Irreplaceable (Underneath it All Series: Book Three) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (6 page)

She wasn't scowling at all, but there wasn't a playful wink that told me that she approved of the direction we were headed either. She was attacking her fingernails with the ferocity of someone who was anything but eager about our final destination.

"Awkward small talk is my favorite kind of small talk." I replied. It was far from the truth. It was one of the things I hated about networking in my field. I didn't want to talk about my alma mater or my predictions about the game on Sunday, or the best bars to be seen, but not harassed. In my line of work, small talk was a way to measure your dick, and I had no desire to puff out my chest and prove myself to anyone.

This was different.

I genuinely wanted to know her, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to be known too. I could have made another joke, or changed the subject. I had no interest in making it that easy for either of us.

"Avoiding questions, is that a McLeod thing, or just a Sadie thing?"

"Both," she harrumphed. Her annoyance was short lived because she danced her fingertips over my knuckles. "Yes, Falcon is home sweet home, for what that's worth."

"I envy you," I confessed, keeping my eyes pinned to the windshield.

"You wish you were from Falcon?" she asked incredulously.

"I wish I was from anywhere," I answered frankly. I instantly wished I had an eraser and could go back and color in a different bubble. I was no relationship expert, but there were a handful of obvious no no's when you're at the start of one. Talking about marriage, talking about children, were obvious choices. Those were things one shared after you were certain the person you were falling for was planning to stick around. It seemed like talking about your shitty childhood should definitely be added to that list.

I was never one for following rules, and maybe I was just fucking crazy, but something told me that it would take more than sharing my past, as colored and ugly as it was, to make Sadie walk away.

"Everyone is from somewhere, Jax," she said softly.

"Fair enough.” For the first time, I was grateful there were no red lights that would force me to make eye contact or make things even more uncomfortable. "I guess I mean I wish I had a home. And I don't mean four walls and a roof. I had that. And after I was put in the system, I had 'parents'." I made air quotes with my fingers because there was nothing parent-like about people who saw me as a monthly check instead of a child to nurture. "Short of Joe, I was never in a home long enough to build anything that resembled family or a home."

The last time I’d shared a bit of my past, trying to give her some insight and show her that I, better than most, understood the ache of parental drama and frustration, she’d tersely reminded me that my current net worth disqualified me from musing about the past.

Apologies aside, I prepared myself for the Sadie Smackdown, something along the lines of,
Yeah, your childhood sucked, but my pain runs much deeper.

When she intertwined her fingers with mine, I realized just how unfair I was being. I had to let the exchange on the car ride down go. She had, and ever since, she’d been letting me in the best way she knew how.

“You grew up in foster care?’ she asked, her tone gentle and open. Not judging. Not waiting for some catch or the connection that vaulted me from neglected foster kid to CEO.

I ducked my head towards my chest twice. “Seven foster homes and three group homes before I turned eighteen.” I had no desire to go into the worst of the lot, Mrs. Ludlow’s scowling face flittering through my head. Dredging up those old, bitter wounds would do nothing except serve as a reminder of why it was paramount to keep everyone at arm’s length. I was done with tiptoeing and caution and pretending that I was fulfilled. As lush and expansive as my loft and life were, they were ultimately empty. Lonely. Money could buy a  lot of things. Happiness was not one of them.

“I can’t even imagine some of the thing you must have seen.” Sadie’s voice was filled with pain. “The ways you must have been hurt.”

The old scar on my arm tingled, but I didn’t stay in that dark place. I didn’t take a moment to delight that after all Mrs. Ludlow had taken from the kids she was supposed to protect, it was our combined testimony that put her away for the rest of her life. Instead, I went to a happier place, the final home where I’d spent the last year of my childhood.

“The closest thing I had to home was The Robersons. I remember my case worker, Ms. Jackson, drove us out in the boonies. There were no cars, no light, no signs of civilization for miles. We turned down a dirt road and my had dropped to my pocket. I didn’t exhale until I felt the sliver of my switchblade. With my history, my file, I was sure they were ready to throw in the towel. Some entity that was greater than I was had decided I was better off dead.”

