Chapter 1
Chapter One
Now
Lauren
Never drink hard liquor. That’s a rule I’ve always followed. I prefer beer and wine over the burn of spirits, and I watched my brother, Charlie, do too many stupid things when he drank whiskey, back in high school.
Tonight though, I came into the bar just wanting to feel…
nothing. Too many emotions have been swirling around inside of me over the last few months.
So here I am, sitting at the Long Neck Bottle drinking my second glass of Jim Beam on the rocks, and I can’t help but think this isn’t working.
Because despite my desire to feel numb, I’m feeling a whole host of things when I register the tall, broad figure of Jax Greer.
I watch his biceps flex as he mixes what looks to be a whiskey sour for one of the locals at the other end of the bar.
When his blue-eyed gaze latches on to mine, heat rises in my chest. My curiosity is piqued, and I’m almost giddy, a sensation I haven’t felt in too many years to count.
It all feels borderline too much, but at least I’m no longer thinking about the weight I came here to escape.
When Jax realizes I’m sitting at the bar alone, a surprised smile spreads on his face and he approaches me.
“What’re you doing here by yourself, Freckles? Are Callie and Olivia meeting you?”
“Why do you insist on calling me that?” I huff. “Just call me Lauren like everyone else.”
“I’ve been doing it for years. There’s no sense in stopping now. Where are your friends?”
“It’s just me.” If the girls knew I was here alone, they’d throw a fit.
He narrows his eyes further. Gosh, they really are beautiful eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“People don’t sit in bars and drink alone over nothing.”
I spin my glass, watching the ice clunk around inside. “Maybe I do.”
“No, you don’t.” He leans against the bar, inspecting me. The motion pulls his plain white T-shirt taut against his chest in a way that makes my head spin more than the alcohol. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I tap my fingers on my glass. “I came here so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone about what’s going on.”
He clenches his teeth, highlighting his strong, stubbled jawline. I’m pretty sure that thing could cut glass.
Still tapping my fingers, I ask, “Can you just get me another Jim Beam on the rocks?”
He doesn’t tear his gaze from me. Between being in my orbit over the last nine years and working at this bar, he knows my drinking habits. “You sure you don’t want a beer?”
“Nope.”
He hesitantly moves from the bar, sweeping across the room to grab a bottle of bourbon off the shelf. When he sets the glass down in front of me, his eyebrows rise in concern. “You’re sure you don’t want to talk? I can be a good listener. It’s one of the requirements of being a bartender.”
I shake my head. “Right now, I just want to sit and sip on this toxic sludge.”
His lips slip into a half-hearted smile, but I don’t miss the concern in his eyes when he gives me a curt nod and draws away from the counter to help another customer. Even as he mixes up their pink cocktail and nods along good-naturedly, he watches me carefully.
The feel of his eyes on me sparks a flicker of a flame, and I sip my drink in an attempt to put it out. I’m not sure why alcohol is my solution for everything tonight. It’s never been known to put out a fire.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I know who it is before I even pull it out. I decline the call and send a text.
Me
Please leave me alone.
Austin
I just want to talk. Come on baby
When Austin and I first started going out, I was so excited the most popular boy in our grade wanted to be with me that I somehow ended up letting him call me baby for the next eight and a half years.
Now, five months post-breakup, I should be able to tell him the truth. I wish it were that easy for me.
I type out a message, thinking of Callie’s words two weeks ago, when Austin last texted me.
He doesn’t get to keep popping back into my life and refusing to let me move on when he’s the one who cheated on me.
It feels good to type the message, but as soon as I read through it, I erase it all.
They’re not my words, so I rewrite the text and hit send.
Me
I don’t want to talk. I’m trying to move on. Please stop calling.
Naturally, that makes him call again. What is wrong with this man?
I decline the call and then block his number. I don’t know why it took me this long to finally do it. Maybe I needed some liquid courage. Either way, I feel lighter now.
Eager to ride this wave, I take a big gulp of my drink. And another. And another. Fifteen minutes later, my third drink of the night is gone, and it’s working. I’m floating on a cloud.
Things with Austin felt off for a long time before we finally broke up.
I couldn’t express my feelings to him, and I pushed my own needs to the backburner to keep him happy.
Even so, it hurts to end a long-term relationship.
It aches to know that after everything I sacrificed, I wasn’t enough. He still cheated on me.
I thought I’d been doing a good job of moving on, but when you’re constantly running into your ex at the grocery store or the local diner, it becomes notably harder. It doesn’t help that every few weeks he likes to call to try to make amends, as if he senses when I’m starting to move on.
I’d like to think I could deal with Austin today if I weren’t already having a nightmare of a week.
Three days ago, I reviewed the books for my family’s ranch and realized Copper Hill is at the end of its rope.
Then, my dad wound up in the hospital. He spent two nights there and when we finally got him home this morning, my ex reappears after almost two weeks of silence.
As the alcohol courses through my veins, the pain lessens.
I feel more empowered. I don’t need him.
It may have been comforting to have Austin’s support with the ranch, but I can handle it on my own.
I can do it all alone. I’ll do it better.
I’ll fix the ranch and fix my dad, and everything is going to be great. I just need to buckle down.
When Jax comes back to check on me, I ask him to refill my drink.
“How about I drive you home instead?”
“I’m good. I just want one more. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He crosses his arms. “I can’t in good conscience serve you another.”
“Then please just leave me alone.”
He stands there for a moment like he’s going to argue with me, but finally releases a breath and storms off.
I’m watching him whisper to the other bartenders, probably telling them not to serve me, when a firm hand lands on my shoulder.
As I spin around to greet my new friend, the room tilts.
