I think the seeds were planted the day I met Jaxi. I just can’t keep them from blooming.
“You might be rushing this just a bit,” Wade says. “You need to think this through.”
“Wade, stop being so clinical,” Holt tells him.
“I’m not being clinical, Holt. I’m being realistic,” Wade replies. “Even if he does love Jaxi—let’s say that’s possible in the time that he’s known her—”
“I loved Blaire that quick,” Holt snaps.
Oliver rolls his eyes. “We know. We were there.”
“Anyway,” Wade says, giving Oliver a silent high-five, “let’s go with it for the sake of the conversation. It’s easy for you to figure out your feelings. Jaxi, though, has a lot on her plate. How do you know she wants to buy what you’re selling?”
My jaw opens in mock horror.
“First of all, I’m very handsome,” I say. “Thank you very much. Second, I’m nice. And a gentleman.”
Oliver snorts.
“I can take care of her,” I say, motioning around my desk. “Look at me. I’m working. Bringing home the bacon. What’s not to love?”
“Is that what she wants from you? Or anyone, for that matter?” Wade asks. “She doesn’t want to have a say in how the bacon gets cured? She just wants someone to bring it home?” He shrugs. “It’s fine if she does. I don’t give a shit. Just asking.”
“Well, I mean …”
Wouldn’t she want that?
It hasn’t crossed my mind that she might not want me to take care of her. What if she wants to do things herself?
My brain thinks about my mother and how she has a life independent of my father. Sure, Dad makes money and could easily have taken care of our family. But Mom was adamant that she have a career of her own and opened a very successful jewelry line.
Maybe Jaxi wants something like that too?
This thinking is definitely putting the cart before the horse. A couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t looking for love and had zero interest in settling down.
Why does it feel like this is the right trajectory? Why does talking about Jaxi like this with my brothers feel completely natural?
Shit.
Wade looks at me like he’s exhausted by my life. “I think you need to have some conversations with Jaxi before you go buying a dog or any other harebrained idea that might be rolling around inside your head.”
“Handsome head,” I say, just wanting something nice worked in there.
“Whatever.” Wade turns to the door. “You do you, Boone.”
“I plan on it.”
Wade stops at the doorway. Anjelica appears beside him.
“I am not working for you today,” I tell her.
Her bright red lips break apart into a wide smile. “I’m not here to see you.”
“Good.”
She narrows her eyes briefly before settling them on Oliver. “I came to see you. I have a little problem that I need your help with.”
Oliver stands up. “I’ll see you guys around. No dog, Boone.”
“Oh, I disagree,” Anjelica says, pointing a finger at me. “I love dogs. Get a dog, Boone.”
“He doesn’t want it for him,” Oliver says. “He wants it for Jaxi.”
Anjelica grins. “I heard about her. What does she do?”
Holt stands and joins Wade at the door. “I need to get to my office. That Greyshell report should be in this morning from legal. See ya later.”
Wade waves as they move out of sight.
Oliver waves too. “I’ll be in my office, Anjelica. See ya, Boone.”
“Later,” I call after him.
“So,” Anjelica says, gripping the back of a chair, “tell me all the things.”
I lift my cup of coffee and take a long, steady drink. Anjelica notices my delay tactic and gives me a look. She slowly walks around the chair and sits in it, crossing one leg over the other.
“Don’t get comfortable,” I tell her.
She laughs. “Jaxi. Spill it.”
I don’t know what to spill. Nothing I can say quickly and succinctly can sum her up the right way.
“Does she work? Go to school? What?” Anjelica asks.
“She’s in-between jobs right now. She was going to work as a nanny but that kind of fell apart when she got custody of Rosie.”
Anjelica nods. “Coy told me about that. She seems really nice.”
“She is.”
“Is she staying with you indefinitely? Or finding a place of her own?” Anjelica asks. “I have some contacts in residential real estate on that level. I know you guys do a lot of it commercially, but a friend of mine sells and rents out apartments and houses—stuff like that. He’s been a realtor around here for thirty years. Knows everything. He actually hooked me up with the place I’m staying in now.”
A whisper of an idea floats through my mind.
Even if things don’t work out between me and Jaxi, if she had something to build on, that would be great. And now that I’m acting like a grown-up, maybe it’s time I invest some of my own money too.
“You know,” I say, thinking it through. “Jaxi said she was interested in being a realtor and housing and things like that. Maybe she could reach out to your friend if she had questions about getting started.”
Anjelica nods. “I’m sure he would. He’s the nicest guy on the face of the planet.”
“Except for me, you mean.”
She grins. “Very funny.”
“Maybe I could talk to him too. I’ve been thinking about getting into some property on my own.”
“It’s a great buyer’s market. I’ll give him your number.”
“Great. Thank you. I appreciate it.”
She stands on her insanely tall heels and winks. “See? We can get along.”
“I’m still scared of you.”
She laughs all the way out the door.
I sit back in my seat and swirl my mug. The coffee goes around and around, creating a little tunnel in the middle. It happens so fast. It goes from a placid environment to a dynamic one with the flick of a wrist.
