Chapter 48

MELODY

Despite everything he said,I wish I could've gone home and changed.

My cocktail dress feelstoo uncomfortable when Jax brings his car to a stop in front of his mother's house and invites me to climb out.

I wonder if he told her she'd have guests.

We enter the house, and he announces from the doorway that it's us, and it all feels surreal.

Noises come from the kitchen––clanking pans, and pots, clinking silverware, running faucet water, and music playing in the background––while voices ping pong in a lively dialogue upstairs.

Jax takes my hand, and I'm deeply grateful for the calming effect he has on me.

The cadence of our footsteps interrupts the domestic noises. Someone turns off the water as he announces our presence again.

Patting her hands against a kitchen towel, his mother looms in the kitchen entryway while Noah and Rylee climbdownthe stairs.

Noah stops midway, and Rylee does the same, craning her neck to get a glimpse of us.

"Jax??" his mother says, a smile clinging to her lips. "You didn't tell me we'd have guests…" she murmurs, and my eyes flick to him.

"You didn't tell her?"

A playful smile blooms on his lips.

"Everybody chill," he says before making the introductions.

Renata London is a woman with inquisitive eyes and a stoic expression on her face softened only by her warm smile.

"Melody Hill," he says. "The woman I have talked to you about."

He gives her a wink and judging by her baffled expression, she has no idea what he's talking about.

I bet he's never mentioned me before.

"The woman…" she murmurs. "Oh, the woman," she adds, having an epiphany.

"Oh, she's the one…"

She moves from one emotion to another in a blitz, offering me a handshake as I try to understand the secret meaning of her words.

Apparently, I"ve made a good impression on her, and as her eyes meet mine, I amalight with curiosity.

"I'm sorry," she says. "We weren't expecting guests."

"She's not a guest," Jax says.

"I can see that," she chides him with humor. "Still, you could've told me."

Shaking her head, she spins around and moves back to the kitchen, mumbling words.

"I could've put a different dress on."

"Don't fret, Mom. She's fine."

I'm more than fine now that the focus is no longer on me.

"Noah? Rylee?" Renata calls from the kitchen. "I need your help."

"I can help," I say, turning to Jax. "Where can I leave my things?"

He shows me around the house before I trade my fancy blazer and stilettos for slippers and a sweater.

He removes his jacket, and we all enter the kitchen.

I meet Rylee there.

She's quiet and shy, but once she tells me her name and our hands connect, I sense more than a flicker of resoluteness in her frame.

She is curious like her mother, but unlike her, she shows me a healthy dose of distrust. Noah, on the other hand, is overly excited, and his sincere admiration for his brother extends to me.

The food is almost ready: fish stew, lasagna, freshly baked bread, salad, and steak. Two trays of cookies sit on the racks inside the oven.

We drink coffee,andJax uncorks a bottle of wine before the table is set, and we start eating.

The more we do that, the awkwardness of meeting someone new dissipates.

They are warm and funny and make me feel at home.

The most reserved is Rylee, but only because she is at that age when you wish you had an instructions manual on how to live your life.

By the timewe eat cookies and talk about life in New York, Rylee cracks a smile or two and even refuses to take a friend's call, texting her back that she is busy.

We leave late.

Neither of us has checked the time throughout the afternoon, but I know it's late.

The lights have come on in the neighborhood.

Our trip back is different from the trip to his house.

I'm in a good mood, my stomach isfull, and I have a bag of goodies in the back seat to take home.

"I like them," I say, which shouldn'tbe a surprise.

Jax is amazing, and their dynamic is great.

Their love for each other is palpable, reminiscent of the interactions in my parents' house.

I miss going home more often.

Hopefully,I'll be able to do that soon.

"They like you too."

"You think?"

He nods, smiling and glancing away.

"You know they do."

My eyes stay on his profile as I ponder my next question.

"Your mother knew of me…" I say. "There was something you had told her."

He thinks about it for a second before he smiles.

"It's an old thing."

"It can't be that old."

He rakes his fingers through his hair.

"It was just after I met you. My mother picked up on a different vibe coming from me. She thought it had to do with a woman."

"No way."

"Uh-huh. But…" He looks at me, grinning."You're not going to like who she thought it was."

He moves his eyes to the road.

"He thought it was Angelina?"

"Yeah, she did."

"And you didn't tell her?"

"I didn't even know who Angelina was. She told me about her, but I couldn't remember her."

"Angelina…" I murmur. "She wants you to get married. Your mother."

He looks at me again.

"Angelina is that type of girl," I say in response to his questioning look.

"You are the same type. You just looked for men in the wrong place."

