Chapter 18
Jax
I thought maybe we’d get lucky and be the first to arrive.
As usual, luck was not on my side.
“Why is this family so fucking big?” I whispered, following Poppy’s car down the last stretch of the driveway.
There were other cars parked at the house when Poppy and I arrived—I recognized Greer’s and Cameron’s, then noted a sleek black SUV that I didn’t. It was a beautiful night, and everyone was outside.
Harlow sat on the front porch with Sheila, Harlow’s daughter, Sage, running along the side of the house with Greer’s stepdaughter, Olive. Greer sitting on the front porch steps with Ivy while a basketball game was played on the driveway to the left of the house.
Cameron and Ian tussled underneath the basket, a two-handed shove from Ian garnering some boos and claps from the porch. Dribbling the basketball in front of Greer’s husband, Beckett, was a tall, wiry guy with golden-brown hair and a fucking jawline crafted by the gods.
He drove his shoulder into Beckett’s chest and easily dribbled around Ian when he tried to block him, easing the ball up into the net with an outstretched hand.
Cameron gave him a high five, and I had to grit my teeth against the vicious spike that drove straight through my head. Poppy got out of her car first, and the living Ken doll lit the fuck up at the sight of her.
He said something to Beckett and made the guy laugh, then stepped back and drilled a three-point shot, jogging over to Poppy as he used the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He had an eight-pack, for fucking fuck’s sake.
I wanted to punch something.
Her face scrunched up when he teased her with the sweaty shirt, pulling back with a laugh when he ducked in to try to wipe his forehead against her shoulder.
Then with his big puppy saving hands, he cupped the sides of her face and ducked down to place a deep kiss on her lips. In the deepest cavity of my chest, a dark corner of my irrational, unfair brain, something growled dangerously.
A raw scream of warning that I needed to ignore. An itch to claim something—someone—that wasn’t mine to claim.
The kiss ended quickly, and Poppy said something to him with their faces still close. He nodded intently, eyes briefly darting over to my truck before he said something back. When she pulled away, she wiped at her mouth and gave a small, rueful shake of her head.
He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip, and I dimly registered that my hands were gripping the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles went white.
I wanted to fucking rip his handsome fucking face right the fuck off.
This whole friendship thing was going great .
The kids ran inside, followed by Greer and Ivy. Harlow went after them, and Beckett gave me a nod through the windshield and then jogged up the steps to follow his wife.
Cameron and Ian talked while I slowly exited the truck. Ian shoved his brother good-naturedly from behind, and Cameron gave me a look like, behave.
I rolled my eyes, but nodded .
As I approached Poppy and Dean, the guy slid his arm around Poppy’s waist, an easy possessiveness in his grip as they turned to face me.
Why were his eyes so fucking blue? God, I hoped he was wearing those fake contacts because that wasn’t even natural.
Poppy was clearly nervous, and I attempted as much of a smile as I was capable as I came closer.
Dean lifted his chin, bright, freaky blue eyes as clear as the fucking summer sky, like he had no reason in the world not to trust me.
“You must be Jax,” he said, taking control of the exchange by extending his arm. “I’m Dean.”
I took a deep breath and clasped his hand with mine, both of our grips instantly tightening. I didn’t flinch, but then again, neither did he.
It was a draw, as pissing matches went, but he still smiled. And why wouldn’t he? He still had his hands on the girl.
That was my own fucking fault, and he knew that too.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
Poppy glanced between us. “This is fun and not at all awkward.”
Dean glanced down at her and smiled—a dentist’s fucking wet dream, this guy’s teeth were. “So you were in Spain, right?”
When I nodded, Poppy’s shoulders relaxed. Tension that I hadn’t even noticed before, too wrapped up in my own spiderweb-tangled thoughts.
Cameron gave me an encouraging nod, and I let out a deep breath before answering. I could do this.
“There’s this set of trails I’ve always wanted to do,” I answered. “A pilgrimage, they call it.”
His face lit up. “The Camino de Santiago.”
Slowly, I nodded. “That’s the one.”
“Which route did you take?” he asked, his hand moving in small up and down motions along her side. She stared down at the ground for a moment before raising her gaze to mine. Her cheeks were pink.
He probably had a PhD in loving affection and emotional regulation, the pompous prick.
I had to force myself back into the conversation, tearing my eyes away from Poppy’s in order to answer. “I took more than one, actually.”
“You’re kidding.” He let out a quiet, shocked laugh. “I’ve wanted to take the French route for years, but I was too busy finishing school to even consider it.”
“I started on the Northern route, actually,” I said. “Took my time with it. Walked when I wanted to walk, spent a few days in a town if I liked it, and I did that a lot. Took a few weeks to rest before I took the French route back into Spain. Finished with a couple I met on the last stretch, ended the whole thing in Santiago de Compostela.”
“Incredible,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. “I’m feeling a little intimidated right now that you managed both trails in one trip. That’s … what? Seven hundred miles?”
Poppy’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”
My mouth edged up in a wry smile. “More like eight hundred,” I said. I didn’t need to squeeze the fucker’s hand to bring him down to his metaphorical knees.
“Shut up ,” Poppy exclaimed.
“You didn’t know where he was going?” Dean asked.
She shook her head, incredulity stamped in her big eyes. “No. We didn’t talk about it.”
Poppy and I exchanged a quick, tense look, and I felt it down to my fucking toes. Wasn’t much talking happening that night at all, really.
“I’d love to hear about it,” Dean said. “If you don’t mind sharing, that is.”
