Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jax
Alphahole
Well, I certainly fucked that up. God, I’m an asshole.
Another piece of advice my father once gave me—always admit when you fuck up.
Especially if that fuck up negatively impacts your mate or pups.
Shawn’s already locked himself in the bathroom by the time I make it into the playroom.
I knock on the door. “I’m sorry, Shawn. Can we please talk?”
I mean, he can’t stay in there forever. We’re going home. I’m damned sure not leaving without him.
“Nothing really to talk about,” he says, his voice muffled by the door and the sound of running water. Still, I can hear it.
Shit.
My mate is not a crier. At all. I can count on both hands with spare fingers the times he’s cried during our thirty-two years together, and three of those were happiness—our mating, his initiation being official, and our wedding—and the rest were at funerals.
Now I really feel like crap. I quickly dress, standing there waiting when he emerges a few minutes later. I go to hug him but he dodges me and heads for the door.
“I’m ready to go home, Jax,” he quietly says, not looking at me and not even waiting for me.
I also know anything I say right now will make things worse. Way worse. He’s not ready to listen, and all I can do is wait him out until he calms down and I can apologize.
I lock the playroom door and follow Shawn up the path to my truck. He’s already sitting inside when I get there because I’d left it unlocked.
Climbing in, I fasten my seatbelt and start the engine, trying to think of something to say.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He doesn’t look at me. “Yep.”
I will not do this here in Todd’s yard. We head home. When I park in my usual spot, Shawn silently climbs out before I even unfasten my seatbelt.
He’s already shut off the alarm and made it to the back of the house when I walk through the front door.
I find him in our bedroom, where he’s stripping and tossing clothes into the hamper.
When I walk over to hug him, he squirms away, and I immediately release him.
Then he pulls on a T-shirt and sleeping shorts and grabs the hamper, leaving the bedroom.
Fuck.
I change clothes, pull on a T-shirt and boxers, and follow him to the utility room where he’s sorting laundry.
“Can we please talk?” I ask.
“Nothing to talk about, Jax,” he snaps. “You don’t want a baby. I spent all these years hopeful, because you always led me on about it, and I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Please, it’s not like that—”
He wheels on me. “THEN WHAT IS IT LIKE, JAX?” he screams. “I’m twenty-five years older than you!
” He lobs a pair of jeans into the washer.
“If you’d just told me in the beginning you didn’t want pups I could have accepted that.
Not spent the last thirty-two goddamned years hoping like an asshole that you do! ”
I force myself to stay calm. “I do want pups—”
“No, that’s a lie, isn’t it?” He finishes loading the washer and slams the top shut.
“If you wanted them you wouldn’t keep putting me off.
‘Time’s not right. Assholes are being assholes.
Too busy with pack work.’ We ‘tried’ one time and you gave up.
Just fucking tell me you don’t want pups and quit lying to me, Jax.
” He wrenches the knobs on the washer and storms past me out of the utility room with the empty hamper in hand.
I fight the urge to storm after him, grab him, and slam him onto our bed and fuck the attitude out of him.
A younger me might have done exactly that, because one thing Shawn enjoys is challenging me to trigger my Alpha.
Most of the time playfully, a little bratty, for fun.
Not for something like this.
I hear a door slam and when I reach our bedroom I see the hamper where it should be, but on its side. I right it and realize he’s not in our bathroom. Turning, that’s when I notice one of the guest room doors is closed.
I try the knob and find it locked.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the door and keep my tone gentle. “Shawn, please, can we talk?”
I hear him sniffle, and my heart crumples, a painful keening in my soul, knowing he’s hurting because of me.
“Go away, Jax. I can’t talk to you right now. Good night.”
Goddammit. I’m an idiot. I knew he was feeling increasingly eager to have a baby, but I didn’t realize exactly how badly. He didn’t seem overly upset that one time we did try.
Knowing we’re at a stalemate for tonight, I return to our bedroom, shut off the lights, and lie there feeling like the shittiest husband in the world with my hand resting on the spot in our bed where he usually sleeps.
This is the exact opposite of how I’d expected to go to sleep tonight. And as I lie there staring at the ceiling, I realize my self-doubt and fear might have just irretrievably fucked up my marriage and destroyed my mate’s trust in me.