Chapter 9

MELODY

My legs shakea little as I climb the stairs, yet the car doesn't move away.

The struggle not to turn around and look isreal, as I'm convinced he's watching me enter the house.

My place is a rental in a multi-family historical house.The interior is impeccably upgraded and well-maintained. It has high ceilings, French doors, and a patio in the back.

The building is occupied by the owner and comes with many restrictions, which have never bothered me.

No smoking––I've quit smoking, anyway. No pets––I've never had a pet. I had no time for that. No bicycles or gym equipment inside the apartments.

I've joined a gym. I also jog around the neighborhood and take Pilates classes with a private instructor.

And then there's this rule.

No parties––or any kind of loud noise––are allowed.

Despite the disgustingly high rent, I've followed their rules and never had a problem.

I hope things stay that way. That's why I want that car to move away.

No sound comes from the street as I walk across the hallway and unlock the door to my apartment.

I enter my place and barely set my purse on the kitchen table when someone knocks at the door.

My heart beats faster as I remove my coat, check the time on the clock on the kitchen wall, and pivot back to the main door.

Is that the landlord? Is someone knocking on the wrong door? How did they get into the building?

Someone had to let them in.

I peer through the peephole, yet I see nothing.

The corridor is too dark––although it's not supposed to be that way––and it's hard to see anything.

"Who is it?"

"It's me. You forgot your food."

Oh. My food. How could I forget it?

And I thought I had made such a grand exit, saying all the right things and not looking back.

I swallow my embarrassment and briefly check my hair and dress in the mirror before opening the door.

With an arm propped on the doorframe, he hands me the food and quietly studies me.

I take the bag and thank him, my fingers latched onto the door, having no intention of inviting him in.

The more he looks at me, the harder it is not to invite him in.

"Anything else?" I murmur, struggling to hold his gaze.

"I won't walk away from you," he says. "We'll do this. One way or another."

I smile.

"Hmm… Good luck with that," I say, sliding the door to close it inhisface.

Sneaking his boot in, he hinders my retreat.

I open the door, a bit amused andvery muchconfident.

"This…" I say. "Whatever this is, it won't happen. I barely got to the point where I realized what I wanted from my life."

"Let me guess… It wasn't me?"hesays with a shred of self-deprecating humor.

I have to give it to him.

He has the ability to always turn things around and make me laugh, and my reaction puts a smile on his face.

"Your guess is correct."

My smile fades as I move closer to him, walk out, and pull the door closed behind me.

"Listen," I say quietly so we don't disturb my neighbors. "I don't know much about you to have something against you. It's just that we are in two completely different places in our lives. And that pretty much says it all. As funny as it seems for you, I'll find someone like Thomas one of these days. Perhaps a little boring, maybe not that great in bed. He might not even get it up as fast as you could."

His eyes look fiery in the dimness as he gives me a smile again.

"And he might not stay hard as long as you could," I drone on. "But even so, he could be enough for me simply because he and I might want the same thingsin life. Make sense?"

He weighs his answer.

"It sure does. But you don't know what I want. You just said it. You know nothing about me."

I read his eyes for a second.

"It's true. But I can guess… You like fast cars––that's a fact––and you probably pursue feisty women. I'm not feisty in the slightest, and I don't live life in the fast lane. It's too dangerous for my taste. Not so much for you. And it's all right. You shouldn't apologize for that."

"I've never apologized for that," he says, his smile removedfrom his face.

I gesture to him asin it doesn't matter before we both go quiet, and I pivot to return inside.

My hand curls around the doorknob.

"Thanks for the food," I say to end our conversation. "And thank you for the other offer."

Without waiting, I step away when he blocks my retreat for the second time this evening.

I look at him.

His eyes are a blur of dangerous green poison.

"You'll give in to me one way or another. It will just take longer if you fight me."

I stare at him in awe.

I wish I could believe him even for a second.

That would really mean I'm open to anything.

But…Can'thesee how different we are? And how at odds our life plans are?

"I know nothing about you, Jax London. And this is only the beginning. We can't even…"

"What?"

"I don't know. Find some common ground? Agree on a few simple things?"

A few moments pass before he erases the space between us, snakes his arm around my waist, tilts his head down, and whispers words against my cheek while I melt like an ice cream cone left in the sun.

"Forget about finding common ground. In fact,"hesays, loopinghisother arm around me and tickling my earlobe withhisbreath. "Forget everything you know. You need nothing when you come to me. I will teach you everything you need to know."

Despite his boastful words, his seriousness and stark confidence give me pause.

Not only does he believe every word he says, but he is set to make it happen.

What does he think I need to know?

Taking my silence as an answer, he grips my chin and tips my face up.

Our breaths become one in a swirl of suppressed passion as our lips connect, warm, eager to learn quickly, and loaded with pleasure waiting to happen.

