Stay with Me (Wait for You, #3)(121)

Jax held my gaze while I dragged in deep, pained breaths, and then he turned and walked away. I watched him round the stairs and I heard him head up them. Then I heard a door slam shut.

I don’t know how long I stood there before I curled my arms around myself. I squeezed my eyes shut, no longer mad so much as I was confused. How had we gone from me being in the right and him in the wrong, to him being pissed-off at me and shutting me out? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Or had I?

Had I jumped to conclusions? I hadn’t heard everything he’d said to Aimee. I’d only heard bits and pieces. And he had apologized for Saturday night. He’d said it would never happen again, but did that make up for what happened? I didn’t know. That was the problem. I didn’t know.

God knows how long I stood there before I gathered my courage and slowly crept up the stairs. When I reached the landing, I expected to find the bedroom door to be shut, but it was open.

It was the extra bedroom that was closed off. I started to move toward it, to knock on the door, but I stopped short, frozen with indecision. I stood outside the bedroom, hands folded against my chest, but I didn’t know what to say if I did knock and he answered. Flecks of red-hot anger still swirled around in me, mixing with the embarrassment and confusion.

My ears strained to hear movement inside the extra bedroom, and I thought I did hear footsteps nearing the door, and I tensed up in expectation of it opening, but after a few moments, I realized it wasn’t going to.

Biting down on my lip, I closed my eyes, gave it another couple of moments, and then turned, and because I really didn’t know what else to do, I went into the main bedroom and climbed into bed. I scooted over to my spot and waited, watching the clock on the nightstand. Minutes ticked by slowly, and finally I lay down, facing the open door. All of this felt wrong, lying in his bed with him angry at me and me mad at him.

I swallowed, but the knot in my throat went nowhere, and with the next blink of my eyes, my lashes were damp. So were my cheeks. I grabbed the pillow he slept on and tucked it close against my chest as I squeezed me eyes shut. My insides felt so hollow as I lay there, trying to make sense of how everything had gone so wrong and how I was supposed to fix this.

At some point my thoughts rolled into one and I must’ve fallen asleep and tumbled into a dream where I was in this house following Jax and calling out to him, but I could never seem to get his attention or catch up to him. And when that dream faded, I dreamed I felt his hand on me, skimming over the top of my head, carefully tucking my hair behind my ears. And I felt his lips brushing against my cheek.

It had felt so real that when I woke up, tired and bleary-eyed, I almost thought he’d be in bed beside me. That the spot next to me would not be cold, but it was. I still had his pillow snuggled close to my chest and Jax wasn’t there.

I didn’t want to get up.

It felt like I hadn’t slept more than a few minutes and my eyes ached; my throat and mouth felt too dry. There was an ache in my temples. And I immediately started thinking about what happened between us and with Aimee. In the light of the morning, I could freely admit that Jax had been right. I didn’t have a lot of experience with any of this. I didn’t know the difference between the different types of relationships, not personally. All I knew was what I’d seen from my friends.

There was so much he’d been right about.

I’d been rightfully upset with him Saturday, but I hadn’t given him a chance to explain and he had apologized. And he had no control over Aimee. It wasn’t like he’d invited her over.

I squeezed the pillow tight.

Now that the anger had simmered down, I could also admit that I hadn’t heard everything he’d said last night, like seriously admit that, and other than not doing enough to deter Aimee’s advances, Jax hadn’t done anything wrong.

He’d actually stood up for me last night.

He’d apologized and he’d admitted to feeling like shit.

And he’d laid it out to me.

I needed to talk to him without yelling, without overreacting, and I needed to talk to him while listening.

Letting go of the pillow, I climbed out of bed and my bare feet padded over the floors. I went out into the hall. The extra bedroom door was open and he wasn’t in there. Turning to the stairs, I headed down them and then through the silent living room and into the kitchen.

He wasn’t there, either.

My heart picked up and a sick feeling curdled in my stomach as I turned slowly. Where was he? The townhouse wasn’t big enough that I couldn’t find him, for crying out loud. My gaze settled on the front windows. I hurried toward them, pulling back the flimsy off-white curtains, and then I peeked through the blinds. The air lodged in my chest as my gaze scanned the parking lot, once and then twice. His truck wasn’t there.

It wasn’t there.

Jax was gone.





Thirty


I didn’t know what to do or think.

Jax had left and he hadn’t said anything. There was no note or text or voice mail on my cell phone. He’d just left the house without waking me and while that didn’t seem like a big deal, he’d been really upset.

I sat down on the edge of the couch and I could hear what he said. That he couldn’t believe I thought what I did about him and that I didn’t know him.

My nails dug into my palms. He’d been really mad, had gone to bed like that or had done whatever he had done in his extra bedroom, and had said some really stupid things. I knew that some words couldn’t be unspoken, couldn’t be taken back.