"As you have repeatedly told me."

We laugh.

The conversation moves to other topics, and before long, we enter my street.

Surprisingly, someone veers away from my building.

"I can't believe there is a parking spot," I say, as he usually parks his car in a garage a few blocks down.

"Me neither. Although, I can't stay."

But he steers his car and pulls it to a stop in front of my place anyway.

Even a few more minutes with him are a treat.

We walk out, and he carries the food inside, opening the main door for me like he lives here.

"How did you figure out the passcode?"

"I saw you punching it the first time you came home."

"I should ask the landlord to change it."

"Or move."

"Or move," I say, grinning.

He holds the door for me as I enter the lobby.

"Your neighbor behaves?"

He points to Marlowe's door.

"I haven't seen him in a while. Maybe he moved out."

"Good thinking. This place is not safe."

The irony is blatant.

"You think?" I toss at him, unlocking my door.

"Yes. It wasn't safe withhimas a tenant."

I gesture dismissively as I enter my apartment.

"He was just being stupid. Let me get this," I say, collecting the bag before making a beeline for the kitchen.

"It's not only that," he says louder so I can hear him from the kitchen. "If I had figured out the numeric code, anyone could. Plus, the corridor is dark. People come in and out of the building as they please."

That is a valid point, and heknows what he's talking about.His company sells security services to people.

I set the bag on the counter and reach into a cupboard.

I scoop out two glasses and a bottle of wine before setting Renata's cookies on a plate.

Pouring two glasses of wine, I keep talking.

"Everything you say is correct, but things are not that bad. Besides, I'll be moving out soon."

He says nothing for a fewgoodmoments, his silence pushing a chill down my spine.

"Jax? Can you hear me?"

I get nothing.

I grab the glasses of wine and exit the kitchen.

I find him in the living room, standing, his eyes on a colorful leaflet.

Initially, I don't make the connection.

Why is he so quiet and stern?

And why can't he lift his eyes to me?

What is he so engrossed in?

I slide the glasses onto the coffee table and stopin front ofhim.

"What is that?" I ask, and he brings his eyes to me.

Clouds of sadness muddy up his gaze.

"I can ask you the same thing? What is this?" he asks, flipping the marketing material over and giving me a full view of the shirtless male on the cover. What a poor visual choice.

"Are you in the market to buy sperm?"

His lips barely move as he forms the words.

He looks petrified, yet he's not even close to how horrified I am once it all sinks in.

Talking about the misunderstanding of the century.

"No, no… This is not how it looks. I can explain."

I yank it out of his cold hand, mumbling anxious words about how I had run a few online searches and must have gotten on somebody's mailing list.

HowI thought my life would be a string of mishaps and that I'd need to think practically at some point.

How that has never been my first choice.

How a lot of things would've had to happen before paying a stranger for some sperm.

I'm breathless and sweat like crazy when a small smile flickers through his gaze.

"You're too easy, baby…" he says.

For a moment there, I thought this would crush our trust. It's been too much, so when he openshisarms, I welcome his hug with tears on my lashes.

"Don't cry, baby…" he says, running his thumb below my eyes.

"It's not because of this."

"I know. Just calm down. We're going to make it. I promise you that. I might charge you an arm and a leg for a shot of good sperm, but you're going to be happy with the outcome. And free delivery is included, by the way."

I laugh and cryat the same time, and then he kisses me, making me feel safe again.

"I love you," he says quietly, still brushing tears away. "And I love how emotional you get around me. Maybe it's a phase, but I hope it will last."

I nod in silence while his eyes move to our drinks.

"I'll only get a sip. I really need to go."

"Okay. See you tomorrow?" I murmur, handing him his drink.

"Yes. I'll call you as soon as I get home. "

We clink our glasses and drink wine.

"To us," he says.

"To us."

"And our babies."

"And our babies," I say like a parrot. "I'll probably need a ring for that."

He laughs, and I chuckle too.

"You'll have your ring and everything else you want."

He sets his glass down, rubs a small patch of skin on my cheek, and kisses my lips before looking at me one last time and pulling away.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says again, havinga hard timebreaking away from me.

"Yes."

A second later, he winks at me and tells me to lock the door, and I promise I'll do that before he vanishesout the door.

MELODY

The momentthe door closes behind him, I fall back onto the couch. My head is tilted back, my hands covering my eyes, a long sigh leaving my chest.

Breathe.

I just need to breathe.

Too many things have happened these past few weeks, and while all these changes are thrilling, the stress is a bit too much.

But my mind goes back to the lovely afternoon we spent at his mother's place and the night we spent alone at the hotel.

