Chapter 8
EIGHT
JAX
I can't stop replaying the way she kissed me. The way her hands fisted in my cut like she was holding on for dear life. The way she melted against me for just a second before she pulled away.
And then the look on her face when she told me to leave.
Broken.
That's the word she used.
Like she's something damaged. Something that can't be fixed.
I'm sitting in the office at Perdition, staring at the wall, an untouched glass of whiskey on the desk in front of me. It's barely noon, but I poured it anyway. I haven't touched it. I just needed something to do with my hands that wasn't punching a wall.
I fucked up.
I pushed too hard.
I knew she wasn't ready. I knew it. And I still walked up to that cottage, confessed my feelings, and let myself get caught up in the moment when she kissed me back.
I should have stopped it. Should have pulled away. Should have told her we could take it slow.
Instead, I kissed her like a man starving, and when she panicked, I acted like it was somehow her fault for not being ready.
Fuck.
The door opens, and Knox walks in. He takes one look at me, then at the whiskey, and shuts the door behind him.
"You look like shit," he says.
"Thanks."
He drops into the chair across from me and leans back, his hazel eyes studying me. "You gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"
I scrub a hand over my face. "I fucked up."
"With Ainsley?"
"Yeah."
Knox doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then: "What'd you do?"
"Before you say anything, I owe her an apology. I pushed when I should've listened. And when she asked me to leave, I made her fear about what I wanted. That wasn't fair."
Knox nods slowly. "So what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I want to fix it, but I don't know how."
"Backing off," Knox says. "That's how."
I look at him, surprised. Knox isn't exactly known for his patience. If anything, he's worse than me when it comes to going after what he wants.
"You're telling me to back off?" I ask.
"I'm telling you we need to be smarter about this." He pauses, his jaw tightening. "I feel the same way you do, Jax. I want her, and Owen is part of her. I want to be there for both of them. But she's not ready. And if we keep pushing, we're going to lose her."
"So what do we do?"
"We show her," Knox says. "We don't tell her. We don't push. We show her that we're different. That we're not him."
I stare at him, the weight of his words settling over me.
He's right.
We can't just tell Ainsley we're different from Justin. We have to prove it. And the only way to do that is to give her space. To let her come to us on her terms.
"How do we do that?" I ask.
Knox shrugs. "We take care of her. We take care of Owen. We don't ask for anything in return. We just... be there. And we wait."
"Wait for what?"
"For her to trust us."
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly. "That could take a while."
"Then it takes a while."
I look at him, and for the first time since last night, I feel like I can breathe again.
"Alright," I say. "We do this your way."
Knox smirks. "My way? This was your idea, jackass. I'm just agreeing with you."
I flip him off, and he laughs.
The rest of the day, I make a conscious effort to give Ainsley space.
She's working the afternoon shift at Perdition, and I can see her behind the bar, wiping down glasses and taking orders. She looks tired. Her shoulders are tense, and there's a tightness around her eyes that wasn't there before.
Because of me.
I want to go over there. I want to apologize. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her everything's going to be okay.
But I don't.
Instead, I stay at the far end of the bar, nursing a beer. I force myself to look away, to focus on the conversation Riot and Tiny are having about the landscaping job tomorrow. I don't let myself track her every movement.
Knox is at the pool table, but I can tell he's keeping an eye on her too. Every few minutes, his gaze flicks over to where she's standing, and I know he's thinking the same thing I am.
We need to do better.
Around three, Ainsley reaches for a glass on the top shelf, and I see her wince. She's still hurting from the beating Justin gave her. The bruises on her ribs haven't fully healed yet, and she's pushing herself too hard.
I know why she's doing it, though. Tessa mentioned earlier that Ainsley insisted on working despite being offered more time off. She said she needed the money and, even more, needed to feel useful. To prove to herself that she could stand on her own.
I stand, intending to go help her, but Knox catches my eye and shakes his head.
Not yet.
I sit back down, my hands curling into fists.
A few minutes later, Tessa walks over and grabs the glass for her, saying something that makes Ainsley smile. It's a small smile, but it's there.
And it's not because of me.
Around five, I grab a glass of water and walk over to the bar.
Ainsley looks up when she sees me, and for a second, I see the panic flash across her face. But then it's gone, replaced by something guarded.
"Hey," I say, setting the water down in front of her. "Thought you might need this."
She looks at the glass, then at me. "Thanks."
"You doing okay?"
