Page 19 of Jaxon

I stomped out and slammed the front door shut hard behind me hoping it would rattle their hungover brains. I climbed in the car and smacked the steering wheel. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." I'd dated so many women, but no one had ever left this kind of a mark before. How the hell did she do that so quickly? Other than the fact that she was fucking amazing. Figured I would fall for a girl on the wrong side of the tracks, the side that wanted nothing to do with someone like me.

My mood was still shit when I reached the shop, but at least there was coffee, and Mom had bought blueberry muffins. Dad was talking to a customer as they checked out a custom Ducati. I was glad not to have to talk to him first thing. Sometimes it took a few hours in the morning before he stopped grunting orders at me and I stopped responding with "attitude." In his twenties, Dad, and his brothers to some degree, had been the town badasses. No one crossed Hunter Stone, but, at the same time, people respected him. The Stone brothers had been troublemakers who grew up with a dad so abusive they nearly didn't survive childhood. But they all came out of it stronger with street smarts and an incredible survival instinct. Now they'd left behind some of their badass reputation. They were well respected in Trayton.

I was shoveling in a second muffin when Mom walked into the back office. Amy Stone had had it almost as rough as the brothers. She'd grown up next door to the Stone brothers, and while she usually left out the more shocking details of her childhood, her dad was an asshole and her mom suffered from schizophrenia. She had some good memories of her mom and would occasionally share them, but for the most part, my parents didn't talk about their childhoods. One big mystery that was never fully explained was why Dad and my uncles occasionally slipped and called Mom "Street." She said the nickname had to do with a Led Zeppelin song and one of her stupider decisions, but the true origin of it was never explained. Stella told her that leaving it to our imaginations was probably far worse than the real story, but Mom kept it secret.

"Please don't tell me that's your breakfast," Mom said as she shuffled through some papers on the desk.

I picked up a third muffin. "All right, I won't tell you."

"Great, so you're also a grumpy ass. Your dad woke up with a sour pickle up his butt too. Getting a little tired of the Stone men being crabby."

I stared at her as she searched through paperwork and continued with her little speech. She finally stopped and looked up. My mom had been madly in love with Hunter Stone her whole life, even though he was a fucking player and "not worth the heartbreak" as Dad liked to say, but they ended up together when Dad finally realized it had always been Mom. The ache I was feeling knowing that I'd never see Bridget again sat heavily in my chest. And Mom with her uncanny mom sense knew something was up.

"What's wrong?" She circled around the desk and did one of those annoying little mom gestures where she pushed the hair out of my eyes. Normally, I'd pull my face away, but today, I let her do it. "Something on your mind, Jax?"

I made it a rule to never discuss my social life with my mom. She counted on her spy, Stella, for tidbits of information. And that was when it occurred to me. She already knew. Thanks, sis.

"I'm sure LaLa already filled you in on my sordid social life, so I won't bore you with details."

Mom shrugged casually. "She just mentioned something about a rich girl jumping in the water and swimming to your jet ski and the two of you taking off. Oh, and she mentioned the girl was Nathan Walsh's daughter."

"Think that pretty much covers it. Are the packages ready to go?"

"Yep, signed and sealed. I think your dad has a few errands for you too."

"Fun," I muttered. "Always love his errands."

Mom clucked her tongue. "Don't take that attitude out there with you. You might recall the sour pickle up his butt comment?"

I smiled. "Where the hell did you come up with that one? You know what? Never mind. It's probably got some kink origin, and I sure as hell don't want to know about that."

"No kink, I was just feeling poetic this morning and that came out." Mom waved me out of the office.

The customer had left, and Dad was working on a bike in the mechanic's bay. "Mom said you had some errands."

Dad peered up over the bike. He stood up and put the wrench on the seat. He pulled the rag out of his back pocket. "The hardware store is having a sale on garden hoses. I need you to pick me up two twelve-footers and a spray nozzle."

"What the hell do you need garden hoses for?"

He shoved the rag back in his pocket. "Hmm, I think the phrase garden hose says it all."

"So, I'm just an errand boy for your personal stuff, too?"

"You're an errand boy for whatever I say, Jaxon." He said my name with slow precision. "What the fuck is your problem? You only just walked in, and you're already being an asshole."

"Maybe I don't like having to go do stupid shit like pick up garden hoses," I snapped back.

Whenever we got into each other's space, like now, Dad worked hard to stretch up taller than me. He'd always been the giant in town, the guy no one dared to look at the wrong way, but I'd passed him up in height and muscle and that pissed him off.

"I hear you got yourself tangled up with Walsh's daughter. What the fuck, Jax? You don't have to put your dick in every pretty girl, you know? Think with your head sometimes."

"Oh, right, fucking rich coming from the infamous Hunter Stone. What was that Slade used to say—'the fuck 'em and leave 'em king'?" Mom had stepped into the garage.

Dad's jaw tightened. "Not in the mood to get into shit with you this morning. Just go."

"I'm not picking up your stupid garden hoses. You can fucking do that yourself."

Dad's fist curled, and he stepped closer. I'd pushed it too far. But that wasn't unusual for me.

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