Chapter 34: Twenty Three

10:36 AM My eyes dart to Xavier, I implore him with a glare that screams, 'shut up, shut up, shut up.' Please Xavier, don't wedge your foot any father in your mouth than it already is. I force a smile at Jackson. Now, more than ever, I want to go back to his beach house and forget that I exist. I want to crawl under the feather duvet with Jax, feel the breeze from the open window and smell the salt from the ocean while I bury myself inside the secure confines of his arms until I start feeling like a person again. I clear my throat. "You didn't miss much." Xavier's expression is completely deadpan. Jax removes one of the to-go cups and hands it to me before repeating this process for Xavier and himself. He sets the bag on the coffee table and flops down in the armchair, leaving me no choice but to sit myself down beside X. Xavier shuffles no more than a millimeter to the side so I make myself as small as I can, folding my legs to fit on my two thirds of a square of couch. He's not being super generous with the sofa real estate. Given the bomb he decided to explode ten seconds ago, it's fair to say he is being rather inconsiderate. Jackson leans forward and removes three styro-foam containers from the large paper bag. "Eggs, bacon, hash browns." I can smell the bacon and I can't tell if the way my stomach churns is a result of the scent or the hangover. Jackson continues, removing three plastic forks and napkins. He hands one to each of us, flips the lids to the containers open and sets them across the length of the coffee table. "Who needs plates? Dig in." He points to the container of bacon. "Look at that, it's like bacon floatation devices swimming in grease. You'll be cured before you know it… kind of." He grins at me. I take a piece of potato instead, while Xavier leans over and takes an obscene amount of hash browns on the end of his fork. The grease from the bacon literally drips off of the end and I have to cup my other hand underneath it to make sure the mess doesn't land on Xavier's carpet. Jackson starts in with the eggs. "You're quiet," he observes. I chew on the lukewarm bacon, clear my throat and say, "Cause I feel like I've been revived from the dead." He shrugs. "Fair enough." "Thanks for getting breakfast," X says. "No worries." Jackson's eyes settle on me. "Did you get to talk?" I almost choke on the bacon. "Yep." "Good," Jax says. "Eat up." Filling my face with food, even in my current state holds far more appeal that actually speaking at this point. I don't want to utter another word. Half an hour later, the only thing that remains from breakfast is the recycled oil the food was sitting in. Xavier finally gives up the couch space, standing to deposit the containers into the trash while Jax is leaning back against the armchair, his hands folded across his stomach and a contented look on his face. I almost feel bad for making him move. "Jax?" "Yeah?" "Can we go?" "Sure thing." He rises to his feet. "You want me to call a cab?" "Let's walk." "I can drive you," X offers. "Sure," Jackson says at the exact moment I say "no." He looks confused. "You don't want a ride?" I shake my head for a fraction of a second before it feels like it's going to come unglued from my shoulders. I need to think fast. "No. I think the walk will do me some good." Jax raises an eyebrow skeptically. "What Lola wants, Lola gets." He is at the door before I can blink. "See ya, Xavier. Thanks for taking care of her." X looks up from his task and nods. "Yeah, no problem." I look at Xavier and feel like I'm going to puke all over again. "Bye, X. Thank you for making sure I was okay." Xavier takes several bold steps until he's standing directly in front of me. His amber eyes are glazed with an eerie sadness. "You're welcome." He pulls out his phone and pretends to look at something, but I can see his fingers flying across the screen. My phone vibrates in my pocket. "Talk to you soon." "Yes." I shuffle as fast as I can out of Xavier's space and into Jackson's. He holds his hand out to me and as I lock my fingers with his, I know he is where I need to be. By the time we get back to the beach house, I'm not exactly feeling a hundred percent but I'm a far closer version of myself than I was that morning, and most definitely the night before it. I don't know if I can thank the fresh air or the greasy bacon, or Jax himself, but my headache is gone and my stomach is half as queasy as it was. Jackson unlocks the door. Home. "Jackson." "Yeah, Angel?" "I'm sorry for being such a jerk." He settles his hand on my shoulder. "Stop worrying about it. It's fine." "I was terrible." "You were drunk and belligerent. That doesn't make you a terrible person. There's a difference." "Why are you so quick to forgive me? Shouldn't you be even a little bit mad? I was such a bitch." "No," he says matter-of-factly. "No?" Jackson hikes up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the intricate clock tattoos. He points to one midway down his arm, just above the crease of his elbow. I squint and get a good look. "1:42 PM?" I ask. "1:42 PM.," he says. "The second I decided I was never going to stay mad at you for any amount of time." "What? Why?" He shakes his head, like he's trying to dislodge the memory inked on his skin. "Our first fight. It was stupid. Anger will consume you if you let it. There is no point to it. Why be mad? It festers like a sickness, Angel." He stops abruptly, as if he wants to say something else… something more important. There is more to his story. There is more to his statement than what he's letting on. I can feel it with every fiber in my body. The knots in my belly are back, the hairs on the back of my neck are standing tall. "Jax, what is it?" "What is what?" "There's something you're not telling me." "Not true," he says. "I'm simply telling you that I don't believe in grudges. Major ones, minor ones, no difference. Life is too short." "Why do you say that all the time?" "Because it's the truth. One minute you think you're invincible. The next minute you realize that you were wrong." "Why do you think that way?" "I just do," he says. "Always have." "Are you sure that's it? There isn't anything else?" "Sure, I'm sure. How ya feelin?" "I feel fine. Quit avoiding the topic." He avoids the topic. "Fine or good?" "Fine. Maybe a little better. Bordering on good. Jax, I'm serious." He smirks. "You're Lola." "You're scaring me." The grin on his face vanishes. "Don't be scared, Angel." "Tell me." "Tell you what?" "I feel like you're hiding something." Jackson takes both of my hands in his, before bringing each one to his mouth for a kiss. "I will tell you lots of things, Lola. I'll tell you that you're funny, you're smart, you're beautiful and that you're perfect." "Nothing bad happens, right? Nothing bad happens in our story?" I feel sick to my stomach. Sicker than any hangover, sicker than any time I've spent too long away from him. "Angel," he says, "something this amazing could never be bad. Now stop worrying." "I can't." I feel tears sting my eyes and I try so hard to fight them. Jackson's face falls. I blink and the tears come. Damn it. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his chest. "Please," he says. "Believe me. Our story hasn't ended, Lola. Right here, right now, with me. It's just beginning."