I Want You Back (Want You #1)(82)

She didn’t need to tell me her experience to try and sway me into giving Jax another chance—I’d done that on my own. But it did add another positive reinforcement moment that I’d made the right decision for us.

Stepping forward, I hugged her. “Thank you, Edie, for your insight and honesty. I promise this will stay between us.”

“I know it will, dear, or I wouldn’t have told you.” She gave me a very motherly peck on the forehead. “Now, let me grab my laptop and a tape measure, then we’ll head to the big empty apartment and figure out what’ll make it a homey place you’ll all want to live in.”

And that was that. End of discussion, move on to the next thing; classic Edie Lund.

She’d soothed me in a way I hadn’t known I’d needed. I could learn a lot from this woman, and I was grateful she’d be an even bigger part of my life—more than just Mimi’s grandmother.

“Sounds good. And on the drive over, you can tell me how to survive being a hockey mom.”

Edie laughed. “Oh, honey, that conversation might take years.”



* * *



? ? ?

    Thursday, as I stood outside the front door of the bar formerly known as Borderlands, I decided this was the most bizarre week I’d had in a long time.

After Edie had told Selka Lund that Jax and I were back together and we were working together to furnish Jax’s apartment, Selka had told Annika. Annika then chewed me out for not telling her about the change in my relationship with Jax first, and then she’d given me Tuesday and Wednesday off to play interior decorator.

As much as I appreciated—and needed—that time to finish the “favor” for Jax, I couldn’t refuse when Annika sent me to deliver her top secret PR plans directly to Jax. Her excuse for not delivering it herself—heading home for a nooner with Axl—sounded suspicious. Not the nooner part. Whenever Axl made a surprise appearance at the office—especially during the hockey season—we all found some other place to be. I questioned why it had to be me, in person, during the workday, instead of me handing the packet to Jax during Mimi’s hockey practice tonight.

As I debated on whether to enter through the hole in front of the building where the door used to be, or heading around back, two construction workers carried a load of demolition debris out the opening and tossed it into the Dumpster by the curb.

Other than pacing in front of the building that day Jax confessed he owned it, I hadn’t been in Borderlands since the night I’d cried in my nonalcoholic beer after my pregnancy test came back positive . . .



* * *



? ? ?

I’d been avoiding Jax for two days. I responded to his texts, but whenever he called me—like six times a day—I wouldn’t pick up. My excuse? I was sick. There was truth to that excuse. I’d been nauseous and tired, fighting colds and flu symptoms since the first part of the year. When I realized spring had snuck past me, I had to admit the lingering sickness wasn’t the flu and I’d gone to the doctor.

I’d expected a bullshit diagnosis of a virus that would run its course—thank you for the fifty-dollar co-pay—but the results were shockingly unexpected.

Pregnancy.

I’ll admit I lost my shit with the PA, demanding answers on how I could get pregnant when I was on birth control. I never missed a dose.

But I had been on an antibiotic as I fought a sinus infection that I blamed on being in various airports during the height of winter sickness season. And during that time, Jax had a five-day winter break and we’d spent most of it in bed in his Chicago hotel room.

So combine a sex marathon with weakened contraception and ta-da . . . we’d made a baby.

I had no idea how I’d break the news to him. Would he think I’d done it on purpose?

No way had I wanted a baby. Jesus. I was only twenty-four. I was all about my career as much as he was about his. I’d just gotten a promotion at work. I knew nothing about babies or being a mother.

And yet, the pregnancy had happened. I had months to prepare for the baby’s arrival the first part of December. Jax wouldn’t be happy. Having his girlfriend living in a different state already added stress to our relationship. Having his child living in another state . . .

Hence the reason I’d been avoiding him and why I’d chosen to drown my sorrows in nonalcoholic beer, in the one place in Minneapolis that made me feel close to him: our bar.

Our bar because it was the scene of our first sexual encounter.

Our bar because it was where Jax had confessed his love for the first time.

Our bar because we felt free to be us—no one recognized Jax. We spent time dancing, talking and fooling around, making memories just like any other young couple in love.

Feeling morose, I didn’t glance up when a shadow fell across the table. I said, “I’m fine, Vic,” assuming it was the bartender.

“From what I can see, Lucy Q, you’re a helluva long ways from fine.”

The shadow belonged to Jax.

Holy shit. Jax was here. In Minneapolis.

“Jax? Aren’t you supposed to be in Chicago getting ready for the playoffs?”

“Yes, but I have a girlfriend who won’t talk to me and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

“How did you find me?”