Chapter Two #2
Back in the kitchen, I slapped the laptop shut and tried to banish the image of Jax Easton's perfect face from my mind. But it floated behind my eyelids anyway.
That charming smile when he'd crouched to talk to Avery, the way his voice had softened when he’d spoken to her.
He'd glanced at me when he thought I wasn't looking, his gaze lingering on my hands as I helped Leo with his zipper. I'd felt those eyes, hot and unsettling, and hated how my pulse had quickened in response like some sort of Pavlovian reaction to male attention.
I wasn’t naive. I knew how this worked.
Rich men flirted with the help because it was easy, because they could. It was a convenient game, a momentary diversion, a story to tell at whatever exclusive club they frequented.
I'd seen it at Seaside before, fathers lingering a little too long near the young teachers, their smiles all teeth.
But Jax hadn't looked at me like I was prey.
He'd looked at me like I was a storm cloud, and he wanted to stand in the rain.
I stood from the table, joints protesting like an old woman's despite being only twenty-four, and crossed to the sink.
The dishes from dinner sat piled like a ceramic mountain, remnants of boxed mac and cheese crusted to the bowls because it was all I could afford, and Leo ate it without complaint.
I scrubbed them with more violence than necessary, the hot water scalding my already raw hands, and I tried to focus on tomorrow's plans instead of tonight's inappropriate fantasies.
It was better to think about grocery lists and laundry than about his hands.
His hands… Large and scarred from fighting… big gold rings catching the light… What would those hands feel like? How would those rings feel against my skin?
I slammed the last bowl into the drying rack hard enough to chip it.
This was exactly the kind of thinking that had gotten Giselle into trouble.
She'd fallen for Damon's dangerous charm, his expensive gifts, and the way he made her feel special and chosen.
And look how that had ended—needle tracks on her arms and a funeral I couldn't afford.
I wouldn't make the same mistake. I couldn't.
Leo depended on me to be smarter, stronger, and more careful than my sister had been. One wrong step, one moment of weakness, and I could lose everything: the custody case, my job, my nephew. My life.
I dried the last plate and checked the locks again.
Deadbolt, chain, the rickety chair wedged under the doorknob.
The routine was muscle memory now, as natural as breathing and twice as necessary.
Through the peephole, the parking lot was empty except for the flickering streetlight that had been dying a slow death for months.
Safe for now.
Back at the table, I reopened the laptop with all the enthusiasm of someone about to perform surgery on themselves. The essay glared at me, cursor blinking like a metronome counting down the hours until dawn.
Focus. Just focus on the work.
But my mind kept circling back to Jax Easton's laugh, rich and deep when Avery had dragged him into the classroom, genuine in a way that suggested he might actually have a soul underneath all that practiced charm.
To the way he'd commanded attention without trying, his presence bending the room around him like gravity.
To the stupid, traitorous part of me that wondered what it would be like to have someone look at me like that every day. To have help. To not be so goddamn alone all the time.
He wasn’t for me. He was a hurricane, and I was a house made of matchsticks.
The math was simple, cruel in its clarity. I was a single guardian with a target on my back, working two jobs to afford an apartment that should have been condemned.
He was a rich, famous boxer with a different supermodel on his arm every week, living in a world of private jets and champagne where people like me were invisible.
Our worlds didn't just clash; they existed in separate galaxies, spinning around different suns, operating by completely different laws of physics .
But the way he'd said my name still lingered in the quiet spaces of my mind, making my stupid heart clench.
No one had cared enough to really say my name since Giselle passed. The thought brought familiar grief pressing against my ribs. My sister had been the only person who'd ever made my name sound like something worth keeping.
I saved the essay with a vicious jab of my finger and moved to the next one, trying to drown in the work. Outside, a car alarm suddenly split the night air, and I jumped hard enough to knock over my water bottle.
The security app showed nothing—just an empty parking lot and shadows playing tricks in the wind. I took a shaky breath, hands trembling as I mopped up the spilled water with an old shirt I used as a rag.
I was losing it. Actually losing my mind.
But the truth was, I'd been losing it for two years. Since the night I'd found Giselle already gone, the needle still cruelly hanging from her arm.
Since I'd heard Leo screaming in the next room, two years old, and crying because his mother could no longer hold him.
