Page 36 of Masked Instincts

“My name is Naomi. Jax’s mother,” she introduces herself, and that’s when it clicks. She shouted at Jax that night he left.

“What are you doing here?” I question. My patience is growing thinner by the second. I haven’t had much since Jax walked out earlier tonight.

“Jax and I argued, but it threw him off the edge. He was stuck in his head before I left. So far into it, he hadn’t noticed I left,” she explains.

“So, what brings you to my doorstep?”

“You started the argument,” she sighs. My eyebrows raise with confusion at her admission.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think he should be around you,” she says bluntly. Huh, she really is Jax’s mother.

“Your wish may come true. He injured my friends, and I’m not sure how to look past that.”

“You make him happy,” she whispers, afraid to admit it. “Happier than I’ve seen my boy in his life.”

“So you want me to go console him for his sake and forget mine?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that selfish?”

“You don’t have kids. You wouldn’t understand it, but that’s what being a parent is.” Right. I'm not sure she knows much about being a parent if Jax was in prison for protecting them from his father, but whatever. Not my circus.

I stare at her. I wonder what it feels like to have a parent who seems to care enough, though. More than mine ever had. Part of me can’t help but wonder what had him spiral. What kind of state of mind must he be in to disassociate and not even know what’s going on around him?

“Fine. Let me change and grab a sweater,” I relent. Going to my bedroom, I change into jeans and grab a hoodie. I slip my socks and boots onto my feet and meet Naomi back by the door.

She walks me from my apartment to a small truck parked at the curb in front of my building.

I’m putting a lot of faith into this woman to get into a truck without knowing her. I can’t say I’d even get in a car if it were Jax who showed up to drag me out. Then again, he'd probably just shove me in the truck himself.

twenty-one

LUNA

Naomi drives me through town and to the outskirts. She turns onto a dark, gravel road surrounded by trees. At the end, an average-sized house comes into view. A small table next to a rocking chair is on the deck. The windows are dark, except one window with a light amber glow.

“The house is nice,” I murmur.

“Jax built it.” He had told me that, but I still couldn’t believe it.

“Even with the muscle and weight loss?” Naomi nods her head in answer.

“I know he’s difficult and has problems, but he means well. As a boy, he would ice my bruises and stitch my wounds. He took care of the shattered pieces that his father broke. He stepped up where his father couldn’t. Prison broke him, and you need to understand that prison was never meant for a soul like Jax’s. Deep inside, he’s still that sweet boy. He’s just… lost,” Naomi explains. It breaks my heart a little.

I wish I could see him for who he is beneath it all. Behind the exterior he shows the world.

Naomi kills the engine and opens her door. I hesitate, unable to move for a moment longer. She stops in front of the windshield and turns back to me, waving a hand for me to follow.

I finally step out of the car and follow her into the house. The instant warmth hits my chilled skin, yet I still feel like ice. The inside of the house looks bigger than the outside. It smells like wood and book pages, one of my favorite scents. I can’t help but wonder if that was intentional. He doesn’t know that, but he always could find me in a library.

My eyes scan the room, and it looks like a fresh house, which makes sense. It doesn’t look lived in, but it does feel homey. A fireplace is below a large, framed flat-screen TV, a small fire blazing. A couch is nestled by a brown coffee table. All shades of blue and different browns decorate the walls and furniture.

There’s an island separating the living room from the kitchen. Jax sits on the floor next to that island, in nothing but boxers still. I can't believe he ran out in the winter, almost naked, and made it all the way back home. Jax's knees are snuggled into his chest with his head hanging low. In this position, he looks like a child.

My feet carry me toward him on their own. My head doesn’t want to go near, but my heart beats to know if he’s okay.