JAX (The Beckett Boys, Book Two) (12 page)

A few days ago, right before graduation, she and Samantha moved in together. I’m so happy for them and so crushed for me.

I’m sitting on the couch, shoving ice cream in my face. “I’m so stupid,” I say heavily. “I could have avoided this whole thing. But no, I had to go and fall for him.”

Gail rubs small circles on my back and makes soothing sounds. “If he doesn’t recognize what he’s lost by letting you walk away, he’s the stupid one. Not you. There isn’t anything unreasonable wanting him to commit to being your boyfriend. Hell, you guys practically were anyway. Some weeks, you saw each other more than Samantha and I did. If he can’t see that, and realize that you’re not asking him to sacrifice his soul, then he deserves to rot alone in hell for eternity.”

I gasp and look over at her, and she has an evil smile on her face. “That’s harsh, Gail. Wow.”

“Shh, eat the ice cream,” she sooths with a wink. “I’m not really a dick. I’m just mad that he hurt you.”

My heart feels like a ragged thing trapped in my chest. I exhale hard and put the carton on the coffee table. “I don’t know what to do now,” I admit. “I feared this would happen, but some part of me hoped…”

“Hoped he’d find you worth the risk,” she finishes gently. “Baby, you are. He just didn’t realize it. That’s not your fault, or a reflection on you. Clearly he has shit to sort out before he can be ready for anyone.”

She hugs me, and I hug her back.

T
he last two
weeks have been miserable. Shitty, shitty miserable. I stand behind the bar at Outlaws and sling drinks. It’s hard to fake like everything is fine, to keep up my usual charm, and I find myself not wanting to. Wanting to sink into this funk threatening to take over.

Smith has a serious fracture and is laid up. He had to get screws put in his ankles, too. Poor Aubrey’s a mess. But since she has all that nursing experience and education, she’s been caring for him, helping him get around. And while he’s napping, she comes down and works the bar with me.

Aubrey quit her nursing job to work at the bar a few days before Smith’s accident. The addition of her to our staff was supposed to give us more time off, since we’d have another regular hand around here, including Asher, who’s back living in my apartment for the summer. But with Smith out of commission and Aubrey tied up most days, everything is falling on me and Asher to keep things running.

Despite Smith’s drugged-up state, he made me swear not to undermine any of the changes in the bar. Aubrey is already stressed out and doesn’t need to worry about me sabotaging them anymore. I grudgingly agreed on a truce for the time being.

Asher darts from table to table, grabbing old beer glasses, wiping them down. I watch him and my gaze meanders around. There are a few guys back in the corner playing darts, a new board Aubrey put up last week that’s already being put to good use. And the resurfaced pool tables look nice and clean. People are loving the quick appetizers and desserts we offer, lingering longer and buying more drinks.

I realize there hasn’t been a fight in the bar in weeks. Wow. We used to have them all the time. But things have been more chill. Not mellow—people are still loud and boisterous and having fun. But not angry the way it was before.

And oddly enough, I realize I’m glad. Because with all the shit I’m dealing with now, I don’t need to worry about that, too.

Not everything is cleaned up, though. We still have some rowdy regulars trying to intimidate the new customers, scare them off the premises. I see a couple of them now, hovering around a group of smaller guys trying to play pool.

Fuck. I sling a dishrag over my shoulder. “What’s going on, gentlemen?” I ask in a genial tone.

“This peckerhead tried to cheat at pool,” Lowell, one of the regulars, pops his knuckles. “

The guy squares his shoulders. “I did not.”

Lowell leans in. “You callin’ me a liar? Everyone here saw what happened.” He shoots an angry glare at the small crowd. These people will not contradict Lowell. “I’ll walk away without breaking your face if you just pay me the winnings.”

I sigh and clap Lowell’s shoulder. “Bro, that trick’s as old as the hills. I saw you nudge the pool table.” Mental note, stabilize those legs. “I practically invented the move to scam suckers out of money.”

Lowell narrows his gaze at me. “The fuck? You kidding me?”

I face him toe to toe. “You got a problem? Get the fuck out and don’t come back. No more bullshit in this bar, you hear?”

The guys around him mutter to themselves, and Lowell stares hard at me. Then he spits on the ground and jerks his chin. “Whatever. This place sucks balls, anyway.” They shove through the crowd and leave.

I roll my eyes and head back to the bar to serve more drinks.

