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He’ll know I’m serious if he canseeme.
“Hollis, is that really what you want? You want to forget about me? You want me to just walk away? Leave the rest of this behind and never look back? You really think that whatever it was that I did that upset you so much, is worth losing the potential of-”
“Yes. I do. And I know it’s not fair to keep you in the dark. I know you want to fix it. But I don’t think you deserve that from me. I think that I need to heal on my own, and that means that I can’t be around you, Jaxon. And if you cared about me at all, you’d listen-”
“No, don’t fucking do that.” He steps toward me, attempting to pull me in and stop me from what I’m about to say. We keep cutting each other off, fighting for a voice and it’s only proving to hurt the both of us more.
I hold up my palms and continue as I lower my voice to a somber whisper.
“If you care about me, Jax. Then you’ll let me walk away. I can’t be your friend. I can’t be anything to you. I need you to let me go.” I sigh, feeling the depression I held on to escape in the slightest.
But I know I can’t truly let it go unless I let go of the root cause. And I know it’s not his fault that he came into my life all those years ago as my closest friend and that one day I decided I needed more from him.
It’s kind of similar to what Liam had said earlier. Though it’s different with Jax. I can’t allow myself to be close to him at all, because it hurts too much.
“Is that what you really want? And I won’t ask you again. If you tell me right now that you want me to leave, I’m leaving, Hollis. But only because I need you to take whatever time you need to figure out a way to tell me what you need to say so that we can fix this. Because I will leave, Hollis. But this isn’t fucking over.” Jaxon speaks with so much demand that it almost makes me want to change my mind.
But fuck, that would mean that I wasted this entire interaction—and shit, the last eleven years—convincing myself that I need him gone to get rid of the pain. And that only makes me even more upset with myself.
This war roars inside of me, and I know I’m the enemy and I’m the only one battling to win. So it’s a stupid fucking fight with myself and I wish I could swallow my pride and surrender, let someone else battle the war for me for a bit.
But his threat of not being done gives me a little bit of relief because I know that once I do garner the courage to break open this dam of emotions—if I ever decide that I’m ready for that—that I do want to tell him exactly what it is he did to me, and I want him to hear my side of the story.
Will that time come? Who knows. But his promise that it will gives me a glimmer of hope, I’m just too broken for it to be the only thing that can patch me up right now.
“I don’t want you to leave, Jax.” I sigh and his eyes steady over mine. “Ineedyou to.”
His shoulders drop, and I realize he’s been holding his breath. Sorrow swims inside me, crushing me with the weight of its center, feeding me with doubt and question.
Jaxon gives me one last dying look, like his goodbye doesn’t mean much but he’s giving me a chance to back out.
And before he turns, I decide to ask him one last question.
“Wait.” He stops himself from turning around and faces me. “Why did you kiss me the other day?” I know it’s a stupid question considering I just told the man to get the hell out of my life.
But I feel like if I’m strong enough to survive the space I’m asking him to give me, then I need to know the answer to this question, or it might just eat me alive.
He rubs his jaw; I can see him clenching his teeth as he thinks of his answer calmly.
“I owed you,” he says, and I don’t have time to process his response before he’s across the street, kicking up the stand to his bike, and driving off down the road, doing exactly what I asked him to do.
Leave.
fifteen
Jax
TWO MONTHS LATER
Oildripsonmyhead as I assess the leak in Mr. Wrinkles' old ass, beat-up Chevy. I can see the crack in his oil pan, like he ran over something that jumped up under his tires and caused the crack, thus the leak.
My first client of the day and I’ll already be covered in stains from the work I’m doing, but I don’t hate it. Keeping my hands busy these last few months has been just what I needed. And I’m grateful because I needed something to occupy my time desperately.
“How’s it look?” Cody shouts from under the car he’s working on.
I lean my head to the side, my back laying on the sliding board still letting slow drips of oil creep through the break and onto my skin. I take my rag and wipe off my forehead before sliding out from under the car.
“Might be able to sand and seal but there could be a chance it may need to be welded. I’m gonna try the former and go from there,” I answer as I lift myself off the sliding board to stand.
