by Megyn Ward
“Jaxon, I need you to fuck me.” She whimpers, her hips fighting the grip I have on them. “Please...”
I run my tongue between her breasts. “Not yet,” I growl, nipping at her nipple with my teeth before sucking it into my mouth. Lifting my gaze, I find her looking down at me, watching me lick and suck her, her eyes the color of lake water, her gaze dark and heavy, bottom lip caught between her teeth in an effort to keep from moaning. It reminds me of that night.
Our first night.
Me, pinning her against the wall in that dark stairwell, my fingers stroking her pussy. Her clit. Her fast, uneven breath against my chest.
I almost come inside her right then and there.
I can’t hold out anymore.
“Christ.” Nailing her to the wall with fast, deep strokes, I finally let myself fuck her. Pound my hips against hers so hard I’m sure we’re going to tear it down. That the whole building is shaking around us.
“Come on me, Claire,” I say, not even sure I’m whispering anymore. “Come on my—”
She moans so loud I lunge up, covering her mouth with mine so I can swallow the sounds of her orgasm.
Mine.
She’s fucking mine.
I start to come, my dick pumping and jerking. My balls contracting and releasing, emptying inside her. She comes again, her tight pussy locking around me, pulling me deeper. Milking me as aftershock after aftershock hit us both.
Sensibility creeps in. I should’ve pulled out. Stopped. Thought about what I was doing. I’m clean. I know I’m clean, but I could get her pregnant.
I know better. I fucking know better...
But as soon as I think it, I realize the thought of getting Claire pregnant doesn’t scare me. Not like it should.
Not at all.
Twenty-six
Claire
Jaxon turns, setting me down on the vinyl bench behind us, fixing his clothes first before kneeling in front of me. Picking up the package of wet wipes, he pulls a few free.
He looks up at me. He looks contrite. Lost. I open my legs, giving him access. He tips his face downward, concentrating on running the wet wipe along the inside of my thigh, cleaning me up.
“I’m sorry, Claire.” He shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done that—and earlier in the car. I shouldn’t have done that either.” He looks up at me for a second, his gaze skimming over mine without taking hold. “I just...” His jaw goes tight, brow lowering slightly. He looks down again, redoubling his efforts. “I’m clean. I get tested. I haven’t been with anyone for a while—I would never jeopardize you like that.”
“I know,” I say, scowling down at his bent head. When he doesn’t answer me, I sigh. “Jaxon, look at me.”
He gives in and looks up, his dark gaze settling on my cheek.
“You didn’t do anything—at least not something I didn’t want you to do to. Not then and not now.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“I’m on the pill.” I say it because I think I figured it out. That’s what this is. He came inside me, and now he’s nervous about what might happen. “My dad’s a doctor. I’ve been on birth control since I was sixteen. You don’t have to worry.”
“I’m worried about a lot of things right now.” He concentrates on running the wipe along the inside of my thigh. “But getting you pregnant isn’t one of them.”
He sounds so calm. So sure. The thought of getting me pregnant doesn’t even faze him. Like we’ve been together this whole time. Like it hasn’t been five years since I’ve seen his face anywhere except in my dreams. I can’t help but wonder how we got here. What would’ve happened if he’d stayed.
He throws the wipes away before pulling another handful free. Starting on my other thigh, he concentrates on cleaning himself off me like it’s important. The only thing that matters.
“You went into the military.” Even though it’s not a question, saying it makes me feel weak. I swore I’d never ask. That I didn’t care because it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. He was just a guy. One who lied. Said whatever he had to, to get what he wanted.
But he never made me promises. Never made plans for later and he never told me he loved me. Five years later, I need to let that count for something. I need to accept that maybe, just maybe, laying together in the dark, everything Jaxon said to me had been true.
I also need to accept that whether I want to or not, no matter what happens next, I do care.
I’ve always cared.
I don’t think he’s going to answer me. I think he’s kept secrets for so long that he doesn’t know how to do anything else.
He finally stops scrubbing and looks up at me, hands resting on my knees, pushing them together. “Do you know what renal agenesis is?”
I nod because I do. “It’s a birth defect. It means you were born with only one kidney.”
He nods. Seems relieved he doesn’t have to explain it. “Simon was born with renal agenesis. In of itself, being born with only one kidney isn’t that big of a deal, as long as the one you do have is healthy.” His fingers dig into my knees slightly. “Simon’s wasn’t. We were managing it, but then he developed type-one diabetes when he was eight. The doctors warned us that it might happen. Within six months, he was on dialysis.”
I think about all the times I’d played with him. Chased him through the house. Let him dog pile me in the back yard. Sat him at the kitchen table with a bowl of tomatoes to squish or a bowl of green beans to snap. “I didn’t know.” My heart lurches in my chest. I’ve missed him. He wasn’t just a kid I babysat for in high school. He was important to me. After Jaxon left, his mother and brother moved away. I never saw them again, and my heart breaks a little whenever I think about it. “Is he okay?”
Please let Simon be okay.
