3. Jones

CHAPTER 3

Jones

T he nickname slips out without thinking. And not like it's been eight years since I last spoke it. My only hope is Mia's too hammered to remember it tomorrow.

This was a huge fucking mistake. For more than one reason. What the hell was I thinking bringing Mia into my apartment? Never mind that she's at risk of puking her guts out, she's also in my apartment. My space. It's the very last place she should be.

Because having her here, with the lights dim, and the world closed off from us, is too much of a vulnerable place to be. The questions threaten to arise. The feelings might resurface and there's no telling what I might do. It's dangerous and I don't trust myself to hold it all together. I've been doing it for so long already.

I set her down in my small bathroom and once she's steady on her feet, she finally gazes up at me through long lashes. Shame glosses over her green eyes but I don't find the warrant for it. She's got no reason to be embarrassed. That shit was likely to go public at some point. If anything, I find myself filled with relief. Holding that secret in for all these years has been eating away at me. Killing my soul. Especially having to keep it from Cammie and Maverick.

"Jones," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

I brush my thumb across her cheek; our first true intimate touch since she's been back in town, and the connection that keeps us drawn together returns like lightning to my heart. I open my mouth to speak, to say something that might let her off the hook. Even though, I'm not even sure what she's apologizing for.

Is she sorry for disclosing our painful secret? Sorry for embarrassing me? Herself? Sorry for leaving me eight years ago without so much as a fucking phone call? Sorry about the baby girl we lost?

But my questions are interrupted when she lifts the toilet lid and hurls.

I gather her hair and fist it in my hand before she can make a mess of it. "That's it, let it all out," I mumble, and rub her back while she heaves a few more times, her shoulders trembling.

She finally drops to her knees and leans back against the glass wall of the shower, wiping her mouth with some toilet paper. "I told Rosie I'm a lightweight now. She didn't listen," Mia mutters.

I chuckle. "Of course, she didn't fucking listen. It's Rosie."

She nods. "Right."

"I know you've been gone awhile, but nothing's changed. We're all still the same people." I drop her hair and go to the cupboard, pulling out a washcloth and running it underneath the cold faucet.

"Not all of you," she says as I hand her the damp washcloth and our fingers barely graze. "Not you."

A bolt of lightning shoots up my arm and straight to my dick, but I attempt to shrug it off. "Mostly. What the hell do you know, you've been gone for eight years."

I don't want to fight. Not here, not now. Not with her in the state she's in. Hell, though maybe it's not the worst idea, she may not remember our conversation in the morning.

"How long you gonna throw that in my face?" she asks.

Is she fucking serious?

"Every fucking chance I get," I growl, answering honestly.

She dips her chin to her chest. "I guess I should've expected that."

"Yeah, I guess you should've. Because what else could you have expected? That I'd roll over and thank my lucky stars that you'd come back? Pick up where we left off? Toss you into the bed of my truck and fuck you senseless?" I can't help it. The words just keep flying out of my mouth. Even while she sits there, her eyes beginning to water and taking it like she deserves it.

In a way; she does.

Suddenly she shoots up onto her knees and ralphs into the toilet again.

The tension—sexual and angry—eases as I console her once again. This time rather than coaxing her with words or rubbing her back, I tether my fingers through her hair. It's long and smooth and feels like heaven in my hands. I begin braiding it and she sits back down. I move behind her, and without exchanging words, Mia lets me braid her hair. She inhales and exhales small, measured breaths.

Wrapping her thick, soft hair around my hands becomes therapeutic. Each time I cross a strand over the others, my brain sifts through memories of the two of us. But only the good ones.

Mia was my person. I told her everything. She was the one I laughed with. She was my first. She was my everything.

How I've managed these past eight years without her is beyond me.

A soft moan escapes into the quiet bathroom and the sound sets fire to my skin.

"When did you learn how to braid? And how did I never know this about you?" she asks.

"I don't know. I've been doing it since I was a kid. My mom taught me when she taught Cammie. I guess she thought it might come in handy someday."

"She was right. Thank you."

