31. I Remember Everything #2
It hangs loose, sleeves swallowing my hands, hem brushing mid-thigh. It smells like him—clean and sharp, cedar soap threaded with something warmer I’ve never been able to name. The scent wraps around me like a memory I haven’t made yet. Safe. Familiar. Too comforting.
The air is thick, heavy with the storm’s aftertaste. Ozone. Wet earth. The ground glistens, puddles catching the porch light. Thunder murmurs in the distance, but the worst of it has passed.
Jax glances over, his gaze settling on the hoodie drowning me. “That looks better on you than it ever did on me.”
I roll my eyes, heat creeping up my cheeks. “You’re such a shameless flirt.”
His grin is easy, unrepentant. “You love it.”
We sit on the patio steps at first, listening to the quiet drip of water from the eaves. Then I rise, padding barefoot into the lawn. Lightning flickers across the night, quicksilver veins lighting the clouds for a heartbeat before fading.
“I’ve always loved thunderstorms,” I say, glancing back at him.
Jax follows, stepping onto the grass alongside me. “Yeah?”
“Storms are nature’s way of throwing a tantrum,” I say, staring up at the sky. “I respect that.”
He grins. “You saying you relate?”
“Maybe.” My mouth quirks. “Sometimes you have to shake the whole damn sky to feel heard.”
We stand shoulder to shoulder, not touching, simply being. Then his hand brushes mine, hesitant—not a demand, an offer. He says nothing when I thread my fingers through his, just stands beside me, steady as ever.
A fine drizzle begins to fall, threading cool through the humid air. Without breaking the silence, Jax reaches over and tugs the hood of his sweatshirt up over my head.
“There,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Can’t have you catching pneumonia on my watch.”
“That your official Navy training kicking in?” I tease.
“We take preparedness seriously,” he deadpans.
I huff a laugh, brushing hair from my face. “You never talk about your time on the Teams.”
He doesn’t answer, so I keep going.
“I mean… most SEALs I’ve met—” I look at him. “They’re lifers, right? You don’t typically walk away.”
Jax exhales, slow and deliberate. “That’s the usual track.”
“So why’d you leave?”
His jaw tightens. Hands sink into his pockets. “It was complicated.”
I don’t push. Just wait—quiet beside him.
After a beat, he tips his face to the sky like the words might be hiding up there. “I lost a teammate. Mission went sideways. Command gave the order to hold back, and I…” He swallows. “I followed it. Even though every part of me knew it was the wrong call.”
My chest aches, but I remain silent.
He goes on, voice low. “After that, I stopped trusting the chain of command. Started doing things my own way. Took risks. Called out the brass one too many times. Eventually, they offered me a choice—reassignment or honorable discharge.”
“So, you left.”
“I couldn’t stay,” he says simply. “Not when I wasn’t able to look myself in the mirror anymore.”
I nod slowly, heart heavy. “But they still gave you an honorable?”
“Yeah. Didn’t want me to make waves, I suppose.” A humorless breath escapes him. “Hale knew the truth. That’s how I ended up at Aegis.”
I glance over, surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew anyone there before Aegis. Hale was a Marine, right?”
Jax lets out a short laugh, then nods. “Poor guy. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Be nice.” I grin.
“Oh, I am.” His sarcasm is fast, but there’s genuine respect under it. “We ran a few black-ops together. Different branches, same objective. I was the shooter; he was the spotter. Smart, steady. Didn’t flinch under pressure.”
Jax goes quiet for a moment, like the memory pulls him somewhere else.
“He’s the only jarhead I’ve met who can almost keep up with me behind a long gun,” he adds with a smirk.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re a sniper?”
“Twelve years. Too many deployments to count.”
I blink, then shake my head, lips quirking. “Okay… that’s hot. And terrifying. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
He softens. “You’re not capable of being on my bad side.”
I look up, caught by the sincerity in his voice. He shrugs before adding. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I have a good side.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “So, you think I’m hot?”
I scoff, playful. “Did I say hot? I meant… mildly concerning in a morally gray kind of way.”
He laughs—deep, warm, unbothered. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
“Yeah,” I reply, biting back a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He bumps my shoulder, grin sharp. “Too late.”
My smile fades, curiosity slipping in. “Do you miss it? Being a SEAL?”
For a second, his expression closes off—just slightly. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his eyes.
“Some parts,” he says after a beat.
“Like what?”
He’s quiet, watching the sky. “The team. The structure. Knowing your job and how to do it well. There’s something… steadying about that.”
I nod, letting him choose the words.
“I was a SEAL for almost ten years,” he goes on. “A lot of it was classified. A lot of it was ugly. But some of it… was good.”
I turn to face him, but I don’t push.
“Reyes,” he states softly. “He was the one I lost.”
His jaw tightens. “Losing people is part of the job. You learn to carry it—or at least pretend you can. But Reyes?” His voice dips. “That one stuck.”
The silence thickens between us.
“He wasn’t just a teammate. He was family. Loud. Smartass. Sharp as hell. Always had your six, even when you didn’t ask.”
He breathes out. “He died covering our exit. Ambush we never saw coming. I wasn’t in charge that day, but I still wonder… if I’d made a different call, said something, done something… maybe he’d still be here.”
He doesn’t say he blames himself. He doesn’t have to. I reach for his hand again, curling my fingers around his—gentle, steady. No words. Only that.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he exhales, hushed but even. “I haven’t talked about him in a long time.”
“Well,” I murmur, “I’m glad you did.”