“Baby, you have to hear me out. I’ve given you your space, but it’s time we get this sorted out. You need me.”
Austin’s words turn my earlier joy into pure rage, but instead of standing up to him, I sputter. “I…what? What do you mean?”
“Look at you.” He thrusts his hands out, as if my mere existence is explanation enough. “You’re pathetic without me, going to the bar by yourself. You and I both know the ranch isn’t going to hold itself up. You need me.”
People watch us as Austin raises his voice, and I scoot out of my barstool to face him. “Go home, Austin.”
He grabs hold of me, and I try to pull back, but his grip is tight. The stench of alcohol wafts off him.
“Austin, let go.” My voice waivers.
“No. I came here to talk with you.” He shoves me back into my seat, but our combined alcohol consumption quickly turns everything into a complete mess. My butt clips the edge of the barstool, and I fall to the floor.
When he reaches down to help drag me up, I pull away. “Ow! No, Austin. That hurts.”
Shuffling footsteps drag Austin’s attention up just as someone growls, “Get your hands off her.”
Jax is suddenly there, pulling him away from me, but Austin resists, flailing his arms and making a bigger idiot of himself.
Instead of entertaining Austin’s aggression, Jax cocks his arm back and slugs Austin in the face.
Holy crap! I’ve never seen Jax hit someone, and I hate that watching him stand up for me is officially the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
The fury in his eyes softens to concern as he crouches down next to me, placing his hands on both my shoulders. “Are you okay?” He inspects me, as if the damage Austin caused can be seen with the naked eye, but no one can see my shattered heart.
“I’m fine. Will you take me home?”
Jax nods. As he scoops me off the floor, he turns to Earl, the bouncer. “Get him out of here.”
When Jax steps through the back door into the cool night air, I nuzzle into his touch.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him in this way.
When he first came to town, over nine years ago now, he was one of the only people who made me feel free to be myself.
I didn’t have to be perfect to win his affection.
But time drew us apart, and Jax became my brother’s best friend who gave me an annoying nickname solely to get on my nerves.
Now, I’m seeing traces of the Jax I used to know, the soft one who once swiped away my tears when he caught me crying in the barn, the thoughtful one who bought me a pint of ice cream on my birthday freshman year.
His lips curl into a gentle smile as he runs his thumb up and down my arm.
I notice the perfect bow shape of his upper lip.
His lips almost look stained red. With the alcohol coursing through my veins, I know I’m not thinking clearly, but I also can’t bring myself to care enough to stop the question from forming in my mind.
What would it be like to kiss Jax Greer?
Between his full lips and the way he’s gently caressing me, I bet he’d be an amazing kisser. I imagine he’s passionate and experienced. He probably knows exactly what to do to make a woman feel like the only person on earth.
We sit in silence the entire drive back to my house, but when he stops his truck and puts it in park, he gently says, “I know you’re not okay.”
I pick at a stray thread on my flannel, trying to fight the surge of tears his words have brought on. “I’m fine. I don’t want to think about what just happened.”
I’ve done a great job of holding it together in front of everyone. Jax isn’t about to be the one who undoes that.
I can still feel his gaze on me when I speak again. “Do you want to come inside?” He bites his lip like I asked him to break some sort of rule. Pinning him with a look, I add, “I want you to come inside, Jax.”
He gets out of the truck, rounding the bumper to help me step down, even though I’m five eight and his truck isn’t that lifted.
Once I unlock my front door and swing it open, Jax pulls me toward the couch, brushing my hair to the side. The warmth of his touch feels so good, soft but firm like I expected. He makes a tsking sound and gets up from the couch.
“Where are you going?”
“To find some ointment and Band-Aids. You’re bleeding. You must’ve hit the barstool when Austin knocked you over.”
I reach up to my head and sure enough, a small trace of blood appears on my fingertips.
I’m ready to protest, telling him I don’t need a stupid bandage, but when he comes back and sweeps my hair away from my face again, I melt. I put aside my ego for a second, basking in his intimate touch until he presses an antiseptic pad to my forehead.
I wince and pull away. I guess the effects of the alcohol are wearing off now. He wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me closer, holding my gaze and making my heart pound in my chest like a stampede of wild horses.
“Did he ever hurt you?” There’s pain in Jax’s eyes, and I can’t help but wonder what put it there.
Like everyone else in town, I heard about what brought Jax and his mom to Roots his sophomore year, but people here tend to spread gossip just to keep themselves entertained, so I’ve always treated it as such.
If he ever told Charlie the truth, my brother kept it to himself.
“He never laid a hand on me.”
Jax peels open a Band-Aid. “He’s still a complete asshole.”
“I know.”
“Then why’d you put up with him? Why’d you get engaged?”
“I don’t know.” I draw my knees up into my arms. “I did love him, at one point.”
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘you’ll pick a familiar hell over an unfamiliar heaven’?”
I shake my head.
“Well, Austin is your familiar hell. Yes, he’s an asshole, but he’s all you’ve known.
It would make sense for you to get back with him when he came crawling back to you tonight.
” He’s silent for a beat, intent on pressing the bandage to my wound before he finally meets my eyes, whispering, “Please don’t take him back. ”
“I’m not going to.”
“Good.”
With him this close to me, I can smell the scent of his cologne, clean and masculine.
“I’m tired of him making me feel worthless,” I whisper. “He called me pathetic tonight.”
“He’s wrong.”
The alcohol must be getting to me because for the first time in so long, I don’t hold back. “I’m tired of everything falling apart. It feels like him cheating on me was just the start of this downward spiral. I want to feel good again.”
“You deserve that,” he says with a soft smile.
I take his words of reassurance as my sign to lean in and close my eyes, but he immediately scurries off the couch. “What the hell, Lauren?”