re gonna sleep in your car in the middle of winter or in a warm fucking bed.”

“It’s just one night. I’ll be fine. I have my blankets, and I’ll⁠—”

“Get in the fucking car.”

“But it’s⁠—”

“The car.” He jabs his finger inside, his chest lurching. “You. Right now. I fucking get it, okay? It’s a series of unfortunate events. It’s not your fault, none of it, but for fuck’s sake, Lennon, accept the help when it’s offered to you. You can continue hating me while you do it, and I’ll make it easier for you by driving you up the fucking wall.” His rapid breathing slows as his frustration wanes, like he sees my fight dimming. “C’mon, honey,” he murmurs, the soft words carrying across the frigid air, warming parts of me that have no business being warmed. He holds his hand out to me. “Get in the fucking car.”

My heart tells me to keep waging this war, to refuse, insist I don’t need him. My brain begs me to give it up, to take the help, the warm bed. Reminds me that accepting help doesn’t have to equal giving up my independence.

So I slip my hand into his, letting him help me back into his car. “Fine.” I narrow my eyes at his triumphant grin. “And don’t call me honey.”

“I’ll try my best,” he says, hand above my head on the shell of the car as he bends to look me in the eyes. “My best’s never been all that good, though, honey.”

He wants me to be impressed that he’s somehow managed to wrangle all my shit in his arms without me having to lift a single finger on the way from his condo parking garage up to his—you guessed it—penthouse. I can tell by the self-satisfied expression living on his face, and also that he keeps pumping his brows at me, then my stuff, and saying, “Eh?”

“I’d be more impressed if we hadn’t had to leave my biggest piece of luggage in my car.”

“Okay, well, the frunk only holds so much. Sorry it’s not big enough to accommodate all your shit.”

My brows rise as he keys in a code outside his door. “Frunk?”

“Front trunk. Keep up, honey.” He opens the door, grimacing at the screech that sounds from somewhere deep inside his condo, followed by a thud. “Uh, I have a cat. He’s got an attitude problem, and he’s gonna be extra pissed since I’m home late.”

“Oh, I love cats.” I crouch down, smiling at the big white-and-orange chunk as he skids into the room at full speed, floofy belly swinging back and forth. “Hey, baby,” I murmur, holding my hand out. He slows, approaching me cautiously, orange paws pattering closer as he sniffs me.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t like women, so don’t expect him to⁠—”

His words die as the cat drops to his back, belly up, paws in the air, screeching at me for rubs. It’s my turn for a triumphant smile as I scoop him up, snuggling him close, enjoying the way Jaxon’s eyes narrow as I shower his cat with affection.

“Oh, you’re so handsome, aren’t you? Yes, you are. You’re Lennon’s handsome boy.”

“He’s Daddy’s handsome boy,” Jaxon argues, reaching for him. The cat smacks his hand away, hissing, then nuzzles his head into the crook of my elbow. “You little shit. I gave you a home!”

I snicker, stepping farther into the condo, taking in Jaxon’s space as he disappears down a hall with my things. It’s beautiful, a gorgeous open space with exposed ceilings, brick walls, and floor-to-ceiling windows that are perfect for storm-watching. But it’s alarmingly sterile. There’s furniture, yes, but the only hint that someone lives here is the cat toys piled in a basket, the several extravagant cat beds that seem to be placed strategically through the space. There’s a large bookcase on one side of the living room, bare and begging to be filled with something more than the three photo frames and dying aloe plant.

If I had to guess, I’d say Jaxon isn’t planning on being here long.

When he returns, I focus my attention back on the cat who’s currently kneading my boob. “What’s his name?”

“Mitts.”

“Mitts?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Like Mittens? Why?”

Jaxon blows out an irritated sigh and holds his hands up, wiggling his thumbs. “’Cause he’s polydactyl. He’s got extra toes, and it looks like he’s wearing fucking baseball mitts.”

I pick up a paw, examining his little jellybean toes. Sure enough, there’s an extra one. “Oh my God,” I coo. “It’s so fucking cute.”

“Right? Obviously I had to bring him home with me.”

“You adopted him?”

He nods. “In September. Rosie works at a shelter. I found him there.” He looks from me to the kitchen, and when he tears off his beanie, the pretty mop of brown waves sitting on top of his head springs free. He runs his fingers through them, and I ignore the memory that chooses that moment to surface, my fingers tangled in those waves, his hands on my thighs, spreading me wide as he gorged on me like I was his last meal. “Anyway, uh, I’ll show you to your room.” He shoots a look at Mittens. “He can’t sleep with you. He likes to sleep on my pillow. Right by my head. Keeps his belly warm.”

