Ch. 33 – Jax
A rms, strong and secure, wrapped around her body. A hint of woodsy cologne in the air. A warm voice murmuring above her . Jax sighed and snuggled deeper into the cocoon of her blankets. She felt safe. Protected. As if nothing in the world could ever hurt her again.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and the beautiful wisps of dreams—but were they dreams?—faded away. Morning sunlight spilled across her patchwork quilt. She yawned, stepped out of bed . . . annnnd crumpled to the ground like a drunk octopus.
Jax lay on the carpet, stunned and more than a little confused as fire raced up and down her ankle. Then the memories from last night bubbled up in her mind.
Staking out the winery.
The nefarious stranger.
A perfectly timed rescue brought to you by one Rico Torres.
Their sizzling make-out session . . .
Oh yeah, that. Heat cascaded through Jax’s body as she remembered Rico’s slow, cruel lips teasing and taunting her. Goose bumps prickled her skin at the memory of his hot breath whispering across her neck. Who would have ever guessed that earlobe nibbling could be so tantalizing?
Jax stretched onto the floor, hands curling over her heart as her eyes squeezed shut. She could play these delicious images over and over and— Her eyes shot open. How in the hell had she gotten to bed?
She dug through her memories and came up empty. How had the night ended?
That’s right. She’d royally chickened out of begging Rico to be gentle with her battered, frightened heart. Instead, the most inane thing had come out of her mouth.
I need you to walk my cat.
Jax burned with humiliation. Coward, she cursed herself. Then what had happened? Rico had left, harnessed cat leading the way. She remembered staring at a large, white-and-brown rat as it chewed contentedly through a section of cardboard in its carrying case. Her eyelids had felt so heavy.
And then?
A lithe figure wove through the half-open bedroom door and padded up to her.
“Meow?” Styles looked at her with curious eyes. Jax reached out and stroked his forehead, brushing the tips of her fingers across a row of dark spots.
“He carried me to bed. Can you believe that?” she grumbled even as her heart squeezed. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and noticed a new pair of crutches leaning against the wall next to her bed. A bottle of Advil, an ankle brace still in its packaging, and a glass of water sat on her nightstand.
“And look. He bought me gifts,” she whispered to the cat, stroking his back. Sure, crutches weren’t exactly a girl’s best friend, but it was still hella thoughtful .
A deep, satisfied purr erupted as the kitten stepped into her lap.
“God help me, Styles,” Jax muttered into his fur. “I think I’m actually falling for Rico Torres.”
*
Just before noon, Jax hobbled her way up the walkway of Sarita Torres’s home. The crutches were already beginning to chafe at her armpits, and she balanced awkwardly on one foot as she leaned forward to knock on the door.
After a few moments, it swung open, and she blinked up at the gorgeous face of Rico Torres. Jax wobbled, and he automatically reached out to steady her.
Jax cursed herself. Of course Rico was here. He would be staying the weekend at his mom’s house after making the drive up to Yucca Hills, just like he had last week. She should have anticipated this. Instead, she stared at him like an utter loon, grasping and failing to find something to say.
“Missed me already?” he asked, because Rico Torres always knew what to say. “Or did you just want to thank me for all my gentle ministrations last night?” His eyebrows wagged suggestively.
God. The line was so cringe, but her cheeks were turning radioactive anyway. Jax wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of seeing her discomfort, so she straightened up as best she could.
“Actually, I’m not here for you.” She kept her voice all business. “I have an interview appointment with Elena.”
“Right on time,” Elena called from farther within the house. “Rico, stop blocking the door like an ogre and let the woman in.”
Rico frowned. “What are you interviewing Elena for? My profile? Don’t believe a word she says. She’s a very, veeeeery biased source.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Jealousy. It’s so hard being the less talented sibling.”
“I heard that, you dick!”
Rico was shoved, not very gently, away from the door, and Elena stood in his place, carefully adjusting her glasses. She wore a loose white tee over black leggings and delightfully bright, polka-dot socks.
“Come in. Oh, what happened to you?”
“Dios mio!” Sarita appeared in the living room, her eyes widening as she took in Jax’s crutches and wrapped ankle. “Aquí.” She waved Jax into the house, then marched into the kitchen, apparently brooking no argument. Jax crutched after the small, round woman and sat in the kitchen chair Sarita indicated.
Rico followed, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Mom believes in healing through food, so I hope you’re hungry.”
