Chapter One
Jax
“I’m not coming back.”
The words leave my mouth flat. Controlled. Final.
There’s a sharp pause on the other end of the line before my mother exhales like I’ve just said something mildly inconvenient instead of completely unacceptable. “Jaxon, stop being dramatic and listen to me for once.”
I drag my thumb along the edge of the phone case, back and forth, the way I do on a steering wheel when the lights are still red. “I’ve been listening my entire life. That’s the problem.”
“You’re throwing away everything your father built,” she snaps. “Everything that’s been handed to you.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“You don’t have to ask. It’s your responsibility.”
I cross to the window but don’t look out of it. A humorless laugh slips out. “Funny how that only applies when it benefits you.”
Her tone hardens instantly. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” I say, sharper now. “You watch yours. I’m not a kid you can order around anymore.”
“You’re acting like one,” she fires back. “Running off, hiding in some…place no one knows where, like this is a game.”
My grip tightens around the phone. “It’s not a game. It’s my life.”
“Your life is that company,” she says, each word clipped. “Your father is stepping down soon, and you know what that means.”
“It means nothing to me.”
Silence. Heavy and cold. I count it out. Four seconds. She’s letting it sit there, so I’ll fill it, and nearly thirty years of practice tells me not to.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I say without hesitation. “I’m not taking over. I’m not quitting racing. And I’m definitely not coming back just because you snapped your fingers.”
Her breath comes out slowly, controlled, the way it always does right before she goes for the jugular. “Car racing is a hobby, Jaxon. Not a future.”
That does it.
I stop pacing, my entire body going still. My hand goes to the back of my neck before I’ve decided to move it—grips hard, thumb digging into the muscle. So many years of this, and she can still put my hand there in under a minute. “You don’t get to call it that.”
“It’s dangerous, it’s reckless, and it’s beneath you.”
“It’s the only thing I’ve ever actually wanted.”
“And that’s exactly why you can’t have it.”
A bitter laugh leaves me. My hand drops. “There it is.”
“You have obligations—”
“I’m done with obligations.”
“You don’t get to be done,” she snaps. “Not when there’s this much at stake.”
“For you,” I correct. “Not for me.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You’re being selfish.”
I press the heel of my hand flat against the counter, spread my fingers, and watch them go steady. They always go steady. It’s the only thing about me that’s never once argued back. “And you’re being controlling.”
Her voice drops, quieter now, but no less sharp. “You will come back, Jaxon. Whether you want to or not.”
My jaw clenches. “Try me.”
“Don’t test me.”
“I already am.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
“We’re done here,” I say.
“You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “But at least it’ll be my regret.”
I end the call before she can say anything else.
For a second, I just stand there, staring at the blank screen. My chest goes tight, my pulse pounding hard in my ears. Then I drag a hand through my hair and let out a long, frustrated breath.
“Fuck.”
The apartment feels too small suddenly. Too quiet.
Six hundred square feet, a queen mattress on a cheap metal frame, and a name on an eight-day-old lease that isn't the one on my racing license. My father could find me in an afternoon if he wanted to. The point was never that they couldn’t. The point was that I left.
I grab my keys and head out before I can think too much about anything else.
???
The air outside is cooler than I expected. The late afternoon sun is dipping lower, casting long shadows across the street. I shove my hands into my pockets and start walking with no real destination in mind, just needing space, distance, from everything.
From my mother. From that life. From the version of me they keep trying to force back into place.
I walk for a while, letting the tension bleed out slowly with each step, my mind replaying the conversation whether I want it to or not. Her voice. Her expectations. The same fight we’ve been having for years, just louder now. More final.
I exhale sharply and turn back toward Wilder House, ready to call it a day.
That’s when I see her.
She’s walking toward the building, a baby balanced carefully against her chest and a large tote bag slung over her shoulder like it weighs more than it should. She moves quickly, purpose in every step. Her grip is firm but gentle around the kid like she’s done this a thousand times.
I slow down without realizing it. She’s…not what I expected to see today.
Petite, but not fragile. There’s something steady about the way she carries herself, like she’s used to handling more than she should.
Long black hair falls down her back in loose waves, slightly messy like she didn’t have time to fix it properly.
Her skin catches the last of the light, warm against the dark fall of her hair.
When she turns slightly, I catch a glimpse of her face—full lips, soft but set in a way that tells me she’s not someone who lets people walk all over her.
Then her eyes lift. Blue. The sharpest blue. Alert. They meet mine for half a second. And just like that…everything else fades.
The anger. The frustration. The noise in my head.
Gone.