I look at him—really look—and for once there’s no mask, no swagger. Just the quiet, tired weight of a man who’s carried too much for too long.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s simply… part of my story.”
We lapse into silence, barefoot in the damp grass, hand in hand beneath a bruised Texas sky.
And somehow, I feel like I see him clearer than ever.
***
Day 26 — Without Matt
The house is quiet. Not sterile—soft, lived-in. Raindrops tap the windows as the last of the dishes dry in the rack. Spencer’s asleep. Harper’s in bed with headphones on, and Brooks is outside on the porch taking a call.
Jax and I are on the couch, legs stretched out, the space between us comfortably narrow. The storm was two nights ago, and since then, something’s shifted. Not loud or obvious, just a little closer. A little easier.
I glance at him, his arm draped along the backside of the couch. He’s relaxed in a way that looks practiced—like he’s spent years training his body to look calm when his mind is anything but.
I don’t know why I ask it. Maybe it’s the low hum of the rain, or how he handed me the remote without asking.
“Have you ever been married?”
His head tilts, surprised by the question, but he answers without hesitation. “No. But there was someone… a long time ago.”
His eyes drift to the coffee table, unfocused. “We met in high school. Dated a few years. We talked about marriage. I even picked out a ring.”
I turn toward him. “What happened?”
“Charlie died.” The words land simple and blunt. “Everything cracked open. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stay.”
“So you enlisted?” I guess, feeling the shape of the story before he says it.
“Yeah. Did the paperwork without telling anyone. The day I shipped out, I left a letter in her mailbox. Never looked back.”
A sharp ache blooms in my chest. “You didn’t say goodbye?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t think I would survive it. Thought a clean break would hurt less—for both of us.”
“Did she ever respond?”
“No.” His voice is soft. “Never heard from her again.”
We sit with that. Rain, the fridge hum, the kind of silence that could stretch forever.
“Do you regret it?” I ask.
He hesitates, then— “I regret not saying goodbye.”
The house feels smaller in the stillness, like even the walls are listening.
“I did the opposite—stayed far too long. Both times.” I explain.
Jax doesn’t say anything, just waits. He knows I’m circling something.
I set the remote down and pull my knees onto the couch. “I’ve been married twice. Both nearly destroyed me.”
His gaze sharpens, but he stays quiet.
“I was fifteen when I met Darren.” I speak quietly. “He was charming in that over-the-top way—flowers, notes, constant calls. It felt like love. It wasn’t.”
I stare down at the blanket bunched in my lap. “When I got pregnant with Declan, he wanted me to have an abortion. I refused. His parents pushed for marriage, so we did.”
I take a slow breath. “He cheated constantly. Lied as if it was nothing. Postpartum hit like a freight train after Declan. I didn’t tell anyone, but I… I started cutting.”
Beside me, Jax goes still.
“One night, he found me. I thought he’d hold me—see how much pain I was in—offer comfort. Instead, he pinned me to the bed and wrapped his hands around my neck.” My voice catches. “That was the first time I feared for my life.”
The words hang between us.
“Melina.” He says my name like it hurts. I raise my hand to quiet him. Gentle, but firm.
“I stayed. For years. He spiraled—drinking, drugs, paranoid delusions. He’d lock me outside in the cold for hours. One time, he tried to set the house on fire.”
My throat tightens. “He said vile things to Declan. Called me names in front of him, in front of everyone. When someone tells you, repeatedly, that you’re a worthless whore… you start to believe them.”
Silence stretches, heavy, before I go on.
“His violence escalated when I was pregnant with Harper. And so… when she was two weeks old, I left.”
Jax’s jaw tightens, but he stays silent. Listening. Holding space.
“Then came Lee.”
Jax tilts back, knowing this will be a different story.
“He was the opposite of Darren. Polished. Predictable. Never laid a hand on me. Never cheated. So I thought… at least he’s better.”
I shake my head. “But he never loved the kids. He was especially cruel to Harper—hated how emotional she was. Said she was dramatic, manipulative. She was a hard kid, sure, but with the father and stepfather she had, how could she not be?”
My breath catches. “Nothing I did was ever good enough. He corrected how I spoke, how I parented—always made sure I knew I was falling short.”
My voice goes flat. “He controlled what I wore, what I spent, and used my past like a weapon. Called me broken, said no one else would ever want me—that I should be grateful he put up with it.”
Jax presses his eyes shut, absorbing the weight of it.
“I told myself emotional abuse wasn’t ‘real’ abuse, because he didn’t leave bruises. But the things he said—to me, to the kids—the way he made us feel small. Sometimes that cuts deeper than fists.
Jax’s voice is hushed. “How did it end?”
“He left me. By the end, I hated him. I couldn’t stand his touch. He knew it. So, when someone at work started giving him attention, he took the out.”
My gaze drops to my hands. “And the worst part? I was relieved.”
When I finally look at him, he’s watching me. Not with pity. Not with shock. Just… steady presence.
“Thank you,” he says.
I blink. “For what?”
“For trusting me with that.”
I sit back, the heaviness of it still pressing against my chest. “I wanted to tell someone. Needed to. Matt won’t let me talk about it.”
Jax’s eyes narrow, but he keeps listening.
“He doesn’t want to hear about my past. He says what came before him doesn’t matter. But it does. It made me who I am.”
I shake my head, swallowing hard.
“How can someone really know me if they only want the pieces that are easy?”
My eyes find his. “You see all of it. Even the difficult parts. And you don’t look away.”
His gaze holds mine—quiet, steady, unflinching.
“I’m not him.”
A small breath escapes. “I know.”
A beat.
“That’s why I told you.”