I watch the coffee and let my mind drift.
If it was just Jaxi and me, I know this thing between us would’ve already exploded wide open. Jaxi’s putting up a front because it’s the responsible thing to do with Rosie in the picture. I’m staying back because it’s the right thing to do too. But my brothers aren’t wrong. I truly like my house feeling like more than a place that I crash. Sitting down at a table in the evening and having a conversation. Having another person as a teammate. Having someone look at me like I’m not just handsome but also respectable.
Having Jaxi think I’m worthy of being in her and Rosie’s life.
But aren’t we keeping our distance romantically because of that little girl who deserves the chance to live in the environment I think—I know—that Jaxi and I could create together? Isn’t that counterproductive?
What’s the worst thing that could happen? It not work out?
I take a drink.
I’d still be there for her. She’s a great person. And I adore that little girl.
The longer I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I’m right. Who am I to deny fate?
Who am I to … not be me?
Fuck it.
I grab my phone and make some calls.
Sixteen
Jaxi
“That’s beautiful, Rosie,” I say as I hold up her latest and greatest fingerpaint masterpiece.
She squishes up her nose. The joy in her face makes my day.
“Do you know what it is?” she asks.
“Why don’t you tell me,” I suggest.
“Okay. That’s our house,” she says, pointing at a yellow blob streaked with brown in the middle of the paper. “And that’s me, and that’s Mommy, and that’s you, and that’s Wade.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Wade? Okay. Awesome.”
She shakes with excitement. “And that’s the guy who looks l
ike Boone. And that’s my puppy. And that’s Boone!”
Her grin takes up her entire face.
Sunlight streams in the windows, filling the kitchen with a cheeriness and a warmth that settle into my soul. Mindless chatter plays on the television in the corner, and it’s the kind of ambience I always hoped to have in a home.
“Boone’s kind of tall, don’t you think?” I ask, looking at the purple line she pointed at that extends from the top of the page to the bottom.
“Yup. Because he’s tall and strong. Like this.” She flexes muscles that she doesn’t have. “Grrr …”
“Oh, boy,” I say, stepping back. “Those are some big muscles.”
She drops her arms. “I know.”
“I know it’s a good thing this is washable because you’re a mess,” I tell her, poking at a glob of green paint in her bangs.
“I’m a mess, I’m a mess, I’m a mess,” she sings, bouncing around her chair. “Can I do another one?”
I grab another piece of printer paper and set it in front of her. And, because I’m a quick learner, I attach two pieces of tape to it and secure the paper to the table.
“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” I say.
I head to the sink and rinse my hands. She sings what I suspect is a cartoon theme song as I pluck a couple of sections of paper towels off the roll. My phone rings on the counter, and I see Libby’s name on the screen.
I press the green button. “Hello?”
“Hey, you.”
Her voice is thick with exhaustion and sounds like she’s been crying. I’m sure she has. I was just hoping that she was in a different, maybe easier, phase of grief by now.
“How are you doing?” I ask her.
She laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “I’m alive. Does that count for anything?”
“Sure does. Some days that’s a victory in and of itself,” I say, watching Rosie nearly tip over a jar of pink paint.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you. Between calls with my attorney, messages from Ted asking that we handle this civilly,” she says, mocking his tone, “crying fits, and the standing date I have with cinnamon rolls from the bakery on the corner from eight to ten every morning—I’ve been a little busy.”
“Well, I have intentionally not called you because I wanted to give you some space. I figured your hands were full, and you would call me if you needed me. I hope you enjoyed my encouraging texts.”
She laughs. This time, it’s a little livelier. “I considered mailing a box of spiders to her house after your suggestion the other night, but my attorney wasn’t a fan.”
“I didn’t know you were running my ideas of revenge through your attorney. That takes the fun out of it.”
She snorts.
I open the fridge and take out a roast that Siggy brought or had delivered when they were here last weekend. I spent all morning looking up recipes to use this hunk of meat and finally found one that feels doable. I also find it convenient that Siggy bought everything I needed to fix it.
I grin as I think of Boone’s mother. I’ve never known anyone like her.
“What does your attorney say—besides the spiders?” I ask, grabbing the carrots and celery out of the fridge too. “Surely, you’ll be set up, considering he’s the one who screwed up.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I contemplate how happy I am that I haven’t seen Ted around since the news of the affair. Or maybe he’s lucky that I haven’t seen him. According to Chuck, I have a violent streak. I personally think it’s just called low tolerance for assholes, and Ted is definitely one of those.
I glance at Rosie to see if she’s listening. She’s not.
“He promises me I will be. They call him the Rottweiler or kingpin or bulldog or some kind of aggressive name. He says he’s going after Ted’s balls.”
“Take a finger or two for good measure,” I say, finding the bag of potatoes I saw earlier today.
“I wonder if Ted ever went back home,” she says. “I have a suspicion that Kimmy was meeting him in California, but that’s just a hunch.”