“Jax...” Her voice was rife with worry. Compassion.

Love.

“Don’t worry, the case worker clearly didn’t off me.” I chuckled weakly at my own joke and got crickets in response. We paused at another red light and I used the opportunity to inject some humor into a serious conversation. Anything to put a little distance between me and the cocky, terrified kid I’d been.

"Left into Lucille's?" When I eyed her, she looked ready to call me on my subject change, but she gave me a quiet smile instead.

"I don't think Lucille would appreciate that very much." She sniffed and drummed her free hand on her opposite knee. Another tell that she was just as anxious about this journey as I was. "Tell me more about The Robersons."

It was a flash of light in pitch darkness and blood red anger. It didn't make sharing that piece, or my past, any easier. I hated pulling my hand from hers but going there would require both hands on the wheel and a steely eyed focus that blurred when we touched. It required going back to a time when the joke was on me, with foster parents either reaching the end of their rope, or me abandoning ship on my own. "The Robersons were actually just Mr. Roberson. He was a retired Marine and he looked and lived the part. He lived in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, complete with a pit bull that kept my caseworker in her car out of fear for her life." I chuckled to myself, remembering Ms. Jackson's shriek as Monster came bolting from the cabin. White as snow but far from whimsical and soft, he growled at the car to show it who was the top dog. Ms. Jackson collected herself long enough to give me a pat on the shoulder and wish me luck. I'd been terrified too, but I'd played the part of the disaffected teen well and jerked the door open before she could see that my hand was trembling. I figure death by dog was a hell of a way to go out. "He was damn near seven feet tall and built like a fridge,” I pushed on. “To complete his look, Mr. Roberson was decked out in a heather gray Marines tee and black khakis with combat boots. Before Monster could tackle me, he let out a whistle and the dog immediately sprinted back to him. He asked me a question that I'll never forget: Do you want to live, or do you want to die?." I got a chill just remembering the question. And the military like precision he'd asked it. "Ms. Jackson was long gone and cell phones were out of the question," I continued. "Considering we were out in the middle of the woods, I decided that I could run and hope for the best, or answer his question."

I paused at the next light and smiled when I realized Sadie was so engrossed in my story that she was practically back in the woods with me. She could smell the pine. See the smoke that rose from the chimney and faded into the waning blue sky. Taste my fear.

She shook her head, her cheeks turning pink when she realized I was still waiting on her to navigate. "Make the next left, then you'll drive until you see a shitty house with a shitty gate surrounded by homeowners who give a damn."

"Burn," I winked, continuing down the road, taking a moment to draw a few breaths. When was the last time I talked about Mr. Roberson? I couldn't remember, but it was enough to make my chest ache.

"So what happened? What was your answer?" Sadie probed.

"Well, I was in the woods with some survivalist dude who probably had loads of spots picked out for dead bodies, so I said I wanted to live," I answered. "He grunted okay and ordered me to follow him. Monster marched behind him first and I fell in step. I learned that living with Mr. Roberson meant hard work, going to school, getting all As, and doing my chores. We alternated nights cooking and after dinner, he would always kick back in his recliner and read the paper. There was no TV, the only music he had was old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyls, and even though he was surrounded by pictures of his family, he never talked about them."

The end of our story was nigh, and when I made a left, I knew we were drawing closer to Sadie's story; the home she grew up in and ran away from the first chance she got. "I can count on two hands the number of conversations we had. Man of few words? Mr. Roberson was a man of little to no words," I snorted. My attempt at seeming casual, like I was just shooting the breeze fell flat because Sadie reached for my knee, stroking it gently. We were cut from the same cloth, childhoods that weren't filled with tenderness and family cookouts and home videos. Even my story with Mr. Roberson didn't have a happy ending. "I came home after school and I could hear Monster barking from the road. I knew something was wrong because Mr. Roberson ran a tight ship. Monster didn't let out a peep without his permission." The rock that had been forming the moment I started talking about the one bright spot in my childhood, the one place that felt like home, became a boulder that I couldn't swallow. "I found him face down on the living room floor. Stroke."

