Forever Starts Tonight (Wilder Family #4)

Chapter 23

Jax

Margot: You’ve been awfully quiet.

Me: Always am, Margot. How’s Robby?

Margot: Misses you terribly. Did you get my email with the pictures?

Me: Haven’t checked my email since I got home. I’ll do it later, I promise.

Margot: It’s a Saturday, what else have you got to do?

Me: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Margot: Try me.

With a sigh, I leaned against the bench along the back wall of my small pole barn. The work bench in front of me was covered in spindles and stain samples. Set along the side was the large bottom piece, the edges sanded down to a rounded lip. Tacked up on the wall behind it was the simple sketch I’d started with, Ian’s scrawled notes in the margin almost completely illegible.

Me: Working on a project for a friend.

Margot: Suitably cryptic. You give the girl the letter yet? Living out your happily ever after?

Me: Were you always this nosy?

Margot: Yes. You were just too tired to notice. Come on, give an old lady something to be excited about. I might die tomorrow and then you’ll feel like shit.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, that hollow ache behind my sternum blossoming into something big and uncomfortable. I’d gotten used to it since I’d arrived home, almost able to ignore its presence, but it was screaming at me now.

Me: It’s complicated.

Margot: How?

Me: Came home. Found out she was pregnant. It’s mine. She had a boyfriend while I was gone, she just broke up with him and the one thing she needs from me is friendship. So.

Margot: My goodness. You’re joking, right?

Me: I am not. Got any parenting book recommendations because I finished the only one I have right now. Stayed up until 2am reading last night.

Margot: Did it make you feel better?

Me: Not even close. I feel like I’m going to throw up all the time.

Margot: Should I call you and be a kindly voice of reason right now?

Me: Please don’t. If you’re mean to me right now, I might cry.

Margot: When have I ever been mean a day in my life?

Me: Weren’t you the one who told me to quit my ‘whinging’ and pull my head out of my ass when I wanted to take a break on the second to last day?

Margot: Yes well, that was necessary. I find men respond much better to firm instruction.

Me: I’m not touching that statement.

Margot: I can send you some book ideas. Our neighbour just had a baby and she read everything. But Jax, it’s really quite simple. You feed it when it’s hungry, rock it when it cries, keep the nappy dry, and don’t drop it on its head. Even you can manage that.

Me: Your confidence in me is inspiring, thank you.

Margot: What are you going to do about the girl?

Me: Nothing. I won’t fuck this up by pushing her if it’s not want she wants.

Me: And don’t come at me with your kindly voice of reason right now about why I should take a chance. Respecting what she wants is the best way for me to handle this. The safest.

Margot: Safest for who?

Me: Margot.

Margot: All right, I’m done. I promise. Will you call me if you want to talk?

Me: Yeah.

Margot: No, you won’t, but I appreciate you saying so.

Margot: Robby and I would make excellent British grandparents, you know. Maybe we can come visit you someday, and you can show us your mountains over there.

After telling her I’d love that, I set my phone down and stared across the barn, the sound of birds filtering through all the noise in my head.

The safest for who?

A question I didn’t really want to answer.

You , a voice whispered in the back of my head. It’s safest for you.

Ignoring that, I stood back up and finished staining the finished spindles. Walking back to the house about an hour later, I pulled up my email and smiled as I scrolled through the pictures from Margot and Robby.

I hadn’t even been home for two weeks, and on a day like this, it felt like a fucking year. That was the best and worst thing about those kinds of experiences. The moment you remove yourself from your day-to-day life, the days stretch out longer and slower. I always felt like I could breathe differently the precise moment I got away. Think clearer. Center my thoughts.

Like Poppy and her lists.

Her thoughts and mine had always been on different trajectories. Mine were locked tight into avoidance of anything that could hurt, anything that could dig its claws into my life, any situation where I might do the hurting instead.

And hers … I had a feeling that Poppy’s thoughts, at least when it came to me, were aimed at something else. She’d made peace with them, almost like she considered her feelings for me as an extension of herself. When we were in the same ro om, she didn’t fight for my attention, she didn’t ever try to change my mind. Instead, she was keenly aware of what it was between us, and what it wasn’t.

I showered, trying to keep any thoughts of her out of my mind, to limited success. God, I couldn’t even think about her wrapping her injured wrist without getting half hard.

That’s how bad it was.

I’d probably see athletic tape and immediately get a boner because I’d think about the bones in her wrist, the graceful length of her fingers, the impossibly soft skin and the blue veins running underneath it when I wrapped her hand.

Bracing my hands on the shower wall, I let my head hang under the scaling hot water, viciously wrenching the handle to the right when those thoughts veered past her wrist.