Asher sidles over. “Nice job getting rid of those asses. I’ve always hated them.”

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I thought they were your friends.” He grins. “Guess not.”

“Those guys are dicks. I have better taste than that.” Don’t I? I mull it over as I serve drinks. Are these the kind of people I’ve been running with—not fun and wild in a good way, but just assholes?

Memories start washing over me. All the fights I’ve gotten into here during drinking binges. Women I’d fuck in the bathroom stall and never talk to again. Glasses and glasses I broke, heedless of the fact that the bar has to replace them each time—wasted money.

Wow, I’m an ass.

And then I think of how Brooklyn’s seen me—first hooking up, then drunkenly insane while working, then giving her parents a bad impression of me because of my stress over Smith and awkwardness over meeting them.

I should have been a man and stood strong in front of her parents instead of whining and acting like a little kid and stomping off.

My face burns. I focus on cleaning the bar surface and try not to think about how fucking stupid I’ve been. How much I’ve wanted to call her every day, despite knowing I’m not right for her. Even tamed down and not a drunken, fighting asshole, I still struggle with the idea of settling down with someone.

Though I have to admit…waking up beside her every morning would be amazing. I’ve missed her so much my whole body aches for her.

Asher and I finish out the shift, clean things up, then lock up. He heads back to my apartment, and I make my way up the back stairs toward Smith’s place. He’s been sleeping on the couch, since it’s closer to the bathroom, and I’m wondering if he’s awake. I need to talk.

When I go up there, I crack the door open quietly. Smith’s stretched out with pillows behind him, clicking the TV channels. The sound is down low. He glances over at me and gives me a groggy head nod. “Come in, bro. Everything okay downstairs?”

“Yeah, it’s all fine.” I click the door closed behind me and take the seat near him. Grab a few handfuls of the bag of chips on the coffee table. I’ve been known to wake up in the middle of the night on regular occasions to sleep-eat chips. Dad used to bust my balls about it all the time.

A soul-deep sadness settles over me. Fuck.

“You seem off,” Smith drawls. The pain medication must be doing wonders—since breaking his leg, he’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. I’m tempted to tell Aubrey we should keep him on the drugs after he’s healed.

“I think I fucked up, man,” I confess. “How did you get over Mom leaving us enough to get married? Aren’t you scared of being hurt again?”

His eyes narrow, though he’s still hazy. “You got it bad for Brooklyn, don’t you.”

I sigh as I realize I’m going to tell the fucking miserable truth. “I love her. I fell in love with her, and I told her we’re wrong together. And she walked away and I let her. And now she’s back in New York with her family, probably moved on with someone else. I fucked everything up because I can’t make myself commit.”

“You’re thinking too big about it, letting it overwhelm you. Marriage isn’t a death sentence. Being in a relationship isn’t a shackle. It’s the safety net that gets you through life.”

“Wow, that’s deep,” I tease, but I have to admit, he makes it sound kind of appealing. “How many chick flicks did you watch to discover that gem?”

Smith flips me off and snorts. “It’s a good thing I can’t get off this couch right now, or I’d beat your ass.”

“Douche.”

“Double douche.”

“We could go on like this forever,” Smith says wearily.

Then we both grin at each other.

I scrub the back of my neck. “Dad never dated anyone else. I always wondered if it was because Mom’s betrayal made him bitter.”

“I don’t think that’s it. He never struck me as bitter.” Smith leans back into his pillows and drops the remote on his lap. He eyes me. “I think he just knew that Mom was the one for him and he wasn’t interested in finding anyone else. But the truth is, we don’t know why she ran off and why he never fell for another woman. And we never will. She’s probably six feet under somewhere. And he’s not around to give us answers.”

I cram another handful of chips in my mouth. Chew in silence.

“But I don’t think Mom is the cause behind why you don’t want to settle down.”

That makes me pause. “What?”

Smith’s eyes drift closed. “Blaming her keeps you from having to own your decisions and take a chance on something. It’s easier to pin your lack of commitment on her than to admit you’re too afraid. That…that takes the responsibility of your…life right off your shoulders.” He yawns. “She’s just a crutch for you. You’re the one who’s the chicken fucker wimp.”

The words anger me. I feel my chest tighten in response. “You don’t know shit.”