Did I mind sharing, he asked. I didn’t really want to share shit with this guy—the muscles and the big brain and blue fucking eyes and his stupid fucking hand on Poppy’s hi p
No, I didn’t want to share at all.
From across the driveway, Cameron caught my eye and grinned. “Jax loves telling stories.”
Ivy snorted into her drink. Ian cleared his throat.
Dean just smiled, either too genuine of a person to register the blatant sarcasm in my friend’s voice, or he was just really fucking oblivious. “Do you?”
“Fucking love it,” I answered, only the slightest growl to my voice.
“Great,” he said. “Maybe you could tell me over dinner.”
“I think my mom has you two on opposite ends of the table in case this little intro went badly,” Poppy admitted.
Dean’s face softened as he looked down at her, and hell if it didn’t look genuine. My chest went tight, a thousand pounds of pressure while I registered the slight softening in her eyes too.
“No chance of that, babe,” he said gently. “There’s no reason for Jax and me not to get along.” He moved his gaze back to mine, and for the first time, I saw the slightest challenge there, enough to lift the hairs on the back of my neck. “Clearly, we have something really important in common. That’s enough of a reason, isn’t it?”
Poppy pinched his side, and he laughed.
An angry restlessness skittered under my skin.
Do something.
Anything.
Leave.
Go.
You’re not what she needs.
What was I doing here? What was I playing at? I couldn’t be that guy. Who pretended to be part of the family, when my presence made everyone uncomfortable.
Would it always be like this?
Birthday parties. Christmas. Graduations.
Poppy and Dr. Dean, the picture-perfect partner with a great jaw and saintlike job and a gold fucking star in emotional intelligence.
“All right, kids, let’s go on inside,” Sheila called from the front porch. “Food’s ready.”
Dean and Poppy turned, his arm anchored around her hip. For a moment, my feet stayed locked tight to the ground, unable to move forward at that casual display of ownership. Poppy glanced backward, giving me an encouraging smile, but I couldn’t force myself to smile back.
When they were inside, I let out a harsh puff of air and glanced up at the sky.
“Sometimes life gives us interesting curveballs, doesn’t it?”
The sound of Sheila’s voice had my head snapping in her direction. I thought she’d followed them in, but she was still waiting on the porch for me, a patient smile on her gently wrinkled face.
I managed a short nod.
“You still coming in?” she asked.
There was no judgment in her tone, no command.
“Not sure I should, Mrs. Wilder.”
She clucked with her tongue, then came down the steps to stand beside me. There was a book tucked underneath her arm, and she moved it into one hand as she stared up at the house, like I was.
“It’s just dinner, Jax,” she said. “You’ve been to enough of them that you know how it’s going to play out.”
“Not this one,” I answered. “Can’t tell me this one isn’t a little different.”
Sheila sighed quietly. “Maybe a little,” she conceded. “But there’s no one inside that house who doesn’t want you there.” The dry, sideways glance I gave her had her lips quirking up in a tiny smile. “All right, maybe one. But he’s just a man trying to find his footing, same as you.”
“Probably wants to put that foot up my ass.”
Her answering laugh was quiet and short, but I heard it all the same. “Don’t go assuming the worst, Jax Cartwright. He might surprise you.” Unlikely. Really fucking unlikely. That guy shoved his tongue down Poppy’s throat simply because I was sitting there, and I couldn’t even really blame him. “And there’s no one inside that house who doesn’t want you here.”
Everything seemed so easy when she said it like that. But it wasn’t easy.
Like Poppy asking if we could be friends.
Like Margot telling me to just write down what I was feeling.
Like my idiot self thinking that I could walk away from Poppy without telling her I wanted her.
Easy was a fucking myth. Not a single part of life was easy. Even the good things. Friendship or love or family. Because those things came with people, their baggage, feelings, and their past weighing it all down.
The best thing I could do was just not make it worse.
And the fear of that had me asking something I might not have if it was anyone else standing by my side.
“Am I making it harder on her by being here?”
Sheila’s face softened in understanding. “No, Jax. You’re right where you need to be. You’re part of this family—her family—whether you’re here or not. And I believe that you’ll be a wonderful father, if you let yourself.”
I scoffed. “Like I fucking know how.”
She set a soft hand on my arm. “I remember your mom, you know.”
My head snapped in her direction. “You do?”
“Of course. She was so young when she had you, wasn’t she?”
Jaw tight, I nodded.
“Everyone does their best, even if it doesn’t always look that way, and I think your mom did the best she could considering she was just a kid, and she was alone.” Sheila pulled the book out from underneath her arm. “I brought this for you. Pulled it out of Tim’s box of books.”
Slowly, I took it from her, my fingers tracing the warped edges. “This was his?”
“Bought it when I was pregnant with Poppy because he was convinced we didn’t remember how to do it.”
The New Dad’s Playbook
Exhaling a quiet laugh, I turned to the front inside page, my hand tracing over his scrawled handwriting. Please return to Tim Wilder. I have too many kids to lose this thing.
She chuckled when she saw it. “Always thought he was so funny.”
“He was,” I said quietly. “Thank you, Sheila.”
The pressure in my chest eased when she carefully closed the book in my hands and took my other hand in hers, settling it on the top of the cover. “All you need to do is be willing to try, Jax. No one expects more than that, all right? If you’re doing your best, that’s fine by me.”
“What if my best still hurts her?” I asked, voicing it even though the words ached coming up.
“The fact that you’re willing to ask is why you deserve a seat at the table, Jax.” She tilted her head toward the house. “You ready to come in?”
With a nod, I gripped the book. “Let me set this in my truck first. I don’t want to forget it.”