Only Rivals, page 20
I gasp when he maneuvers us so quickly that I’m unsure of how it happened. I’m on my back, the comfortable mattress adjusting to my body, and Jax stares down at me.
His face has relaxed, and he keeps firm eye contact with me as he runs his fingers down my arm. “I love you, Amelia.”
“And I love you, Jaxson.”
I don’t know where we’re going from here, but I know deep in my soul that this man loves me.
And tonight, we hand over everything we are to the other.
“We said the brewery was off-limits for sex,” I say, laughing as Jax kisses my neck.
“Hmm …” He circles his tongue around my earlobe, and I shiver. “Maybe we should revisit that little rule, huh?”
The thing about the whole office sex rule is that we’re not in the office together much. So, it’s been easy to keep that rule.
I’m perched on the edge of the desk, and Jax is settled between my legs. He shoves his hand beneath my dress and traces patterns on my bare thigh.
I buck my hips forward—a silent plea for more. “You might be right.”
He draws his head back, his eyes shooting to the door at the sound of knocks. The knocker doesn’t wait for a response, and the door flies open. Nolan appears in the doorway. Jax immediately removes his hand from under my dress and pulls it down.
“Oh no,” I squeak, my hand flying to my mouth as I keep my back to Nolan.
Nolan makes no comment about me being nearly being spread eagle on the desk, as if it’s not the most important subject on his mind, and he keeps peering over his shoulder.
“Nolan, get the fuck—” Jax starts to say.
“Boss, we have a problem,” Nolan rushes out.
“What the fuck?” Jax hisses, his head jerking back as two people appear behind Nolan.
I peek over my shoulder and gasp.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Amelia
Jax helps me off the desk.
Why now?
Out of all times.
I want the floor to swallow me whole as I shift to stare at two people I swore to hate until the day I died.
Two people I’ve never been formally introduced to or said a word to, but still, I despise them.
Sandra and Mick Ruins.
Christopher’s mother and stepfather.
This is my third time seeing Sandra in person. The first time was when Christopher and I were at the movies and the two were there. She called out his name, but he ignored them. The second was just his mother at his funeral. Mick didn’t show because he is the biggest piece of shit out of the two of them.
I want to scream at them to get out, but I’m struggling to find words.
This is bad.
Real bad.
The first people to see Jax and me in a compromising position are the last people I wanted to.
Sandra and Mick exchange looks at the sight of Jax and me—no doubt vicious wheels turning in their heads.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Mick says, slapping his thigh. “The best friend and fiancée?” He chomps on the toothpick in his mouth. “Now, that’s some messed up shit, and that’s saying a lot, coming from me.”
Sandra snickers.
Nolan shuffles to the corner of the room and shoves his hands into his pockets, watching the impending shitshow.
Mick motions toward Jax and me. “I bet you two were fuckin’ the entire time.” He bumps his shoulder against Sandra’s, and I swear to God, the demon laughs. “Probably why Chris killed himself.”
“Excuse me?” My heart sinks into my chest as I step around the desk and stare at them venomously.
Jax creeps to my side, as if he’s my bodyguard. “What in the living fuck are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what are we doing here?” Mick raises his arms in greeting. “We own half this place.”
“You don’t own shit, except a one-way ticket to hell.” Jax points to the doorway. “Now, leave.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Mick steps forward, his stature as if he really does own the place. “We talked to an attorney.” His teeth are smoke-stained when he grins from ear to ear. “That attorney told us that since Chris never married or had any dependents, his side of the business goes to us.”
Jax shakes his head. “Your attorney is wrong.”
“Chris owned half of this business.” Sandra inches forward to stand next to Mick. “That half is now ours.”
I always knew Sandra was a damn lunatic, but this confirms it.
This chick is batshit crazy.
“Christopher left his half to me,” I tell them, gnawing at my lower lip to stop myself from telling them how repulsive they are.
“You stupid lying bitch,” Mick shouts, staring at me with such anger that if Jax wasn’t next to me, I’d either prepare to run or kick him in the balls.
This man is a predator to his core.
This man is the one who physically, mentally, and emotionally abused Christopher—who not only left bruises on his body, but every inch of him inside as well.
He is the guiltiest culprit and one of the main reasons why Christopher took his life.
He did the most damage.
I keep my voice as strong as I can. “He did.” I straighten my shoulders, proud of myself for not giving away the nausea in my stomach. “I can email you the attorney’s information Christopher consulted for his will. Nothing is yours. Now, leave.”
Sandra cackles. “No way am I letting this whore have anything of my son’s.” Her bloodshot eyes skim over to Jax. “Look at her, spreading her legs for you now that Chris is gone.”
I dart my hand out to catch Jax’s arm when he advances toward the monsters in front of us. “Like I said, he had a will. It doesn’t matter how you feel.”
“A will can easily be forged,” Mick says. “Chris would never leave anything to a whore who is screwing his best friend.”
“Call her a whore again, and I’m breaking your jaw,” Jax hisses, his gaze pinned to Mick, and his arms are shaking in anger. “That’s my final warning.”
