Chapter 43

MELODY

Jax's place

Around midnight

His place isthe epitome of masculinity with dark floors, a few pieces of furniture propped against white walls, and even fewer decorative objects.

His closet is organized with his suits on one side, and his jeans, boots, and T-shirts on the other.

The fridge is stocked with water, beer, a pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer, a tray of finger food, a small cream cheese pie, and a slice of chocolate cake.

He's no longer on a diet. Or he knew I"d be here.The food must be from his sister's birthday party.

I'm not here to empty his fridge, so I settle for abottle of water.

I read stuff on my phone before getting tired of it, sliding it into my bag, and heading to the shower.

Noah comes to mind as the water rolls over my body.

He was tight-lipped all the way to his brother's place.

He kept the conversation to a minimum and looked in the rearview mirror way too many times as if we were tailgated.

We weren't, but he was nervous, and I couldn't get out much from him, so that was that.

I leave the shower and look for a towel.

Patting my skin dry, I enter his bedroom with a towel around my body.

A floor lamp casts a glow around the nightstand, chair, and large bed in the room.

I turn the lamp off, slide under the covers, and peer outside. With virtually no traffic to distract me, I soon drift off to sleep.

An hour passes before the click of the lock makes me snap my eyes open.

I'm naked under the covers, my hair splayed over the pillows, smelling like him.

"Is that you?" I ask, pushing up onto my elbows.

"Yeah… It's me."

His keys clatter against the table in the hallway while I fall back into the pillow.

His voice is even, perhaps tired. Maybe he's had second thoughts about bringing me here.

It only takes a step in the wrong direction, a moment of hesitation, and we begin to question everything.

He enters the kitchen, and a smell of roasted tomatoes and herbs travels with him.He's brought food.

Later, he walks into the bedroom, smoothly removing his suit jacket, rolling his sleeves up, and undoing another button at the neckline.

The shirt and pants are dark, contrasting with his watch, rings, and necklace.

He tears his eyes away from mine beforegoing backto his jacket and patting it for a cigarette.

"Want one?" he asks casually.

"No."

Hepops a mintinto his mouth and slides a cigarette between his lips without lighting it.

My eyes are trained on him while he slowly moves around the bed as if sunk in thought. He pulls the chair closer to the edge of the mattress while I roll onto my side to face him. He sitsin front ofme.

Running his hands through his hair, he stretches his body, his cigarette still dangling from his lips.

"How are things?" he asks around his cigarette, not looking at me before leaning forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and bringing his beautiful eyes to me.

"Things are good," I say, folding my arm under my head. "I slept well in your bed."

Tipping his gaze down, he flashes a knowing smile.

A moment later, he straightens his back, removes his cigarette from his lips, sets his ankle over his knee, and stares down at me.

"Can you tell me more about your life?" I ask quietly.

A thoughtful look slides over his face.

"You got what you needed from your PI," he rasps. "You've seen the rest of it."

I think about it for a moment.

"You brought Marco to my firm. Was that a coincidence?"

He clicks his tongue.

"He was looking for a company to help him manage his money. It just happened that I knew about it. The presentation was good, and he liked your people."

I push up a little and prop my head against the headboard.

"How did you get in business with Marco Costa?"

A soft smile pulls at his lips.

"You know who he is?"

"I do now."

His smile fades.

"I met one of his men in prison. We struck up a friendship, and he offered me protection. He was Costa's right hand."

"That's all?"

He weighs his words.

"He thought I could do stuff for them. I said I would if they protected my family while I was inside. They did, and I remained loyal to them. Other than that, things just worked between us," he says.

"What about your father? What happened between the two of you?"

He flicks his cigarette, the tension in his body growing.

A sigh leaves his chest before he speaks again.

"My father couldn't protect his family and my sister paid for that."

He pauses, his eyes tipped down, staring blankly.

"Rylee went to his house in Long Island. They had a big fancy party with his boss, the other lawyers, and their families. My sister had never been a fan of those, but she was there––she was supposed to spend time with my father–– so she tried to fit in. One of the young dudes she talked to was my father's boss' son. The kid gave her something to drink––she wasn't supposed to drink alcohol––and took her to one of the bedrooms. Later, he tried to take her clothes off. She sobered up, fought him off, and ran away before calling my mother and telling her what happened. I went there to pick her up. My sister couldn't pull a string of words together, while my father pretended nothing happened. Apparently, he didn't want to upset his boss. Well… Downplaying everything and questioning Rylee didn't sit well with me."

His lips pull into a bitter smile as he shifts his gaze to me.

"I couldn't believe he was doing that to his own daughter…" he says. "So, I nudged her into my car and went inside to look for that kid. My father tried to stop me. He didn't want the whole thingto be blown up out of proportion. His words, not mine. At that point, he was more concerned with making the story go away than protecting his daughter. I grabbed him by the neck and told him everything I couldn't tell him as I was growing up about how he had always put his interests above our safety. He fought me back and brought me within inches of ending his life. The only thing that stopped me was Rylee, who'd gotten out of the car, searched for me in the house, and found us in his office fighting each other. She put her hands on my back, screaming hysterically, telling me she needed me more than he needed him. That somehow made me stop. I released him, and he started to breathe again. His eyes dripped with anger as he was rubbing his neck… He warned me I'd pay for that, and I told him to go to hell. I'd already paid for it by having him as my father. Rylee sobbed, imploring me to leave the house, and I couldn't walk out without reminding him he had fucked with our lives by always putting himself first. That made him go quiet, and we finally left the house while the party was still underway, as if nothing had happened. Later, he filed a complaint with the police. He was who he was and couldn't admit to his own faults. He blackmailed us, and my mother didn't want to lose me, so they reached a compromise. They still had joint custody of Noah and Rylee while I got the deal I got."

