I collapse onto a chair and drop my head into my hands, groaning in frustration. I feel immediateregret for how that phone call just went. Jax has only ever been a light in my life, and the last person that should deserve anything less than my total gratitude. He’s been a cheerleader, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on—he’s only ever shown me support and unfailing loyalty.
I wince as I play back the conversation in my head.God, I was a total bitch.Being shocked and nervous about Stacey’s offer is no excuse to bite off Jax’s head, no matter how automatic the reaction was. I was completely in the wrong.
I feel the familiar sensation of shame and guilt slither through my veins. And suddenly, I become singularly-focused on apologizing, on making this right between us.
I hop off the chair, an idea already forming in my head.
* * *
My arms are exhausted from carrying the grocery bags by the time I reach Jax’s house. I knock on the front door, willing my physical and mental tiredness from the day away. I manage an exhausted smile when the door opens and a confused-looking Tristan appears.
“Hi,” I greet him with forced excitement. “I came to make you dinner. Can you grab the bag from my hand? My fingers are about to fall off.”
He shoots forward without hesitation and grabs every bag from my hand. I exhale a shaky breath of relief and flash him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” I mumble. He just nudges the door open wider and gestures for me to come inside.
Tristan places the bags of groceries on the kitchen island. “Jax isn’t home yet,” he offers. “Does he know you’re coming? He didn’t mention dinner plans when I saw him at the gym earlier.”
I just shake my head and begin unpacking the bags. “He doesn’t know. I wanted to surprise him, and I figured food is a good way to make him happy.” Tristan nods in understanding—it’s common knowledge how much Jax likes to eat. “I have plenty of food, so if you’re hungry, you’re more than welcome to join us. It should only take me about forty minutes to whip this up.”
Tristan stands leaning against the fridge, watching me with that expressionless, see-all gaze of his. I fidget awkwardly with the bags, not wanting to make eye contact with him lest he see the turmoil and guilt inside of me right now.
“I’d love that, thank you,” he says. And then, taking pity on me, he lightens the mood. “Any way you could teach your sister some of your tricks? Last week, she almost killed me with some weird chicken recipe that she found on Pinterest. I thought she was kidding when she said she royally sucked at cooking.”
I let out a loud laugh, the tension dissipating from the air as I relax into Tristan’s company. It occurs to me that this is the first time it’s been just the two of us. “She’s not kidding,” I say with a chuckle. “She actually burned water one time. I didn’t even know that was possible.”
He shakes his head with an affectionate smile, and I can’t help thinking about how much he clearly loves my sister. Theirs is the kind of relationship anyone would strive for—the kind where both people are so deeply smitten with the other that they only really come alive when they’re together or at least thinking about the other.
I grin and ask, “Did she ever tell you about the time she…”
By the time Jax walks into the house thirty minutes later, Tristan and I are crying laughing after exchanging half a dozen Remy stories. He freezes in the doorway, glancing between us with a confused look on his face.
“What… is happening right now?”
I grin at him. “We’re telling Remy stories. Remember the time she woke the entire cabin up at 4am because she was drunk and wanted mac and cheese but forgot to put water in the little Kraft cup?”
At that, Jax chuckles and relaxes his stance. “I forgot about that. Dad wanted to kill her.” He looks over at Tristan and asks, “Where is she, anyway? I didn’t realize we were throwing a party tonight.”
“She’s at home, writing,” Tristan answers. “She got on a roll and didn’t want to be distracted.” He tips his chin in my direction. “I didn’t know we were having a party tonight, either. Hailey just had the sudden, overwhelming urge to cook for you, I guess. Hence the Remy cooking nightmare stories.”
Jax turns his attention back to me. He’s not tense, necessarily, and he does have a smile on his face, but there’s a sliver of unease in the air from earlier, and from the unexpectedness of my visit. He drops his bags in the living room and walks the rest of the way into the kitchen, stopping beside me to lean down and kiss my cheek.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my skin.
I peek at him shyly. “Hi,” I whisper back.
Tristan quickly interrupts our private moment by excusing himself upstairs. “I’m going up to shower. Food’s done in fifteen?” he asks.
I nod. “Ten or fifteen, yeah.”
He nods and disappears from the room, leaving me awkwardly fussing with the salad in front of me in order to avoid eye contact.
“Hey,” Jax says quietly, nudging my hips. “Everything okay? I’ll never say no to you cooking for me, but I am surprised to see you here.” He hesitates, looking unsure for a moment. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me after this afternoon.”
I wince at the memory of my freakout and force myself to turn to face him. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled. You were just trying to help, and I acted like a total bitch to you. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
Jax frowns and reaches up to brush his knuckles against my cheek. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re allowed to have a stressful day. I’ll always be here to help you navigate anything—I always have been.”
And he has. Always, without any hesitation. Shame washes over me all over again for the way I spoke to him—he deserves so much better.