Your Heart to Keep: Holly and Jax (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

Jax

“Where are you taking me, man?” I asked Micah as we rode in his beat up, black, Ford pickup truck.

“Can’t tell you but you’re gonna like it.”

“Last time you said that I ended up with a piece of metal through my tongue.”

“I wasn’t holding a gun to your head, if I remember.”

“When you’re under the influence of Jack Daniels, free will doesn’t come into play.”

Micah sniggered. “You were pretty shit-faced that night. I reckon if I had suggested a nipple or nose ring you would have gone along with it.”

“Yeah and then I would have had to beat the crap out of you the next morning.”

That got a roar from my sometimes, bad influence of a friend.

We turned a corner and pulled up out front of a small dodgy looking building with a neon sign flashing ‘Ink Now’.

“A tattoo joint?”

“Yep. You know you want to.” Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he was out the car and heading to the front door, leaving me shaking my head. Damn, this guy was introducing me to some new shit but I loved him to death so I got out and followed him in. With the mood I was in lately, I knew I was about to do something crazy. I’d stayed away from tats in the past. Not only had Chloe hated them but I put so much time and effort into keeping my body in tip top shape it seemed a waste to tarnish it with ink. I liked the clean look.

The bell above the door chimed as I entered, prompting a glance from Micah, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he talked to a fully inked giant behind the counter.

“Jax. Come and meet, Tank.”

Tank? Are you kidding me? Was it his real name or something he’d been given due to his size?

Holding a laugh in, I realized as I got closer that the guy was built like an army tank. I thought I was ripped. This guy had been lifting some serious weight and was bulging in places I didn’t know were possible. His thick neck held a round, gnarly face with a scar running down his left cheek. The light blue eye on the same side looked a little smaller than the other one as if whatever had injured his face had also marred his eye.

He looked me over and gave me a curt nod, turning his attention back to Micah so I decided to check out some of the images of his artwork lining the walls.

I had to say, the guy was talented. Some of the designs were so intricate and lifelike; they appeared to jump out at me. Not really my thing but if I was into the art, I could see why some might drool.

“Seen anything you like?” Micah asked, coming up behind me.

“Jesus bro. You know I don’t do tattoos. What gives?”

“Just trying to keep it real, Bud. Thought you might like to have a permanent reminder of Chloe on you. Something to keep forever. A name or symbol.”

Arrgh! And just like that, I knew I’d do it. “You really are a bad influence on me. You know that, don’t you?”

Micah slapped me on the back. “Aww, glad I can be of service. Tank, bring my good man, Jax here your book of smaller inks.”

***

After looking through way too many designs, I decided on a simple one. A knife with wings, stabbing into a heart. The symbolism was perfect. I was going to get it tattooed on my right bicep.

I was prepped and soon found myself sitting on a padded chair in a small back room, waiting for the pain I knew would come. In many ways I welcomed it. A distraction. Hurt that I was inflicting upon myself, not something that was beyond my control. Something I could focus on rather than avoid.

The image had been traced onto my arm first.

“You ready?” Big guy asked.

“Bring it!” I growled out, bracing myself for the first sting of the needle.

It wasn’t too bad, although in places, it was unusually tender and had me clenching my teeth. Tank was focused and obviously took his job very seriously. I found a spot on the ceiling and honed in on it.

I clung to the throbbing on my arm, blocking everything else out, welcoming the new sensation, following the path of pain in my head, imagining the image taking shape.

The machine Tank was using sounded like a dental drill so as well as the bite on my skin I was also immersing myself in the buzz from the iron.

Micah was out in the waiting room searching for his own design. He’d made a deal that if I went ahead with it, so would he. We were brothers. In it together. That’s one thing I knew for sure about him. If he said he was going to do something, he followed through. Always.

In two hours I was done. Tank gave me a mirror so I could see the finished product better. The skin around it was bright red but the ink was awesome! I loved it. I couldn’t contain my grin which I realized was only one of two that had broken my somber face since before the accident.

Tank then applied some healing cream and a thin film of plastic to help keep it sterile.

I thanked him and handed him my cash before heading out to Micah.

