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When I get home, I’ll take a shower, calm my nerves and maybe I can text him and say…I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out.
As I swing the door open, I’m hit in the face with a desirable outpour of sunlight and fresh rain-scented air. I see the garage’s door is wide open and Jax’s motorcycle is gone, but the toy car look-alike is still here.
I close the door behind me and walk into the garage feeling a bit awkward as my bare feet hit the cement, padding shamefully to my car. But before I even make it out of the garage, I’m greeted by a familiar but foreign scent.
Jax turns the corner of the garage and enters, holding a drink tray with two coffees and a bag of food in his other hand. He’s got what looks like oil on his cheek and his shirt, and his pants are dirty and worn.
He’s so fucking hot. And at just the sight of him, my anxiety levels drop and I feel a bit more at ease.
“Where are you going?” he asks with a worried tone. His smile drops when he sees that all of my stuff is wadded in my hands, and I am rushing to get to my car.
But I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of him and we stand in this awkward space as I try to process what is happening.
“I didn’t know where you were,” I say.
“I had to get my bike towed to the shop and I worked on it for an hour. Then I went and picked us up breakfast. Though it’s the afternoon now.” He shrugs. “I’m not a great cook and I know you like pancakes at any time of the day,” he says as he tilts his head, still looking at me with disappointment because he’s now understanding what I was about to do.
“You didn’t get my text?” he asks, setting the drink tray on a shelf lining the wall of his garage.
He reaches for the clothes in my hands and I don’t fight him as he takes them from me. He’s telling me that he wants me to stay.
“It’s in my car.” I hook my thumb toward my Range Rover, and he instantly realizes his mistake.
“Shit, I forgot. Hollis. I wouldn’t just leave you here and not tell you. I didn’t want to wake you.”
I think back to what he said a few moments ago, about how he remembered that I like pancakes at all hours of the day. How did he remember that? I can’t even remember what I did last weekend.
Suddenly, my panic fully settles as I take notice that I’ve misread the situation…again. I have a feeling that’s going to happen a lot between us. It’s practically how we got to this point.
“Come on,” he says as he nods his head toward the door.
“I’m just gonna grab my phone really quick,” I tell him as I unlock my car.
“I’ll throw these in the wash for you, at least I know how to do that,” he quips before walking away and heading back into his house.
I’m not used to any of this. I mean, it’s Jax. And before everything happened with us, he was always so caring and giving and helpful. He never let me do a damn thing on my own unless I wanted to.
But why does it feel like I don’t deserve any of this? Like I shouldn’t be getting the kind eyes and the physical benefits from someone I purposefully ignored for the better half of our grown lives.
I head to my car and grab my phone, seeing a few missed texts that I don’t get to check because it dies the moment, I unlock the screen.
I head back inside, I’m sure Jax has a charger for it.
When I get back in, I’m instantly met with the smell of maple syrup. It brings me back to the days where Jax and I rode bikes together every Sunday after his mom or my mom would make us breakfast. Then we’d come inside hours later and eat them again for dinner.
I see he’s got the food laid out on his dining table; coffees sat next to them. I take a sip of one of the cups before I head to look for him. It doesn’t feel right to sit here and eat without him and honestly, he does not need to be washing my dirty clothes.
I hear noise coming from up the stairs, so I make my way back up. I don’t know where the laundry room is but I follow the sounds back down to the end of the hallway when I realize he’s made it back to his room.
I peek my head in, his door is wide open, and I look to see where he went. I notice his clothes are thrown on the floor near the hamper and my cheeks heat the second I hear the shower start.
I pull my back against the wall, knowing I should just go back downstairs and mind my own business. But the steam billowing from the bathroom is like a gravitational pull, a calling that’s pulling me in.
I walk into the room, nearly on tip toes and I catch a glimpse of him the moment he’s stepping into his shower and closing the glass door. Steam fogs the glass so that I can’t see much, so I decide that this is really silly of me, and I just need to turn back around.
I take one step and I hear a groan.
My jaw drops.
