I stepped away from him, and he let me go.
I reached out and touched the spine of James Joyce’s tome. "She was braver than I. I'm the loud one. She was the brave one. Isn't that a thing? She died, and I'm still afraid of a door."
Jax put his hand over mine, on top of the book, held my hand on the spine of the book Maggie never finished.
Then he pulled me into his arms, and we stood in her room in the afternoon light, as I let myself cry.
After a while, I looked up at him. He wiped my tears that didn’t soak into his designer T-shirt with his hands.
"Thank you, Jax.”
He kissed my forehead and then my nose, and then brushed his lips against mine.
“No, darlin’ Dee, thankyoufor sharing Maggie with me.”
How does he always know the right thing to say?
“I cried all over you.” I rub my hand on his damp shit, wanting to change the topic.
“You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be sad. I know you think you have to be strong—and you can be, darlin’ Dee, for everyone, but with me, I want you to feel safe enough to be sad.”
I sniffled as fresh tears assailed me. His generosity, his ability to see within me despite my walls—all of it was a marvel, wasn’t it? A man walked into my pub and saw into my heart—a thing like must be a miracle.
“Sometimes it’s okay to be sad. Not working toward anything.” He wiped the fresh tears as they rolled down my cheeks. “Just sad.”
I looked at the photo on the dresser—the three of us on the cliffs, Maggie's arm around me. "She'dhave liked you." I let out a watery laugh. "She had terrible taste in television and excellent taste in people. She would have taken one look at you and decided immediately."
"Decided what?"
"That you were the real thing."
He was quiet for a moment and then he mused, “And you?"
I looked at him. His blue eyes were very steady and very serious, and I thought about all the ways I'd tried to outrun this particular moment.
"I'm working on it.”
He smiled—not the dimpled, wicked smile, but the other one, the one that I'd only recently learned existed, the one that told me he saw me. "That's more than enough, darlin' Dee." And then because Jax was who he was, he winked and added, “For now.”
We stayed in Maggie's room a little while longer, and when we left, I didn't close the door all the way behind me.
It felt like the right thing.
CHAPTER 17
Jax
The second I heard his smug, self-satisfied voice, my entire body tensed like a coiled spring. I hated the motherfucker for treating Dee the way he did, for being someone who Dee had once loved (yeah, so jealousy was a real thing for me when it came to Dee), and for being a generalarsehole.
“Well, well, well.” Cillian O’Farrell sauntered into the pub, dripping with arrogance. I had to grind my teeth to stop myself from snarling at him like I was a rabid dog.
I should’ve known the son of a bitch would come to gloat once he knew the county’s letter had been delivered.
“Isn’t this a cozy little gathering? What’s the matter, folks? Cat got your tongues?” Thefeckin’ gobshitewas crowing.
I glanced at Dee, who stood rigid behind the bar,her jaw set tight. Her expression didn’t waver, but I could see the fire in her eyes. She didn’t even look my way before snapping, “Get out, Cillian.”
It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
