The next two hours pass with glacial slowness. I shower, trying to wash away the phantom sensation of Jax's hands on my skin. Get dressed in fresh jeans and a sweater that's deliberately different from what I wore last night. Make more coffee I don't need. Check my phone every ten minutes to see if Jax has texted, even though I told myself I wouldn't be that person.
At six-forty-five, my phone finally vibrates. It’s a text from him:Did you sleep?
Me:No. You?
Jax:Not really. Kept replaying everything.
Me:Same. I'm going to Solange's for breakfast. Need to process with someone who isn't you.
Jax:That's probably smart. Can we talk later? Actually talk, not just text?
Me:Yes. After work? I'll be at the foundation until six.
Jax:I'll come by. We'll figure this out.
I stare at his message, trying to decode tone through text.Figure this outcould mean anything—establish boundaries, admit we want each other, decide this is too complicated and we need distance. The ambiguity makes my chest tight.
Solange's apartment is fifteen minutes from mine.
She opens the door wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. This is Solange in her natural state, before she puts on the armor of professionalism required for running the foundation with me.
"You look like hell," she says, pulling me into a hug that I didn't know I needed.
"Thanks. That's helpful."
"I'm not here to be helpful. I'm here to be honest." She guides me into her kitchen where she's already made coffee and set out fruit and pastries from the bakery three blocks away. "Sit. Eat. Tell me everything."
So I do. I tell her about Mira's call, about Jax coming over, about the kissing that escalated faster than either of us intended. About stopping before we crossed the final line, about the conversation afterward where we agreed to figure out if this is real.
Solange listens without interrupting, which is how I know she's taking this seriously. When I finish, she pours more coffee for both of us and sits across from me at her kitchen table.
"Okay," she says. "So you stopped. That's actually impressive given that you've been circling each other for weeks."
"Doesn't feel impressive. Feels like torture."
"Good torture or bad torture?" She's smiling now, the kind of smile that says she's on my side even when she's pushing me to think clearly.
"Both. All of it. I don't know anymore." I tear off a piece of croissant without eating it. "Solange, what if I'm wrong about him? What if this whole thing is just me mistaking surveillance for intimacy?"
"Then you'll figure that out and walk away. But Lana—" She leans forward, voice firm. "You've spent the last three weeks questioning everything about this. At some point you have to trust your own judgment. You stopped last night because you wanted to make sure this was real. That's healthy. That's you making good decisions."
The validation lands with unexpected force. I've been so busy analyzing every angle that I forgot to give myself credit for the boundaries I've actually maintained.
"So what do I do now?"
"You have the conversation you promised to have. You figure out what you want—not what's safe, not what's strategic, but what you actually want. Then you decide if Jax fits into that or not." She takes a bite of pastry and chews thoughtfully. "The legal threat is over. Ezra's done. That removes one massive source of external pressure. Now you get to figure out if what's between you and Jax survives without crisis."
My phone vibrates with a text from Jax:Trask was outside your building this morning. Left around 6 AM. I have photos if you want them.
I show Solange the message. Her expression shifts from supportive to concerned.
"Ezra dropped the will contest, but he didn't call off his dogs." She's already pulling out her own phone. "We need to deal with this differently now. Not through Jax's surveillance—through legal channels. Restraining order. Official documentation."
"Mira said we couldn't get a restraining order because Trask hasn't technically threatened me. He's just photographing in public spaces."
"Then we make it expensive for Ezra to keep funding him. I'll call Mira this morning, see what options we have for harassment charges or civil suits." Solange is already typing notes. "But Lana, you need to hear this—if you and Jax are going to be together, you can't be dependent on him for your safety. That's not sustainable. That's not healthy."
"So what am I supposed to do? Pretend the threats don't exist?"