“His medical bills were insane. My mom was working herself to death, trying to keep up with them and watching her try was killing me. I tried to help as much as I could but it wasn’t enough.” He shakes his head at me, suddenly angry. Not with me. With himself. “I joined the Marines. That’s where I went. They gave me a pretty hefty signing bonus that I used to pay down some of the debt, but the doctors warned me when he was born that Simon was going to need a kidney transplant, sooner or later. Even with an available kidney, that wasn’t something I could afford without medical insurance.”
I let what he’s saying sink in, instantly recognizing that it doesn’t make sense.
I’m a pharmacy technician. I understand how medical insurance works. My dad is a doctor. The majority of our conversations revolve around what crooks insurance companies are. Military or not, I know that as his brother, Simon wouldn’t be covered by his policy. That’s not how insurance works. Siblings aren’t covered, but... as soon as it clicks for me, he says it.
“Simon isn’t my brother, Claire.” The hands on my knees fall away like he’s sure that once he says it, I won’t want him to touch me anymore. “He’s my son.”
Twenty-seven
Jaxon
Simon is my son.
I always imagined telling her. Almost did that night in her room. I almost told her everything.
About how I’d been thirteen when I lost my virginity to a woman almost twice my age. About how my mom, who was working three jobs to support us, asked our next-door neighbor, someone she considered a friend, to keep an eye on me.
About how her idea of keeping an eye on me involved more than helping me with my homework and making sure I ate more than dry cereal for dinner. About how it went on for over a year before anyone found out.
When the inevitable finally happened, she convinced me to do the right thing, which was run away with her. We crossed three state-lines over the course of five days before we were caught. I was fourteen.
She was sentenced to fifteen years in prison—five for every state line she crossed—and Simon was born in a prison hospital ward.
They didn’t even tell me. He’d been in a crisis nursery for a week before someone ca
lled my mom. If he’d been born healthy, if someone else has wanted him, I have a feeling no one would’ve bothered.
I was scared shitless. Barely fifteen years old. I didn’t even have to shave on a regular basis, and I was a father. I’d never met my own. Didn’t know much about him beyond the fact that he didn’t want me. Didn’t love me.
No matter the circumstances of his birth, there was no way in hell I was going to put my own kid through that. I was going to see this through. Scared or not, I was going to be there.
My mom what devastated. She felt guilty. Like she owned a part of the blame for what happened. No matter how many times I tell her differently, she still thinks she needs forgiveness.
I didn’t tell Claire then, but I tell her now. I tell her everything, recognizing that it’s something I should’ve done a long time ago.
She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open, and I can see the full spectrum of her emotions on her face. Disbelief. Pity. Disgust. All the things I never wanted to see in her eyes when she looked at me.
Simon is ten, almost eleven. So close to where I was when everything started to happen. If I ever found out that someone had preyed on him like that, I’d kill them. I try not to think about what that means. What that makes me. “I don’t consider myself a victim.” I shake my head it out loud because I want it to be true. “I knew what was happening. I was just lonely.”
Finally out of words, I stop talking. Wait for her to respond. When she doesn’t, I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Say something.”
“Where is she now?” She looks blindsided. Like she’s having a hard time putting thoughts and words together. “Simon’s mother… where is she? Does she—”
“She’s in prison.” I shoot up from my crouch, angling myself away from her.
“Her rights were severed.” Jesus. I fucking hate this. Hate talking about it. Hate the way people look at me when they find out. “She doesn’t even know where we are.”
“Oh...” she nods her head, her face crumpling into a frown like she’s trying to process everything I just told her. She doesn’t sound angry or disgusted. She sounds sad. Sorry for me. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know. I’m sorry—” I start to pace, no more than a few strides before I have to turn myself around. “I didn’t mean for—”
“You should’ve told me.” It comes out more forcefully this time, anger and something else, something I don’t want to look at too closely, etched plainly across her face.
“This entire time I thought it was me.” She stands, jerking down her skirt before shooting herself into my path. “Something I did. Something about me that you didn’t want.”
Every word is a slap in the face. I have to hold my neck stiff to keep myself from recoiling. My feet planted, so I don’t stumble back.
I open my mouth to respond, not sure what’s going to come out when I do, but before I can say a word, someone knocks on the door.
Claire reaches over and flings it open. “What?” she barks loudly. It’s her sister. Behind her, the rest of them are huddled together, eyes wide and whispering loudly behind their hands.
Bri jerks back, stunned by her sister’s tone. I can tell she’s not used to being talked to that way. “I—we...” She looks over her shoulder before refocusing on Claire, looking at her like she’s a total stranger. “We’re ready to leave.”
I look at my watch.
We’ve been here for nearly an hour.
“Give us a minute,” I say, swinging the door closed on Bri’s outraged expression. As soon as it’s shut, the chatter in the hallway falls silent. They want to hear what I have to say? Fine. I don’t give a fuck. I need to finish it. To finally say all the things I should have said to her years ago.
I focus on Claire, her face tipped up so she can glare at me. “I’m sorry,” I tell her.
“For which part?” she shoots back, her eyes more green than blue, sharp like glass.
