She didn't answer.
He knocked again, still taking pains to be quiet. He didn't know if there were other guests on this floor, and he knew Claire was sensitive about being seen with him on what was supposed to have been her wedding day.
He kind of hoped she'd crawled into bed and fallen asleep. It was late. She'd been drooping with exhaustion when they'd driven over in his truck. He figured the search for her missing groom could wait another day.
Of course, that was probably because he hoped she'd give up the search altogether. And decide she wanted to give him another chance.
He leaned against the door and let his head fall forward. Talk about messed up.
He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Claire he still had feelings for her. Sure, he'd had relationships since her, but nothing long-term. Her image had popped into his mind often, the memories of their time together both sweet and painful.
Seeing her again had brought everything into keen focus.
Those last weeks before he'd been drafted to the minors, Claire had been the one thing in his life that had made sense. The one bright light in a life that was as dark as midnight.
When he’d been drafted, he'd walked away from her, seeking an even brighter light. The lights of fame and fortune and success. But those lights were fickle. They came on, flicked out, and left him in more darkness than he’d ever known. Nothing had ever been able to replace the steady love he’d had with Claire.
And now, he'd promised he’d help her find Nick. Good 'ol Nick. The man she'd fallen in love with and still wanted.
Jax was an idiot.
But he couldn't leave now. He felt the door give and barely braced himself before it opened. Struggling to remain upright, he could only hope he didn't look too foolish as he came face-to-face with Claire.
She’d changed into slim jeans and a pale pink V-neck T-shirt. She'd donned a pair of brown cowboy boots. Were they the same ones that had made him notice her back on campus? Maybe.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the tip of her nose was pink, as if she'd lost control in the ten minutes he'd been downstairs, chatting with good 'ol Nick's brother. The guy couldn't say why Nick had bailed, but he'd given Jax a few ideas as to where to look for him.
"This can wait until tomorrow," he said quietly. "You need to get some sleep."
She smiled tightly—not a real smile at all. "I'm fine."
He should’ve stepped back as she crowded through the doorway to get to the hall.
She was the one who’d moved into his space. Maybe that was why he held his position.
But nothing could explain why he raised one hand and cupped her jaw.
She froze, raised wide eyes to his face as he swept his thumb across her cheek. They were only inches apart. He really wanted to close the scant space and kiss her. "You've been crying," he whispered.
That broke the spell.
She batted his hand away and side-stepped him, then closed the door with a snap. "I won't sleep anyway. Might as well track down Shelby."
The stairs and hallway below were empty, and when they were back outside, the night had cooled but not lost any of its humidity. Jax had forgotten how sticky Texas could be.
Claire was quiet as they drove across the Sawyer Creek bridge and into town again. At this rate, he'd have the entire town map memorized by morning.
Maybe it made him a jerk, but he hoped good 'ol Nick wasn't home. He hoped the guy was gone for good. And he hoped that, when she cooled off, Claire might let him pick up the pieces of her broken heart.
Not that he'd say that.
Maybe she could feel the intensity of his thoughts, because she was out of the truck before he'd shifted it into park. Halfway up the sidewalk before he'd gotten out of the truck himself.
She knocked as he came up behind her. She turned her head. "Maybe you should wait in the car."
Too late. The door was already opening. Probably whoever was in there had seen his headlights sweep across the front of the house when he'd turned in the drive.
He braced himself to come face-to-face with the man Claire claimed to be in love with, but it was a slight woman, maybe a few years younger than Claire, who stood there. Her face was blotchy, her hair hanging in her eyes.
"Shelby, is—?" Claire's question dropped off. "What happened?"
Jax was proud that Claire had it in her, after being jilted at the altar, to ask about the other woman.
Shelby waved off her concern. "Just a… a really bad wedding d-date." It might've been more convincing if her voice hadn’t wobbled.
"Aw, honey. Is there anything I can do?"
It was obvious Claire cared about Shelby, but the younger woman shook her head.
"Is your mom home?” Claire asked. “Is...is Nicholas here?"
Shelby shook her head to both. "I left Mom at the B&B, and she hasn't come home yet. I haven't seen Nick since last night."
Jax saw the droop of Claire's shoulders. She'd hoped the guy would be here.
For himself, Jax breathed a sigh of relief.
"Do you mind if I come in? If his suitcase is still here, maybe I could just... I don't know. I guess I'm hoping to find something that will make all of this make sense."
"Um..." Shelby said. "Okay, I guess."
Claire stepped forward and Shelby's glance finally encompassed Jax. For the first time, she seemed to realize Claire wasn't alone.
"Who's—?"
"Just a friend." Claire shot him a look over her shoulder. She didn't seem furious with him anymore. Only resigned. "He'll wait in the car."
Dismissed.
He wanted to be upset about it, but he couldn't forget the look on her face when she'd emerged from her room. Devastated.
He trudged to his truck to wait.
Claire didn't know what she hoped to find here. Nicholas had insisted on staying at his mother's house while the rest of the bridal party had been put up at the bed-and-breakfast.
She'd sometimes teased him that he was so tight he squeaked when he walked. She'd chalked up his desire to stay at his mom's as part of that side of his personality.