“Why are you defending her?” Sandra asks. “She’s the reason Chris is dead.”
I whimper, my knees buckling, and I’m relieved that I’m gripping Jax’s arm, or I’d no doubt collapse to the floor.
“Everyone says it,” Sandra goes on, smoothing her hand over her greasy hair. “Don’t they, Mick?”
Mick repeatedly nods. “Sure do. What kind of woman leaves a man for his business partner? Now, my wife is here suffering ’cause he killed himself over it. We want what’s ours.”
“That’s right,” Sandra sneers. “It’s all this rich bitch’s fault that my son hung himself.”
They’ve hit the last link of Jax’s patience, and my arm drops to my side as he advances toward them.
“It’s not her fault Chris is gone,” Jax screams, the walls shaking at his roar, and he thrusts his finger toward Sandra. “It’s yours.” His finger swings to Mick. “And yours.” His stance widens, covering more of my body, as if he’ll stop anyone who comes my way. “Amelia gave him a longer life, a happier life, but you two killed him. You ruined him from the goddamn start.” He jerks his arm out toward me. “Maybe if you loved your son the way Amelia did, he’d still be here. Now, leave because you don’t deserve one goddamn thing from him.”
Jax sticking up for me says so much.
He doesn’t blame me.
He needed a reason to hate me, to stay away from me.
“Leave,” Jax demands. “Or I’m calling the police to escort you out.”
I’m running low on breaths, my hands sliding up and down my arms, and Nolan joins my side, his arm wrapping around my shoulders.
“The cops are already on their way,” Toby says, joining us in the office.
I glare at Sandra when panic crosses her face. I’m sure it won’t be her first run-in with the police and certainly not the last either.
But how could she think she deserves anything from Christopher?
I don’t want the brewery for the money. It means so much more to me than that. Mick and Sandra only see it as dollar signs.
Christopher told me he hated his mother more times than I could count. He’d comment that he wished he had parents like mine, like Jax’s, and didn’t understand why God had destined him to them.
I take Sandra in, her skinny body and sagging face, and wonder how she could let someone hurt her child. I want to lunge at her, scratch her eyes out, and tell her she ruined him. They’re the ones who deserve to be dead. Not him.
And I thank God that, even for the short time he was here, he experienced love from me and my family, Jax and his family. It was probably the only love he’d ever felt in his life.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jax
There’s only been two times in my life when I’ve wanted to murder someone, and both times, Mick has been on the receiving end.
I’m shocked I didn’t punch Mick within the first five minutes he started spewing off lies and insulting Amelia. I held back for the sake of Amelia, so Mick couldn’t sue me, and because I didn’t want to look like a lunatic in front of my employees. I have so much pent-up aggression toward him that I’m not sure I could stop if the time came where I could finally get my hands on him.
Toby called the cops as soon as Mick and Sandra barreled into the brewery, stupidly assuming they owned the place, so the cops were pulling in at the same time Toby informed us of his call.
The two assholes in front of me don’t get the chance to scurry off like the cockroaches they are.
Mick’s and Sandra’s entire demeanors change when the cops walk in.
Considering they’re sketchy as fuck, that’s not a shocker.
From their weight and the sores on their faces, I’d guess they fight over who gets the last hit of meth on the regular.
Ava’s father, Gage, and my uncle Kyle are the officers who arrive. Uncle Kyle’s eyes narrow at Mick.
Sandra called the cops when my father beat the shit out of Mick, and it was Kyle who showed up. He didn’t arrest his brother-in-law, and when he asked why the children had bruises, they stopped their demands for my father to go to jail.
They agreed to leave with no hassle or running of the mouths, except for Mick throwing out, “You’ll be hearing from our lawyer.”
As if Amelia refused to allow them to see her cry, she bursts into tears as soon as they disappear from our view while Gage and Uncle Kyle walk them out. Her body shakes as I pull her to me and hold her to my chest. Anguish zips through me at her having to hear Mick’s and Sandra’s accusations.
I bow my head to kiss the top of hers, and as much as I want to shove the thoughts away, I remember every vile word that I spewed at her since Chris’s death. I’m no better than Sandra and Mick. How could I ever think I was any different? I’d given her the same shit they just did. I’d blamed her the same way they did.
We separate when my uncle and Gage return to finish the police report.
“I’ll take you home,” I say to her, and her, “Okay,” is hardly audible.
It’s in this moment I make the decision.
It’s time to read Chris’s letter.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Amelia
There’s never been a silence so loud as when Jax and I get into his truck. I rode with him to work today, so it is either he takes me home, I ask Kyle or Gage, or I call someone for a ride.
I’m glad it’s Jax because my heart sinks at the thought of being alone after Mick’s and Sandra’s insults.
How could they be so cruel?
Scratch that.
I shouldn’t be shocked.
They’re abusers.
I could hardly face Nolan and Toby when Jax told them he was taking me home and to call him if Mick and Sandra returned. By the worry in their eyes when the cops walked in, I have a feeling they’ll be more careful about their visits.
“Are you good to go home?” Jax asks. “I need to take care of a few things.”