I rifle through the kitchen drawers until I find a paring knife. “I think you might be right. We haven’t seen him at all. I snuck over there last night and grabbed more of your clothes and some of your nice pots and pans.”
“You’re the best.”
“I know.” I start peeling the potatoes. “I might’ve also added some Nair into a shampoo bottle by mistake. So if you’re ever back there, bring your own shampoo.”
“You did not!”
“Maybe.” I grin. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”
“That’s one way to look at it.” She blows out a breath. “So, enough about me and my misfortunes. What’s going on with you? Where are you? Do you forgive me for being a shitty friend and cousin lately?”
“You’re not a shitty anything. You’re a little preoccupied.”
“You can say that again.”
I glance at the table. Rosie seems perfectly happy with her finger paints, so I leave her be.
“I’m kind of glad you called because my life has taken a series of interesting turns, and I feel bad for not having told you.” I set a potato aside and grab another. “I didn’t want to burden you with my bullshit while you’re in the middle of a pile of your own.”
I cringe and look up to see if Rosie heard me curse. She seems oblivious.
I’m going to have to start watching myself.
“What’s happening, Jaxi?” Libby asks.
“Well, it turns out,” I say, turning away and lowering my voice so Rosie doesn’t overhear anything, “that Jeanette passed away.”
She gasps. “I’m so sorry. Oh, my gosh. You’ve been dealing with this and didn’t even call me?”
“Yes. It’s fine. You didn’t even know her—”
“But she’s your sister. I feel terrible.”
I roll the potato around on the counter. “I feel bad too. Apparently, she died of sepsis. I have a call in to her doctor to see if they’ll tell me anything else, but I don’t think they will with all of the healthcare laws and things.”
“This must be really hard for you.”
“It’s not a walk in the park, but I haven’t talked to her in ten years. It’s sad, and I wish things were different—that we’d had a chance to catch up before she passed, but we didn’t. I can’t fix it. I have to let it go.”
“That’s really mature of you.”
“I kind of have some other things going on that I have to be mature about.”
I hover the knife over a potato and look up at Rosie. She's painting purple paint on her forearms. Stopping her now won’t made a difference, so I just ignore it for now.
“What's going on?” Libby asks.
“Nettie had a daughter. Rosie. She’s four.”
“Have you had a chance to meet her?”
“You could say that.” I toss the peeled potato aside and grab another one. “It turns out that my sister named me as the custodian of her child just before she passed away.”
Libby's gasp pretty much sums up the situation. “You’re in Hawaii, right? I’ve lost track of time. Do you have to fly back to the mainland now?”
“So, Hawaii is canceled,” I say with a laugh. “And I am trying to figure out what in the hell I'm going to do.”
“I... I don't even know how to say it right now. You have a kid? Are you kidding me right now because this is not funny.”
“I’m standing in Boone's kitchen peeling potatoes for dinner while Rosie paints on her stomach with purple fingerpaint.”
Libby laughs in disbelief. “So, what's your plan? I mean, do you have one? No judgment, ’cause clearly I don't have one either.”
“Heck if I know,” I say, moving on to the celery. “We're staying with Boone right now until I can figure it out.”
I can hear the pause—a pregnant moment of silence as Libby tries not to squeal in the phone.
“Should I read into that in t
he way that I want to read into that? Because you know I’m already shipping you together.”
I laugh. “You probably should not read into that but …”
“Okay. Keep going.”
I set the knife and potato on the countertop and look around the kitchen.
None of this feels real. It feels like I'm playing house—like I'm Cinderella and the part where she's the stepdaughter and the part where she's the princess are all sort of blended together in some weird collaboration.
The more I see of Boone, the more I like him. And I know if things were different, I would already have folded at the way he looks at me or the heat in the glimpse of a touch as we clean up the table or sort laundry.
But things are not different. I can't use Boone to escape a situation the way that I escaped my mom and Pete by leaving with Shawn. If I'm ever going to have something real with someone, it has to be right. And now, not just right for me but for Rosie too.
I sigh.
I remember what it was like when my mom left the guy she was with before Pete. That guy wasn't my dad, but he was the closest thing to one that Jeanette and I had, considering neither of our fathers was even in the picture. I remember vividly the pain of watching my mom choose Pete over her two daughters and thinking that Nettie and I weren't worthy of being chosen.
In second grade, my teacher asked me if I had any siblings. I said a sister, and her name was Jeanette Hannigan. The teacher looked at me and said, “What is your mother's last name?” And it occurred to me for the first time that my mother's last name was Randolph. Jeanette was Hannigan. I was the only Thorpe that I even knew.
I don't know what all Rosie has gone through in her life, but something tells me it's just as bad, if not worse, than what I went through. And come hell or high water, that’ll stop with me.
I'm going to give her the permanence that she deserves. Boone is great to her and with her, but he is not bound to her. If something would happen between him and me, and things go sideways, it’s not fair to have her positioned to get hurt by my mistakes.
“We'll see what happens,” I tell Libby. “After everything that's happened in the past few weeks to me, I'm a little leery of making definite plans.”
Reckless (The Mason Family Series Book 3) Page 14