I press a kiss to Mittens’s head. “Sorry, Mitts. Daddy says you’re not allowed to sleep with me.”

He meows his protest as I set him down, and when I follow Jaxon down the hall, the pitter-patter of his paws chases behind us.

“There’s a bathroom there,” Jaxon says, pointing to door number one. “But there’s one with a tub and shower in your room too.” He stops at door number two, stepping aside, scrubbing the back of his head as I creep inside. “I threw your bags in the closet. There’s lots of hangers and crap.” He points at a small dresser beneath the window. “Drawers.” Looks at the queen-size bed. “Bed.”

I follow him into the en suite bathroom, where he continues to point out every piece of furniture.

“Tub. Shower. Vanity. T⁠—”

“Toilet. Got it. Thank you for labeling everything.” He’s clearly out of his element, which is both interesting and not at all shocking. He’s obviously quite the ladies’ man. If Google didn’t tell me that much, every moment I’ve spent around him has told me so. He must be used to entertaining women. I’m just not so sure he’s used to having one in his space. “Thank you, Jaxon. I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay. That’s what I was about to do when hell decided to rain down on me.”

The corner of his mouth hooks in what appears to be a smile, but he quickly wipes it away with his thumb. He scoops up Mittens, draping him over his shoulders. “’Kay. Um, well, I’m the last door if you need anything. Just knock first, unless you wanna get reacquainted with Magic Mike, ’cause I sleep naked.”

My brows jump. “Sorry, what?”

“I sleep naked.”

“Yeah, I got that. Back up for me real quick. Did you just call your dick Magic Mike?”

Jaxon smiles, running a palm down his proud chest. “Yeah.”

“Uh huh, and”—I pop my chin on my fist—“why have you done that?”

“’Cause he likes to dance, Len, and he’s magical and incredible, like a mythical creature. You know that, honey.”

“Oh, God.” I bury my face in my hand before ushering him out of the room. “Out. Get out. See if your magical cock can pull a disappearing act.” I slam the door in his face, but his laughter follows me into the closet, where I pull out everything I need to take a bath, because the brief glance I caught of it revealed at least four jets, and I’m all about a little massage in the tub.

I dump my things on the vanity as the tub fills, then drop my elbows to the marble and my chin to my hands as I stare at myself in the mirror and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The exhaustion that runs straight through to my core shows in every imaginable way. The slight pout of my lips, the small crease between my brows. The bags beneath my eyes, heavy and puffy. My normally glowing brown skin is dull and dry, and all I want to do is bury my face in my pillow and cry.

Instead, I peel off my clothes, climb into the bath, close my eyes, and turn off my brain. I soak until the pads of my fingers are wrinkled and the water is lukewarm. I soak until my stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours, until the silence is too loud. All I want is a friend, even if that friend is Jaxon.

I slap on some moisturizer, a bit of lip balm, pull on my cutest pair of pajamas, and creep out of my room. The hallway is dark, and at first I think Jaxon’s asleep. But then I see the warm glow of a light coming from the kitchen, and hear the rustle of bags.

Pausing at the edge of the hall, my chest pulls taut as I watch Jaxon, sorting through the contents of his fridge and pantry.

“Goodbye, peanut butter,” he murmurs, dropping the jar in the trash. “Goodbye, honey-roasted nuts. Goodbye, white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.” He pulls out a box of Reese’s Puff cereal, and this giant, grown-ass man before me actually fucking whimpers. “Goodbye, sweet, sweet heaven.”

And when he’s done tossing his peanut and tree nut products? He opens the cupboard beneath his sink, pulls out a disinfectant, and wipes down the inside of his fridge, the countertops, and every single handle in his kitchen.

I stay in the shadows, watching him curiously, until he grabs the garbage and leaves the apartment. Mittens runs out to greet me when I step into the light, and I scoop him into my arms as I find the cups and pour myself some water. When Jaxon steps back inside, he stops short.

“Oh. Thought you were sleeping.”

“I was thirsty.” My stomach chooses this moment to grumble, and I grin. “And hungry.”

“I can make you something,” he says, opening the fridge. “I don’t have much, ’cause I gotta go grocery shopping.” That and he just threw out half his food. “Um . . .” He scrubs his jaw. “You like grilled cheese?”

“Who doesn’t?” I take a seat at the island, letting Mittens lick my wrist as Jaxon preps the frying pan. “Where did you go just now?”

