Jax
I hate to say it, but I think I understand Gareth a little more now.
And that’s scary.
Just a few months ago, I was the one pushing him to talk, trying to get him to socialize so he would stop coming across like some Neanderthal by grunting at everyone. Now I’m the one doing the grunting.
At least I’m not snapping at people like he did with poor James. I simply ignore them in hopes they’ll end up leaving me alone. Yet, nobody seems to be able to take a fucking hint.
“Come on, Jax. You showed up after midnight last night and haven’t said more than a word to any of us all day today. What’s going on?” Gareth asks, nudging my foot with the sole of his boot. “We weren’t expecting you back up here until after the holidays.”
I scoff as my foot slips off my knee and hits the tile with a dull thud. Still, I don’t look away from the bay window. The city below moves like always.
Like everything’s just fucking normal.
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Pfft, what do you mean it doesn’t matter, Jax? Did you forget we were all there when Allie passed out? Come on, what’s going on?” he pushes, and my blood pressure skyrockets.
My eyes snap to his. “It’s none of anyone’s business, mate! If I wanted to talk about it, I’d have found you. But I didn’t, did I?”
So much for not snapping.
Gareth’s eyes widen, but I’ve already turned back to the window. “Alright. You know where to find us, mate,” he mutters.
The loveseat groans as he gets up and I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall until his door clicks shut.
My head falls to the back of the seat, and I pinch the bridge of my nose so hard I swear I hear it crack. I know I should apologize. It’s not their fault my life’s a mess right now. But damn it, I never ask to be left alone. So when I finally do, why can’t they just respect that?
I hear footsteps again, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and snap at whoever the hell is coming back. Instead, I sigh, loud and dramatic, before grabbing the beer from the table beside me and taking the biggest swig I can manage.
The leather screams as they lower themselves into the loveseat, and I mentally curse the gods for thinking I only deserved a solid ten seconds of peace and quiet.
I take another pull from my beer.
“Beautiful night, huh?”
I glance over and find Don with one ankle over his knee, eyes on the Boston skyline. Not on me. Not analyzing me. Not building a pep talk in his head. Just looking, his eyes scanning over the skyscrapers as if he’s looking for answers himself.
Why he can’t do that from the comfort of his own room across the hall is beyond me.
I down the rest of my beer and set it on the marble end table with a heavy clank, already reaching for another.
“How many is that tonight, Jax?” Don asks, sipping on his own beer, eyes still searching outside.
I shrug. “A few.”
He smacks his lips, leans back, and tilts his head toward me just slightly. “I wonder if we could see a game from here,” he says.
I blink, shaking my head. “A game? What do you mean?”
He lifts a hand, pointing out the window. “Fenway’s right there. You think we could catch a game from up here when it’s lit up in the fall?”
I stammer, not really sure what to say since I was never a baseball fan. Rugby or ice hockey? Absolutely. Watching grown men slam into each other over a ball or a puck makes a hell of a lot more sense to me. But swinging a bat and jogging in circles? Can’t say it lights a fire under my arse.
So I shrug. “Maybe. We’re high enough up. They’d probably look like ants, though.”
Don chuckles, nodding along. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
And then it’s actually quiet.
Quiet enough that if I really strain, I swear I can hear the tires spinning on the streets below.
Probably not, but still, there’s something comforting about it.
Like, finally, things have calmed down enough that even my thoughts have shut up for a bit.
But that’s more than likely thanks to the five beers I’ve had in the last two hours.
I’m not sure how much time passes after that. Long enough for every light in the hotel to go out except the table lamp between Don and me.
My eyes land on the unopened beer cradled in my hands. One single drop of condensation slides down the bottle, curling around the glass until it disappears against my skin.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
And before I even register what’s happening—I’m laughing.
Full-on, belly laughing. At nothing.
Don glances over, one brow raised as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as the bottle trembles in my hands.
And he’s just another person who doesn’t get it. Who can’t get it.
Why I bottle shit up. Why I don’t talk. Because what the hell good does it do, anyway?
Is it going to bring my mum back?
Will it erase the image of my ex-wife riding someone else like I never existed?
Will it stop the nights I wake up in a cold sweat, convinced Allie’s dead in the street somewhere and never coming back?
Will it change the fact my old man cared more about a bottle just like this one than he ever did about keeping me, my mum, or my sister safe?
Or what about the baby? The one who hasn’t even had a chance and is already hanging on by a fucking thread—
And then before I even know I’m moving—
CRASH.
The bottle’s gone from my hand, hurling in slow motion at the bay window until it shatters on impact.
My hands shake at my sides. Chest heaving. Ears ringing.
I just stand there, frozen, watching the shards of glass splinter through the air, beer streaking down the window in slow, sticky trails until it pools at my feet.