No.

This wasn’t happening.

Because I was an adult, and adults had self-control and didn’t fucking jerk off to thoughts about their friend who was carrying their baby.

When the cold water did the trick, I hopped out of the shower, toweled off, and quickly dressed. By the time I was done, there were some texts from Margot—books her friend said I should read. I glanced at the clock and decided to head into town to get some groceries and stop at the library to look for the recommendations.

I decided to take the truck since I’d have food and books. I patted my bike seat when I passed it because it was a gorgeous day—perfect for a ride.

The library parking lot was quiet when I walked under the tall wood-arched entryway, and I was thankful for it. Just what I needed was some gossipy old lady seeing me check out a stack of parenting books.

At the front counter, a friendly-looking clerk in her mid-thirties asked if I needed any help, and I shook my head, content to wander the aisles rather than tell her what I was looking for. The first row I entered was the romance books, and I grimaced when she tilted her head out to the side to watch what I was doing.

A kiosk held a computer at the end of the row, and I pulled up Margot’s text, punching the computer keys with my pointer fingers until I could search for the first of the books. My mouth moved quietly when I found the location information, scanning the end caps to see where I needed to go next.

An elderly couple passed me at the end of the romance aisle, the wife’s arms stacked high with options.

She smiled at me. “Gotta stock up for the weekend, don’t we?”

Her husband patted her back. “Don’t think he’s getting the same books as you, sweetheart.”

The woman winked. “You never know. These young men nowadays are more in touch with their feelings.”

With her free hand, she patted my arm, and my lips edged up in an unwitting smile.

Wandering down the rows, I finally found the area I was looking for, crouching down to the bottom shelf where my finger traced along the spines. As I did, I felt someone’s gaze on me, and ignored it.

Just as I was about to pull the first book out, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, so I glanced over my shoulder at the front desk. The woman working was on the phone, her eyes trained on her computer screen. The elderly couple was out of sight.

Shaking my head, I exhaled quietly, and tipped the book off the shelf, flipping through the pages. There were diagrams, and I grimaced at some of the illustrations of childbirth. My eyes snagged on the words mucus plug , and I carefully set the book back on the shelf, deciding maybe this one wasn’t for me.

“What the fuck is a mucus plug?” I whispered.

What did it plug? Why would it fall out at some point ?

I probably didn’t want to know.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I glanced to the side again. Scanning the big room, I saw a mom with some young kids heading into the children’s area, two teenage girls sitting at a table in the middle of the room looking at a laptop, and then by the entrance near the community board, I saw her.

Her dress was bright green today, hair down around her shoulders, her eyes aimed right at me. When our gazes locked, Poppy’s dimple appeared with the easy curve of her lips. My throat went dry as she started walking over, and I stood slowly, making sure all the mucus plug books were safely out of view.

She reached the end of the row and leaned her shoulder against the bookshelf. “Weekend reading?” she said, nodding her chin at the section of pregnancy books.

My cheeks felt fucking hot, and I cleared my throat. “Just browsing.”

I snatched blindly in front of me and pulled something else off the shelf. When Poppy leaned forward to look at the cover, the scent of orange blossoms had my eyes falling shut.

No.

No .

No sniffing the hair of the friend carrying your baby. That was right underneath no jacking off in the shower to thoughts of her mouth on the list of things I definitely should not be doing.

“That’s the book you were looking for?” she asked, an innocent widening of her eyes. Curious, I looked down at the cover and clenched my jaw.

The Seed: Infertility is a Feminist Issue

When Poppy bit down on her bottom lip to stem her smile, I gave her a steady look, then gently pushed the book back into its place on the shelf.

“I mean, now I’m curious,” she said, tapping her finger along the spine. “Maybe I’ll try that one next. Will you let me know how it is? ”

In response, I cut her a dry look.

She laughed under her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Some people come to the library to get books,” I told her.

Poppy sighed. “Okay, smart-ass, don’t answer me then.”

We walked toward the entrance, and I kept my hands tucked behind my back. Between us, there was hardly any space, and the ends of her hair tickled along my upper arm. “What about you?”

“Some people come to the library to get books,” she answered smoothly, gently nudging me with her shoulder.

I sighed heavily, and Poppy laughed. The clerk at the front desk gave her a stern look, and Poppy whispered she was sorry.

The elderly couple from the romance section appeared around one of the front displays, and she leaned into her husband, whispering something into his ear when she caught sight of me and Poppy.

“The books were for her, then?” she asked.

My eyes cut over to Poppy, who stared back with raised eyebrows. “Uh, no. I didn’t … I wasn’t getting any.”

She must have sensed my discomfort, shifting her attention to Poppy as she stepped closer. “How far along are you, honey?”

