Page 54 of Stick It
“It’s just a mug,” he retorts, rolling his eyes like I’m being dramatic.
“You went into her room?” Jax accuses, sounding peeved as he glares at Kyle.
“It’s mine, Kyle,” I demand, getting to my feet and holding out my hand. “Give it back!” I just… I need it out of Kyle’s hands. I need to know it’s safe.
He smirks, fingers flexing around the handle, but he makes no move to hand it over.
“Just give her the mug, man,” Jax urges. “There are plenty of others in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, but I like this one.”
“I’m not playing. Hand it over!” I sound nearly hysterical now, and Kyle’s flash of victory lets me know I’m playing right into his hands, but I don’t care.
“Jesus, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “If you’re going to go all psycho, you can have it.”
He thrusts the mug out toward me, and I grasp for it, but just as my fingers brush the ceramic, he lets go. I inhale sharply as the mug slips through my fingers. Wide-eyed and with a silent scream, I watch as it seemingly falls in slow motion, hitting the edge of the coffee table with a dull thud before crashing to the floor…where it shatters into pieces.
For a moment, the world is still. I stare at the broken shards, my chest tight, unable to breathe.
“Oops. Butterfingers,” Kyle mocks with a sly grin.
Jax shoves him out of the room, his voice low and furious,but I don’t hear the words. I can’t hear anything. All I can do is stare at the broken remnants of the first mug my dad ever brought home.
The memories wash over me, consuming me.
“I’ve got a gift for you, Princess.”
The excitement I felt as my tiny little fingers wedged open the box before Dad helped me lift out the mug, warning me to be careful because it was breakable.
Breakable.
And now it’s broken.
I sink to my knees, tears streaming down my face as I reach for the scattered pieces with trembling hands, then hesitate, afraid to touch them. My chest feels like it’s caving in as a sob is wrenched from my throat.
It sounds ridiculous, but I feel as though I just lost another piece of him. My mugs are all I have left of my dad, and now one of them is gone. How long until none of them remain and all I’m left with are faded, distant memories? Ones where I can’t recall the exact baritone of his laugh or shade of his eyes.
A hand brushes my shoulder, and I instinctively flinch away.
“It’s okay,” Jax murmurs, voice low and smooth as he lowers himself to the floor beside me—close, but not touching. “Kyle’s gone. It’s just us.”
I don’t look his way. I can’t. Can’t do anything but stare at the shattered remnants of my mug. Tears track silently down my cheeks, warm against skin gone numb.
Jax doesn’t speak. Doesn’t rush me. He just sits there, close enough for me to know he’s here, but still allowing me the space I need to process. The only sound is my sniffles, the occasional sob of devastation.
Eventually, his voice breaks the solemn silence, raw andpleading. “Please,” he rasps, like he can’t stand another moment of seeing me upset, “Just let me hold you.”
It’s the kindness in his tone that undoes me. The gentle way he asks. The quiet care in every word.
Still crying, I nod.
He exhales, then wraps me in his arms, slow and careful like he’s afraid I’ll shatter next. I fold into him, burying my face into his chest, and the sob that leaves me is sharp and broken. His fingers slide tenderly through my hair, his voice low and reassuring in my ear. “I’ve got you.”
Only when my tears have dried up, leaving a hollow vessel in his arms, does he speak. “Talk to me, Little Menace.” He pulls back so he can see my face, puffy and red from crying. “This wasn’t just any mug, was it?”
I shake my head, inhaling the hint of his aftershave. “No.” My voice cracks, and I press my hands against my face, trying to stifle the shuddering gasps that follow.
When I finally feel like I have myself under control, I lower them and meet his gaze. I’m sure I look like a complete mess, but Jax just swipes my tears away with the pad of his thumb, his eyes filled with nothing but concern.
