Forever Starts Tonight (Wilder Family #4)

Chapter 27

Jax

It didn’t take long, and the radioactive green was slowly covered, replaced by the deep, rich bluish green.

“I can reach the top of the wall if you’d let me get up on the ladder,” she huffed.

She had blue speckles on her arms, and a chunk of hair tipped in blue, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. She stood with arms crossed, eyes alight with stubborn heat.

“Not happening, angel,” I answered evenly, dipping my brush into the small container I had set on the top of the ladder, then angling the brush to cut in with one smooth line.

When she showed me she could manage it, she’d been rolling the walls with her good hand, coming behind me after I did the cutting in against the trim and ceilings. But she couldn’t reach the top third of the walls, so when she finished as much as possible, I’d set my trim brush down and come down the ladder, relieving her of the roller so I could finish the rest.

On one of those occasions, she’d left to get us some lunch and buy some staples for the house—cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and paper towels. I could hear her downstairs in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors as she made a dozen fucking lists about where she wanted to put things .

She worked on one of them while we sat on the floor of the bedroom and ate the subs she’d picked up in town.

“What about Holland?” she asked, wiping her thumb in the corner of her mouth.

I arched an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“As a name,” she said.

“That’s not a name, it’s a fucking country.”

“I think it’s cute,” she stated.

Setting my sub down, I motioned for the paper in her lap.

With a tiny eye roll, Poppy pushed the notebook in my direction. There was a girl column, in bright pink—Evelyn, Holland, Gemma, Cecily, and Rosie. My eyes snagged on the last name, thumb brushing over the letters, and my brain did that thing again, picturing a button nose and big brown eyes. Dimple in her cheek, just like her mom.

Thinking about a little girl named Rosie with those eyes and that smile, knowing how thoroughly I’d be tied in knots over her, a wild sort of emotion clawed up my throat, and I tried clearing it out. Tried and failed.

“Boys are on the other side,” she added. The weight of her gaze on my face made my skin feel hot, but I ignored it for the time being, turning the paper over to find a deep blue ink with another small list of names.

Isaiah, Miles, Lucas, Hayes, and Griffin.

My brow lowered.

“What?” she asked.

“Not Timothy, after your dad?”

Poppy closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall, and I saw how much effort it took for her to swallow. When she opened them again, her eyes were red and a little glossy. “I’m not sure I could handle a first name,” she admitted. “A middle name, maybe. Whenever I see his name on something, I feel a little pinch of sad in my heart. Something that’s just for him, you know? Like I want to protect that feeling as long as I can.” She sighed. “Grief is weird. Some days I can go hours without thinking about the fact that he’s gone. It wasn’t like that the first couple of months. It just changes one day, and you don’t even realize how it happened. It sneaks up so quietly, this invisible barrier that slowly stretches out the amount of time between those thoughts. And then you go, oh yeah, I’m still really sad about this.”

When the first tear slid down her face, I had to force myself to stay still because the urge to gather her up in my arms eclipsed my common sense in no more time than a heartbeat.

Poppy sniffed, using her lunch napkin to dab under her eyes. “Sorry. Sometimes I don’t know whether I should blame hormones or if it’s just … me.”

“Don’t apologize,” I told her, voice rough and heart raw. “You should miss him. I think any time we lose someone that important, missing them is what makes us know we’re not dead inside.” Invisible fingers strangled my throat, trying to keep those words down, and Poppy’s eyes glinted with instant curiosity. I kept talking because the last thing I wanted was more questions. “Not many people can put up with all the shit your siblings used to pull and still keep their head, but he was one of them.”

Poppy emitted a watery laugh, another tear escaping down her cheek. She didn’t wipe this one away.

I’d always admired her ability to feel out loud, the absolute fucking bravery that it took to wear her heart on her sleeve. Most people didn’t feel safe enough to do that, but Poppy did. In her grief, in her optimism, in the ownership of her flaws, even in her years of misguided feelings toward me, she showed a strength that ten of me wouldn’t have been able to master, and for once, because of her, I wanted to know what that felt like.