In a matter of minutes, Jax stared at a plate heaped with rice, beans, and scrambled eggs. Well, she was hungry, so why not?
“Gracias,” she said to Sarita, and set her recorder next to her plate. “I guess we can do the interview here, Elena, if you don’t mind.” She gave Rico a look. “And for the record, this isn’t about you. I’m interviewing Elena about her work with the immigrant community and about her experience as a DACA recipient.”
Elena stuck out her tongue at Rico before primly taking her seat across from Jax. “Proceed.”
Jax could feel Rico looming over her shoulder, his dark eyes practically piercing a hole through her, but she ignored him. After a ridiculously delicious bite of food, she swallowed and spoke. “Let’s start with growing up under DACA. When did you first start to understand you were different from the other kids?”
“Probably when she was reading the encyclopedia in kindergarten while they were all finger painting and picking their noses,” Rico interjected .
Jax turned in her seat and frowned at him. “Out.” She pointed at the open doorway.
He looked offended. “What? I’m helping.”
“Actually, let’s just go into my room,” Elena suggested. “You can bring your food.” She looked pointedly at her brother. “No boys allowed.”
“Yeah, I heard that’s what you told your prom date before hooking up with his older sister.” Rico grinned while Elena threw up two birds at him.
Elena graciously took the heaping plate of food and laptop, while Jax crutched behind her down a small hallway into a cramped bedroom. The home was tiny but felt surprisingly comfortable. Everything was well-worn but obviously loved. It was so different from the large, echoey house that Jax had grown up in, where Mom Clarissa insisted on replacing the furniture and décor every few years. As a result, the house never felt fully finished. Sarita’s house, she could tell, was a member of the Torres family.
Elena plopped on her small bed and patted a space next to her. Books cluttered an old desk in the corner and overflowed from a bookshelf against the wall.
Jax leaned her crutches against the bedpost and scooted onto the bed. Elena set the plate of food on her lap and gave her a long stare. Jax felt uncomfortable under Elena’s gaze. She possessed the same dark, intense eyes as her brother. Eyes that somehow felt like they were peeling back her skin. Jax stuck her fork into the mound of scrambled eggs and shoved it into her mouth. After swallowing, she began.
“Um, so same question. When did you get a sense that you were different from the other kids?”
“You’re good for him,” Elena answered.
Jax almost coughed up her mouthful of eggs. “What? ”
“Rico. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. He mowed the lawn today.” Elena’s gaze was unrelenting. “Mowed. The. Lawn.” She articulated every word. “I seriously almost keeled over from acute shock. It’s got to be because of you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Jax insisted. “Okay, I mean, I made him wash dishes last week, but that was nothing.”
“Girl, that was everything. He’s never done the dishes. Like, ever.” Elena smiled. “He’s actually starting to think about people other than himself. It’s almost beyond belief, frankly.”
“He’s not that bad.” The words surprised Jax, even though they were her own. Was she actually standing up for Rico Torres?
“You’re right,” Elena admitted and re-tightened her frizz, slightly crooked ponytail. “He can actually be a half-decent human being when he doesn’t think people are looking. He pays the mortgage for this place, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Jax was about to take a bite of beans and rice but set her fork down instead. “Really?”
Elena nodded. “I pay for groceries and utilities. Together, we keep Mom afloat. Rico doesn’t make much, so I know the mortgage is a strain on him. He doesn’t complain about it, though.”
Jax felt herself smiling. “I can see it sometimes. The good guy in him. Why does he hide it?”
Elena shrugged. “’Cause he’s Rico. ’Cause he thinks he’s got to be this suave asshole in order for people to like him. But the truth is, I like the real him a million times more than the person he pretends to be.” Elena stuck a finger in Jax’s face. “NEVER tell him I said that. He’ll always be my dickhead little brother.”
“Scout’s honor.” Jax giggled as she held up two fingers in a sacred salute .
After that little detour, Jax redirected the conversation back to the interview. Soon, she was swept away by Elena’s story. The other woman told her how unmoored she felt living under the fragile protection of DACA, a shield that could break with the stroke of a presidential pen. The life she’d built for herself—her career, her friendships, her country—could be taken from her with a change in the political winds.
“I don’t remember any country other than this one,” Elena admitted. “My Spanish is good, but Mexico isn’t my home. This is where I’m from. Where I belong.” Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes.
