Enzo, with his signature cocky smirk, adjusts his stance like he’s about to land a knockout punch. His dark hair falls over his eyes, and he brushes it back with an impatient flick. Jax, on the other hand, is surprisingly calm. His green eyes are steady, his posture relaxed, but there’s an undeniable edge of focus that reminds me of the way he looks on stage. His damp hair curls around his ears, and despite everything he’s been through, there’s a flicker of confidence in him.
“One, two, three!” they chant in unison, their hands moving in sync.
Rock. Paper. Scissors.
Jax throws paper. Enzo sticks with a solid fist.
“I win,” Jax says, grinning as if he’s just scored the winning point in a championship game. His voice is rough, but carries a soft undertone of triumph. He glances at me, his expression shifting into something more tender. “Looks like you’re stuck with me tonight, Lily.”
A warmth blooms in my chest at the way he says it—not cocky, not possessive, just gentle, eager, excited.
Enzo rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He leans back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Fine. You get her tonight. Just don’t make it awkward. I don’t want to have to deal with both of you tomorrow if Lily starts avoiding you again.”
“Me? Awkward? I would never do anything that would cause Lily to ignore me.” Jax raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence.
I laugh, shaking my head at their antics. They’re so different, yet somehow they balance each other perfectly. Watching them like this reminds me of their dynamic on stage—a little chaotic, but undeniably in sync.
As the banter fades, Alma’s words resurface in my mind.You have to figure out what you want, Lily. Don’t just go along for the ride.Being with all of them feels so natural, so effortless. Maybe that’s the answer—I don’t have to choose. Not yet. Hopefully not ever.
Jax stands and reaches out for my hand, his expression soft but hesitant. “Come on, Lily,” he says, his voice low. “Let’s go enjoy our night together. Alone,” he adds, throwing a smirk at Enzo.
I take his hand, the roughness of his calloused fingersgrazing against mine. His grip is firm but careful, and the warmth of his palm sends a shiver through me. My pulse quickens as I follow him down the hallway, leaving the others behind.
Enzo’s voice trails after us. “Don’t get too comfortable, Jax. It’s my night next.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jax mutters, but there’s laughter in his tone. He squeezes my hand lightly as we step into his room.
The scent of leather and faint cologne greets me—his scent. It’s comforting, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The room is simple but has a lived-in charm. A guitar leans against the wall, and the bed is rumpled, the sheets twisted from restless nights.
Jax sits on the edge of the bed and looks up at me, tension evident in his shoulders. I sit beside him, our knees brushing.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, brushing my fingers over his hand.
“Better,” he admits, though his voice is quiet. He runs a hand through his messy hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But I still feel like I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I cup his face, gently tilting his head so his eyes meet mine. “Jax, you need to forgive yourself.”
His green eyes soften, but doubt lingers in their depths. “What if I can’t?”
I shake my head firmly, my fingers brushing over his cheek. “Jax. You’re worth it. You always have been. I see that and I wish you could see it too.”
The vulnerability in his eyes is heartbreaking, but he leans in, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to my lips. It’s not rushed or desperate—just quiet, almost as if he’s afraid to ask for more.
He pulls back and stares into my eyes. “I am willing to try. To forgive myself. I just might need your help to remind me from time to time.”
I gently cup his cheek in my hand and nod. “I will remind you whenever you need it.”
I kiss him this time, letting the warmth between us build slowly. There’s something about the way Jax kisses—gentle yet full of longing, as if he’s trying to hold on to something fragile. His lips are warm and slightly chapped, but the tenderness behind them makes my heart ache in the best way.
When we finally pull back, our foreheads rest together, and his breath mingles with mine.
“Thank you, Lily,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.
“For what?” I ask, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his wrist.
“For being here. For believing in me.”
I smile softly, my heart swelling. “Always.”
