Page 37 of Masked Instincts

I spin around, trying to find a light switch. I flick the one on the wall across from where I stand, and luckily, it’s the right one. Looking behind me, his mom is gone. When I approach him, his head cranes upward, and he slowly looks at me. The green of his irises pop against the red rimming them. The hurt in his eyes threatens to bring me to my knees.

“My moon,” he whispers, and there’s so much pain in his voice.

I go against everything I am feeling inside as I get down to the floor and pull Jax into me. His head falls into my chest, and a sob shakes his body. This is different than I’ve ever seen him. Jax is always demanding and ready to take. Never showing an inch of emotion that isn’t anger. But this? This is complete and utter anguish.

“I’m tired,” he rasps. “Everything inside of me is so, so heavy.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” I say softly as I rub my hand up and down his back.

“It’s not,” he sniffles. The wetness from his tears soaks through the thin fabric of my sweater and shirt. “Nothing is okay. It hasn’t been for eleven years,” he says quietly. I strain my ears to hear him. “I don’t want to fight any longer.”

“Fight what?” I ask. A clog of emotions is stuck in my throat, making it hard to breathe or to speak. I ignore the pain I’m beginning to feel. This isn’t about me.

“Life. Everything hurts. I wish I never killed my father.”

“He would have continued to hurt you and your mom.”

“I know that. I know that more than anything, and maybe he would have even killed us. Luna, death is sweeter than this life.”

“No,” I shake my head. “No, Jax. You aren’t giving up.”

Jax turns his head upward to look at me. There’s so much misery and despair there. “In the drawer next to the stove… The letter I wrote for you is in there.”

I don’t move. Since he told me there was a letter, I’ve wanted to read every word, but now seems like a bad time. Now, it sounds like a goodbye.

“Go. Grab it,” he begs, his voice faint.

I rise to my feet and walk over to the drawer in question. When I open it, it’s a basic junk drawer: screwdrivers, screws, batteries, and other random household items. A cream-colored piece of paper sits at the bottom, buried beneath it all.

I dig through the items and grab the sheet. It’s folded three times and crinkled like an aged letter should be.

Slowly, I unfold the paper with shaky fingers, and his dark, messy handwriting shows. The creases from it being folded are so prominent and it looks as if he's opened and closed this letter over and over again. Peeking past the edge of the paper, I see Jax watching me as I begin to read.

Words become smudged as tears fall down my cheeks.

While he was gone, all I did was think about myself. Why wouldn’t he stay? Why wouldn’t he let me try to help? Not for a second did I think of how it would be killing him.

“Every day, I also hope that I’m forgotten enough that I can come home to you. Connecticut was never my home, and maybe it’s still not. It’s wherever you are that I’m home.”

I hold back a sob. I’ve been fighting my attraction for Jax since the moment I met him. Since the moment I knew who he was, I have fought every step of the way. We both have gotten off on my fight, but if there was any time to embrace it, it’s now.

Walking back over to Jax, I kneel on the ground before him. “I love you,” I admit. Jax quickly sits up, and his eyes lock onto me. They never leave my face, as if he’s searching to see that I’ve lied. “I love you, Jax.”

He continues to stare without speaking. His lips lay in a flat line.

“Say it again,” he finally says.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Jax,” I say softly.

“Again, please. Never stop.”