I simply nod, despising his question in every way possible.
There’s a shift in him. It’s not my Jax who asked this.
I don’t remember the last time he didn’t just drive me straight to his home.
Even though he comforted me during my breakdown after Mick and Sandra left, he’s distant now. His eyes haven’t met mine. He’s hardly spoken a word.
“You’re not planning on doing anything dumb, are you?” I ask when he pulls in front of my townhome. It appears almost haunting since all I’ve done lately is grab clothes and scurry out.
“No,” he replies.
It’s like Mick and Sandra’s visit has Jax pushing me away, but I’m sure seeing them affected him, too. And I don’t look back as I walk into my house.
Want to know a way to make your head spin?
Pace your tiny box of a laundry room while waiting to see if the man you most definitely shouldn’t be falling in love with might be up to questionable activity. Jax had the look of a determined man when he dropped me off, so wherever he was going, he knew precisely what’d happen.
Two hours have passed since he dropped me off with a simple, “I’ll talk to you soon,” and a kiss to my forehead.
I pause my pacing when my phone vibrates in my hand, and I press my hand to my chest when I read Jax’s text.
Jax: I’m outside.
Good. I won’t need to go to the ATM for bail money.
I nearly trip as I rush to the front door and whip it open.
As per what seems to be usual with Jax, I find him standing in the doorway, heavy rain showering him. Water drips from his lips, from his arms, from his pants. His shoulders are slumped as he ignores the rain, allowing the thick droplets to pierce him, as if he’s accepting it as a punishment.
“Jesus, Jax,” I shriek. “Get in here.”
He doesn’t move.
Literally taking matters into my own hands, I capture his hand in mine. It’s freezing, almost numbing, and I easily tug him inside.
Jax kicks the door shut with the back of his sneaker and shakes his head, water flinging in every direction. I study him as he silently stands, drenched, in front of me. His tormented eyes meet mine, and all I see is pain in them.
He stares at me for what feels like forever, his gaze never tearing away from mine, as if he wants to prepare me for whatever torture is coming my way.
A shiver runs the length of my spine, and sheer panic shoots through me.
What happened in those couple of hours?
Did he hurt someone?
Did someone hurt him?
I’m afraid of his response, but I ask, “Jax, what’s going on?”
“He knew,” he screams, his voice as loud as the storm outside. “He fucking knew!”
“What?” I stammer.
“Chris knew about us.”
He rips something from his pocket, and I immediately recognize it.
Christopher’s letter.
“Read it.” He shoves the envelope in my direction, like it’ll catch fire if he holds it any longer. “Fucking read it, Amelia.”
There’s agony, pure suffering, on Jax’s face, and what’s in that letter terrifies me. Whatever is inside will destroy what’s left of me, and selfishly, I’m not willing to let it.
I’d rather sleep in my bedroom for the rest of eternity than read it.
I’ve witnessed Jax sulk, I saw him weep at Chris’s funeral, but I’ve never seen him this vulnerable.
“He knew about us.”
He desperately attempts to hand over the letter again, but I scramble back a step, holding my hand out to stop him.
I don’t take it.
I won’t take it.
He strides to me and pushes me against the wall, crowding into my space. Our noses brush against each other. Our mouths are so close that we’re inhaling each other’s sharp breaths. I quiver at his touch, tears falling down my cheeks, as Jax strokes my jaw. I shut my eyes, my heart slowing, and my shoulders relax.
I can’t lose him too.
Jax presses a gentle kiss to my lips, and I know this is his good-bye.
“We’re done, Amelia.”
I blink, processing the weight of his words, and he steps back.
“What?” A weak sob leaves me, and I grip his sleeve to stop him. “Why?”
He doesn’t have the balls to even look at me. “This was a mistake.”
“Mistake?” I shove his chest, and he backtracks closer to the door. “Why was it a mistake, Jaxson?”
“You want to know why?” His voice weakens. “Read the goddamn letter.”
“Jaxson,” I cry out.
“May we rot in this hell of guilt forever.”
He drops the letter, and it falls to the floor in what seems like slow motion.
My walls vibrate when he slams the door shut behind him, and my knees give out. I sink to the floor, cover my face with my hands, and scream.
I scream out my pain, wishing it’d make every inch of hurt stabbed inside of me break free.
What did I do wrong to deserve this?
I thought I was a good person. A good girlfriend. A good friend.
I do charity work. Pay my taxes on time. Have never broken one of those kindness chains through the coffee drive-through. Feed the freaking squirrels in my yard.
I’ve always strived to be a decent person, but it feels like I’m suffering worse than those who aren’t.
Putting every ounce of energy I have left inside me, which isn’t much, I use my foot to slide the letter to me. I blow out a series of breaths before opening it.
Christopher’s handwriting is sloppy, and some of the ink is smudged—although I’m not sure if it’s from him or from the paper getting wet from the rain.
* * *
Jax,
I want to start this letter by saying I’m sorry. I don’t know when you’ll read this, if you’ll ever read it, but everything I’m writing beyond this point won’t sound like the friend you’ve known for years.
