“Is that what your dad tells you when he donates money to the Flyers? That he hopes you’ll be excited? Grateful?”
She couldn’t have twisted a knife into his gut any deeper if she’d had a real one.
“Jax, I know you have a good heart,” she said with a sniffle. “But this was . . . out of line. And the fact that I have to point it out is broken. It makes me wonder what else might be broken between us. I told myself I’d never date a man who didn’t treat me as a person with my own opinions.”
Jax wiped a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
She was reaching for the door handle, though.
“Wait, Meghan, please, let me explain.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I can guess what you’ll say, and things will be fine for a while. Then something will come up later on, and you’ll do the same thing again.” The door was open now.
He reached for her arm. “Meg.”
“I’m not cut out for this,” she said, her voice stronger now. “I can’t wait around for you to break my heart twice.” She shut the door without giving him a chance to counter her words.
He was out of the truck in a flash. “Meghan, let’s talk. Please.” He trudged after her, but somehow she was on the porch lightning quick, then inside the house before he reached the first step.
Jax stood on the porch for a long moment. A couple of lights were on inside the house, but there were no sounds. And he was pretty sure she wouldn’t answer if he knocked. Besides, he didn’t want to upset her grandma.
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, not even noticing the cold chilling him. I’m sorry. Please call me.
He waited several moments on the porch until the cold drove him off, back through the falling snow, and into his truck.
The drive back to his place was slow because of the weather and agonizing because of the pain he’d heard in Meg’s tone. He could only hope that she’d call him later. Let him explain. Although what she’d said about him acting like his dad was hitting him in an uncomfortable place.
What had his motivations been? To help out the woman he was falling in love with. Was probably already in love with, if he were to admit it. He didn’t want to see her hurt, he didn’t want her to have to give up her boutique, he wanted . . . her happy. And if he could be a part of that, then there’d be no question about the money.
Jax groaned.
Like father, like son.
Was it so terrible? To do something extravagant for someone you loved? Even if that person hadn’t asked for the help? Hadn’t wanted it?
He walked into his house. If someone could be happy tonight, it was Sheriff, so Jax gave him an extra treat. The dog didn’t complain. Then Jax went into his office. The photo album was still on the coffee table. The last time he’d been on the couch, Meg had snuggled up to him, and they’d shared some amazing kisses.
Well, everything about her was amazing, and he’d just screwed things up.
He sat on the couch and flipped through a few pages of the album. The smiling pictures brought back memories. Good memories. Some of which he’d been too much in his selfish head to be grateful for.
Then he called his mom. He was kind of surprised she answered, but she was back in Chicago, and since there was a whiteout storm, he assumed she wasn’t at some gala event or dinner party.
“Hi, Mom,” Jax said. “I need some advice.”
She listened as he poured out the whole story—well, most of it. Some of the more private stuff between him and Meg was edited out, but his mom had not been born yesterday.
When he finished, his mom said, “She was right, son. I’m sorry if that offends you, but she told you no up front, and you went behind her back.”
Jax bit back a curse. “Like Dad, is what you’re saying.”
His mom’s sigh was clear. “Your dad’s not perfect, and I’ll be the first to admit that we don’t always see eye to eye. But no, you’re not like him, Jackson. You’ve learned things the hard way, and you have a kind heart. Your dad is still . . . working on that.”
“But Meg sees me in the same light.”
“Give her some time,” his mom said. “I saw the two of you together, and I think you’re both made of stronger stuff. This is just a hiccup.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He hung up with his mom, and he could admit he did feel better, but not much. He looked at his messages. Nothing from Meg.
He was done talking. He’d probably say something to Rocco later, since he was the main friend who even knew half of what was going on.
Jax leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to see her face. Hold her hand. Beg her for forgiveness. Kiss away her tears.
But twelve hours later, at the airport, there was still no word from Meg. Should he call her grandma? No . . . that would be overdoing it.
“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Corbie said, slapping his shoulder before taking a seat next to him in the waiting area near the gate.
Jax shook his head and kept his gaze trained on some downloaded film of the Denver Chargers. He couldn’t force Meg to talk to him, so he might as well get ready for the game.
“What’s up, man?” Corbie said after a moment, when Jax didn’t answer.
“Not much,” Jax deadpanned.
“You’ve already seen those plays,” Corbie said. “If you don’t want to talk, fine, but I’m here if you need it.”
Jax sighed, then shut down his phone. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and stretched out his long legs. “Meg dumped me.”
Corbie chuckled, then his eyes widened. “Serious, dude?”
Jax scrubbed at his beard. “Looks like it. Total silence.”
“What’d ya do?”
“Screwed up, that’s what.”
Corbie huffed a breath. “Sorry. That’s sucks. Maybe you can send her flowers or something? I mean, I’ve done that a few times when I’m in a pickle with Jen.”
“Maybe.”
They sat for a few more minutes in silence as the airport chaos buzzed about them.
“Hey,” Jax said. “Does Jen like to shop, you know, for fancy stuff?”
Corbie turned his head to meet Jax’s gaze. “Is she a woman?”
Jax smirked. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Tell her about a cool boutique downtown, called Meg’s Loft. Tell her to check it out.”