“All of it.” I nod, jamming my hands into my pants pockets because I want to grab her. Kiss her. “Everything. I convinced myself that if you knew about Simon—where he came from—you’d think I was...” To blame. I was afraid she’d look at me and think I was at fault somehow. Or worse, feel sorry for me. "I don’t know.” I free a hand, run it over my face. “I was twenty and the father of a six-year-old. I’m twenty-five. Simon is ten. His mother is in prison.”
“So?” She’s looking up at me like nothing I’ve said matters. Like none of it makes sense, and suddenly, I feel the weight of it. Everything. All of it. I feel it in my bones, and for the first time in a long time, I want to give up.
“So, that’s not exactly normal, Claire. I’m not normal. My life isn’t normal… nothing about me is.” That’s the truth. What I should’ve told her from the very start… but it’s not the whole truth. “You deserved better than me, all the way around.” I shake my head at her while I reach for the door. “You still do.” As soon as I say it, I realize why I’d avoided telling her the truth for so long. The real reason I never told her.
It’s because I knew that once I said it out loud, I’d finally get it. That I’d have to stop harboring this ridiculous fantasy of a happily ever after with her. I’d have to admit that Claire St. James is better off without me.
And I’d finally have to let her go.
Twenty-eight
Claire
Bri’s friends are staring at me.
Especially Helena. She looks like she wants to brain me with an empty champagne bottle.
“Claire—”
“It’s Jaxon,” I tell her because I know what she’s going to say. “Jaxon Bennet.” Her friends continue to stare at me like I have some sort of contagious disease. For once in my life, I don’t give a shit what my sister or her friends think.
When her face remains blank, I shake my head, settling back in the seat. “Are you serious? We went to high school with him, for god’s sake.”
Her face remains blank. “You told Dad you didn’t recognize him.”
“Yeah.” I roll my eyes before shifting my gaze to stare out the window. “Well, I lied.”
We’re headed to Grind, the first club on the itinerary where Jaxon’s replacement driver will meet us and take over. He’s making the arrangements while he drives. I can hear the low murmur of his voice seeping through the privacy partition.
He’s leaving again.
I watch the city slip by, splashes of light and shadow hitting the dark tinted windows. Sounds push through the glass. Horns honking. Sirens screeching. Scores of people teem the sidewalks.
Bri and her friends start to chatter, the episode with Jaxon and me fading as their excitement builds. They start freshening their make-up. Fix their hair. Pop another bottle and toast my sister.
“You and Kyle are going to be so happy,” Sara gushes, tipping the champagne mag over her empty glass. “You’re so lucky.”
The rest of them chime in about how amazing the wedding is going to be. How perfect her life is.
I have to press my hand to my mouth to keep myself from laughing out loud. Not because it’s funny and not because it’s not true.
Because the guy I’ve been in love with since before I even really knew what love was, has a ten-year-old son.
And he left me to save his life.
I can’t be mad at him for that, no matter how much I want to be. It’s the rest of it I’m having a hard time working my head around.
We pull up in front of Grind and the line to get in is wrapped around the building. I hear Jaxon’s door open and shut, watch him circle the car to open the rear door for Bri and her friends. Hand them onto the sidewalk where they cluster together and talk over each other in a loud, excited rush.
His hand appears in the doorway, and I let him help me out of the back of the limo. As soon as I’m on the sidewalk, he lets go of my hand. “Goodbye, Claire.” He says it without looking at me.
Not, I’ll see you later.
Not, We need to tal
k about this.
Not, give me another chance.
Just goodbye.
This time, Jaxon gives me the closure I need.
And it’s the last thing I want.
Twenty-nine
Jaxon
When I get home, my mom is dozing on the couch, an open book dangling from her hand and Simon is out cold, sprawled on the floor in front of the television. I stand in the doorway and look at them.
My mother and my son.
It was my mom’s idea to pass us off as brothers. She was barely into her 30s when Simon was born, and she wanted me to have a life. A childhood. She was seventeen when I was born. She didn’t want me to go through the same thing she did. She didn’t want people to look at me and see the fucked-up kid who had a kid of his own, and she wanted Simon to have a chance. I went along with it all because it was easier and because she was right. Not about me but about Simon. He deserved better, more than I could give him.
But I never thought I was ashamed of any of it before Claire. Every time I looked at her, it was all I could think about. What she would think of me if she knew. Not just about Simon, but about the circumstances of his birth. Someone like her would never want someone like me. Not if she knew the truth.
“You’re home early.”
I look away from Simon to find my mom watching me from the couch.
“Yeah.” I nod, tossing my bike keys into the basket by the front door. “I called Thomas. He took over for me.” We store our rides in the same garage, and he was willing to grab my bike and meet me at Grind to finish out the job. He met me in front of the club, we exchanged keys, and I left Claire standing on the sidewalk.
At least this time I said goodbye.
“Things went that well, huh?” She gives me a sad smile.
I give her a shrug, looking at Simon. “Did he get his insulin shot?” I say even though it’s a ridiculous question.