Wilde Forever (Wilde Women Book 1) (52 page)

He hesitated. What was the use in beating around the bush? “No Dad. It’s not. Look, I’m going to come home for a few days, okay?”

“Of course that’s fine, Jax. Your mother will be thrilled. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah, yeah. No worries there.”

“When can we expect you?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Probably day after tomorrow or maybe even tomorrow. I’m not sure.”

“Son—” He heard the concern in his father’s voice. “You want me to call Marty and tell him you’ll be around?”

Jax sighed
. Fuck.
His dad always knew. It was like he had some sixth sense. “Yeah Dad. That’s probably a good idea. Gotta hang up now. I’m kind of on the go. Um, I miss you guys.”

His father cleared his throat and said, “Love you Jackson. You be safe now, ya hear? Call if you need
anything
.”

“Will do. See you soon.”

He disconnected the call and clutched his hand to his heart. His dad would know what to do. Didn’t matter that he was in his thirties. Age didn’t matter when you needed your father. Hell. He’d known from a two minute phone call that he’d need to see his old therapist. Marty Buckingham was a Vietnam vet who ran the Veteran’s Center near his parent’s home. The man knew better than most the insane fuckery someone returning from a war zone had going on in their heads. Between Marty, his dad, and a bit of mom TLC, maybe he’d survive and find a way out of this holy mess.

S
HE WAS WAITING FOR HIM when he got back but not in one of those clingy, where-the-fuck-have-you-been ways. That wasn’t her style. Brynn was far too smart and subtle for that sort of craziness. The minute he walked through the door of the studio he spied a plate of cupcakes on the table and a note.

Giving him the out with a choice was just like her. He needed to see her now that he was calm, so not going over to the house was never an option. Plus, the cupcakes were a nice touch. Naming them for him almost had him cracking a smile. Almost.

Picking up the plate, he took a deep breath and marched toward the house. It was dark already which unfortunately kicked his sense of watchful alert to high, probably a result of the morning’s episode, but he managed to keep the intensity running riot through him to a dull roar instead of a high-pitched scream.

Finding the door locked—not a surprise since he pretty much threatened her on a daily basis with an over-the-knee spanking if she didn’t—he used the key she gave him to enter, yelling out, “Knock, knock,” as he turned to shut and latch the door.

Thinking that he’d surprised her was a joke and a half. Knowing Brynn she’d been anxiously monitoring the driveway since five minutes after he left. When her head popped around the corner of the kitchen, her eyes immediately lit up when she saw him. Smiling sweetly she called back, “Look at you! Just in time. Have a griddle covered with gooey cheese sandwiches with your name on ‘em.”

“Brought dessert,” he muttered as he held up the plate of cupcakes.

“Yay!” she chuckled then disappeared back to the kitchen.

Okay. Good. So we were going for light and easy. He could do this. No big deal. Not as long as he didn’t make it one. He followed her and dropped the cupcake plate onto the table then went to peer over her shoulder into the pot she was stirring.

“This is what you do with a bushel of late summer tomatoes,” she drawled with a crooked smile.

They looked at each other for a good long minute. There was so much unsaid communication hanging over them they needed some air traffic controllers to manage it.

She dropped the spoon and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. Instead of the routine baker’s apron she normally wore, this one was a ruffled number with pink and orange flowers on it that screamed nineteen fifties housewife.

“Do I get a hello kiss?” she asked.
Damn.
He felt like a fucking prick. All these weeks she’d done nothing but bend to his needs at every turn. Here she was in this god-awful situation, not of her making, and all she was asking for was a little reassurance. What in the hell was wrong with him?

He kissed her but not for very long, and he certainly didn’t trust that he could hold it together if he touched her so he didn’t. But she drew back and smiled shyly, so at least there was that.

They ate at the kitchen table with Brynn babbling like a brook, filling in the empty, silent spaces with inane chatter. Jax wanted to say something but he didn’t know what so he just let her ramble on, offering the occasional comment or shake of his head. When the meal was over and there wasn’t anything else to say she sat back, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at him. To say he was uncomfortable was an enormous understatement.

“Okay then,” she mumbled with a droop of her head. She sighed then looked at him with a lackluster smile and said, “Room. Let me introduce you to the Elephant.”

Jax rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face, inhaled a deep breath, and blew it out slowly.

“Are we going to talk about this or are you going to just shut me out?”

“I’m not shutting you out, Brynn.” His shoulders slumped, and he fidgeted in his seat.

“From where I’m sitting that’s how it looks and feels,” she retorted with an unrelenting stare.

