Page 35 of Jax & Knox

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then she takes a step closer. "I'm sorry," she says finally.

I look up at her, surprised. "For what?"

"For freaking out last night. For pushing you away."

"Before you say anything," I say, standing but keeping my distance, "I owe you an apology. I pushed when I should've listened. And when you asked me to leave, I made your fear about what I wanted. That wasn't fair."

She blinks, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I wanted the kiss," she admits, her voice breaking. "But then I got scared. And I didn't know how to⁠⁠—"

"You don't have to explain," I say gently. "You set a boundary. That's not something you need to apologize for."

She takes a shaky breath. "You've been nothing but kind to me, and I⁠⁠—"

"Ainsley." I take a step closer, but I don't reach for her. "You don't owe me anything. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Nothing."

She looks at me, her eyes searching mine.

"I just want you to know," I continue, "that Knox and I aren't going anywhere. We're not pushing. We're not demanding. We're just... here. If you need us. If you want us. But only if you want us."

She takes a shaky breath, and then, slowly, she reaches out and touches my arm.

It's hesitant. Tentative.

But it's her choice.

I cover her hand with mine, my touch gentle.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

"For being patient."

I smile. "We've got all the time in the world, Ainsley. There's no rush."

NINE

AINSLEY

The sound of hammering wakes me from a light nap.

For a moment, I lie there in the dim bedroom, disoriented, my heart racing the way it always does when I'm pulled from sleep too quickly. Then I remember where I am, at the cottage.

I exhale slowly and push myself up, wincing slightly at the lingering soreness in my ribs. It's better than it was a few days ago but I'm still tender in places. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, padding quietly to the window.

Outside, Jax and Knox are working on the porch.

I watch them for a moment, my hand resting against the window frame.

Jax is crouched near the steps, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat as he measures a piece of wood. Knox is standing a few feet away, holding a level against one of the porch railings, his brow furrowed in concentration.

They move with an easy rhythm, passing tools back and forth without needing to speak. It's clear they've done this a thousand times before, working together, anticipating each other's needs, perfectly in sync.

I don't know how long I stand there watching them.

Long enough that the tension in my shoulders starts to ease.