Jax is asleep. He is sprawled out like a starfish, taking up ninety percent of the mattress. One of his heavy arms is thrown over my waist, pinning me to the bed. His face is pressed into the pillow, his dark curls a chaotic mess.
I watch him breathe. For a man who usually vibrates with kinetic energy, he is incredibly still.
I shift slightly, trying to free my arm.
Jax grumbles. His arm tightens around me, pulling me back against his chest.
"Don't move," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "It’s too early. The sun isn't even up."
"The sun is up," I whisper, though I make no real effort to escape. "And we have a shift in an hour."
"Call in sick," Jax suggests, nuzzling into the back of my neck. His stubble scratches my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold. "Tell Sterling you have... acute happiness. It’s fatal. You need bed rest."
I smile. I actually smile at the ceiling.
"Acute happiness is not a recognized diagnosis, Dr. O’Connell."
"It should be." He kisses my shoulder, lazy and warm. "Last night was... medically significant. I think we need to run more tests."
My face heats up. Last night was indeed significant. It was messy, uncoordinated at times, and overwhelmingly intense. It was the complete dismantling of the "Ice King."
"We have rounds," I say, regrettably being the responsible one. "And I need coffee. Real coffee. Not whatever sludge you brew in this apartment. But maybe we can run some more anatomy tests in the shower?”
Jax groans and releases me, perking up at the mention of a shared shower. "Fine. But we’re taking the Jeep. And we’re stopping for donuts."
The drive to the hospital is... domestic.
That is the only word for it. It is terrifyingly domestic.
I am sitting in the passenger seat of the mud-splattered Jeep, drinking coffee from a travel mug. AC/DC is playing low on the radio. Jax is driving with one hand on the wheel and theother resting on the centre console, his fingers lazily entangled with mine.
He is wearing a beanie and his leather jacket over his scrubs. He looks rugged and happy.
"So," Jax says, thumb rubbing over my knuckles. "Christmas Eve is tomorrow. You surviving the fallout from the dinner?"
"My mother has sent me three emails," I say. "The first was a list of etiquette coaches. The second was a threat to cut me out of the will. The third was just a sad emoji."
Jax laughs. "She’s persistent, I’ll give her that."
"She is a force of nature." I look at him. "Preston texted me, though. He asked if you were serious about the 'real cigarette' lesson."
"Kid’s alright," Jax says. "He just needs to rebel a little. Get it out of his system before he turns into... well, you."
I squeeze his hand. "Thank you. For that. For all of it."
Jax glances over at me. The traffic light turns red. He leans across the console and kisses me. It’s quick, sweet, and tastes like glazed donuts.
"Anytime, Princess," he whispers. "We make a good team."
For the first time in my life, I believe that. I believe I can have this. The careerandthe chaos. The precisionandthe mess.
We pull into the hospital parking lot. We park in the back, away from the reserved attending spots.
We walk toward the entrance. It’s cold, snowing lightly. Jax bumps his shoulder against mine. I bump back. We are laughing about something—I don't even remember what.
As we reach the employee entrance, I scan the perimeter. Habit.
No Sterling. No Board members. Just the morning shift tramping in, heads down against the cold.