“Oh man! That looks frigging awesome!” He drooled, inspecting it closely. “How does it feel?”
“Tender but not as painful as I imagined. All good. How about you? What’s the verdict on your design?”

Micah had opted for a serpent on his left shoulder blade. I knew that was going to take a while so I decided I needed to do something.

“Hey buddy. Can I borrow your wheels for a bit?”

He dug his keys out and threw them at me. “Sure. Where are you going?”

“Thought I’d stop by the shop and see what the damage was to the Mustang.”

“You sure you don’t want to wait and I’ll go with you?”

“Nah. I think I actually need to do this alone.”

Micah turned and walked into the back room with Tank before calling out, “Just bring back my truck in one piece.”

Yeah. That would be a running joke now wouldn’t it? I didn’t let on that the remark pissed me off but instead I shoved out the door to see what sort of a mess my car was in.

***

Parking out front of the mechanics shop I saw her, stationed outside in the lot in the same condition she’d been found, waiting on further instruction. She was a fucking mess! Slipping a beanie over my head and shouldering through the icy wind that ripped through the lot, I approached my wreck of a car. The roof was bent inwards, courtesy of the numerous rolls she’d taken and the right side was unrecognizable rubble. Both front wheels were warped, windows and lights smashed.

Haunted memories stirred as I neared, wondering just how the hell I’d made it out in one piece. The car was totaled. There would be no point repairing her and now that I was standing within three feet of her, I don’t think I wanted her back.

Stooping down to peer in, my hands tightened in the pockets of my hoodie as I got an eyeful of the interior. The crushed, miniscule space we had hung from didn’t look big enough for two adults as my eyes darted about not really wanting to focus on any one thing for too long until a black object grabbed my attention. The oxygen was sucked out of my lungs as the universe imploded to that one point. That one item lodged between the passenger seat and the center console. Chloe’s converse sneaker. It must have come off while her body was thrashing around as we’d rolled. My brain was swamped with the image of her getting dressed that fateful day in the bedroom we’d shared at her parent’s house.

She’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, tying up the laces on those damn sneakers as I’d crawled up behind her and started tickling her. That was her one weakness. She hated being tickled but I used to do it anyway just to hear her laugh and squeal and jiggle about, begging me to stop. Somehow that day it had ended up with me on top of her on the bed, both her small hands in one of mine above her head in what started out as benign fun and had ended up in frenzied sex, all the while her parents had been downstairs going about their day, none-the-wiser. The pair of converse sneakers that she had been attempting to put on earlier had ended up being kicked off and thrown across the room.

“Can I help you?”

Spiraling back to the cold, yard I spun around to face a man that must have come out of the office. Fiftyish, greying hair and beard, hard face.

“This is my car. I was just stopping by to see how much damage had been done.”

“If you ask me, I’d be sending her to the scrap heap. Damn shame though ‘cause’ she’s a fine ride that one. Gonna take a lot of time and money to bring her back to the way she was.”

Anyone with half a brain could see that it just wasn’t worth it to fix her up again. I’d already spent countless hours restoring her over the last couple of years; I really couldn’t go through it again. Besides, I’m sure the insurance company would write her off.

I knew what had to happen. “Do what you have to to get rid of her.”

“Smart choice. You may want to collect your belongings from inside the office. We found them in the trunk. We were just waiting on you to come down and collect them. Left a couple of messages on your cell but never heard back.”

That’s because I’d had the thing turned off since the crash. It was still switched off.

“Battery is flat and I’ve forgotten to charge it with everything that’s been going on.” I lied, following the guy into the small office attached to the workshop.

The desk was a dog’s breakfast, not only covered in paperwork but car parts as well. The air smelled of gasoline. A calendar with a picture of a nude women hung with pride on the wall at the back of the desk. The only thing covering her was a black g-string. Typical. Cars and women seemed to go together.

Sitting in a corner of the room were my black overnight bag and Chloe’s red trolley case. I stopped and stared, unable to press forward. Why the hell was it so hard to get my legs to move? My chest tightened. On the outside they were just bags but inside were items from our lives. Clothing we’d worn together, personal stuff, smells and scents that brought back so many memories.

