27. Don’t Call Me Sweetheart #3
Something eases inside me, not all the way, but enough to breathe. The doors are locked. Jackson’s here. Not just watching. Standing guard, fire in his chest. And I know with absolute certainty—he’ll burn down the whole damn world before he lets him get anywhere near me.
***
Day 10—Without Matt
They’re three days past their expected return date, and I’m getting worried. Really worried.
Jackson doesn’t say much, but I can tell he feels it too. His calls with Callahan are getting longer, his jaw a little tighter each time he hangs up. Even Brooks has been tense.
I don’t see him often—he works nights, so it’s usually just a few hours in the evening before I head to bed—but I catch him this morning by the door, lacing his boots.
“Anything?” I ask, hope clinging to my voice like a lifeline.
Brooks shakes his head, unreadable as ever. “They’re okay, Melina. These things go sideways sometimes.”
I swallow. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
His face softens. “He’ll call if he can.”
I nod, even though it doesn’t help. Not really.
He squeezes my shoulder before stepping outside, vanishing into the daylight.
It’s mid-morning. I’ve been mindlessly checking my phone every five minutes, only to look up and see Jax leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching my shameless spiral.
“You look like you’re ready to crawl out of your skin,” he says.
I shoot him a glare, gripping my coffee mug. “Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what I need to hear.”
“Stating facts.” He takes a lazy sip from his mug. “You need to do something besides stare at your phone.”
“I’m not—” I stop. No point lying. We both know I am.
“Come on. Let’s work off some of that nervous energy.”
I groan. “If this is another one of your dumb five-mile runs—”
“Relax,” he says. “You’d last, what? A mile? Maybe?”
I gape at him. “Excuse me? I’ve got way more endurance than you think.”
“Big words, sweetheart.” He laughs. “Backyard. Ten minutes.”
When I step outside in leggings and a tank top, my hair in a high ponytail, Jax is already stretching. His cocky smirk doesn’t budge as I approach.
“Oh, good. You dressed for the occasion. I half expected you to show up in sparkly sneakers with a coffee mug that says, Mentally Elsewhere .”
“Keep talking, tough guy,” I warn. “I’ll make you eat those words.”
“Let’s see it then.”
He starts with the basics—stance, balance, shifting my weight. He taps my foot with the toe of his sneaker. “Widen your base. You’re too easy to knock over.”
I roll my eyes. “Bossy.”
“Efficient,” he counters, stepping closer. His chest nearly brushes my shoulder as he adjusts me again.
I exhale. “Okay, what’s next, Sensei?”
“Self-defense. You ever trained?”
“Took a few classes as a teen. Mostly just learning how to knee a guy in the balls.”
“Effective,” he says, approving. “But you need more than that. Someone grabs you from behind—what’s your move?”
“Scream?”
He sighs. “Jesus Christ, Melina.”
I laugh. “Fine. Teach me.”
He moves behind me, his chest hovering near my back, hands gliding down my arms. His touch is firm. Controlled. But beneath it, something warmer simmers.
“If someone grabs you from behind,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear, “your first instinct is to panic. Don’t.”
He reaches for my wrist, guiding my hand slowly. “You twist out—not away. Follow the line of their thumb. That’s the weak point.”
I mimic the motion as he demonstrates, twisting my wrist in a sharp arc.
“Just like that,” he says, letting go.
I feel the shift as my arm slips free. To my surprise... it works.
“Not bad,” he murmurs, voice rougher than before.
We go through it a few more times. He tests me—grabbing without warning, switching hands and angles, pushing me just enough to keep me guessing. Each time, I’m quicker. Sharper. Until finally, I catch him off guard. Twist. Shift my weight. And just like that, he’s on the ground.
“Did I just—?”
“Don’t hesitate,” he snaps—but he’s grinning, wide-eyed, like I just knocked the wind out of his ego in the best way.
Before I can gloat, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down beside him. I yelp. “You asshole!”
He laughs, unguarded. “Now you’re learning.”
I hit the ground with a thud, laughing, until he rolls with practiced ease and pins me beneath him. His weight presses me into the grass. His hands catch my wrists, breath hot in my ear. Something in me snaps.
My lungs seize. My whole body freezes as blood rushes to my head. He’s close—too close.
“Melina.” His voice is calm, grounding. “Look at me.”
I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.
“It’s me,” he says, softer. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
His grip eases instantly. He lifts a hand to my face, his palm warm against my cheek—steady pressure, anchoring me to this moment.
“Toes in the grass,” he murmurs. “Sunshine on your face. Listen to my voice. Let me ground you.”
I draw in a breath. Then another, until my eyes finally find his. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it recedes. His words pull me out of the dark.
I exhale, shaky. “Sorry. I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” he speaks softly, shaking his head, thumb brushing lightly across my skin. “I’ll never hold you down like that again. Not without warning.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “That hasn’t happened in a long time. I didn’t think it could still hit me so hard.”
He shifts, rolling onto his back beside me, giving me space but not pulling away. We lie there on the ground, arms close, the afternoon sun on our skin.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t mean to trigger you.”
“It’s okay. You stopped when you saw.”
“I’ll always see,” he replies. “If I’m pushing too far—I’ll stop. Every time.”
The quiet stretches, and I whisper, “Thanks, Jax.”
His brow lifts. “Jax?”
I shrug, still staring at the sky. “No one ever calls you that?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I like the way you say it.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. I glance over. “You okay?”
He gives a crooked smile. “You just flipped me on my ass, then gave me a heart attack. I’ll live.”
I laugh—real and unsteady, but mine. We lie there, breathing in sync as our hearts slow. His fingers brush mine, not holding, just close.
“I like this,” I murmur. “Lying here. Not thinking.”
“Then don’t,” he says quietly. “Just enjoy the moment.”
And for once, I do.