Page 64 of Reckless and Rooted
It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and Jax is already at the ranch, but since the studio is closed, I have the day off and decided to get some things done around my house. Baby is coming soon, and I want to be prepared.
My hand pulls out another envelope, one I’m prepared to throw away when the penmanship of my name has me pause.
“How come you didn’t answer my letters?”
“What letters?”
“I sent you some letters.”
I gasp, ripping open the first one and feeling a wave of emotion come over me as I read it. It was from Jax.
City Girl,
Man, I wish I knew if you were getting these. Then I would know if you were ignoring me or if these were just going into a void, never to be read.
I miss the hell out of you.
I think about you all the time, even now.
I know that’s stupid, given that you’re off living your life without me.
I still don’t believe it most days. I sit around wondering what I did wrong all the time.
Was it something I did? Will you ever tell me?
Things are fine here, I guess. I got rammed into a fence, and the pain is horrible. I wish you were here. Or I was wherever you are.
I miss you.
Guess I said that already.
Love,
Jax
Tears spring from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks as I read note after note. Some are long, some are short, but each one tellsme the same thing. Jaxon Cash never forgot about me, and I crushed him.
I knew it before. I knew I hurt him and made him doubt himself.
But knowing something and seeing it firsthand are very different.
I wipe my eyes, then close them and take a deep breath. I don’t deserve this man.
He is so forgiving, so trusting. He came back into my life rightly pissed, and now I really did understand why he was so mad at first. He was heartbroken.
I open the next note.
City Girl,
I saw you on TV.
It was completely random. I’d gone to a bar with some friends. Well, I guess they’re friends, more like people I have to travel with.
Anyway, I was sitting there, watching some game when I saw a preview for a movie, and your face popped up.
Holy shit, Felicity. You’re doing it. I know I don’t have a right to feel this way,
or maybe I do. I don’t really know.