Corbie held Jax’s gaze for a second, then said, “Okay, consider it done right now.” He pulled out his phone and sent a text right then and there.
“Thanks, man.”
Twelve more hours later, Jax had scored twice against the Denver Chargers, taken plenty of good-natured crap from the Dice man, and texted Meg three times.
Now, in his hotel room, he was alone again, with plenty of time to think. An email had come in earlier from his bank, telling him that a payment had been refunded to his account. He didn’t need to look at the amount to know it was the lease payment.
What was she going to do? Just let it fold? Give up the fight?
He checked the time. One in the morning Chicago time. He wasn’t ready to give up any fight. Not if it had to do with Meg. What if he called? Would she answer? Was her phone even on?
He pressed SEND on her number. It rang once, then abruptly shut off.
She’d essentially hung up on him.
Jax groaned and flopped back on his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he sure hoped his mom was right. But he didn’t know how he’d survive the wait.
“Meg, there’s a lady here asking for you,” Nashelle said.
Meg looked up from the desk she’d been sitting at in the back room, crunching numbers. The twenty-percent-off sale had done nicely over the past few days, but it was looking like she’d have to start liquidating right after New Year’s. And if that went well, she could keep the rest of the stock and convert to online sales.
Nashel
le had already been taking pictures for the website. It seemed that she had quite a few talents.
“Can you help her?” Meg asked. She wasn’t in the mood to be cheerful with customers who were bargain hunting.
“Um, I think you’ll want to speak with this one.”
Meg frowned.
“It’s his mom,” Nashelle said in a stage whisper.
Meg didn’t need any more clarification. His could only mean one person to Nashelle, who’d heard a very shortened and watered-down version of why she wasn’t seeing Jax Emerson anymore. It had been three days since she’d seen or spoken to Jax. She’d ignored his texts and calls, although it was probably the hardest thing she’d done in her life. There’d been nothing for about twenty-four hours now, and ironically, that also made her sad.
Meg smoothed back her hair and rose from the desk. “Okay, I’m coming.”
Nashelle delivered Meg a triumphant look, then sailed out of the office area. Moments later, Meg followed. Yep. Mrs. Emerson was at the front of the store, looking through a rack of blouses. Meg exhaled carefully and strode toward the woman.
“Hello, Mrs. Emerson,” Meg said, keeping her voice casual.
The woman turned, and Meg was struck by some of her features that reminded her of Jax. Meg ignored the ache in her heart.
“Call me Gina,” Mrs. Emerson said with a wave of her hand. “This clothing is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Gina picked up one of the blouses from the rack. “Do you have a medium in this?”
“All of our merchandise is on the floor.”
Putting back the blouse, Gina picked up another one and checked the size. “Perfect,” she murmured.
“Out shopping today?” Meg ventured.
“Actually,” Gina said, glancing over at Meg again, “I came to talk to you. But it seems I’m shopping as well.”
Meg laughed, although it came out a nervous sound.
“I’ll take this one.” Gina handed over the blouse.
“Okay, great,” Meg said. “Do you want to try it on?”
“No. I’d like to try on that dress, though.” She pointed a manicured nail to the silver dress on display. “Please tell me you have my size.”
“We do.” Meg moved to the rack near the front display and produced a size 8 and held it up.
“It’s breathtaking,” Gina said, grasping the hanger and holding it up.
“Our dressing rooms are in the back.”
Gina paused and looked past Meg. Then she refocused on Meg. “Can I ask you something?”
Meg felt heat prickle the back of her neck. “Sure.”
“Do you think you could ever forgive my son for what he did?”
Meg’s stomach dropped. “Uh, I think that’s a very personal question, and one I probably shouldn’t be discussing during work hours.” She was being pert, and probably rude, but she’d been blindsided.
“I agree that it’s personal to you,” Gina said in a lowered tone, although Nashelle was out of earshot at the register. “But it’s personal to me too. You see, Jax is my son, and he’s full of remorse. I’ve never seen him so dejected, so utterly crushed.”
Meg could only stare. Her throat felt like it was being squeezed raw.
“Oh, he won’t show it,” Gina continued, moving a half step closer. “He wouldn’t breathe a word, but a mother knows.”
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Meg finally said, her voice raspy.
“Relationships are complicated, I get it,” Gina continued. “More than most people will ever know. And yes, Jax overstepped his bounds. And perhaps it was like his father. And yes, the men in my family are the most stubborn men on the planet, but I believe Jax’s intentions were pure. He wanted to help the woman he loves, and he didn’t think through things clearly enough.”
“The woman he loves?” Meg repeated numbly.
Gina smiled—a smile that was more sad than anything. “Jax’s in love with you, Meg. I’m not telling you that to make you feel guilty or anything. I’m telling you because my son is a broken man, and only you can fix that.”
Meg stepped away. Tears stung her eyes. “What do I do?” she whispered.
“That’s up to you, dear,” she said. “Although tomorrow night is our annual holiday party at the Palace Hotel. Black tie. It’s also Jax’s birthday.” She held up the cocktail dress and looked at it in one of the wall mirrors. “You’re invited, and I hope you’ll consider coming.”