“Just about eighteen weeks,” she said. “Starting to feel some kicks.”

The woman’s eyes bounced between Poppy and me. “Do you have any names picked out yet?”

The awkward pulse of silence was probably only noticeable to Poppy and me. I gave her a quick look, and she smiled. “Not yet.”

The husband puffed his chest out. “We waited until our kids were born. Got a look at their faces before we decided.”

His wife patted his arm. “Only one of the four stumped us. Took about twenty-four hours to pick that one. ”

After a little bit of small talk with Poppy, they smiled and continued their browsing. Following after Poppy, I found myself watching them walk away.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It must be you.”

“What?”

“No one ever stops me to chitchat.”

“Didn’t she talk to you earlier?” Poppy asked.

“Besides that one time, no one does that. It has to be you.”

She patted my shoulder. “That’s because you never smile at anyone, and you look sort of terrifying.”

“Do I,” I said dryly.

“Especially with the beard.” Her eyes widened when I arched one eyebrow. “It works, trust me. But you are sort of intimidating.”

I sighed. “That settles it. If it saves me from small talk, I’m never shaving this off.”

Poppy laughed, and it occurred to me that she thought I was joking.

“What were you doing here?” I asked her. “No books for you either.”

We stopped in the lobby, and she tilted her head toward the community board. “Greer told me I should look here.”

The board was filled with brightly colored advertisements and hand written notices with slits cut in the bottom for tear-away phone numbers. There were ads for everything—litters of puppies. Flower bulbs. Furniture and cars for sale. “What for?”

She tapped on a piece of neon pink paper marked with big black letters. “I’ve been looking for a place, actually.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

Poppy nodded. “My mom has a bunch of friends over this morning—a monthly brunch thing she’s doing with some women she met in her grief group. And I love it for her, but it’s a good reminder about why I want my own space, you know? I forgot they were coming over, so I walked downstairs today wearing only a sleep tank and no bra, and it was awkward .”

Don’t think about it.

Do not think about it, you asshole.

The night before, she’d had on a pale pink sleep tank, her baggy pajama pants hanging underneath her bump, a sliver of skin visible when she walked. The image of a sleep-rumpled Poppy in just that tank top would haunt the ever-living fuck out of me.

Bare legs. The curve of her ass peeking out from under the hem. What kind of panties would she be wearing? All I remembered was the tight, sleek length of her body under my hands and mouth in the dark of my room and fuck if I didn’t want to see her now too.

See her in the light.

Study every fucking inch.

Worship every fucking inch.

Memorize the changes, because God, my mouth was watering thinking about them.

My skin hummed, and I took a deep breath, keeping my eyes locked on that pink paper tacked to the board. It was a two bedroom home in a decent area of town, but the rent was astronomical. Her hand reached up to pluck one of the numbers off, and I smacked my hand down on the listing before she could grab one.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Do you mind?” I didn’t move, and Poppy’s head reared back slightly. “Jax, move your hand.”

“That’s a fucking rip off.”

“You haven’t even seen it, maybe it’s really nice.”

I spoke before thinking. “I have a better idea.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I swear, if you tell me that I should move in with you, I will punch you in the throat.”

A shocked exhale that was just short of a laugh escaped through my mouth, but Poppy didn’t so much as crack a smile. “I wasn’t going to,” I told her.

“Good. And don’t give me some giant lecture about why I shouldn’t move out because believe me, I’ve heard it all from my siblings, and I want my own space.” Her chin jutted up defiantly. “I have enough money to afford something nice, and I just want … I just want someplace I can call my own.” Her hand coasted over the front of her bump. “Now can you please move your hand?”

Slowly, I lowered my hand, keeping my eyes steady on hers. The idea took root quickly, and that ache under my sternum shifted into something else. Something good.

It wasn’t impulsive, and I could do this in a way where she still felt independent. Self-sufficient. Where I knew she’d be safe and taken care of.

“I have a better idea,” I repeated. “Will you come with me if I show you something?”

Poppy sucked in a sharp breath, her dark eyes flitting between mine like she couldn’t figure out my angle.

The white of her teeth bit down into her plush bottom lip. “What do you want to show me?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”

Her lips curled. “Ahh, we’re being mysterious again, are we?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like that, angel,” I said, immediately freezing at the way the nickname slipped out. Her mouth fell open, but she snapped it shut just as quickly. “Probably shouldn’t call you that anymore, should I?”

I wanted to, though.

The deep, rough quality to my voice had her swallowing, pulling her gaze away from mine momentarily.

When she looked up again, her eyes were clear and her cheeks flushed. “Well … why don’t you show me this better idea.”