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I knew Jax blamed himself for what happen that night, but I could never understand why. I didn’t know any of that, but it makes so much more sense now. It wasn’t his fault. I made the decision to go to that party, but he has blamed himself all this time for something he had no way of knowing what would happen.
This man has been carrying guilt over me since he was still a boy. Carrying a weight on his shoulders that doesn’t belong there. Things he couldn’t have known would happen; he holds on to like it was his responsibility to predict the future.
“I blame myself for what happen in New York too,” he whispers pulling me into his jean clad wet lap. “I blame myself that I didn’t convince you to come home early. That I convinced you to go in the first place. I blame myself that I didn’t look for you when you disappeared.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and bury myself into his chest. “None of that was your fault, Jax. Those were choices I made. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
He grips my naked body tighter to him. “And you couldn’t have known what would happen either. And you couldn’t control my reactions or response. I should’ve went looking for you instead I stayed drunk and fucked a different girl every night for months.”
I hear what he’s saying. It’s the same thing Janie has said to me. It is the exact same thing that Dr. Thompson says I have to overcome. Logic and emotion don’t always see eye to eye though.
I curl myself into him further. I feel like I’m trying to bury myself inside of him. I want him to hold me, and never let go. Because it feels like he’s the only thing holding me together.
He must sense the emotional turmoil I’m in because he stands from the tub, taking me with him. He sits me on the bathroom counter, water running down both of us, his fully clad body and my naked one.
He moves to grab a towel then runs it over my body, drying the water falling down my body. He moves the towel to my wet hair, gently rubbing the wet tresses until they are no longer dripping.
Next, he removes his wet clothes. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his muscular chest. My eyes trace down those rock-hard abs that always feel so good under my hands. Then they travel farther down to his long, thick length, fully erect and dripping with his arousal.
He lifts me from the counter, carrying me to our room. He places me in the bed, and then pulls the covers over me. He places a sweet kiss to my forehead before he turns to move away.
Panic washes over me. I bolt upright in the bed, my heart racing, my lungs tight from lack of air. “Are you leaving me?” my voice cracks.
He turns to me, looking at me as if I’m the only thing in the world that matters, and that tightness loosens slightly. “I’m just putting on some clothes, Angel. I’ll be back.”
I sit there waiting on him to return. I can’t relax until I know he’s not leaving me tonight. Not this night. My first night back in River City. My first night back with him. My first night outside of a hospital where I am monitored and watched.
More of that tightness eases when he comes back in the room and climbs into the other side of the bed. On top of the covers, I notice with a hint of sadness. He hands me a bottle of water and two pills – my medication.
After the pills are washed down, he pulls me into his side – me under the cover, him on top. “I’m not leaving you, Angel, and I’m not ever letting you go again. Go to sleep.”
I lay there quietly for a few minutes listening to the sound of his heart beating steadily. I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. He gently strokes my arm at a steady pace.
My own heart feels as if it’s going to race clean out of my chest. My breathing is nothing more than short, shallow pants that I’m trying desperately to control. I run my fingers over the contours of his abs through his shirt feeling each bump and divot.
“Jax?” I whisper into the quiet space because I can’t take the silence anymore.
“Yeah, baby,” he replies in a deep, sleepy voice.
“Why are you on top of the covers?”
A small, silent chuckle is given away only by the shake of his chest beneath me. “Because I’m hard as a rock, and I’m not sure I can keep my hands off you if your naked body is pressed against mine.”
My face heats up at his admission – not that I didn’t know he was hard, but to hear him say it makes my heart pound even harder. The truth is, that I am incredibly turned on as well. I’m at war with my body and my head because I am not sure if I am ready to go there just yet. “I can put clothes on, so you can get under the covers.”
“You don’t have to do that, baby. I’m fine just like this,” he says kissing the top of my head.
But I’m not fine. I need him next to me without any barriers. I need his arms wrapped around me. I may have been an idiot for the last year. Trying to run from him. Trying to handle everything alone, but the second I opened my eyes to see him holding my hand in that hospital room, I realized I was a fool.
I need Jax. I need him to hold me up and keep me together. I need him to love me through all of this. I was just afraid that he wouldn’t be able to do all of that. I’m still worried that I’ll be too much for him to handle. I’m still scared I’m going to lose him because I’m so damaged. It was one of the reasons Dr. Thompson got me to finally acknowledge for leaving. I thought it would hurt less if I were the one who walked away first.
I move to get out of the bed. I walk to the closet where my clothes are. I’m still amazed that he went to Maddox’s apartment to pack all of my stuff while I was in the hospital – not that there was much to pack, and had it shipped back here. From the built-in dresser, I grab a pair of fuzzy pajama pants and then a long-sleeve tee from the hanger. I quickly dress before going back into the room.
Jax is propped up against the headboard with his arms resting behind his head. Even in the dark, I can see the quirk of his lips as I scurry back to the bed. He opens his arms as I throw myself back into his side.
“Better?” he asks, with a hint of mirth in his voice as I wrap my body around his.
I nod, but I’m still not settled. I need to tell him. It’s tumbling and turning around in my mind, and I’m not sure I will ever sleep if we don’t talk about the elephant in the room. Maybe the elephant is only my imagination, but it’s sitting on my chest waiting for me to open up.