My fingers slide off my face, a smile tugging at my lips.Things are good. He is good. And I am good with him.

Usually.

A quiet laugh rolls off my lips when I hear a knock on the door, and I straighten up at once.

Is that him? Has he forgotten something?

I look around.No.He hasn't smoked lately. So there are no cigarettes. No lighter.

It can't be him. He'd walk in.

No. Maybe no.

He asked me to lock the door.

Shit.

I didn't do that.

I leap out of my seat and tiptoe to the exit, hoping to get there before the person on the other side figures out the door is unlocked.

Why would I think about something like that right now?

Is it the landlord? His wife? My neighbor?

No to all of them.

The landlord, as obnoxious as he is, doesn't usually show up at my door without a reason. The same goes for his wife. Marlowe is not here. I don't think so.

It must be him. Jax. Why doesn't he come in?

I near the door, ready to lock it or open it, depending on who, if anyone, is waiting outside, when the doorknob shifts,andabadfeeling zips through me.

"Stand back," I bark. "I'm calling the police."

I will never know what has prompted me to say that.

Why would I think about something so extreme?

Maybe it hasbeen all the talking about how unsafe this place is.

This isn't a delivery.

It's Saturday evening, and I haven't ordered anything.

All big mistakes are made in a split second.And thatseems to happento me while weighing my options.

Should I push the door back closed and try to lock it, or should I spin around, sprint to the kitchen, and grab my phone?

My phone is in my purse.

"Call the police, huh? That's something new," a voice overflowing with disdain echoes not far from me.

I try to push the door closed when I recognize his voice and instantly realize I don't have enough force to fight him back.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I bark, changing my strategy and not moving an inch, forcing the man to stay where he is.

Ellis Wilton carelessly presses a shoulder into the doorframe and looks inside my apartment.

Now I know why I regretted that evening when I invited him here for a drink before politely inviting him out.

"So that is your man?" he tosses at me, the tip of his shoe in.

I cross my arms over my chest.

"Are you going to force your way into my apartment?"

"I'm not in your apartment."

His eyes are red and unfocused, and he looks like he's on something. Alcohol and drugs, perhaps.

I take a whiff, trying to detect a smell.

I can't tell whether he's drunk. He looks drunk. He might as well be furious. But why?

We haven't talked in ages.

"You know what? I'm not going to argue with you. You're here uninvited, so getthe hellout of my place,orI'll call the police."

With renewed confidence, I spin around and go straight to the kitchen, not realizing he's entered my place, locked the door, and followed me in.

Only when I fish out my phone,andhe sneaks behind me and knocks it out of my hand, does the realization of how dangerous he isoverwhelm me.

"Are you for real?" I push out, not believing my eyes.

I think I read somewhere that in half of the attacks––or were they crimes?––the perpetrator is someone you know.

And also, in half of those instances, it's someone connected to you, like an ex, a boyfriend, or a husband.

I'm sure part of the problem in all instances is not seeing something like this coming.

I'm stunned.

I'm also in denial.

Losing precious time, not believing that this man isherein my kitchen, wishing me ill.Maybe morethan that.

What can it be more than that?

But this is a well-known man. Some socialite and local celebrity. Yes. And because of that, he could probably get away with a lot of crap.

I look at him frozen, only stretching my hand out.

"Give me my phone. And get out. I'll pretend I've never seen you."

"What do you think you can do to me, little slut?"

He no longer seems drunk, but he has ingested something. His pupils are enlarged, and I doubt it's because of me.

My phone lies on the floor, smack in the middle of the kitchen. It seems closer tohimthan me, so my chances to grab it and run are practically null.

I still wear those stupid shoes.

And I still need tomake arun for the door and slide past him.

Now I wish I had a bigger place.

"What do you think you can do to me and get away with? Do you think you can force your way into my body?" I say boldly. "I invite you to try that," I add, tipping my gaze down, yanking the drawer open, and scooping out thebiggestkitchen knife I can find.

A laugh explodes in his chest.

"Oh, you're stupid."

"Says the man who is stupid enough to break into my apartment."

"I didn't break in. The door was open."

"You didn't know that. And I didn't invite you in. Why are you here, anyway?" I ask, holding the knife in front of me.

"You played me."

"Excuse me? Was I the only one who couldn't fall for your stupid pickup lines?"

"No, obviously. But you said you were looking for a solid man. And then I saw you last night. Is that your solid man?"

I stay quiet.

He chuckles again, stepping closer.

"Stay where you are, or I'll slash your throat open."