There’s something in her expression. Guarded, maybe a little tired, but strong. Like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
She looks away first. Keeps walking. And I find myself following.
Not close enough to be obvious. Just…behind her.
Watching. Curious. She reaches the building and shifts the baby slightly, adjusting her hold before pushing the door open with her shoulder.
I step in a few seconds later, already knowing where she’s headed.
Second floor. Same as me. Interesting.
She takes the stairs, not the elevator, moving fast like she’s on a schedule only she understands. The baby is tucked securely against her chest while the tote bag keeps slipping down her shoulder. She nudges it back up without breaking stride, clearly used to juggling too many things at once.
I follow a few steps behind, quiet, observing more than I should.
I wonder why she doesn’t have a stroller or carrier for the baby.
We land on the second floor. She turns left.
So do I. And then she stops before the door next to mine.
Something kicks hard behind my sternum—not surprise. Closer to luck.
She shifts the baby again and digs into her bag for keys. Up close, I notice more details, faint shadows under her eyes, the kind that don’t come from one bad night but many. Her lips are slightly chapped—and something in me goes flat and certain and territorial, with no permission asked.
The baby makes a soft sound, a tiny whine, and she immediately adjusts him. Her entire focus snaps to him as if nothing else matters.
“I know, I know,” she murmurs under her breath, her voice soft but edged with exhaustion. “We’re inside in two seconds, okay? Just hang on.”
There’s something about that that pulls at me. The way she talks to him. The way she doesn’t panic and just handles it. I lean casually against the wall, watching for a second longer than I should, then push off it and step closer.
“Hey.”
She freezes. Just for a second. Then her shoulders square slightly before she turns her head. Those blue eyes land on me again, sharper this time. Up close, they’re even more striking—clear, guarded, and not at all welcoming.
“Hi,” she says quickly.
Her voice matches the rest of her, soft at first, but there’s steel underneath it.
I nod toward the door. “Neighbor.”
“I figured,” she replies, already turning back to her lock.
Dismissive. I almost smile.
“You been here long?” I ask anyway.
She gets the key in, twists it, and pushes the door open with her shoulder. “Nope,” she says, already stepping inside.
The baby lets out a louder cry this time, and her entire focus shifts instantly. Her expression softens in a way that almost makes me forget the question I want to ask.
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” she murmurs, disappearing further into the apartment.
And then, the door shuts in my face.
I stare at it for a second. Then I laugh, low and quiet.
“Alright,” I mutter under my breath.
I reach for my own door, unlocking it slowly, my mind still half on her. The way she looked at me like I was already a problem. The way she was dismissive. Most people don’t do that. Most people recognize me. Even when I’m not trying to be recognized.
She didn’t. Or she didn’t care. I’m not sure which one I like more.
I step into my apartment and shut the door behind me. The quiet settles in almost immediately, but it doesn’t feel the same as before. It’s not just empty now; it’s interrupted. Like something shifted the second she walked past me and didn’t even try to be polite about it.
I drop my keys on the counter and run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly as I move further inside. Still, my attention drifts back to the wall we now share. A faint sound carries through. Soft. A baby crying.
I lean back against the counter, folding my arms as I stare at nothing in particular, the tension going out of me by degrees. It’s strange how fast the anger from earlier just…loses its edge. It’s still there, buried under everything else, but it’s not as loud.
Not compared to this. To the feeling of meeting her. I barely know her, and I already want my hands on whatever’s weighing her down, just to take it off her. I don’t examine that. I just note it, and note that it doesn’t scare me the way it should.
I push off the counter and walk toward the window, glancing out at the street below. Yet my focus keeps slipping back next door. To the girl who barely gave me the time of day. To the way she looked at me like she had no interest in anything I had to say.
Most people try too hard.
She didn’t try at all.
I huff out a quiet breath, something close to a smirk pulling at my mouth. “Yeah…this might actually be interesting.”
I think back to her soft, motherly voice. Single mom, likely. Young. Tired. Still holding it together better than most. And definitely not impressed by me.
I shake my head slightly, amused despite myself. I push away from the window, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Good,” I mutter under my breath. “Keeps things simple.”
But even as I say it, I know that’s not entirely true. Because simple wouldn’t have me thinking about her like this. Wouldn’t have me replaying that two-second interaction in my head like it meant something. Or me already wondering what it would take to get her to look at me differently.
I twist the cap off the bottle and take a long drink, letting the silence settle again. I glance once more toward the door, toward the hallway where she disappeared into her own space. A slow smile pulls at my mouth.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “This place might not be so bad after all.”