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I can’t fight my smile, thinking about our weekend. How ridiculous Chase is. Persuasive. Amazing. Funny and giving. So, so giving. My cheeks blaze crimson. I giggle under my breath as I walk up to Frosted, the small bakery in town, before heading back to the Brooks’ estate. I open the door and practically skip inside, hopping into line. My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I reach for it, my smile bursting when I see Chase’s name…or the name he programmed.
Chase your boyfriend: I think you forgot something. You should come back here. I’ll make it worth your while. *Inserts winking emoji*
“The line’s moving. You should move with it.” I pick my head up from my phone and mumble an apology to the guy behind me. I step forward and reply.
Me: Sorry, can’t. I took a detour to the donut shop. Thought to sweeten up my boss since I flooded his guesthouse and probably cost him my entire salary to fix it.
Chase your boyfriend: You don’t owe him anything. Don’t let him make you feel like you do. Should I come get you? He probably can’t eat sugar. Old people have tons of health issues and shit. Plus, you know I’m a big fan of frosting.
If my cheeks hadn’t already been blazing, they were now. Seconds after giving him the answer he wanted yesterday, he jumped out of bed and left the room. I thought he was serious when he told me he was leaving to update his damn social media status. Instead, he almost put himself into a sugar coma with the amount of frosting he licked off me. I couldn’t even make out what I was screaming by the end. And when I came back to earth, because whatever he had just done with his tongue had me flying so high, I knew I wasn’t going to regret this new adventure.
Me: Sorry. No can do. But maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll save one for you.
When it’s my turn, I practically sing out my order, adding an extra box for Chase. “Thanks. Have a wonderful day,” I chirp. Light on my feet, I head out. My phone buzzes again, and I laugh out loud at the screenshot of his profile page in edit mode. “What a nut—”
“Thought that was you.”
Juggling the donut boxes, a hoarse voice pulls me away from my screen. My gaze locks on a woman I haven’t seen in two years. Since his funeral. Diane Taylor. Jax’s mother. She looks unwell. Her skin is the color of someone losing the battle to alcoholism. The scratches on her face due to addiction. My stomach bottoms out, but I force myself to find my manners.
“M—Mrs. Taylor.”
“So glad you remember me. You look well. Alive. Unlike my son.” Her words jerk me back a step. I suck in a sharp breath. “Laughing like everything is just peachy in your perfect little world.”
“What? I was just—”
“Just moving on, as I assumed you would. Girls like you never stay committed.”
Jax’s mom never liked me. She was shattered by the news of her son’s death. Who wouldn’t have been? As much as I tried, she refused to speak to me. On many occasions, I attempted to bring her meals, but she ran me off her property. I just wanted to help her. Do what Jax would have wanted me to do. But she wasn’t well. One of the main reasons Jax wanted to leave this place. To get away from her. The drinking. The drugs. After a while, I stopped trying.
“Mrs. Taylor, I’m not sure what you’re getting at. You know I loved your—”
“No, you loved what he gave you. You knew he was supporting me—and you hated it.”
“What? No—”
She takes a quick step forward, jabbing her finger at me. “His father left us with nothing. My Jax worked so hard to make sure there was food for me. Money to pay for my medications.”
Her medication came in the form of needles and powder. As much as Jax tried, she abused his kindness, but he couldn’t watch her suffer. So, he kept giving her the money in hopes one day she would clean herself up. If anything, for him. “I know. But that money wasn’t being used—”
“He died because of you. You took everything from me!” Her sharp words are a slap in the face. Guilt burns deep inside me, torching the headway I’ve made with my acceptance. I shake my head. “No, Mrs. Taylor, I loved him.” I would trade places with him if I could.
“You’re the devil who stole my son. It should have been you that night. You!” She swings her hand out to slap me, and I use the box of donuts to block her, smashing them along the sidewalk. “I’m going to make you pay. Make you wish it was you that night.” She lurches forward and spits in my face. “Killer.” She raises her voice, pulling attention to us. “She’s a killer! She killed my son!”