I could feel the guy watching me, probably wondering why I was standing rock solid unable to move.

“You need a hand with those bags?”

“Uh, yeah. That would be great. Could you throw them in the back of my truck for me?” I grabbed my lower back. “Injuries from the accident.”

“Gotcha! No problem!” He came around from the desk and picked up the bags walking out with me to Micha’s pickup. I didn’t want to lay a frigging hand on those bags. Not Chloe’s anyway. Maybe I’d just throw hers in my closet until I was ready to deal with it. Out of sight out of mind.

Tearing away from the curb I drove back to the tattoo parlor to pick up Micah, hoping he was up for the gym, regardless of our fresh tattoos and scalding skin.  I decided today was the day I needed to kick some ass doing a workout. We could swing by my place, grab my gym gear and be out in a few minutes.

There were so many mixed sensations coursing through me that I knew the punching bag at moms just wasn’t going to cut it.

Chapter Thirteen

Holly

Flint called Ty with the information we had requested at two o’clock that same afternoon. Jaxon Reynolds. 1532 Tamarac Street, Denver, Colorado.

With the letter in an envelope and Jaxon’s name on the front, I couldn’t believe my brother had talked me in to delivering it by hand.

“It’s not far. It seems silly to mail it when it will only take a few minutes by car.”

“I don’t know about this, Ty. He’s going to know that it was hand-delivered because there is no postmark or stamp on the envelope. He’ll wonder how I got his address.”

“We’ll just tell him the truth and say we got his name from a media article and looked up the address in a street directory.”

“Oh God. I can’t believe I’m going to let you do this.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious as to where he lives. I know you won’t be able to see much when we get there Squirt, but for whatever reasons you have behind doing all this, I can tell it means something to you.”

“It does. Don’t ask why but it does.”

“Okay, then let’s grab your coat. It’s cold out.”

Ty went into my closet and pulled out my jacket, helping me into it before I picked up the letter off my bureau and headed out to dad’s car with him. My parents had gone out shopping in my mom’s car and were then going to dinner so they wouldn’t be home until later in the evening. I wasn’t going to tell them about the letter to Jax and I’d asked that Ty not mention it either. I don’t know why, but I didn’t want them to know yet. If I didn’t get any response to the letter, there would be nothing to tell. Although, I hoped with everything I had that he would at least give me the courtesy of a reply.

I was given a rundown of where we were going and when we reached Saint Charles Place Park, I was told we were close.

The car slowed down to a crawl when Ty let me know we were on Lafayette Street. My fingers were fidgety on my lap and my mouth had become dry. Slowly we turned left into another street and the car rolled to a stop.

“1532 Tamarac Street. This is it.”

“Tell me what it looks like.”

“A typical guy pad. Low-set. Older style. Brown brick on the bottom, beige color above that. Large tree out front. Concrete path running up to a step at the door. Average digs in an average neighborhood. Our man isn’t raking in the dough but at least he has his own place. Now, I’m just going to turn into the driveway. Doesn’t look like anyone’s home. No car out front.”

“Are you sure no one’s home? Is the front door shut?”

“Yeah Hols. Stop worrying. Where’s the letter?”

I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and handed it to him. As soon as it left my hands, I knew it was too late to take it back. What was done was done. He would find my letter along with his other mail when he returned home.

Suddenly I just wanted to leave before we were caught. What if one of the neighbors was looking out the window? They might take down the license plate and give it to Jax. Crap. Crap.

Ty was out the car and then back in before I could take another breath. “Told you I’d be fast.”

“Come on! Let’s just get out of here before someone sees us.”

“Sheesh! We’re not doing anything wrong. Just putting mail in the box. It’s not like we’re stealing anything.”

“I know. I’ll just feel better when we get home.”

There was no reason to be anxious. What was I worried about? Jax getting my letter and not responding? Or him receiving the letter and calling me to abuse me for getting in contact?

I didn’t know which would be worse. At least if he called me to yell at me, I’d hear the sound of his voice.

I seriously was beginning to lose it over the whole Jax issue. I needed to forget about him and get on with things.