Pressing his lips to mine, he pulls me into his chest, making my knees go soft and my shoulders quiver while leaving me there, waiting, not brutalizing my lips or sensually turning me on, only taking an inch of me at a time, giving me a lot to think about.

Heat spreads across my skin as he does more with his kiss than the other man the entire evening.

I move my hands over his chest with regret.

Despite what he's saying, this, us, will never happen.

We both know it.

It's just that we're trying to ignore the overwhelming evidence.

We're still connected when lights flash in front of the building, and a squad car's siren goes off.

Oh, fucking perfect.

He seems unfazed, although he moves away from me, our conversation is unfinished.

"Sorry, darling. I wish I could spend the night," he says, his voice lined with amusement and irony. "Duty calls," he adds, glancing out the front door window.

He walks down the stairs before glancing over his shoulder and winking at me.

"Fight or no fight, you will be mine in the end. I'd advise you against going out with other people. You'll unnecessarily bring them into our story, which won't benefit them. Or you. I enjoy punishing naughtiness."

Heflashes a smileand gives me another wink before exiting the building and moving fast toward the cops.

Three things pop into my head.

His voice was loud enough, and my neighbors might've heard his last words.

There's a gun in his car, and he's double-parked with cops all around him.

And, uh… How didheknow the passcode to let himself in and bring me my food?

A door opens at the upper level, prompting me to swivel and walk back into my apartment.

The lights still flash red and blue in front of my building.

Shit.The landlord might demand an explanation.

I move the food to the kitchen and go straight to the window. With him surrounded by the police, so many things could go wrong.

For one, he's probably not supposed to have a gun.

I don't think so. Not ifhe'sa convicted felon.

There's not much time to think about it as I tilt the curtain to the side and peek outside.

He's talking to the cops––a man and a woman––no guns drawn out, no patting down.

A sigh of relief rolls off my chest.

Things seem to be all right, and moments later, the cops pull away while Jax looks up at my window.

Fuck.

I step back, almost falling over a plant.

I think he was smiling.

JAX

Middle Village,Queens

An hourlater

I rollthe car as quietly as I can beforebringing it to a stopin front of a modest single-family home.

With the engine still running, I slide the door open, climb out, and move the garbage bins out of the way to make room for my ride next to my mother's SUV.

The place is dark, like most homes on the street. Most people are asleep.

This is a nice area of Queens with mom-and-pop shops, public transportation, and the best pizzeria in town–if you ask me–but our place is too small.

We outgrew it a few years back.

I lock my car and glance up. A bluish light spins slowly around the room upstairs.

Silently, I open the front door, enter the house, and head straight to the kitchen.

It's the best place to have a drink late at night without waking everybody elsein the house.

My boots go next to a pair of sports shoes in the hallway before I walk into the kitchen.

The place is clean, a small nightlight casting a glow over the granite counters.

The kitchen island marks the center of the room, while a table with four chairs sits next to a window overlooking the backyard.

There's nothing to see outsideright nowas the wooden shutters are closed.

I spin toward the refrigerator and grab a beer before trailing the smell of food to the stove.

"There's food in the oven, and it's still warm," my mother says, and I turn to her.

She wears a house robe with a floral print, her dark hair pulled back and neatly tucked under a hair band.

Her eyes are heavy with sleep.

"Did I wake you?" I ask.

"No, you did not. I fell asleep less than an hour ago and jolted out of sleep for no reason."

Gesturing, she moves toward the oven.

"There's a bottle opener in the drawer,"she also says,checking the tray of food.

"Thanks. I'm good," I say, opening my beer with my ring.

"Do you want to eat? It's lasagna," she says, pointing to the food before scooping out a plate. I'll have some. Maybe it'll help me sleep. The pills do nothing for me."

She's been struggling with insomnia and migraines since we moved out, and she filed for divorce.

It's been a bumpy ride––I'm not gonna lie. The things my father put her through would give anyone headaches, but she insists it's not him.

It's her hairdressing job, attending to her clients. In the same breath, she also says she likes working with people––it's what keeps her sane.

That's why I know it's my father.

Shepullsout a dining plate for meandpilesfood on both before placing them on the table along with forks, knives, and napkins.

I shed my jacket anddrapeit over the back of my chair.

"How is she?" I ask when she swivels back to me. I flick my chin up, pointing to the room upstairs. "She has the blue light projector on," I murmur before taking a swig of beer.

My mother smiles.

"She's upset with me."

I grab a bottle of water for her while she pulls out a pastry box from the cupboard. The name of her favorite shop is splashed across the lid in bold italics.

"Why?"

We sit at the table, and she starts to eat.

"She no longer wants his money."

She chews on her food while I drink beer.

"That's not new," I comment.

"That's what I said," she talks around her food before pointing to my plate with her fork.

"Eat," she murmurs absently, gathering her thoughts.