I listen to him, my heart pulsing quickly.

"How are things now?"

He breathes out a dark chuckle.

"We don't speak to each other. Rylee hates him. Noah is eighteen and no longer cares about him. My mother collects the alimony. I give her money, but she insists on collecting what he owes us. He's always late with the money as he has other obligations. Or he simply doesn't care. That is Tim London in a nutshell."

I inhale and exhale slowly.

"You've come into quite a bit of money since you know Marco Costa."

"Yes, I have. I worked forhiminitially, and thenhepaid me to perform in the boxing ring. He quickly realized my potential and wisely offered me more."

"Wisely?"

"Mm-hmm. Had he not done that, someone else would've done it."

I struggle with my next question.

"Do you kill people for money?"

He looks at me seriously before a smile floods his eyes, and he laughs like it's a good joke.

"Killing people wouldn't get me far. I told you I don't want to go to jail again. It wasn't the worst experience, but it wasn't the greatest either. People my age go to college, not to prison. But I can't complain. My life changed for the better. And then I met you," he says, giving me a soft wink.

I muse.

"How do I fit in all this? I don't understand. What made you believe I was good for you?"

"You are good for me," he says, smiling.

"How can I be? I'm so stiff and pretentious."

"You used to be that way," he says.

"Yes… Precisely. I used to be that way. I'd been pampered my entire life. Except for my dating life, everything had gone my way. What made you think you and I could be a good thing?"

His eyes go blank as he thinks about it. He shrugs before he speaks.

"I don't know what it was. You were hot, for one. And then…" He centers his eyes on me. "You were everything I couldn't be. I think that was it. I also knew you were vulnerable, and as obnoxious as you were, I still felt the need to protect you."

He pauses before he continues.

"As crazy as it sounds, I learned a lot from my sister. After my father had bluntly denied her reality, my mother wanted her to see a therapist. But she wasn't comfortable talking toa stranger, especially since my father had questioned her credibility, so she refused to do it. Then, one day, she visited me in jail. Mother left us alone, and she opened up to me. She was lucky in a sense, but even so, her trust was shattered not only in that kid who had misled her but also in menin general. When someone doesn't respect your boundaries, you don't think something is wrong with them. You think something is wrong with you. That's a shitty place to be in, and it takes a lot of work and healing to get to a point where you can trust yourself again. That's where she was, and I felt sorry for her. I also disliked the kind of man that does that to a woman. My father had done things to my mother as well."

"So you felt sorry for me."

"I wouldn't put it that way. You seemed to have your shit together, but being at that therapist's office wasn't a good sign. I don't know why I felt for you…" he says, averting his eyes. "I think it was that stupid convo on your phone. The guy was phony, and youseemed lost. I didn't feel sorry for you. I was baffled by you. You seemed to have everything going on for you, and yet you couldn't figure men out. And then, I was annoyed with that Thomas guy, who had the opportunity to mess with you."

"So you thought you should mess with me instead," I say, smiling.

He smiles.

"It's a boxing strategy. Well, a variation of that, in your case. I messed with your plans, got you interested, waited for you to make a mistake, and pulled you down."

"Brilliant."

He laughs.

"You think?" he tosses at me.

My smile fades as I study him.

"You're amazing, you know," I murmur.

I've never met someone so thoughtful and caring.

"I'm just interested… That's all,"hesays humbly, looking me up and down with a flicker of hungerinhisgaze.

"The two women…" I murmur, focused on our conversation again. "The one you were seeing. And the one who attended Rylee's party."

"What about them?" he says, placing the cigarette on the nightstand and crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive stance.

"Can you tell me more about them?"

"I'm not seeing anyone right now," he says. "The brunette is someone my mother wanted me to meet. She thinks she's wife material."

"I happen to believe the same thing."

He laughs, amused.

"I don't have a say in that?'

"I think you've had a say all along. That's why I'm here with you.Sheis good, though."

"You think you're bad?"

"I think I'm learning to be good, and so far, I've learned very little, being busy with unlearning things."

"I think you're doing great. I also think you are a good woman. Otherwise, you'd be with the next Thomas Everett. That's why you didn't click with him. I'm surprised the Doctor didn't tell you that."

"Speaking about the Doctor…"

He makes a gesture.

"You were right about her. She was infatuated with me," he says.

My eyebrows go up.

"You're kidding me," I say, laughing. "You asked for a different therapist because of that?"

"I asked for a different therapist because I hated running into you in that environment."

"You don't want me to see a therapist?"

"You do whatever you think is best for you. But I don't think you need to see one."

"Noted."

"I'll be done in a few weeks," he says.

My eyes glide over his broad chest and tattooed hands, and just by doing that, he knows what I want from him.

Not to mention that I am helplessly falling for him.