Jax stopped typing on her laptop. “I knew about DACA, but I never really understood,” she admitted. “Thanks for sharing your story.”
Elena nodded and removed her glasses to wipe her eyes. “I just want others to understand that we’re real people. We have lives here. We’re just as American as anyone else.”
Jax typed a few last notes, and Elena agreed to a few pictures standing in her cluttered, humble bedroom. Jax’s heart welled with emotion as she snapped the pics. She liked Elena. A lot. Hell, the country needed more Elenas in it. Not fewer of them.
Why was shit always so unfair?
As the two women emerged from the bedroom, Jax felt the weight of Elena’s story resting on her shoulders. Even though the East County Caller was a small, local publication, many people in Yucca Hills and the surrounding townships read it. She didn’t have any illusions that a single story written by a college kid could change the political tides. But perhaps her story could at least sway a few local opinions and inject more understanding and humanity into the often ugly debate over immigration in the United States.
When they returned to the kitchen, Sarita attempted to offer Jax more food. The woman seemed to be some magical food genie, capable of producing a steaming pot of carnitas out of thin air. Jax politely declined, packed her messenger bag, and made her way outside after thanking both Elena and Sarita profusely for their hospitality.
She was surprised to find Rico sitting on the front porch. She’d assumed he’d left on some errand or other. Even wearing a simple gray tee and faded jeans, he looked gorgeous. She could see the power in his shoulders and wide back as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. A green plastic ball containing Sancho the rat wobbled down one stair on the porch, then another. The rat seemed jarred for a moment, then gamely continued down the walkway.
“How’d it go?” Rico asked.
Jax pulled a lollipop out of her pocket and offered it to him.
He shook his head. “Sugar” was all he said.
Carefully, she sat down next to him. He took her crutches and helped brace her as she settled on the step.
“Elena lives a complicated life.” Jax unwrapped the lollipop.
“I know. It sucks.” Rico squinted against the bright sun.
She looked at him. “You feel guilty, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer for a long time, then finally said, “What do I have to feel guilty about?”
“You do, though.” Jax was getting to know him better, beginning to understand.
“It’s not fair.” The words fell like glass from Rico’s lips, thin but sharp. “It’s not fucking fair.”
“I know.” Jax pointed. “Your rat’s making an escape.”
The plastic ball was halfway down the driveway.
“I’ll grab him if he makes it to the street.” Rico looked at her. “I have an idea.”
An idea that involves your lips and my lips? The hedonistic thought plowed right through all her concerns about Elena. Her girly parts apparently didn’t care about the complex plight of the country’s DACA recipients. They cared about how Rico’s thigh brushed against her leg, how she could smell the faintest whiffs of his cologne on the wind. She almost drooled around her lollipop.
“Do tell,” she managed.
“I need a research assistant to help with the Mayor Bishop story. You’re obviously interested, so what do you think?”
The tingles in her girly parts disappeared. If anything, a dry Santa Ana breeze blew through her vagina. “Your assistant?” she asked just to be sure she’d heard him right.
Rico leaned back on his elbows. “It’s a very prestigious offer.”
“Pass.” Just when Jax thought she was beginning to understand the oaf.
His eyes widened, but he didn’t object or argue. Instead, he rubbed his jaw, then gave her a rueful smile that might have brought a few tingles back to her nether regions.
“What do you want, Jacklyn?”
Oh, about a thousand answers popped immediately into her head. Many of them involved the loss of his shirt.
Focus, Costas, she snarled to herself. “We work the story together and break it simultaneously on Channel 7 and the East County Caller . Equal credit.”
“Equal credit?” he wheezed as his eyes widened in shock.
Jax raised an eyebrow at him and twirled the lollipop from her mouth. “Or we race to the finish. See which one of us can break it first.” She wasn’t bluffing. Sure, he had more resources, a heaping load of name recognition, and years more experience. But he was also shackled to a steady stream of fluffy, adorable, and heart-wrenching story assignments, while she had nothing on her schedule except for a part-time winery gig and daily cat walks. She could devote the rest of her time to feverishly hunting down the story.
“Equal credit,” she repeated.
They both watched the plastic ball turn and bump into the grass of the front yard. Rico was quiet for a long time. The sun played across his raven hair, showcasing inky blues in its depths.
“Equal credit,” he finally agreed with a sigh. “When do we start?”
Jax smiled. “I’ve got three hours before my shift at The Rose and Thorn.”