He sat up and laid his forearms on the table with one hand on top of the other. “I’m protecting you.”

“From what? You?” she barked. “You want to cut me a fucking break? Don’t treat me like some fragile little flower stuffed in a vase with the water running out.”

Shit.
He couldn’t even look at her.

She jumped up from the table, grabbed their empty plates and huffed all the way to the sink where she threw them into the dishpan a bit too heavily. Once again, he underestimated her. Anger wasn’t on the list of emotions he imagined he’d have to deal with.

“Have we met?” she sniped, as she ripped the apron off and threw it on the counter. “I’d have thought by this time you’d have at least a snapshot of who I am Jackson Merrill if not the whole damn canvas. Remember me?” She was shouting now.

“I’m the sensible overachiever. The pragmatist and Key Master. Ex-wife of a serial cheater. Business owner and all-round problem solver. I’m who everyone turns to when the going gets tough. Why the fuck is it that you of all people think I need kid-glove handling?”

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Sorry. I’m so damn sorry.” Looking at her with what he knew was a haunted expression he shrugged and gave in. “Ask me whatever you want.”

Watching as she bit her lip and considered what to say next, he wanted to go to her and beg for forgiveness. Truth was, now that he was with her again he longed to feel her arms around him. Jax was desperate for the comfort that only she could give but didn’t know how to ask for it.

She leaned her hips against the counter and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and fixed him with those beautiful blue eyes. “I don’t need chapter and verse, Jax. When you’re ready you’ll tell me, but answer me this. Did I do anything to trigger what happened?”

“No. Maybe.
Shit.
I don’t know.”

Her blond head nodded while she looked away and digested his non-answer. “You were having a nightmare and I, well—uh, I tried to wake you. Was that what set you off?”

He didn’t say anything. Had that been what sent him over the edge? There was no way to know so he told her what he remembered of what happened and hoped it was enough.

“The nightmare was a firefight. Same shit, different day. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Only this time you were there.” He kept eye contact with her, but his vision became glazed as the hellish scene unfolded. “I was trying to get to you. There was blood. You were crumpled on the ground. I was terrified, firing blindly at anything that moved. Last thing I remember was the recoil of the rifle pounding my shoulder. And then something shifted and I went into attack mode. If you hadn’t screamed when you did…” He let the rest hang out there in the air.

She looked away and shuddered. “It was me. I pushed on your shoulder.”

Jax jumped from his chair, went to her, grabbed her quivering body, and gathered it close.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
None of this was her fault.

“Honey, it wasn’t you, okay? Please don’t take that on yourself.”

She was hanging on to him like a life vest in the churning ocean. “What happens now?” she murmured into his chest. “Do you need to talk to someone? Will that help?”

He hugged her closer. “I just need some time.”

“Don’t shut me out, please. Whatever you need is fine, Jax. Just don’t push me away.”

He groaned. “I’m doing the best I can.”

The rest of the evening went by in silence, but at least some of the air had been cleared. She offered to sleep on the sofa at the house, but he wouldn’t hear of it. When they went to bed, she had on actual pajamas—something that had never happened before. Some part of him was relieved. Sex was the last thing on his mind. She curled on her side and put an arm around his waist that he held onto throughout the long, sleepless night. He was afraid to shut his eyes, afraid to let sleep overtake him for fear of a repeat performance. His only hope was that maybe things would make more sense in the light of day.

Brynn stretched and opened her eyes. She was in the loft. It was Monday and she wasn’t expected to make an appearance in the bakery. Turning toward Jax’s side of the bed she found it empty. The moment she sat up and looked around the room she knew something wasn’t right. It was too quiet.

Glancing at the clock she saw it was barely eight. It was unusual for her to sleep this late but not exactly a surprise. The tension from yesterday had taken an enormous toll on her physically; still it was odd that she hadn’t awoken when Jax slipped from the bed.

Dressed in an oversized sleep shirt she plodded down the stairs with heavy steps, dreading whatever was waiting for her once she left the sanctuary of their temporary bed. Hoping against hope that he’d simply gone to the house to check on the workers, she pressed a shaky hand against her tummy to quell the rumbling that did not bode well for the start of her day.

Looking around, everything seemed normal. Nothing immediately jumped out at her and then she saw it. A scrap of paper shoved under a Picasso magnet Charlie had left on the fridge. No way was that a good thing.

She made her way across the tiny kitchen, her feet feeling like she was wading through quicksand. There was a dull humming in her head as she snatched the paper and stared at it with disbelieving eyes.