"Oh my God," Sadie said hoarsely. "Jackson...I'm so sorry."

The memory of finding him, wishing we had more time, wishing I wasn't so hard that I didn't open up to Mr. Roberson; let him know me, get to know him....I was bent all out of shape. "I had my ass kicked all through puberty until I learned how to defend myself. I took some beatings, and I didn't shed a tear. When Mr. Roberson's lawyer read me the note in his will, where Mr. Roberson told me to never forget that I chose to live, I sobbed like a damn baby." I focused on looking for Sadie's childhood home to distract from the fact that I was dangerously close to crying again. "Mr. Roberson is the reason I'm Jackson Colt, and that name isn't just another ex-con or deadbeat. He left me a chunk of his estate and I used part of if for the college and the rest was seed money to start my first company."

"That's so beautiful, Jax," Sadie stroked the inside of my arm and goosebumps, hope, flared at her touch. "I'm so glad that you two had each other. I bet you touched his life as deeply as he touched yours."

I flashed her a strained smile, too overcome to stay in the memories. "That's why you're lucky. You have Rose. And as long as you have Rose, you have a home."

"I am lucky," she admitted, her tone registering a twinge of surprise. That was the thing with us poor schmucks with pasts filled with more downs than ups. It was way too easy to focus on all the things we missed out on instead of being grateful for all the things we had. "Next house on the left," she finished, pointing it out.

It wasn't necessary, the neighborhood instantly went from manicured lawns and glossy shutters with minivans out front, to a carbon copy of many of the foster homes I'd been dumped into.

"Home sweet home, amirite?" Sadie attempted a joke, including a nudge with her elbow. As we were jostled to the left and the right as I pulled into the broken driveway, I didn't say a word. The foster homes I'd frequented were as foreboding as any haunted house. The terrors that occurred in her home were still fresh. Her mother was proof of that.

I put the car in park and scanned her face. "I can go in and grab some things for your mother if you'd like-"

"No," she interjected quickly. She forced a smile, the ends of it trembling from the effort. "Let's go together."

Before I could insist that she didn't have to be brave for me, she'd already rounded the car and was opening my door.

"I
am
lucky. I have Rose-" She held out her hand, her cheeks flushed. "And I have you.”

~

"I
s that everything on the list?"

I could tell that even though she had a breakthrough in her relationship with her mother, being in this house was stirring up some ghosts that were better left buried. It didn't help that her list was a mental one and she had aimlessly wandered through even room, going back to some a handful of times. We'd filled up two recyclable bags with clothes, toiletries, and Harlequin romance novels. Neither one of us discussed the fact that we were clearly disturbing a crime scene. Sadie marched right past a coffee table that was fractured into a million pieces and the stains on the carpet that I knew were blood.

I waited in the hallway, knowing that she'd heard my question and was likely just as ready to leave this place as I was. I wasn't a New Age kinda guy who believed in auras and feng shui and energy, but even I was tempted to burn some sage and clear out some of the demons that wreaked havoc on The McLeods.

The walls were bare, covered with smudges from fingertips and the wear and tear that comes with a house with memories. That wasn't what drew my eye. In the center of the hallway, halfway in between the three bedrooms, was a single portrait hanging on the wall. I smiled when I saw the cluster of women, all wearing different shades of green dresses, all smiling as a Christmas tree twinkled behind them. The family resemblance was uncanny. I started with the matriarch who was sitting down, her face creased with the lines of age. Nothing dimmed the playful spark in her powerful, ivy green eyes.

"The grandmother," I murmured to myself. That made the other McLeod women easy to determine. A younger woman with that same mischievous spark stood to the right of the grandmother, her hand perched on the older woman's shoulder. At the grandmother's knee was a pigtailed cutie who was smiling like she was moments away from making a face at the camera. The other child had her mother's confident stature and quiet smile, her hands resting on the elder's shoulder. They all had varying shades of red hair and heartbreakingly beautiful smiles. They all looked happy.