Had he been having second thoughts before they'd even booked the wedding venue?
It looked as if he'd slept on the couch last night. There was a pillow and blanket folded neatly at the end of the faded plaid monstrosity. A black garment bag that housed his tuxedo was draped over the back of the couch, zipped and pristine. Seeing it sent a pang through Claire.
His duffel bag was open on the glass-topped coffee table. A glance inside revealed perfectly ordered stacks of clothing, his socks rolled neatly on top.
What exactly had she thought she'd find by coming here? Some written list of reasons he'd decided to dump her on the day of their wedding? Or maybe a hand-drawn map with a bullseye showing where she could find him? Or, better yet, a pros-and-cons list of whether he should marry her. Pro… she’s already planned the whole shindig. Con… I don’t love her and never have.
She shook off the thought. Sank onto the couch, exhausted. Her hands covered her face, and she wanted to weep all over again.
What was the point? Even if she found Nicholas, and even if he did have a good excuse—she couldn't imagine one that was remotely good enough—it didn't mean she could ever trust him again.
Someone who truly loved her wouldn't have left her at the altar with a note.
What did that say about her, that she hadn't noticed her fiancé was unhappy? She'd been busy with the wedding preparations for months, plus checking in on her father, boxing up her entire apartment, saying goodbyes at her old job.
Still, she should've noticed.
She exhaled loudly, dropping her hands from her face.
Several magazines were spread across the coffee table. One was a sports magazine, and on the cover... Jax. She couldn't escape from him if she tried.
She'd been studiously ignoring the billboards that seemed to appear everywhere she looked, his face plastered every few miles for the entire state t
o see.
Quinn had been kind enough not to bring up the fact that her ex was coming back to Texas. Claire had just wanted to ignore it.
But... What was this magazine doing here? Had it been a coincidence that it was on Mrs. Caine's table? Maybe it belonged to Wilder. Claire glanced to see if there was a subscription address label on it. There wasn't. Which meant someone had bought it at a newsstand.
Did it belong to Nicholas?
She didn't like the direction her thoughts were going.
If this magazine belonged to Nicholas, did that mean he'd been thinking about Jax? Worrying about how she felt about him?
When she and Nicholas had gotten serious, she'd told him about her dating history, including Jax. Not all of it, but enough that he knew she'd been brokenhearted when Jax had walked away.
Had Nicholas worried because she hadn't brought up Jax's return? And if he had, why hadn't he just talked to her? She could've reassured him that Jax meant nothing to her.
Except...
Except.
When she'd seen Jax, she'd had an instant reaction. She'd thought it was anger—she'd slapped him!—but if she had truly been over him, would she have had reason to get so angry?
She stood, cutting off the train of her thoughts.
No. She didn't have feelings for Jax. Not any longer.
She walked through the house to the front door. "Shelby, I'm heading out!" she called.
Shelby returned an, "Okay!" from somewhere deeper in the house. There'd been obvious signs that the girl was upset, but she hadn't wanted to talk. Claire could only hope her outburst at the bed-and-breakfast hadn’t created bad press for the musician.
Claire got into Jax's truck.
He turned his head on the headrest. Looked at her. "Hey."
She told herself to shut the door and not look at him.
But her stomach had done a slow flip at the warmth in his tone.
She was immune to him.
Except she wasn't.
"You're wiped," he said.
She glanced at the clock on the dash. After midnight. The day from hell had officially ended, but nothing was resolved.
"You want me to drive you back to your dad's? If you crash for a few hours, we can be back at it fairly early."
"Yeah. That's a good idea." The last place she wanted to stay was at her dad's, but she needed to check on the dog, and she was exhausted.
What she really needed was to send Jax on his way. All he’d done was stir up things that were better left settled.
Chapter 4
Jax figured Claire would jump right out of the truck when he pulled into the drive at her dad's house. That's what she'd done when he'd pulled into Shelby's drive.
But she didn't.
One hand fisted on her jean-clad thigh, she stared out the window. Was she waiting for him to say something? Walk her inside?
"What was it like, living in New York?" she asked the window.
It was so unexpected that he sat there for long seconds, sure his ears were playing tricks on him. "My apartment was in Jersey. It was... different."
He turned the key, and the engine died, leaving them in silence interrupted only by the ticking of the cooling engine.
"Different how?"
Did she really care? He would hate to misuse this opportunity if she were open to having a real conversation with him.
You weren't there. He couldn't say that, so he said, "It was lonely at first. It took a while for me to make friends." Some of the players were so competitive—even against their teammates—that the locker room was often tense. "Some things didn't change. Workouts. Nutrition."
The biggest difference had been that he'd only had one job, instead of the three he'd carried during college. Pay wasn't great in the minor leagues, but it was better than what he'd had before. He'd made it work. The extra hours in his day had been put to use with more workout time, watching tapes, and pitching practice.
"I still remember the first game I played. The pitching coach told me to warm up, and I had to run for the bathroom." He'd gotten violently sick, nerves threatening to ruin his big chance. Thankfully, after he'd emptied the contents of his stomach, he'd been able to get into the rhythm of throwing pitches in the bullpen, and he'd been able to overcome the nerves.
