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Me: Don't shut me out!
Me: PLEASE!
I finally gave up. "Noah, I want you to take me to his condo."
He looked sympathetic. "If he's not feeling well, maybe you should—"
"Don't give me that bullshit, Noah. Either you take me, or I call an Uber, but I'm going to him. I'm not walking away, and I'm not letting him do it either." His eyes almost seemed to double in size. I noticed everyone around the table was staring at me. I didn't care. "You know this isn't about his health. Something else is going on, and I'm not going to stand back and not be there for him."
"He won't let you in."
"Then tell him you're on your way over."
Noah stared at me as if searching for something. Finally, he nodded. "All right. Maybe you're just what the doctor ordered after all. But if it doesn't go well..."
I stood and grabbed my evening bag off the table. "I'll be fine. Jade, you'll handle things from here?"
"Aye Captain! Go get him, tiger!"
Noah had a resigned expression on his face. "Let's go."
I was a nervous wreck the entire way to Jax's condo. Noah's silent brooding told me he knew something was wrong, too. Jax was keeping something from me. Something big. I just hoped it wasn't bigger than me—or bigger than us.
30
Jax
Sixteen years.
That's how long it had been since I'd laid eyes on Gene Carlin. More than sixteen years since my nightmare had begun. Less than sixteen seconds for it all to come rushing back to me.
I felt like shit leaving Grace behind that way, but I couldn't sit there, watching Gene talk about supporting teenagers and their needs. What the fuck did he know about it?
So, I sat here instead, in my cold, sterile condo well into my third glass of bourbon. I slouched lower into my chair, rolling up my sleeves. I pulled at the bow at my neck and let it dangle from my fingers.
I stared at my surroundings, seeing them through different eyes. I once took pride in the clean, contemporary lines and the leather and glass surfaces. Now I only saw stark and unbendable. One wrong move and anything could crack or look out of place. Much like my life. Tonight proved that.
Thanks to the color that Grace had brought into my life, I now hated my own home. I hated how it looked rigid and lacked warmth. What did it matter if it was clean of fingerprints or scratches? Those only showed that someone had been there, cared enough to stay and be at home. Like Grace's place with its worn furniture that had been loved and passed down from family, the colorful objects scattered across the rooms, jackets and shoes left to lay rather than rigidly put into their place in the closet. Even the random gum wrapper recklessly tossed on the coffee table. It wasn't messy, but it was lived in; a place that showed people wanted to be there.
My phone chimed. I ignored it, figuring it to be Grace again. I knew she was worried, but I didn't want her to see this version of me. Around her, I felt like a new improved version, but once glance at Gene Carlin and the old, closed version was back in place.
There was a knock at the door, but I didn't move. It was probably Grace. She was the kind to leave her event to check on me. Other women I'd dated would tell me to call them when I felt better. Not Grace. I knew she'd want to nurture and fuss. Her caring personality was one of the things I liked most about her.
The phone and door sounded again, this time in stereo. I picked up my phone to turn it off. If someone needed me for something work-related, they would just have to sort it out for themselves. However, it wasn’t Grace’s name that lit up the latest notification. Reluctantly, I opened it.
Noah: Open your damn door, asshole.
I shook my head. I didn’t need his input either. No matter how much he thought he knew.
Noah: You should know by now I’m not going away.
I knew better than to think he was bluffing. Noah had more grit and determination than most. It was something I admired about him, except when he butted into my business. I finished my drink and got to my feet. Carelessly, I unlocked the door without opening it, then dragged my feet back to my chair, grabbing the bottle of bourbon on my way.
I heard the door open and close over the clinking of the bottle against my glass. Deliberately, I sat the bottle on the glass table rather than the silver tray. Not like there was anyone who would give a shit if it left a mark.
"Might as well go home, Noah. I don't feel like company tonight," I slurred.
"Good thing I'm not Noah, then."