"You think I'm here to fuck you? No way in hell. I wouldn't touch your stupid cunt," he says, and his eyes darken, pure hatred spewing from them. "You're just a stupid cunt, falling for the first dick with tattoos up to his neck. I should've known you were no good. But I indulged you, didn't I? Had to listen to your stupid reasons for not sleeping with me."

I can't believe him.

"You're unhinged," I say. "Stupid and unhinged. We went out a few times. And you think I owe you something?"

He makes a sudden move, erases the space between us, and slaps me hard across my face, sending me flying toward the floor.

The knife falls on the counter as I barely catch myself, my nails clawing at the same counter.

"Stupid, fucking dick," I say, raging, while he looks around to collect my phone.

I notice the direction of his gaze and leap to it, falling to my knees. A fight ensues, and I bite his calves and hands, trying to get my phone.

He cusses me out while I scream, making him move his focus from my phone to my mouth.

He's struggling to keep me quiet while I use the opportunity to grab my cell. My thumb swipes the screen, taps the camera, and I start recording.

Some unusual force grows in me as I crawl away from him. He stumbles over a bar stool while I pull behind the kitchen island. I'm still far from the exit, but now I hold my phone up.

"Talk to me, bitch. This is going straight to the tattooed man. Tell him how I owe you something because I didn't want to sleep with you. Tell him how you got into my house using force and practically assaulted me. Tell him all that. And don't forget to tell him how you slapped me."

Blood drips from his hand from where I sunk my teeth into his calloused skin, and he mutters a curse, looking into the camera while I use the opportunity to press stop and send the clip to Jax.

I don't even know if it went through, if he got it, or if he sees it. I call 911, but my phone doesn't get the chance to connect with an operator as Ellis lunges at me and pulls my phone out of my hand.

I grab a chair, toss it toward him, and run to the exit when he rushes after me and grabs the back of my hair.

I still can't believe this is happening to me, and I'm going through it, reacting and fighting without having a second to think things through.

Imanage toescape his grip and reach the main door when I learn he's locked it.

There isn't enough time to unlock it as he grabs my shoulders and tosses me on the couch like I'm nothing.

Every timeI try to jerk upright, he pushes me back with force, a maniacal laugh accompanying his moves.

His hand goes to his belt, and I do my best to roll off the sofa and fall away from his legs when someone's fist hits the door.

"Melody?"

"Oh, he's here," Ellis says with the arrogance of someone who hasn't paid for any of his past mistakes and now can't believe that he might.

The man has no idea. But his well-being is not my concern. My concern is Jax.

I don't want him to go back to jail for this dickhead.

"The door is locked," I scream. "Help me!" I shout.

A few moments pass while I throw things at Ellis when Jax puts his shoulder through the door and catches my aggressor just as he tries to pick me up from the floor by tugging at my hair and hitting me again.

Jax sends his elbow into Ellis"s face and catches me as the man falls back like a sack of potatoes.

"Do not kill him," I bark, but I'm not sure my words make it to his ears. "I don't want you to go to jail, Jax," I say as he picks up Ellis and punches him repeatedly.

My aggressor's face looks like a painter's easel with only one color smearedacross it. Crimson.

Eventually, he drops him on the floor and turns to me, his cheeks flushed.

"How did this jerk get in?"

"He was outside, waiting. And I didn't lock the door right away."

My voice shakes like my body. Like my heart.

"I never thought something like this could happen to me."

I lean against the wall, unable to walk, while he closes his arms around me.

"I didn't want this to happen," I push out.

"It's not your fault," he says quietly.

"I didn't hear your car," I murmur.

"I left it two blocks away from here. I couldn't turn it around, so I jogged here."

He shifts his eyes to Ellis,whogroans on the floor,andI press my hand to his chest, stopping him from killing him for real.

"Please don't do it. I have the video. I'll talk to the police."

"Don't worry," he says. "I won't be going anywhere. I'll make this go away," he continues. "Now pack your things. You're going with me," he says, not leaving room for debate. "I'll make a few calls and have someone pick him up before talking to the landlord."

"You don't have to."

He only looks at me. And I nod before he continues.

"You no longer spend another moment here. I don't want something like this to happen to you again. Do you understand?'

"Yes. Yes, I do."

He runs his fingers over my cheek.

"Did he really slap you?"

"Yes, he did."

He clenches his teeth and kicks Ellis in the groin.

I touch his arm.

"No. Please, don't do it. Find a different way. Okay?"

Our eyes stay connected for a second.

"Okay," he says. "Let's go now."

He starts to move, but I keep him still.

"Thank you," I say and press my lips against his. "I love you, baby."

His answer comes right away.

Soft and warm.

"I love you, too."

And then we leave my place, our eyes glistening with bittersweet emotions.