Somewhere further down the road.
???
Chapter Thirteen
Jax
Christmas Eve arrived in a rush of humidity and jet fuel from the airport tarmac. Aria’s private jet touched down just as the sun dipped low, turning the sky a bruised peach over Brisbane. The heat wrapped around them the second the cabin door opened—like stepping into a warm, sticky bath. Jax felt the familiar loosening in his shoulders the moment his feet hit Queensland soil.
Nan was waiting at the front doorstep in her favourite butter-yellow sundress, silver hair pinned in a loose knot, waving both arms like she was directing traffic. But as she stepped forward, Jax’s chest tightened. She looked… smaller. The dress hung looser on her frame than last year, the fabric pooling where it used to skim. Her cheekbones were sharper, wrists finer, collarbones more pronounced under the thin cotton. She’d lost weight—visible, unmistakable weight—and it hit him harder than any crash he’d walked away from.
She marched up anyway, grin splitting wide as she pulled Aria into a fierce hug. “Well, if it isn’t the superstar herself! I’ve been watching your music videos on that YouTube thing. You’ve got pipes, girl. And moves. Proper moves. Jaxon, you didn’t tell me she was this pretty in real life.”
Aria let out a surprised laugh, cheeks flushing pink. “Thank you. It’s really nice to meet you… um—”
The older woman laughed, warm and bright, and squeezed Aria’s shoulders before letting go. “Oh, you can call me Evelyn, love. Everyone does.”
Jax slung Aria’s small suitcase over his shoulder, forcing a grin while his eyes tracked Nan’s steps back toward the door—slower than he remembered, a slight hitch in her left knee. “Nan, meet Aria properly. Aria, this is the woman who raised me not to be a complete idiot.”
Nan swatted his arm—sharp, affectionate, but the swing lacked its old snap. “Barely succeeded. Come on, both of you. I’ve got pavlova in the fridge and lamb on the barbie. You must be starving after all that flying.”
The condo in Paddington had been his first real extravagance after that million-dollar Ashworth contract finally cleared. Two bedrooms, high ceilings, polished timber floors that caught the light like honey, a balcony with filtered ocean glimpses through the eucalypts, and a small courtyard pool that turned liquid gold in the late-afternoon sun. He’d driven Nan there the day the keys were handed over, half-expecting her to hand them right back.
“Too fancy for an old bird like me, Jaxon,” she’d said, standing in the empty living room with her arms crossed, eyeing the sleek kitchen and the view like they might demand something in return.
He’d just grinned and pressed the spare set into her palm. “It’s yours. End of discussion.”
She’d grumbled for weeks—called it “pretentious,” complained about the council rates eating her pension—but within a month the place had become hers. Floral curtains softened the windows, potted herbs and cherry tomatoes lined the patio railing, and every surface slowly filled with photos of him: karting at eight with a gap-toothed grin, first podium at sixteen drenched in champagne, helmet under his arm on the day he signed with Ashworth. A quiet shrine to the grandson who’d made it big enough to give her something back.
Inside smelled like rosemary, garlic, and the faint sweetness of baking meringue. Nan shooed them to the courtyard while she finished plating up. The pool lights were already on, turning the water a soft, inviting turquoise. Aria kicked off her sandals and sat on the edge, dipping her toes in.
“This is beautiful,” she said quietly, looking around at the potted frangipani, the fairy lights Nan had strung along the fence. “You really bought this for her?”
Jax sat beside her, legs in the water. “First thing I did when the money cleared. She’d given up everything for me after Mum and Dad. Figured she deserved something nice.”
Aria’s gaze softened. “She’s lucky to have you.”
He shrugged, but the words landed warm. Across the patio, Nan carried out the first plates—careful steps, tray balanced with both hands. Jax stood quickly to take it from her.
“Sit down, love,” she said, waving him off. “I’m not made of glass.”
He didn’t argue, but he watched her the whole time she moved between kitchen and table.
Dinner was on the patio table. Nan kept the stories coming between bites, voice bright, but Jax noticed the pauses—longer breaths, the way she set her fork down more often.
“From what I’ve heard,” she said at one point, pointing her fork at Jax while addressing Aria, “my grandson’s a bit of a Casanova. All those grid girls and sponsor parties in Europe. Monaco, Silverstone, the lot. But you know, he’s never brought a girl home before. Not once. I don’t even remember him having a proper girlfriend in high school. Just fast cars and that cheeky grin to get him out of trouble.”
Jax groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Nan, come on—”
“It’s true!” She turned to Aria with a conspiratorial wink. “Always charming his way through life. Teachers, mechanics, sponsors. Boy could talk his way out of a speeding ticket blindfolded. I used to say to him, ‘Jax, one day that smile’s going to get you in more trouble than it gets you out of.’”
Aria laughed—bright, unguarded—and Jax felt something loosen in his chest. “I can believe it,” she said, glancing at him sideways. “He’s very… persuasive.”
Nan cackled. “See? She’s already got your number.”
The first week slipped by in a slow, golden haze. Mornings started late—coffee by the pool, Nan in her wide-brimmed hat telling embarrassing stories from his childhood while Aria listened with wide eyes and a growing smile. Jax kept watching Nan: the way her hands trembled slightly pouring the milk, how she sat more than she stood, how the chair creaked when she eased into it. Every time he asked if she was alright, she’d wave it off.
“Just getting old, love,” she’d say, patting his hand. “Nothing new. Eat your brekkie before it gets cold.”