Meg blinked as Gina moved past her.
“Can I try this on?” Gina said to Nashelle.
Nashelle murmured her assent, but Meg didn’t turn around. She was rooted to the floor. Jax was in love with her? His mother had come to the shop to invite her to their holiday party? It was Jax’s birthday tomorrow?
Her mind churned with questions, doubts, incriminations, but mostly she ached for Jax.
If his pain was even half of her pain, then maybe . . .
“Oh, hi,” a young woman said.
Meg hadn’t even seen her come into the shop, hadn’t even heard the door chime. “I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and I heard you have a fabulous cocktail collection.”
“We d-do,” Meg said, stuttering over her words. She cast a glance at Nashelle, who shrugged from where she was straightening a rack. “What color are you thinking of?”
“That red one in the window is amazing.”
“Great,” Meg said.
While the young woman was trying on the red dress, Gina came out of the dressing room. “I’ll take it,” she said with a smile. “I hope you don’t mind, I took a selfie in the dressing room with it on and posted to my Instagram page.”
Meg tried not to let her mouth fall open. This woman had an Insta page?
“Thank you,” Nashelle said. “What’s your Insta? We’ll follow you.”
While Gina rattled off her Insta profile, Meg tried to breathe normally. She was probably only half coherent when saying goodbye to Jax’s mom. She had no time to say anything to Nashelle when the other woman came out of the dressing room.
“I love it,” she said. “My boyfriend’s going to kill me when he finds out how much this was. But he told me to come here, so it’s his fault.”
Nashelle smiled. “He’ll love it, and he won’t even ask how much it cost.”
“You don’t know Corbie,” the woman said. “I mean, he makes good money, but he’s still a tightwad.” She laughed. “I still love him.”
Corbie . . . Meg felt her face drain of color. Corbie was a really unusual name.
“Oh, you’re dating the hockey player?” Nashelle said.
The woman’s face flushed pink. “Yeah.”
“Good for you,” Nashelle said. “He can totally afford this dress, and if I were you, I’d get these earrings to go with it.”
The woman picked up the earrings and added them to her purchase. She and Nashelle shared a secret smile before the woman waltzed out of the store with her purchases.
“Well,” Meg said.
“Well,” Nashelle repeated. “Nice chat with Mrs. Emerson?”
“Interesting, to say the least.”
Nashelle gave her a coy smile. “I think you should go to the party. I mean, you don’t want to miss seeing Jax Emerson in a tux.”
“How did you know?”
“Mrs. Emerson was quite chatty.”
Before Meg could answer, the shop door opened again, and what looked to be a mother-daughter duo walked in. They, too, bought cocktail dresses, and the mother added another outfit on top of the purchases.
Meg never did return to her laptop, because they were busy the rest of the day. Everyone seemed to need their holiday dresses, and Nashelle had a ball upselling other items along with the dresses.
Going home that night, Meg felt exhilarated. No, she hadn’t decided if she’d go to the party the next night, but sales had been fantastic. If only she’d sold like that every day of the month, she wouldn’t be closing down. Regardless, it was wo
nderful to get rid of the inventory, as well as make some ladies very happy with their choices.
Her mind would not shut off, so she took a sleeping pill around midnight, which also meant she overslept. She got to the shop about ten minutes before opening and was shocked to see a group of ladies waiting on the sidewalk for it to open. Meg pulled around to the back parking lot and called Nashelle.
“Can you come in early?” Meg asked in a breathless voice. “We already have customers.”
“What? I’m on my way.”
Meg hurried to turn on lights and open up the shop. “Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies.”
They breezed in, all smiles and chatter, sorting through dresses. They seemed like a close group of friends. By the time Nashelle arrived, Meg had sold four dresses, and three other women had arrived.
Nashelle cheerfully showed ladies to the dressing room and rang up purchases. They had no break that morning, and by the afternoon, Meg was rearranging rounders and bringing out some stock she had already separated out for online orders.
They stayed open thirty minutes past closing time since they couldn’t shoo out the women who were lingering over their purchase decisions.
“Oh my gosh,” Nashelle said as they finally locked up the place.
“Wow.” Meg leaned against the front door. She was exhausted, in a good way.
Nashelle rubbed her hands together. “Did we set a record or what?”
“Definitely.” Meg straightened and headed to the register to pull the numbers for the day. Her eyes about popped out when she saw them.
“Holy . . .” Nashelle said, leaning over the counter to look. “That’s like four months of sales in one day.”
“Yeah.” Meg’s eyes misted. She laughed, feeling a bit hysterical.
“Did you see the follows on our Instagram account?” Nashelle said suddenly, looking up from her phone.
“No . . .” Meg stared at the number. “Seven hundred and five? How is that possible? We only had a hundred just a few days ago.”
Nashelle selected the tags and pulled up pictures from other accounts giving shoutouts to the boutique. “Amazing.” She clicked over to Gina Emerson’s account, where she’d posted the snapshot of herself in the dressing room in the silver dress, with the caption: What do you think, ladies? Pretty enough for my son’s birthday bash tomorrow? Found it at a hidden gem downtown called Meg’s Loft.
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