“Thought I forgot something in my car,” he lies, buttering the bread. “The secret is sprinkling a little powdered sugar on the bread before you fry it. It sounds wack, I know, but trust me. Gran made one for me every day after school. Two when I turned fifteen and was eating, like, six meals a day.” He stops short, looking at nothing. “Shit. Is powdered sugar nut-free?” He pulls the bag from the cupboard, reading the ingredients. “Yup.”

He rambles on while he cooks, talking more than I’ve ever heard him speak, but I can’t focus on a thing other than the fact that this man who everything in my entire body tells me to hate remembered what I’m allergic to even though I’ve never actually told him. That he recognized the signs of anaphylactic shock and rushed to my side. That he stayed there for four hours while I slept in the hospital. That he brought me home, gave me a bed, threw out all his nut products, and fucking sanitized his kitchen.

That in a single day he’s done more for me, cared more for me, than my fiancé ever did.

And it’s so heavy and freeing all at once.

“There.” Jaxon slides the sandwich in front of me, a beautiful shade of golden brown, and when he slices it in half—diagonally, just the way I like it—cheese oozes from inside. “Bon appétit, or whatever.”

I swallow, slowly bringing the grilled cheese to my mouth, taking a careful bite.

Jaxon grins. “Good, right? I dunno what it is about the powdered sugar, but it just levels it up. Gran knows best.”

A tsunami of emotions crashes into me head on, and my chest aches as I struggle to keep everything inside of me.

“Mimi makes her sweet tart crust with all-purpose flour,” I mumble.

“Huh?”

“The lemon-cherry tart. My mimi makes them. That’s why I had one tonight. But she uses all-purpose flour, not almond flour. One and a half cups. Quarter cup powdered sugar. Stick of butter. One egg. Sprinkle of salt.” My chin quivers, and I sniffle. “Splash of vanilla. The real kind, not the fake shit.” My voice breaks, my chest cracks wide open, and I scrub at my eyes as tears free fall down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard month.”

Jaxon doesn’t respond. In fact, he’s so silent, I consider that he’s left the room. But then I hear the tap of his fingers against his phone, and I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. I want to hide in my room, but I’m too embarrassed to run away after he’s made it clear he’d rather be texting than dealing with my emotions.

His phone pings, and a few seconds later I hear the shuffle of his feet behind me, feel the heat of his body when he stops at my back. Then, slowly, his arms slide around my waist, pulling me gently into his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you. That’s what the girls said to do.”

“What?”

“I texted the girls. They said you probably needed a hug, so I’m hugging you.”

God, I want so badly to laugh, but instead it comes out a horrible, choking sob. “You texted your girlfriends for advice because I’m crying?”

“I don’t know how to do tears.”

Another sob, and Jaxon softly squeezes me closer, like he’s afraid to do it but thinks it might help. I hate that it does. That, somehow, it shifts the pain of the last month, the anger and confusion. That it gently nudges aside the desperate longing for acceptance and says, Hey, I’m here. You’re not alone.

“I’m not good at the whole talking-about-feelings stuff,” Jaxon starts softly, “so be quiet and listen for once in your life, because I’m not gonna say it again. I don’t know why you were alone on your honeymoon, but I’m sorry if the reason hurt you. I’m not sorry I got to spend your last night there fucking you speechless. It was spectacular, and I’ve been thinking about your pussy ever since.”

This time, my sob somewhat resembles a laugh. At the very least, the snort of a dying animal. “It’s a great pussy,” I cry.

“It really is.” He rests his chin on my head, his chest deflating on a long, low breath. “I’m sorry you had to leave your family behind to get a fresh start. I’m sorry you feel alone in a new place. It never gets easier, no matter how many times you do it. I’m sorry your apartment fell apart, and I’m sorry you had to go to the hospital tonight.”

I sniffle. “And my hair.”

“Huh?”

“My hair. I forgot to wrap it last night, so when I woke up this morning it was all tangled.”

“Oh. It looks pretty to me.”

I stomp a foot. “Because I spent an hour detangling it and then hid half of it under a scarf!”

He hugs me tighter. “Good job.”

I open my mouth to tell him praise is the last thing I’m looking for, but he slips his hand over it, stopping the words before they can come.

“What did I say two minutes ago?”

“‘Be quiet and listen’,” I grumble from behind his palm.

“Very good, honey.” His hand slides down my throat, splaying over my collarbone. “It’s going to get better. I promise. You’ll realize you’re better off without your ex, and you’ll really like it here. You’ll make friends and . . . I’m glad you didn’t die tonight.”

One last squeeze, and then he releases me, strolling across the kitchen. He pauses at the edge of the hall, glancing over his shoulder. Hazel eyes move over me, and the corner of his mouth pulls up with that signature Jaxon Riley arrogance.

“Waste of a perfectly good mouth.”