Thinking about my mom is still hard. Talking about her is even worse.

I clear my throat and stand, handing her the end of the braid. "Hold this."

I go into my kitchen and fill a glass with water. Then I rummage in a drawer until I find a metal bread tie. When I return to the bathroom, Mia has situated herself with her back pressed against the glass wall of the shower again.

For a brief moment, I allow myself to be the pathetic loser I once was. When I was hung up on her. Her sitting there looking rosy-cheeked, hair pulled back, shirt disheveled and revealing one bare shoulder: she's beautiful. And I imagine her in that shower; tits pressed against the glass.

I shake my head. I'm an idiot.

Taking a seat on the floor next to her, I grip the end of her braid and twist the metal tie around it tight. Letting go of her hair, I run my hand up her back and stop at her neck. I squeeze it a few times, momentarily lost in a world where I'm allowed to do this.

I slowly release her neck. "Sorry," I mutter and hand her the water.

"Thank you," she replies softly, taking a sip. "I don't deserve this."

My brows pinch together. "What do ya mean?"

"This. You." She throws a hand out. "Being nice to me. Taking care of me."

"Well, I couldn't very well let you puke all over my bar," I scoff.

We both know that's not the only reason, even if we don't say it out loud.

"I expected you to make a scene. To yell at me. To throw me under the bus in front of our friends."

"There's still time for all that." I exhale a mirthless chuckle.

She smiles faintly.

"But I figured this was punishment enough for one night."

"Yeah, maybe." She bites her lip like she's got more to say but she's holding it in.

Or maybe she has to hurl again.

I just hope she doesn't want to get into it tonight. Because even though I've been waiting to have this conversation for eight years, I don't know if I'm ready for it. At least not with the state she's in.

"You…taking care of me…braiding my hair…It just has me thinking…"

"Yeah?" I say, though my heart beats like a kick drum in my chest while I wait for her response.

"You would've been a great dad."

Mia's words kept me up most of the night. Not long after, she fell asleep on the tiled floor. I debated letting her sleep it off there so she'd be close to the toilet, but I couldn't stand to see her like that.

So instead, I carried her to my bedroom and put her in my bed. She'd made a mess of her dress and to not get puke in my bed, I carefully slipped it over her head and tugged my old hockey sweatshirt on her. I had every intention of not looking. But the sparkly jewelry in her belly button caught my attention.

My mouth watered instantly. Which also meant my dick went hard too. How could it not? Mia had a bellybutton piercing. It was not only sexy, but it was new. A piece about her I didn't know about.

It took so much fucking restraint to not wake her up. But I didn't. That little fantasy would not go how I hoped. So, I left a plastic wastebasket next to her, grabbed a blanket and pillow, and sprawled on the couch in the small living room.

Mia was still sleeping when I headed downstairs to the bar early this morning. I couldn't sleep anymore. Not only is that couch too small for a guy my size, but my brain has also been on overdrive since last night. And seeing Mia in my bed brought a whole hell of a lot more thoughts and feelings. One bonus is, I'll have the bar clean and ready long before we open.

My phone has been blowing up with texts since the night before. Word travels fast in a small town. Especially when a bomb like that gets dropped in the largest bar in Maple Ridge on Wine Wednesday.

The only person I haven't heard from yet is Dad. Which is just as well. I'd like to be the one to tell him about the baby.

Maverick

I'm not gonna make you explain. But what the actual fuck?

When were you gonna tell me? Never?

Cammie

I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone! I'm here to talk or listen whenever you're ready. I love you, big bro!

Rosie

Of all people, you told Nico!

Don't think he's off the hook for not telling me!

Dad

My beer fridge is getting a little low. Mind stopping by before work today?

Son of a Bitch, I swear, if someone told Dad before I've gotten the chance, I'm gonna beat the shit out of them.

The bell above the front door of The Pines chimes as it opens while I'm fixing a pot of coffee for brewing. I'm not up for seeing anyone or talking to anyone either.

"We're closed," I growl without turning around.

"Then why do ya got the door unlocked, dipshit?" Maverick snips back.