I spin around to face Don. “Why does this shit keep happening?” I shout, not really at him, more at the universe. “Why can’t one thing just go right in my life? Just one!”
He doesn’t flinch. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me at first. Just stares at the window, watching the beer still trailing down the glass. His face doesn’t move.
Then, finally, he glances my way and nods toward the mess. “You done with that one?” he asks.
I blink. “W-what?”
He leans back, folds his hands together, and gestures lazily toward the window. “I said, are you done with that one? Just wondering if I should expect another beer to fly past my head before I start cleaning up.”
“You don’t have to clean it up,” I mutter, scoffing as I drag a hand through my hair and start pacing.
“Yes, I do,” he says calmly. Then nods toward the seat I left. “Because you’re gonna sit your ass down… and take a fucking breath.”
My hands slap against my sides, and I stop to spin toward him again. “Take a breath? How the hell am I supposed to take a breath, Don? Everything is fucking falling apart. All the goddamn time.”
He nods. “I know, Jax. That’s why you need to sit down.”
I shake my head and start pacing again.
What the fuck is sitting going to do?
“Don’t make me force you into a chair, Jaxon. Because I will.”
I roll my eyes—which was clearly a bad idea because Don already looks like he’s two seconds away from backhanding me. So I lower myself into the chair again, a low unf leaving my lips as I sink into the cushion.
My eyes land on the shattered glass along the tiled floor, the bubbles already gone into the liquid as it sits there. And in that time, Don doesn’t say a word.
I glance over and notice he’s staring at the mess, too. Elbows on his knees, fingers laced together.
The silence stretches for what feels like forever. Long enough that it seems like we’re both waiting for someone to know what to say. But what really is there?
Then finally, without looking at me, he breaks the silence.
“My wife had a miscarriage last Easter,” he says, his voice so calm it almost doesn’t register at first.
He glances my way, nodding like he’s just admitting it to himself for the first time.
“We’d been trying for three years,” he continues.
“And when she found out she was pregnant... I swear, I’d never seen her smile like that.
Not ever. It was like she’d finally gotten everything she’d ever wanted in that three-minute span. ”
He pauses, letting out a slow, shaky breath.
“But then one day—” he shakes his head, jaw clenching, “—it all just happened so fast. One second we were picking out names, and the next we were in the emergency room, staring at a monitor that wasn’t showing anything anymore.
” He swallows hard, his eyes landing on me.
“And Laura wasn’t ever the same after that. ”
My brow furrows as I shake my head. “But we didn’t lose—”
His eyes snap to mine. “But that’s what it feels like to her, son.”
The word son falls from his lips, and it short circuits my brain momentarily.
It’s almost funny to me how one bloody syllable can set off my brain now. But hearing Don of all people say it? It doesn’t burn the way it normally does. It doesn’t feel like a threat.
“You’ve got so much hope in your heart,” he says, softer now.
“Enough for both of you, even after everything you’ve gone through the past two years.
You're still fighting. But Allie?” He exhales.
“Her hope is gone right now, Jax. She’s not shutting you out because she doesn’t love you.
She’s doing it because she’s trying to hold it all together.
Because if she doesn’t... she’s scared she won’t be able to come back from that, either. ”
Tears burn at my eyes, and I fight like hell not to let them spill. Not now.
I wipe at my face with the back of my hand, trying to play it off. “She’s the strongest person I know,” I say quietly. “I just wish she’d let me fight these battles with her.”
Don shifts in his seat to face me more directly.
“And she will. But you know how you just said it’s one thing after another?
How do you think Allie feels in all this?
She’s not just overwhelmed—she’s drowning.
She’s in the process of possibly losing two daughters...
and now maybe another in a more permanent and more heartbreaking way.
Her whole world isn’t just spinning, Jax.
It’s been completely flipped upside down. ”
Then, it’s like something punches my chest. I don’t even feel it coming, just a few shoulder jerks, and suddenly my hands are covering my face. Everything comes out at once, leaving me exhaling a guttural groan so loud it vibrates through my whole body.
I hear Don leave his seat and drop into the armchair beside me. Then, I feel his arm drape around my back as he leans in.
“You just have to give her time. Everything that’s supposed to happen, will happen, Jax. I’m sorry life’s been unfair to the both of you.” He pauses, his voice low. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this. Neither of you did.”
Don’s arm tightens around me, and the tears keep rushing out in desperate floods.
Because he’s right. Neither of us deserve half the shit that’s been happening—it’s the furthest thing from fair.
But if Allie needs anything right now, it’s for at least one of us to be steady enough for the other to fall apart. And right now, it’s her turn to feel everything, while I hold onto the hope—just like she did for me back in that hotel room in July.
Because she’ll always have me. Whether she asks for space or wants me to crowd her.
Always.