“Jax is not like Cillian. I think you’d like him. Though he’s got as much money, if not more than that arsehole.”
I chuckled, imagining Maggie’s response.“He’s a twelve in the sack, and he’s rich. Lass, what the feck are you whining about?”
“He’s too charming for his own good, and you can’t really trust a man with dimples, can you?” I picked up a pebble and played with it. “He’s good, Maggie. Good in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. And he cares…about me.”
“So, what’s the problem, Dee?”
I bit my lip, staring down at the grass beneath my knees. “I’m scared that he’s going to break my heart because…I went ahead and fell the feck in love with him.”
The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves above me, and I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the cool air sting my cheeks.
“I thought the sex would be, you know, a tumble, and that’s that. Butit wasn’t. It was…you’re going to think I’m getting sappy in my old age, Maggie, but swear to God, it was almost reverent and intimate and….”
I plucked some fresh grass and rubbed it between my fingers.
“He sees me. When I’m sad or angry, he makes me laugh. When I need him not to fight my battles, he stays put but is right by my side in case I need him. He’s…Lord, Maggie, he’s what I’d want in a man if I could conjure him up.”
“So, I’ll ask again, what’s the problem, Dee?”
My throat tightened, and I swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that were already threatening to fall. “It’s easier to keep people out, isn’t it? To stay in control. Because when you let someone in, you lose that control. You open yourself up to being hurt and left behind. And I can’t….” My voice cracked, and I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to hold myself together.
“I can’t lose someone else.”
I smiled when I thought about how my sister would respond to my little pity party. “Stop it, Dee! Get your tits out, chin up, and grow some feckin’ balls.”
I looked up at the headstone again, my vision blurry with unshed tears.
“I miss you, Maggie. Every day. And I don’t know how to do this without you. I don’t know how to trust someone like Jax without waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
The wind brushed against my face, soft and cool, and I let out a shaky breath.
“I wish you were here,” I sobbed softly. “I wish youcould tell me what to do because I’m tired of thinking for myself.”
I fell silent, staring at the headstone and waiting for an answer that I knew wouldn’t come.
But somehow, just saying the words out loud helped.
The tightness in my chest eased a little, and the quiet felt less suffocating than it had when I’d first arrived.
I wiped at my cheeks, then stood up, and brushed the dirt off my knees.
“I should probably get back. The pub’s not going to run itself, now, is it?”
I hesitated, glancing back at the headstone one last time. “I’ll figure it out, Maggie. I’ll do you proud.”
I had no idea how just yet, but I had a feeling the answer lay in what Maggie always told me:“Run toward things, Dee, not away.”
CHAPTER 21
Jax
The thing about rich people is that they can’t resist talking about their money. It’s a reflex—drop a few names, toss out some numbers, and bask in being the loudest voice in the room.
And if there was one thing I’d learned from years orbiting the Charleston elite—sponsorship deals, celebrity events, over-the-top charity golf tournaments—it was this: the loudest voice always spills the beans.
Which is why I called Gilbert “Big Gil” Hampton.
“Jax, you son of a bitch!” came the booming voice on the other end of the line, loud enough to make me reduce the sound on my earbuds.
