We walk onto the floor.
He pulls me close. His arm wraps around my waist, his hand splaying warm and possessive over the small of my back. I rest my hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath the wool.
We move.
We are not the best dancers in the room. Jax leads with a bit too much force, and I am stiff. But we fit.
I look around the room. The chandeliers are sparkling. The elite of the city are watching.
I don't care.
I look at Jax. I look at the scar on his forehead from the crash. I look at the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me.
"What are you thinking, Chief?" Jax whispers.
"I am thinking," I say, leaning in to brush my lips against his ear, "that I have never liked the chaotic variable. But I am willing to make an exception."
Jax laughs. He spins me, a move that is entirely showy and ridiculous, and pulls me back into his chest.
"Merry Christmas, Max," he says.
"Merry Christmas, Jax."
We keep dancing. The music plays. The snow falls outside.
And for the first time in my life, everything is exactly where it is supposed to be.
Chapter 21
Vital Signs
Maxwell
January 1st is typically a day for resolutions.
People resolve to lose weight, to save money, to learn a language. They make promises to themselves that they will break by February.
I do not make resolutions. I make protocols.
And the protocol for Office 104 has been significantly revised.
I stand in the doorway of the office. The renovation of the East Wing is technically complete. My pristine, glass-walled suite on the top floor is ready for occupancy. It has a view of the skyline. It has silence. It has a private bathroom.
I turned it down.
"You’re staring again," a voice says from inside the room. "It’s creepy."
I step inside.
Jax is sitting at his desk. He is wearing his scrubs, but his left arm is in a sling to support his cracked ribs. He is technicallyon administrative duty for two more weeks, which means he is bored, dangerous, and eating corn chips out of sheer spite.
"I am inspecting the perimeter," I say, closing the door.
I walk to my desk. I placed my succulent there this morning. It sits next to my laptop, perfectly centred.
But then I look at the floor.
The blue tape line is gone.
