We let the silence take over, he knew our chemistry didn't need him defining anything more.
Everyone wants to believe they can overcome that type of chemistry, that they can listen to reason. I physically felt nauseous as I tried to do just that. My body just rebelled as if it knew the only thing it needed to survive was Jax.
“Why are you fighting this so damn much?” He ran his hands through his hair and left it sticking up as he took a step closer to me. “Just stop thinking about it and see where we go.” His last word was a whisper. “Please.”
I whispered back, “How? How can I see where we’d go when where it went before wrecked me? You go to see him still, Jax. And every time you go, it nearly kills me. There are so many unknowns and so many questions.”
“Then ask what you want to know. The wheels turning in your head never help. So ask, Whitfield.”
“You’ve never been willing to answer …”
“Try me,” he replied.
Even I was surprised when I retorted, “I don't want to.”
His eyes narrowed, “Why?”
I closed my eyes, embarrassed. Honesty was difficult. I was starting to understand why my mother never shared some parts of her childhood with me.
When faced with the ugly reality, it was hard to admit that I’d lied to myself for so long. I’d acted like I wanted to know what he was doing with my father but that wasn’t the truth.
When I looked at him, I knew I had to be honest. “Because I'm afraid of the answers. Or afraid you won't answer at all, and then I'll be stuck imagining the worst like I have for years.”
“What if I said it's almost over?”
I sighed. “Then, maybe us being casual will last until then.”
“Then what?” he pushed.
I shrugged. “Are you doing something illegal with him? Will I hate you after it’s done?” My question was a whisper.
“It’s not illegal.” He held my gaze. “And, I don’t know.”
I nodded but didn’t attempt to respond because my throat closed and my eyes watered. I’d thought of talking to him about this for so long, and for some reason it felt wrong and crushing.
He sighed and the fight in his eyes was there again, warring with itself. “Peaches, you had this childhood where you met the enemy of your life early on. You overcame that monster.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t.”
He reached out to touch my cheek. “You did. You overcame him every day by surviving him and being there for your mom. I met my worst fear and that monster when I was eighteen, running into that fire. Before that, I’d only been scared to let my dad down or scared my mom would ground me for some shit. One day I was living an easy life, the next I was standing between you and death.”
I nodded like I understood but I couldn’t understand that struggle because mine was so different. I was still struggling, trying to figure out if I’d been there for my mother or made it worse.
“I chose to save you.” He hesitated for only a second. “I chose to let him die too. It just ended up being your mother who we lost instead.”
I shook my head, trying to relieve him of the guilt. “No, you just acted in an emergency, Jax. You told everyone how you—”
“I lied.” He drew out those two words to make sure I heard them. He didn’t stutter or hesitate.
I shrugged, “So what?”
When he realized he wasn’t going to get more of a reaction from me, his eyes widened. “I lied, Whitfield!” he practically shouted. “I left Frank to die in that room. I did it on purpose.”
“I know.”
He stumbled back. “You don’t know. I’m saying I decided he didn’t need to live. I fucking wanted to kill him.”
His admission was one the cops and my father’s lawyer had looked for but had never received from him. He never, ever admitted to anything when called to the stand or asked by the press.