Page 55 of Stick It
“My dad gave it to me,” I confess, throat scratchy. “He used to travel a lot for work, and he’d always bring me a mug from whatever city he was in… It was our thing.”
“Used to?”
“He’s dead now,” I admit, the words hollow.
Jax releases a harsh breath. He doesn’t say anything; he just holds me tighter. I lean into him, my body shaking, and he doesn’t let go.
It hits me then, how long it’s been since I let someone hold me like this. Since I let myself fall apart. Even at the funeral, I had to keep my shit together—for Mom. I’ve never, not once, let myself give in to those emotions.
I’ve never had a shoulder to cry on. Someone to ease the burden. To share the load.
And now I’m buckling beneath the weight of it all.
I’ve been moving forward, pretending I’m fine when I’m anything but.
For what feels like a long time, we simply sit there. Jax doesn’t rush me, doesn’t tell me to pull myself together or stop crying. He just holds me, like he’s afraid I’ll break if he lets go.
Eventually, he shifts, rubbing a hand in slow circles along my back. “Come on,” he murmurs gently. “Let’s get you off the floor.”
I let him help me up, my legs shaky as he steadies me. He keeps his hand on my elbow as we move toward the stairs, guiding me up them and along the hallway to my room.
“The mug,” I start, not even wanting to say the words but knowing we can’t just leave it there. If one of the others comes in after too many drinks, they might hurt themselves.
“I’ll sort it out,” Jax promises as I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. “And I’ll bring you some tea.”
“Do we have hot chocolate?” I ask, feeling like a boulder has replaced my head as I lift it to meet his eyes. It did help after the party that night, so I’m hoping it will work its magic again.
“I’ll find some,” Jax declares, sounding like he’s about to go off on a mission. “You just get into bed, and I’ll bring it up.”
He turns toward the door.
“Jax,” I call when he’s standing on the threshold. He doesn’t look back, but he stops, waiting. “Thank you.”
His shoulders visibly drop, the dark hair on the back of his head bobbing before he ducks out the door.
When he returns, he’s carrying a steaming mug topped with cream and marshmallows. I blink at it, surprised. It’s possible there could have been a tin of hot chocolate powder buried atthe back of a drawer, but there is no way we had marshmallows and cream in the house.
“Where did you find those?” I ask, giving him a skeptical look.
“The girls across the street.”
My eyebrows jump up my forehead, and I can’t look away from his face as I take the drink from his outstretched hand and bring it to my lips. “Mmm, delicious. Thank you.”
It tastes like heaven, and I sink back against my pillows as I sigh. Hot chocolate might not fix everything, but it helps. And so does the way Jax sits with me until I finally fall asleep.
17
DYLAN
My eyelids stick together,and the slight pounding in my temples serves as a not-so-subtle reminder of last night. Groaning, I roll over onto my back, covering my face with my hands.
I kissed Jaxon Keller.
And then I promptly fell apart in his arms.
How embarrassing!
And yet, even now, my body melts at the reminder of how good it felt to have his solid weight pressing me into the couch cushions, his lips trailing across my skin. A heated thrill pulses through me. One I shouldn’t feel.