Was she smiling? Without the dash lights illuminating the truck's interior, there was no reflection in the passenger window. And he had only the barest glimpse of the side of her mouth. He couldn't tell.
"Was it scary, moving up there when you didn't know anyone?"
"I don't know. Not really." There weren't many things scarier than being nine years old and not knowing where your next meal was coming from. Not knowing if your dad was coming home that night. Not knowing if you could trust the people who were supposed to help you—teachers, cops. After surviving the hole he'd crawled out of, not much scared him. He worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew. And it was finally paying off.
"Did you have any relationships? I'm sure a lot of girls chase after famous baseball players."
"I'm not famous."
Her head angled toward him, and there was no mistaking the roll of her eyes. She arched one brow, waiting.
"There were a couple of relationships. Nothing meaningful." There'd always been something missing. He'd attributed it to his busy schedule, or that it just wasn't the right fit.
But all along, he'd been missing Claire.
He turned the tables on her. "How long have you and Nick been together?"
She let her head fall against the seat back. "Two and a half years."
Ouch. She hadn't waited long after he'd left to date again.
"We got engaged four months ago. We were going to get married this Christmas, but when my dad got diagnosed, Nicholas agreed that we should move up the wedding."
"How'd you get back in touch with your dad?" Last Jax knew, she hadn't seen the guy since he'd walked out on her and her mom.
"Nicholas encouraged me to patch things up. Dad had been calling and leaving me messages saying he wanted to talk, and..." A pause, as if her mind had wandered off somewhere. "Nicholas said that holding onto bitterness would make me unhappy in the long run."
Yeah, but allowing someone back into your life who was Kryptonite could do major damage.
As if his own bitter thoughts had prompted the action from two hundred miles away, Jax's phone screen lit up with an incoming call. After midnight. Because his dad was considerate like that. What if Jax had been sleeping?
He sent the call to voicemail and flipped the phone over on the bench seat between them. He'd deal with his dad later. Or never.
"So Nick asked you to make up with your dad. And then he asked you to... quit your job and move back here?"
Her eyes narrowed, and he shrugged. "Your friend Wilder mentioned it."
Back at the B&B, Wilder had been a mix of impressed and suspicious. They'd only chatted for a few minutes, but Jax had latched onto the mention of Claire's job.
"It's a long commute to Austin," she said quietly. Almost as if she were repeating something that had been said to her.
"I liked my job at the Children's Hospital." She spoke with a note of defiance.
"I bet you were good at it." When they'd been together, it had been easy to imagine her as a pediatric nurse. She loved kids.
He'd also imagined the two of them having a houseful. Not that he'd know what to do with a kid. He'd had the worst example in the history of fatherhood. Still, with Claire, he’d had the nerve to dream.
Remembering that brought a flood of acid to his gut. He'd let it go—or he thought he had—when he'd left Claire behind.
The ache in his chest was the only thing he could blame for the next words out of his mouth. "Do you ever wonder? You know... what if?"
What if he'd chosen differently? What if he'd asked her to go with him?
She stared out the windshield, the blanket of stars visible above the roof of her dad's place. "No."
Her single word was a pitch straight to the ribcage. Made it hard to breathe.
Until he repeated it in his head and heard the slightest edge of uncertainty in her voice.
Claire woke disoriented, and she had a crick in her neck. Also, her entire left leg was asleep.
She shifted, and the man she was snuggled up to grunted in protest.
Wha—?
Oh. She was married to Nicholas, and they were on their honeymoon.
She pried open her eyes, blinking through the still-lingering disorientation.
The gray light of dawn seeped in through windows on all sides—because she wasn’t married to Nicholas, and she wasn’t on her honeymoon.
She'd fallen asleep in Jax's truck.
Real memories surged to the forefront of her brain, replacing her sleep-fogged dream-induced ones. Nicholas. Sawyer Creek. Jax.
With a gasp, she pushed off his chest, where she'd pillowed her head sometime in the night. His muscled arm fell away—he'd been holding her in his sleep—and he shifted, coming awake as he groaned and straightened in the driver's seat.
She hadn't meant to fall asleep in his truck at all. They'd started talking, and after things had gotten deeply serious, their conversation had turned lighter. And they'd kept talking... And that's all she remembered.
That didn't explain how she'd ended up in the middle of the bench seat, or why she'd been cozied up to her ex.
She rubbed both hands over her eyes. Tried to erase the images of his sleep-relaxed face.
She peered through her fingers to find his lips turned up in a lazy smile, his eyes soft. "Morning."
Shaken, she couldn't find words. And then, they came. "Did you do this on purpose?" She craned her neck to look down the street both ways. No traffic. She could be grateful for small favors, but that didn't mean… "Anyone who drove by could've seen us!"
Her words were too high, too filled with emotion. But she couldn't call them back.
His easy smile faded. "No one drove by."
"How do you know?" She'd been asleep. They both had. She couldn't be sure no one had seen them during the night.
Someone Old: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 1) Page 4
