Jax doesn’t say anything and I’m glad. He kisses the top of my head. Seconds turn into minutes with neither of us speaking, just basking in each other’s warmth. Eventually Jax ends the silence.
“I’m proud of you. You’re the strongest person I have ever known. You had your entire world turned upside down, everything was taken from you, but you didn’t give up. You—”
“I did give up.”
Jax turns my head so that I’m forced to look at him.
“No. You. Did. Not. Give. Up.” He says each word slowly. I manage to give a little nod because I don’t trust my voice.
“I’ve watched you for the past six years. You continued to fight even if you weren’t aware of it.”
I start to interrupt him, but he places a finger over my lips, silencing me.
“Every day you got up and went to school. You graduated top of the class and now you’re pursuing a career we both know you don’t really want. You’ve been through more than anyone should at such a young age, but you never gave up. I don’t want you feeling guilty because you think you haven’t been living. You have, just in your own way. You had to overcome everything going on in your head to fully come back to us . . . to me.”
I desperately want to kiss him, but I can’t. I know he believes every word he just said, and for some unknown reason, I believe it, too. I kept fighting . . . It just took me six years to realize what I was fighting for . . . I was fighting for me, for life.
“I don’t remember our sleepovers being so depressing,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
He forces out a laugh. “Yeah, because sneaking into your room against my best friend’s back was sunshine and daisies.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know,” he says with a sad smile before reaching over me to turn off my side lamp.
“You know, if you ever want to talk about that, I’m here,” I say into the darkness.
Jax’s body tenses. I immediately regret bringing up his past. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. I mentally curse myself.
“I don’t even know what to say.” Jax breaks though my internal rant.
“Whatever comes to you,” I say, repeating what Liv has told me several times.
I count to thirty. I’m positive that Jax is just going to change the subject or go to bed. This is untouched territory for us. We’ve never really spoken about all those nights long ago. It’s kind of like an unspoken promise to not mention it, even back when I was patching him up. I’m about to open my mouth to relieve the tension in the room when Jax finally speaks.
“Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Okay.
I will myself to stay perfectly still. He’s never once ever talked about what happened in his house. I don’t want to move or talk. Heck, I don’t even want to breathe in fear that Jax will snap out of it and shut down on me. That I’m used to. Jax is always shutting people out, especially me. Please, please open up.
Jax has stopped drawing patterns on my back, and instead squeezes me so tightly that I’m positive that I’ll have bruises by my ribs. I don’t care. If a few bruises is all it takes for Jax to open up to me, I’ll gladly show them off. Jaxon Chandler is about to confide in me.
I’ve counted to one hundred . . . twice. Still nothing. It’s time for me to push him like he has pushed me to do things I reluctant to do.
“Have you ever talked to Wyatt about it? Has he ever said sorry or anything?”
Even though I asked, I already know the answer. There’s no chance in hell that Wyatt has ever apologized. He isn’t sorry. I doubt that pathetic excuse of a man is sorry for anything.
“You already know the answer.”
“Enlighten me anyways.”
Jax doesn’t say anything at first. He squeezes me a little tighter to him, if that’s even possible. I suck in a breath to keep from wincing. It’s just a little pain. I remind myself that the pain is worth it.
Almost like he can read my mind, Jax releases his death grip. He still clings to me, but now I’m able to breathe normally without my ribs feeling like they’re going to burst into my lungs.
“Wyatt isn’t the kind of person to apologize.” Jax rakes his hand through his hair, a gesture I know all too well. “Besides, what would I ask him? Oh hey, Dad, remember when you used to beat the shit out of me? Do you ever regret it? Did you ever feel bad? Did you ever want to kill me, or did you just settle for beating the shit out of me until I begged for death so the pain would stop?”
Tears sting my eyes from hearing the truth in his words. I knew it was awful, I saw it. Heck, I even had to Google how to sew because he refused to go to the doctors for stitches. I just never imagined it was that bad. Which, of course, is stupid. I guess I didn’t want to believe it was that bad. I can’t comprehend how someone could torture their own kid. The only thing I’m sure of is that Wyatt Chandler shouldn’t be able to breathe. He shouldn’t be allowed to practice medicine, when he’s the reason why Jax would sneak into my bedroom at night. Wyatt is the perfect actor, pretending to have been the best role model for his soon. When you’re a renowned cardiovascular surgeon, nobody questions you.
“I hate him!” I finally manage to spit out.
“I wish I could say that . . . There was so many times that I’ve said that, I even believed it, but I realize that I can never hate him.”
“Even after everything he’s done to you?” My voice cracks.
“Even after everything, I can’t hate him.” He pauses to collect himself. “On some level, I understand why he did it.”
“What?” I roar, wishing that the light was on so I can see his face. The tears that I’ve been fighting to hold in silently roll down my face.
Jax not hating his father is one thing. I was okay with that. People have their own feelings. I mean, I hate the man enough for both of us so it’s fine. But to understand why Wyatt used Jax for his personal punching bag is not something I’m okay with . . . I’m not equipped to handle this.
Yeah, cause somebody deserves to get a glass vase thrown at him because there was water on the bathroom floor after his shower. Several pieces were embedded into his back since he was only wearing a towel when Wyatt came storming into his room that morning. Jax went the whole day with pieces of glass in his back because he couldn’t reach them himself.
One of the millions of memories that haunt me about Jax’s past comes rushing forward.
“Have you seen Jax?” Logan immediately asks me before I can shut the front door.
I drop my swim bag onto the floor, dread sinking in. Instantly I paste a fake smile on my face to hide my fear. “No. Wasn’t he at practice with you and Connor?”
“No, he didn’t show up for practice. Chris said that he left early, sometime during fifth period. Just got up and walked out of class.”
My earlier dread is nothing compared to what I’m feeling now. I saw him this morning when he came over to take us to school, but that was it. He didn’t even look up at me when I said good morning. I knew something was wrong then. I just didn’t know how to ask him if he was okay with everyone in the kitchen. So instead of talking to him, I watched while he ate my last yogurt. He barely joked about it too. I should have cornered him then and sought out answers.
My heart pounds loudly, my hands tremble, I need to tell my parents about Jax’s secret. If I do, I know Jax will find some way to deny everything. He won’t risk being taken away from his dad, from me. I’ve tried over and over again to make him see reason. I know our parents will take him in, but he won’t let me confide in them. Every day I live with the fear of his Dad going too far.