I exhale a long sigh and rest my hands on my hips. Rather than being on the defensive, my shoulders ease. Mia exposing our secret is somehow giving me the respite I didn't know I'd needed.

When Maverick reaches the bar and our gaze meets, sorrow throbs in my throat. Tears sting my eyes and as always, my best friend lets me off the hook from speaking first.

"Look, I get it." He drops onto a bar stool and rubs at his forehead. "Fuck," he breathes out. "But I don't understand it. Why you wouldn't tell me."

I shake my head; I don't really know why either. I wanted to. I wanted to tell him and Cammie. And Rosie. My dad. Hell, even Grams and Gramps.

"Everything happened so fast. It was like, one minute Mia was telling me she was pregnant, and we were planning our future. The next minute, I was rushing her to the hospital, and we lost the baby." It hurts to push the word baby over the lump in my throat. "And then Mia was leaving. I guess I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd get over it faster."

"You of anyone should know better. Grief doesn't work that way."

For some fucking reason, I never put grief and losing the baby together. Sure, everyone talks about grief after a loved one dies. When Mom passed away, grief was like another person in our house. Taking up a seat at the dinner table. But losing something— someone —you never met, how can you miss them? How does that count as grief?

I let the word soak in and peer down at the floor through hazy eyes.

"You should've let me be here for you."

I nod, adjusting the ballcap on my head.

"And Cammie. She's fucked up over this. She's blaming herself for not being a better sister."

Lifting my gaze, I wipe at my eyes. "She couldn't have known."

"Still. You know Cammie. She's too good for us. Always will be."

I shake my head. He's not wrong.

"I'm sorry I never told you guys," I say, hoarsely.

He hunches a shoulder. "Well, it's out now. So the question is, what are you gonna do about it?"

I draw my brows together. "What do ya mean? What is there to do? Mia already aired out all our fucking dirty laundry."

Maverick shakes his head. "Not that. How are you going to get over this?"

"I don't know," I exhale the words.

"For starters, I think talking about it will help. Cammie and I may not have been there for you eight years ago, but we're here now. I'm sorry, man, that you went through that. No one should have to deal with that shit alone."

I force a small smile and nod. "Thanks."

The door that separates my apartment from the bar creaks open and draws our attention. Mia stands there wide-eyed, dressed in my Maple Ridge Rams sweatshirt from my old hockey days and looking caught. The sweatshirt, while big on her, still barely covers her ass and I can't keep from letting my eyes trail up and down her body. The betraying bastards . She has her own clothes tucked underneath her arm and her shoes pinched between her fingers. Blush creeps into her cheeks.

"Oh, hey, Maverick. I didn't know anyone else would be down here," she says softly, tugging the sweatshirt down.

"Morning," Maverick says, amusement flashing in his eyes when he swings his attention from Mia and back to me.

I groan and run a hand over the back of my neck.

Maverick stands. "I was just leaving. I'll catch you two later."

"No, it's okay, you stay." She rushes toward us. "I was just leaving too."

I quirk a brow in her direction, heat filling my limbs. "Not fucking dressed like that," I say with a growl.

She stops and glances down at herself, fidgeting with the hem of the sweatshirt. "About that, how'd I get in your sweatshirt?" She narrows her eyes at me. "I don't remember getting undressed."

I grunt. "Not surprised."

"Okay, see ya." Maverick hurries out of the bar.

"Jones?" she says my name sternly and it causes my dick to twitch. It's fucked up, but I miss her and the confidence she used to have with me. She never had a problem telling me exactly what she wanted me to do to her to make her fall apart.

"Did you undress me?" Mia asks once Maverick is gone, approaching the bar.

I lift my palms in surrender. "I swear I didn't look."

"Ha. Bullshit."

I can't tell if she's mad about this, or if she's teasing me. And I don't like it. I fucking hate that I don't know her well enough anymore that I can't tell the difference.

"You got puke on your dress. What was I supposed to do?"

"How about not undressing me while I was unconscious?" she quips.