Since the courts had granted me custody, and Damon had made it clear he considered it temporary.
Since I'd realized that love wasn't a shield, it was a weapon, and it could be used against you in ways that left permanent scars.
Jax Easton was a distraction I couldn't afford. A match held too close to the kindling of my life.
I finished the last essay a little after 1 AM, my vision swimming from exhaustion and the strain of staring at a screen.
The lesson plans would have to wait until tomorrow, or later today, technically. I had remote tutoring sessions starting at nine, which meant I could grab maybe six hours of sleep if I was lucky.
Sleep. What I wouldn't give for eight uninterrupted hours of unconsciousness.
I pushed the laptop aside and folded my arms on the scratched table, resting my head on them for just a moment. Just long enough to close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else.
With soft beds and no security cameras, and where the biggest worry was what to have for breakfast instead of whether we'd have money for breakfast at all.
In the darkness behind my eyelids, Jax Easton's face materialized like some sort of golden hallucination. I was sure he'd already forgotten my name, moved on to whatever stunning woman was waiting in his bed tonight. Men like him didn't linger on encounters with tired teachers in discount clothes.
Men like Jax Easton were bad news wrapped in expensive packaging.
I'd learned that lesson watching Giselle fall for Damon's charm and gifts. Adoration could quickly turn into something poisonous, and love could become a cage built from your own desperate need for someone to choose you.
Damon had swept my sister off her feet, showered her with things we'd never been able to afford growing up—jewelry, clothes, fancy dinners in restaurants with actual tablecloths. He'd made her feel special, chosen, like she was worth something more than the gutter we'd crawled out of.
And then he'd gotten her hooked on the very drugs he sold, making her dependent on him for the fix that eventually killed her.
I felt the familiar rage surge through me, sharp and clean as broken glass. My nails bit into the scarred wood of the table hard enough to leave marks.
I wouldn't make the same mistake Giselle had. I couldn't.
One moment of weakness, one lapse in judgment, and I could lose everything that mattered.
Jax Easton might have looked at me like I was worth something, but I knew better.
Rich men didn't see women like me; they saw challenges, novelties, temporary distractions from lives of privilege and excess. They took what they wanted and left destruction in their wake, never looking back to count the casualties.
I'd bet my last dollar he was already back in his beach house with some supermodel, while I was still here, counting pennies and checking security cameras, praying the lawyer would accept a payment plan.
The thought of him forgetting me should have been comforting, but it left a hollow ache in my chest that I refused to examine too closely.
I brushed a kiss against Leo's forehead before retreating to my own room, leaving the door cracked so I could hear him if he called out.
I collapsed onto my bed fully clothed, too tired to bother changing or showering. The ceiling above me was a roadmap of water stains, proof of the neglect I'd memorized during countless sleepless nights. I traced them with my eyes, trying not to linger on the memories they triggered.
But somehow, instead of Giselle's face, I saw blue eyes again. Heard my name spoken like it was something valuable.
I rolled onto my side, burying my face in the pillow that smelled like discount laundry detergent.
Tomorrow would bring another day of remote tutoring sessions squeezed between Leo's breakfast and dinner, another voicemail from the lawyer about the retainer, and another three days closer to rent being due.
These were the things I should be thinking about. These were the problems that needed solving.
Not the ridiculous fantasy of what it would be like to have Jax Easton look at me and see someone worth pursuing.
I knew better. I'd always known better.
In the darkness, listening to Leo's steady breathing through the thin walls, I imagined what it would feel like not to be so alone. To have someone strong enough to share the weight I carried, someone who could look at my life and not see failure but possibility .
Someone who could say my name like it mattered.
The fantasy was dangerous, intoxicating in its sweetness. It made me want things I couldn't have, made me forget why wanting was a luxury I couldn't afford.
It made me remember what it felt like to be a woman instead of just a guardian, a survivor, a warrior fighting a battle she might not win.
No matter how perfect Jax Easton seemed. No matter how he'd said my name, no matter how desperately I sometimes wished for a different life, a different story, a different ending, I knew better.
I rolled over again, pulling the thin blanket up to my chin like armor against my own traitorous thoughts.
He was bad news. Rich, beautiful, dangerous bad news.
And I learned my lesson about men who seemed too good to be true.
And that lesson had cost me my sister.