“Sure I don’t. I’ve only lived with you my whole life, but fuck. You…don’t want to admit it, but you’ve changed since you started seeing Brooklyn. But what do I know?” Smith laughs, a sleepy sound. “I’m getting tired, dick face. I need to sleep.”

“You can’t get any dumber asleep than awake,” I needle him, but he hardly cares. I head out to the sound of his thick snores and walk to my car. His words echo in my head.

As I sit in the car replaying what we discussed, I keep thinking about her.

Brooklyn.

Imagine things I could have said or done differently with her, if I’d just had the balls.

I know now that I blew it with Brooklyn, that she was trying to be patient and wait for me to become the man she needed, but I never grew up.

In my mind’s eye, I can imagine myself telling her what she needed to hear, playing an alternate history of our relationship where I actually said and did the right things instead of all the wrong ones.

And at the end of my fantasy version of events, I’m asking her to marry me and she’s saying yes.

I blink away some tears and sniffle, then start the car.

It’s just a fantasy, I remind myself. In the real world, you screwed up and now it’s time to live with the consequences.

* * *

A
nother several days pass
. Smith and I didn’t talk more about our late-night conversation…honestly, he probably doesn’t even remember it, given all the drugs he’s taking right now. But I haven’t forgotten.

No, the words have haunted me. Taunted me.

Because he’s right.

My failsafe for why I’m such a fuckup is because my mom abandoned us. So why should I bother taking a risk, taking responsibility? It’s probably going to end badly anyway. Why put myself through the danger of getting hurt or let down?

It’s the coward’s way.

I wipe off the small laminated menus and lay them on the tables. Aubrey did them while Smith was sleeping yesterday. Her shy smile as she handed them to me showed me her vulnerability. She knows I’ve dragged my feet about how different the bar is. How I’ve fought tooth and nail to keep the change from happening.

I can’t keep blaming my mom for my stubbornness, my resistance to change. Running the bar, being in charge of the numbers, has shown me that the proof is in the pudding. Our income is up. A lot.

We’ve been turning a steady profit.

The changes we’ve implemented have made all the difference. Dad’s dream is going to thrive because we adapted.

I told Aubrey she did a great job on the menus and the answering smile she gave me was so beautiful it made me feel happy to please her. I know she’s tried to find opportunities to broach the subject of Brooklyn with me, but I’ve avoided them as best as I can.

I’ve been tempted, far too tempted, to call her. Text her. Hell, send a fucking carrier pigeon to her. But maybe she doesn’t want me to. Besides, she’s hours away now. It’s not like I can pop over to her campus and talk to her. What good will it do?

Doesn’t mean I haven’t been debating taking a road trip, too. Just a moment to see her beautiful smile again, feel her against me. Even have her sass me.

The ache I feel for her, the loss I’ve experienced since she left, has been tremendous. Like a limb was cut off and I keep expecting it to be there. And every time I go to look, it isn’t, and I’m reminded of its loss again. And again. And again.

I wasn’t the man Brooklyn needed me to be. Not then. Maybe I’m not now, either. But I’m sure as fuck trying to be better than I was. Even if I never get a chance to show her. It was time for me to start waking up and taking responsibility.

We open the doors and flick the Open sign on, and a few minutes later, the people start coming in. Asher and I keep busy pouring drinks, taking food orders, and relaying them to the part-time college kid we hired who’s working on food prep in the back. Since we’re sticking with easy-to-make foods for now, most of it prepared in advance, his job isn’t that hard. But it’s been a relief for us not to have to fix it ourselves.

“Jax!” a woman calls out. One of our regulars, Colleen. “Come do a shot with me.”

“Sorry, not tonight, darling.” I wave her off. Drinking on the job was one of my bad habits—it had to go. All it’s done is allow me to indulge in disastrous behavior. I wink at her. “I think Steve over there wants to have a drink with you, though.”

Steve, a salt-and-pepper haired man near the end of the bar, gets beet red and shoots me a glare. But Colleen eyes him with interest, and his flush fades away.

I slide her two shots with a whispered, “Go get ‘em, tiger,” and she wiggles her way through the crowd to his side. Within thirty seconds, his hand is on her ass and she’s swallowing his tongue.

At least someone’s doing something right. I briefly smile then go back to work.

I pass the time slinging drinks, cracking jokes with customers. Then I feel a prickling on the back of my neck. Slide my gaze to the left and see someone standing and staring at me.