"I'm fine."
She's not fine. I can see it in the way she's holding herself, in the way her hands are shaking slightly as she wipes down the bar.
But I don't push.
"Alright," I say. "Let me know if you need anything."
And then I walk away.
It's one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Later that evening, Knox pulls out his phone and texts Ainsley.
Knox: That hinge on your front door is getting worse. Would it be okay if I fixed it tonight?
He shows me the message before he sends it, and I nod.
A few minutes later, her reply comes through.
Ainsley: You don't have to do that.
Knox: I know. But I want to. If it's okay with you.
There's a long pause. Then:
Ainsley: Okay. Thank you.
Knox looks at me. "Let's go."
When we pull up to the cottage, Ainsley is sitting on the porch swing with Owen in her lap. She looks up when she hears the truck, and I see the wariness in her eyes.
"Hey," Knox says, climbing out with the toolbox. "Thanks for letting me fix this."
She nods. "I appreciate it."
Knox gets to work, his movements efficient and precise. He doesn't say much, just focuses on the task at hand.
I sit down on the porch steps, a safe distance away, and pull out my phone, pretending to check messages.
Owen babbles happily, reaching for me, and I glance up.
"Hey, little man," I say, smiling.
Ainsley hesitates, then shifts Owen so he can see me better. He grins, his chubby hands waving in the air, and I can't help but laugh.
"He likes you," Ainsley says quietly.
"I like him too."
She doesn't say anything else, but I can feel her watching me.
After a few minutes, Knox finishes with the hinge and tests the door. It swings smoothly, no more squeaking.
"All set," he says, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Thank you," Ainsley says, and there's genuine gratitude in her voice.
Knox nods.
We head back to the truck, and I can feel her eyes on us the whole way.
The next day, I'm at the bar again when a guy I don't recognize walks up to Ainsley.
He's drunk. I can tell by the way he's swaying on his feet, and the way his words are slurred when he leans over the bar and says something to her.
Ainsley steps back, her expression tightening. "I think you've had enough," she says firmly. "Time to go."
The guy laughs. "Come on, sweetheart. Just one more."
"No," she says, her voice steady. "You need to leave."
He leans closer, ignoring her. "Don't be like that—"
I'm on my feet before I even realize I'm moving. Knox is right behind me. "She told you to step back," I say, my voice calm but firm. "Now you can do it yourself or Knox can help you."
The guy turns, his eyes narrowing. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Someone who's telling you to leave."
He looks me up and down, then laughs. "Or what?"
Knox steps up beside me, his presence alone enough to make the guy reconsider. "Or we make you leave," Knox says, his voice flat.
The guy looks between us, then at Ainsley, and finally seems to realize he's outmatched. "Whatever," he mutters, stumbling toward the door.
I watch him go, then turn back to Ainsley. She's staring at me, her eyes wide. "You okay?" I ask.
She nods slowly. "Yeah. Thanks."
I nod and head back to my seat.
Later that night, I'm sitting on the clubhouse porch, nursing a beer and staring out at the dark compound.
I hear footsteps behind me and turn.
Ainsley is standing there, her arms wrapped around herself, looking uncertain.
"Hey," I say, surprised.
"Hey," she says quietly.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Then she takes a step closer. "I'm sorry," she says finally.
I look up at her, surprised. "For what?"
"For freaking out last night. For pushing you away."
"Before you say anything," I say, standing but keeping my distance, "I owe you an apology. I pushed when I should've listened. And when you asked me to leave, I made your fear about what I wanted. That wasn't fair."
She blinks, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I wanted the kiss," she admits, her voice breaking. "But then I got scared. And I didn't know how to—"
"You don't have to explain," I say gently. "You set a boundary. That's not something you need to apologize for."
She takes a shaky breath. "You've been nothing but kind to me, and I—"
"Ainsley." I take a step closer, but I don't reach for her. "You don't owe me anything. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Nothing."
She looks at me, her eyes searching mine.
"I just want you to know," I continue, "that Knox and I aren't going anywhere. We're not pushing. We're not demanding. We're just... here. If you need us. If you want us. But only if you want us."
She takes a shaky breath, and then, slowly, she reaches out and touches my arm.
It's hesitant. Tentative.
But it's her choice.
I cover her hand with mine, my touch gentle.
"Thank you," she whispers.
"For what?"
"For being patient."
I smile. "We've got all the time in the world, Ainsley. There's no rush."