Do something.

Do something.

This wasn’t the same kind of restless energy that had me wanting to sprint and run and go somewhere to clear my head. It was something deeper, pulled from a vital place inside my head, urging me into action that might obliterate the firmly defined line she’d drawn.

It was a worthwhile risk because the thought of her being so sad was more than I could bear. Staring down at her, chest in knots, I moved my hand without permission and caught that tear with the edge of my thumb.

Her skin was so fucking soft, even damp from her tears, and I swallowed hard, cursing my own weakness. There was the slightest catch in her breath, and I ignored it as I pulled my hand back to the safety of my lap.

“There’s a lot of people in this world who aren’t worth your tears, angel, but your dad is one of them.”

In the delicate notch at the base of her throat, I could see the fluttering of her pulse.

When she moved one of her legs, Poppy’s notebook fell off her lap, the pencils hitting the floor, the melancholy mood efficiently snapped.

I blinked down at the ground, and Poppy seemed to be gathering herself as well.

Which was good because we needed to be … gathered.

My gaze lingered on her neat handwriting. The lists were such a fascinating glimpse inside her head, and I found myself wanting every single one.

“Good grief, Poppy, how much shit you got on that list?”

“A lot,” she sighed. “I just don’t want to forget anything. My brain is like a sieve these days.” She tilted the page toward me, and I tugged it closer, shaking my head at what I saw. “You should see my lists at work,” she added ruefully.

I took the last bite of my sandwich and stretched my legs out in front of me. “Pretty sure your job would be perfect punishment for someone like me.”

She laughed lightly, wadding up the paper from around her sub and mine, then shoving them in a bag for garbage. “I love it. Keeping track of all the little details is the thing I love most. I’m not like Greer or Ivy. I can’t come up with the big picture ideas and concepts like they do. But if someone gives me that idea? I can immediately figure out the hundreds of steps we need to get there.”

“That’s why you’re good at your job.”

Poppy’s cheeks flushed pink, that addicting soft wash of color that always gave away her embarrassment. Or pride. Or desire.

I wondered if she hated that she did it, hated that she couldn’t control it.

For someone like me, who needed clear signs of where her head was at, I loved that little tell. Loved it, even if it got my head in trouble, leading it down paths it really shouldn’t go.

How far did that blush travel down her body?

Clearing my throat, I yanked my thoughts somewhere safer.

“You glad you went to school instead of starting with Wilder Homes earlier?” I asked. Cameron and Greer had taken over the family business from their dad early. Cameron was twenty when he started moving into the general contractor position, easing some of the responsibilities from his dad. Greer worked as the head designer in tandem with getting her degree. Poppy was the only one who didn’t start with the company until after her degree was finished.

No matter how much I didn’t want to admit it, I’d been paying attention to her a lot longer than I realized.

She nodded. “I liked being in school. Liked learning. I didn’t really need the Master’s in Management, but I’m glad I have it now that I’ll be overseeing Wilder House too.” She leaned her head back on the bedroom door and sighed, her hand moving over her stomach again. “I can’t imagine ever working somewhere else, but it’s nice to know I have the education to back up what I’m doing, if I did.” I found myself fidgeting with a straw that went unused with our lunch, and her eyes lingered on the movement of my hands. “You glad you didn’t go to school?” she asked.

My answering nod was easy. “College wasn’t for me. Took one semester because Henry thought I should try.” I smiled a little, picturing the day I came back here and told him I was dropping out. He was so pissed. “Hell, if it hadn’t been for Cameron helping me, I probably wouldn’t have done as well in high school either. I can’t handle sitting anywhere too long. I’ll go crazy.”

She shifted, a slight wince on her face as she adjusted her growing body. “A trait this child has picked up.”

“Yeah?”

Poppy nodded. “They’ve been moving a lot today. This baby will grow up on jobsites, just like I did, won’t they?” She smiled. “In the back storage rooms of Wilder House, and knowing how to frame a house before they can drive. Isn’t that weird to think about? That’s how I was too, I guess.” She smiled. “I’ve never given much thought to what you were like when you were a kid. I bet you were serious back then too, in a little red house dreaming about a dark blue bedroom.” Poppy paused, her chin raising slightly as she searched my eyes. “What else did you dream about, I wonder.”