I put my beer down, grab the fork, andtake abite.

"I had to agree with her," she goes on. "I also had to explain to her that's not how life works. This is his responsibility as a father, so she has no say in this. Money is money, and we all need it. She needs it too—for school and clothing."

"Speaking of money," I say dryly. "Have you heard fromhim?" I say, putting the fork down and grabbing my beer.

"He came to the shop tonight. That's what upsets her. She wouldn't accept a dime if it was up to her."

A faint gesture signals her frustration.

"She'll get it in time," I say.

She gives me a skeptical look.

"I barely get the money he owes me, and now, she's throwing fits."

"She's sixteen. That's what she's supposed to do."

She faintly nods in agreement, her eyes centered on her plate.

"That's the other thing," she says, smiling. "She's mad becauseheknows she has a boyfriend."

"A boyfriend?"

I set my beer down andcrossmy arms over my chest.

"What boyfriend?" I mutter.

She breathes a quiet chuckle.

"Please don't start. I have enough problems withher."

"Who's her boyfriend?" I insist.

"Samuel."

My eyebrows go up in disbelief.

"Samuel is her boyfriend," I murmur, still processing the news. "He's like a brother to her. They grew up together. Since when is he her boyfriend?"

She shrugs, finishing her food, less concerned with my little sister's boyfriend than I am.

"He kissed herin front ofthe school, and your father saw them. He gave her an earful and scared the poor guy off. She was livid and swore she wouldn't talk to her father again."

She pauses for a moment.

"Like father, like daughter," she mutters. "You know him. He's not exactly a smooth talker."

"Now he's concerned with her well-being?" I rasp, pissed.

She rolls her eyes in response before removing the lid of the pastry box and transferring a slice of strawberry cheesecake to her plate.

"You know him. He's an idiot."

I sure do.

I wanted to kill the guy more than once.

I'm still not sure I won't do it someday.

"What did he say to her?"

"He banned her from seeing him again, which isn't only stupidbut alsoimpossible. They go to the same school. He lives across the street. Tim is nuts," she says mainly to herself. "I tried to reason with him, but he made no sense. Later,hecame to me and gave me the money. He said he was in a rush. I don't know…" she says thoughtfully, chewing on her dessert. "Something's going on in his life. Not that I care. It's his life, and his new family, but I don't want him to take it out on Rylee. Whatever's going on is his business… I don't want you to go to jail because of him again."

I'm about to say something when she continues.

"I can't believe he's still screwing with our lives."

My retort becomes irrelevant.

Besides, she's right.

Tim London has made our lives a living hell for as long as I can remember, whether we lived under the same roof or not.

Reckless is his middle name. And recklessness couldn't have been paired with something worse than an easily bruised ego and a violent temperament.

It took my mother a while to break up with him, file for divorce, and start from scratch.

Life hasn't been easy, but we've made it.

Spending two years in jail because I punched him in the face multiple times and almost cracked his skull open was worth itin the end.

Today, he no longer makes unreasonable demands, pays the alimony–although never on time–and tries to avoid me for the most part.

We're not exactly on speaking terms after what happened to my sister.

But he still has parental rights and plays parent to her.

My mother swallows her food and drinks water before looking at me.

"What happened to you? Where were you?"

"Nowhere," I say, reaching inside my jacket. "This is for you," I said, givinghera stack of cash.

She looks at it, not knowing what to say.

We don't talk much about my life these days.

She knows I have a place to live but hasno ideahow I make my money.

Well, she probably does, but we both tiptoe around the topic.

"Are you doing work for Marco again?" she finally asks.

I bring my beer to my lips.

"It's not your business," I say, smiling. "It's good money. Take it. Save it up. And one day, we'll put a down payment on that house you like up the hill. The one with azaleas, and what were the other flowers?

"Hydrangeas."

"Yeah… Hydrangeas."

"I don't know about that," she says, regret flashing through her eyes. "That's a lot of money. And it's not only the down payment. A house across the park has sold for half a million. I'll never be able to afford the monthly payments, maintenance, utilities, and property taxes."

I gesture softly.

"Don't worry about that. We'll make it happen. You just have to believe in it."

I crack a smile, her piercing eyes making me tilt my gaze away to evade her scrutiny.

I focus on my food.

"You seem content for some reason. What happened?"

"Nothing," I say curtly.

Her hand slides over mine.

"Jax?"

I bite my lip to stifle a smile but can't entirely suppress it.

"I told you. Nothing happened."

She pulls her hand away.

"I don't believe you. I know you. You have that smile…"

Her eyes hover over my face.

"What smile?"

"Like when you were little and did some shit. Later, it was the illegal shit. You didn't steal the money,"shesays,hervoice beaming with concern.

"I'm not a thief."

"I know you're not. Oh…"

Her hand flies to her mouth.

"It's a girl," she murmursjustas the door opens.