I glare at her, my skin heating. She is mad. "I wasn't about to put you in my bed like that. So, I carefully, without fucking looking by the way, undressed and dressed you. So, you're welcome. Fuck." I stomp past her and snatch my keys off the counter.

"Where're you going?"

"Taking you home."

"Don't bother." She waves a hand nonchalantly in the air. "It's like two blocks away, I think I can manage walking."

"And like I said, dressed like that? I don't fucking think so," I growl.

She glares at me. I glare back. And suddenly we find ourselves in a head-to-head staring contest.

"Fine," she says on an exhausted breath, or maybe it's not exhaustion and she's just hungover. Maybe it's a little of both.

We go out the front door and I lock it behind us. There are already people milling about. That's one downside to a small town. We hurry and climb into my truck before we get noticed by a local.

Mia fastens her seatbelt and I pull the truck onto the downtown street. The country station is playing one of my favorite songs, but I leave the volume low. We don't speak. Mia's breathing is fast and audible next to me. I simultaneously want to know what she's thinking while not wanting to know.

For a moment, my brain takes me back to a time when Mia and I went everywhere just like this. Her riding shotgun in my old truck beside me, country music playing on the radio, neither of us having to speak. We were content just being together.

But it's a fucking torturous blast from the past.

I'm reminded how much has changed when I pull into an angled parking spot in front of Base Camp Sports, and I don't even cut the engine. I used to go inside and say hello to her parents. Mr. C. and I have become even more friendly over the years since working together planning the annual Bikes and Beers. But all that feels different now that Mia is back in town.

She puts her hand on the door handle but doesn't open it. "I'm sorry I'm such a ball-buster. You don't deserve it," she blurts out.

I shrug off her words.

"I appreciate you taking care of me last night. And this morning."

"Welcome," I say gruffly.

"I guess I'm mostly mad at myself. Not you. I shouldn't have had so much to drink. Or told the entire town of Maple Ridge about…the baby." She trips up a bit on the word baby . "I'm sorry."

"It was bound to come out eventually. And to be honest, I guess I'm a little relieved it did."

She turns her attention on me, but I can't look at her or the impending tears will threaten to appear.

I clear my throat. "Losing the baby…our baby was one of the hardest things that I've ever gone through. But going through it alone was fucking torturous. You left me to go through it alone?—"

"Jones," she interrupts me, my name in a whoosh of breath.

"You just…fucking left me."

Sorrow burns in my throat.

"I was consumed with grief, Jones. I never stopped loving you." Tears roll down her cheeks and she wipes them away.

The urge to pull her into my arms and never let her go again claws at me. But I resist. Because how can she claim that she still loved me, but she left me anyway?

"Yeah, well, you should've stayed. We could've gone through it together. How do you not see that that would've been better?"

"You might be right," she says while her eyes continue watering. "But at the time, leaving felt right. I needed to get away."

"From Maple Ridge?"

"Yes."

"From me?" I quip, afraid of her answer.

"Yes," she says louder, but choking slightly on the word. "Because every time I was with you," she pauses and the pain on her expression aches in my chest. "Every time I looked at you…I saw her." She sobs harder.

At her words, my heart fucking shatters.

"I couldn't stand to look at you. It hurt too much."

I hold up my hand to stop her. I can't take much more of this. My shoulders heave and tears fill my eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

I clear the anguish from my throat. "Me too." I hadn't thought of it like that. That seeing me was a constant reminder of the baby we lost. As much as I want to continue hating her for leaving me, I can't. Because in some fucked up way, I suppose it makes sense.

But it doesn't hurt any less.

"Jones—"

"Just go. I can't fucking do this," I interrupt harshly.

"Will you let me explain?" she asks meekly.

"No. Not now." I pinch the tears from my eyes. "Just get out of my fucking truck before I say something I'll regret."

She does what I ask.

But the truth is, I already regret speaking to her like that.

I wasn't the only one grieving alone. She was too. But the thing is, that was her choice. I didn't get a fucking choice.

Mia doesn't turn back around before she slips inside the store.

I don't blame her. I'm an ass.