I took a deep breath, my gaze holding hers for a long beat. The space between us seemed to shrink with every second that neither one of us looked away.

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

I dropped my gaze. “Nothing.”

“Jax.”

For the rest of my life, I’d be able to conjure the memory of her saying my name in a variety of ways. It wouldn’t be a tangible memory, an action, or a specific moment. But the way she said it now—the clear want of something from me—would be my downfall.

Because I couldn’t say no. No matter what she asked of me .

Slowly, I stood and held out my hand to help her up. The confusion on her face was plain, and I let my fingers wrap around hers while I pulled her to standing.

She didn’t let go right away, and neither did I.

My eyes traced over the tiny blue speckles on her shoulders, and even though it was stupid and I fucking knew better, my thumb reached out to touch one on her jaw. Her eyes fluttered shut. “I was a serious kid,” I told her. “Sometimes I think the only way I’ve changed is that I’ve gotten bigger. Still don’t know what the hell I’m doing most days.”

Poppy’s eyes opened, and she licked her lips before speaking, like her mouth was dry. That flash of her pink tongue had my mouth dry too.

“That’s not true,” she said.

I sucked in a slow breath, the edge of my finger brushing over the impossibly soft curve of her chin. Her chest rose and fell on a choppy breath, but she didn’t pull away.

“Yeah it is,” I whispered. “You learned different lessons growing up than I did, angel. Yours were the good kind.”

I learned how to be alone. How to be self-sufficient. How to take up less space in whatever my relationships were because I was less likely to hurt someone. Learned what I didn’t want—that reckless chase for someone to fix everything that was wrong in my life.

But no matter how hard I pretended otherwise, no matter how much I didn’t want it to be true, she’d shown me that I wanted someone in my life to be mine. That I wanted someone to love and take care of.

Wanted someone sweet and warm and thoughtful and kind to fill up all those empty spaces in my life that I’d guarded with clenched fists and a closed-off heart.

And it wasn’t just someone. It wasn’t just want. I needed her .

We were so close. Poppy swayed toward me, and her fingers brushed along my side when she tried to brace herself.

The space between us was practically nothing, and when I dipped my head, I could drag the tip of my nose along the top of her hair. That sweet, intoxicating scent filled my lungs, and God, did I breathe it in.

Why was it that every time I got within arms reach of this girl, the air went thick with tension? Maybe that had been the key for years of safe interactions with Poppy Wilder—I never got close enough to know. Never got close enough to feel what it was like.

I wasn’t even sure how this happened, how that innocent conversation led us to this place. The only thing I knew for sure was that Poppy and I proved over and over that we didn’t know how to undo what we’d done. We didn’t know how to be in the same space without feeling this electric connection, this invisible, iron-clad link that neither of us could shake.

The only things that held us back were a rapidly fraying sense of honor because she’d never forgive herself if she crossed that line when she wasn’t ready to. And I’d never forgive myself if I was the reason she did.

I swallowed hard, lifting my head away from Poppy.

Poppy let out a shaky exhale, her hand dropping from my side. “I … I need to go,” she said, eyes on the floor as she backed away. “Can you, umm, finish painting while I run a couple of errands?”

My heart thundered erratically, but I nodded.

Before she left the room, she paused and finally dragged her eyes up to mine, and I wanted to scream at what I saw there.

Worry. And the slightest hint of regret.

“Poppy,” I started in a low, urgent voice. “Wait.”

She held up a hand, shaking her head almost immediately. “It was nothing. It was just?— ”

“It’s not nothing,” I interrupted hotly. “Don’t say it’s nothing.”

Her eyes were huge in her face, the color draining from her cheeks. The pink was gone in a heartbeat, and that pale version of her face hurt.

But instead of nodding, instead of conceding to this being something , she held my gaze. “It has to be.”