Page 20 of Golden Ruin

Figuratively.

I’ve spent the entire day with Jax, lying beside him in bed while he napped, sitting beside him on the floor while he played and read books, hovering nearby while he ate and bathed. But now that he’s fast asleep, there’s nothing left to distract me from everything spinning inside me.

I angrily brush a tear from my cheek, pissed at myself for caring about something as trivial as my hair as I search drawer after drawer for scissors. Then I remember Sterling saying this is Jax’s bathroom.

Of course there aren’t any scissors.

“Fuck.”

“Need something?”

I clutch my chest and suck in a breath when Sterling appears out of nowhere, standing in the doorway, the darkness of the hallway behind him. In a white wifebeater and sweats, the contrast of light and dark had my frantic mind considering for a split second that he was a ghost.

“Didn’t know you were still up,” I say softly as my heart continues to race behind my palm.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs. “Then, I heard you rummaging around in here and came to make sure you were good.”

I nod, staring at him like I’m still trying to make sure he’s real.

He smiles a little. “So… are you good?”

The question snaps me out of it, and I tear my eyes away from him, lowering them back to the open drawer I just searched.

“Yeah, I’m just… scissors,” I blurt out. “I was going to shower but figured I should cut my hair first. Guess I’m finally sick of smelling like a campfire.”

He smiles again. “I kid-proofed everything in here, so you won’t find any sharp objects. I’ve got a pair in mine, though. Come on.”

I blink more than what feels natural at the thought of entering his personal space. I’d already decided during the house tour that I’d steer clear of his private quarters, so he doesn’t feel crowded, but…

“You coming?”

He stares from the doorway with this expectant look in his eyes. Like he’s confused why I’m not already following him. Like I’m the only one who considers my being here an inconvenience.

“Yeah,” I say quietly, grabbing the comb and brush Mom stuffed into the side pocket of the duffle bag, and then I click the light off as I leave.

The house is almost completely dark aside from a few nightlights illuminating the hallway. For when Jax inevitably hops out of bed headed for the bathroom in the middle of the night, I’m guessing.

I’m reminded again how much thought and care went into making sure our son knows this is as much his home as it is Sterling’s.

We enter his bedroom, and I unintentionally make my steps quieter. Like I’m sneaking into some space I don’t really belong. As my steps pad across the carpet, following Sterling to his ensuite bathroom, I steal another look around, noticing things I hadn’t earlier. The size of his bed, how moonlight spills in through the wall of windows, the absence of a TV. It feels like him in here, and smells like him, too.

Clutching the comb and brush to my chest, my eyes slam shut when I realize I’m thinking too much. I force my eyes straight forward, focusing on his back instead.

Light fills the bathroom when he flips the switch, and I wasn’t expecting the space to be so large. Nearly mirroring the square footage of the massive bedroom we just passed through, the wall of windows continues into the bathroom. A long counter space stretches across marble tile that matches the pattern down in the foyer. Two sinks with gold fixtures are at either end with vanity space in the middle. On the other side of the room, a shower big enough to park a car inside it, and a giant tub with an array of gold circles scattered throughout the inside. Jets. Lots of them.

The decorators didn’t skimp in here just because it’s a bathroom. A beautiful, vintage-style rug sits in the middle of the room, warming the space despite its clean lines and pale color palette. A candelabra sits beside the bathtub, stacked with pillar candles that don’t appear to have ever been lit. Expensive-looking towels hang from the rack, and a collection of black and white paintings line an otherwise empty stretch of wall. The space somehow feels masculine and feminine at the same time, and I suppose that’s the point.

Because it was designed to suit Sterling and Tiffany.

I clear my throat–and my head–with the thought, letting my eyes settle on Sterling when he speaks.

“Have a seat,” he says, but I’m confused, which seems to be my default setting the past twenty-four hours.

I watch as he pulls out the gold and white stool from beneath the vanity, passing another expectant look my way. That’s when I realize this journey wasn’t just to find scissors. He intends to cut my hair himself.

“Sterling, I–”

“For fuck’s sake, Lex. Lighten up,” he says with a smile that reminds me of so many memories from the past.