Jaded Until Jax E-Book

Theresa Paolo

• Herausgeber: TMP Books Inc
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Return to Red Maple Falls for this newest installment to the steamy small-town series where a wounded Marine and a grieving single mother help each other find light in the darkness.

Being a Marine is all Jax Marshall knows, but a tragic event has him honorably discharged from the service and back in the last place he wanted to be--his hometown. Struggling to come to terms with his injury while dealing with PTSD, his life is further rocked when his younger siblings are less than welcoming. Encouragement from his eldest sister provides him with the push he needs to give therapy one more shot. Not once expecting that decision to change his life.

Kristen Morgan never imagined she would be a single working mom, but a house fire left her widowed and grappling to rebuild life for her and her two boys. In the midst of a panic attack while waiting for her son to finish his therapy session,she strikes up a conversation with a handsome, brooding ex-Marine who turns out to be a complete jerk.

As their encounters become more civil and the attraction too hard to ignore, these two broken hearts begin to find comfort in each other. But when one of them ends up in danger, they have to decide if being together is worth the fight.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

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Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Jaded Until Jax

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Forbidden Lover Sneak Peek

Also by Theresa

Become a Townie

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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COPYRIGHT

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

Published by Theresa Paolo

Copyright November 2019

Edited by CookieLynn Publishing Services

Cover Design by Amanda Walker PA and Design Services

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.

Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Dedicated to Roe

for stressing out for me,

telling me exactly what I needed to hear,

and supporting me always.

Chapter 1

Not much had changed in the small town of Red Maple Falls where Jax Marshall spent the first eighteen years of his life. There was one traffic light, the winters sucked, and there were more trees than people. When he was in the sandpits of hell, sweating his ass off, he would dream about the winters of his childhood—back before Mom died, and his life was simple, his family only slightly broken.

Pain radiated up his thigh, and he shifted his weight, cursing the wound that ended a twelve-year career in the Marines, sending him back to the one place that held just as many bad memories as his time in war zones.

A sign was displayed on the front yard of his childhood home. In big, bold, navy-blue letters, the phrase Welcome Home Hero was scribbled across the white painted wood. The word hero ate at his insides. If he was a damn hero, he would have spotted the suicide bomber before she yanked the cord that tilted the world on its axis.

“Be grateful,” his sister Layla said, nodding from the driver’s seat toward the sign. “Terry was looking to organize a parade in your honor. I told her you were looking for more of a quiet homecoming.”

Even after twelve years, Terry, the town’s flamboyant redhead, was exactly the same. “Thank you. I’m not ready to deal with the town yet.”

He’d never been fully comfortable with small town life—everyone knowing his business, judging his family based on their shortcomings, acting as if they gave a shit about him. He knew the truth. It was pity for the poor kids whose father didn’t want them and whose mother died tragically.

“I figured, which is why I asked everyone to respect your privacy while you heal. That won’t keep Terry away, but it should keep the others at bay.”

“Is that why Chase and Brooke aren’t here?”

His baby brother and sister hadn’t come to welcome him home. The ungrateful jerks had no idea how much he’d sacrificed for them… Or maybe they did and simply didn’t care.

He didn’t want to care that they didn’t meet him at the airport with Layla, but despite his best efforts, it stung like a bitch.

Layla’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Give them time.”

“Time for what?”

She pulled into the driveway of the home he left behind so long ago. Other than the years of disrepair, it too, looked the same.

She killed the engine and turned to him. “You’ve been gone for twelve years.”

“I was working so they wouldn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from.” It’s not like he wanted to join the Marines at eighteen. When Mom had died, it was the only choice he had in order to help Layla with the bills and support their siblings in school. He didn’t want them to know the struggles he and Layla witnessed when their mom had fallen behind and the electric and water had gotten turned off.

“I know that,” Layla said. “We both did what we had to do, but the point was to keep the family together. Family doesn’t go twelve years without coming home.”

He thought Layla of all people would understand. “I’m sorry I didn’t fly home every vacation. I saved that money so Chase could go on his senior field trip and Brooke could get that ridiculously expensive prom dress she wanted.”

Layla let out a breath and leaned into the driver’s seat. “I’m not trying to argue or make you think what you did wasn’t appreciated.”

“Really? Because that’s how it feels.”

“Look, I’m sorry. We did everything we could for Chase and Brooke, and they turned out pretty damn good, but those kids who watched you walk out of their lives and into the military are still inside them. They were young, and they didn’t see things the way we did.”

“They’re adults now. They should understand.”

“They will. Like I said, give them time.”

“Whatever.” He got out of the car, putting too much weight on his bum leg. Son of a bitch. Pain exploded, the raw heat reminding him of where every piece of shrapnel had pierced his skin. His ankle buckled, and he grabbed the passenger door before he went down into a weak puddle of limbs.

“You okay?” Layla ran over, bag falling down her arm, a look of pure terror in her blue eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered. He slammed the door, frustration and anger ebbing at the edges of his control.

Layla reached for him like he was some sort of helpless creature.

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped. She held her hands up and stepped back. Shock mixed with disappointment in her gaze, and Jax slumped against the car. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few days. I’m… tired.”

Layla nodded. “Then let’s get you inside and settled.”

His older sister hadn’t changed much either—still taking care of people like it was her birthright to do so. Most of the time he was grateful for her; God only knew what would have happened after Mom died if it wasn’t for Layla, but right now, he didn’t want her to take care of him. If anything, he just wanted to be left the hell alone.

He nodded and waited for her to go ahead. If he went first, she’d hover behind him like he was one of her patients at the nursing home.

When she made her way toward the house, he took a deep breath, careful to not put too much weight on his leg, and followed with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“All that money I’ve sent home, you couldn’t have bought a can of paint and spruced the place up a bit? It looks like shit.”

Layla spun on her foot. Anger flared in her crystal blue eyes, turning them dark and vicious. She jabbed him in the chest. “I get that you’ve been through hell and back.” Poke. “But that doesn’t give you the right to be a dick.” Poke. “You weren’t here.” Poke. “If you were, you would know that I used that money to pay the electric bill, the oil bill, the mortgage, the water bill.” Poke. “Those bills didn’t take a vacation; they showed up every single month.” Poke. “So yes, the house might be in a little disrepair. But we still have the house. Brooke and Chase made it through high school with clothes on their backs, food on the table, and a roof over their head.” Poke. “So, excuse me if the paint is chipped.”

He held his hand up. “Look, I’m sorry.”

She held her head high. There was something different about her, and it was more than just the time that had gone. Maybe she wasn’t the same old Layla. There was an edge to her that was never there before—a stern take-no-shit-from-anyone attitude.

“You’ve gotten tough,” he said.

“Yeah, well, when you get kidnapped at gunpoint, it kind of changes you.”

He clenched his jaw at the memory of that phone call. Jax still hadn’t met the boyfriend who’d endangered his sister’s life, even if he was the one who saved it. She never would have been in that predicament to begin with if it weren’t for him and his sketchy past. “I wish I had been here.”

“Well, you weren’t, but it’s fine. I survived.”

“Is it, though? Fine, I mean.”

She shrugged. “It is. Declan was there for me, and I went to therapy.”

He closed his eyes, already knowing where this was going. He’d walked himself right into the damn trap. “I don’t need to see a shrink.”

“I just think—”

“Layla, please. I was cleared to leave the hospital. I don’t need to relive it all in some office. I just want to move on.”

“Okay.” She pushed the door open, and a loud pop echoed through the air. Jax shoved Layla out of the way and covered her body with his own.

“Jax, what the—?” Her words blurred along with his vision. He tried to focus, but it was too late. He was already back to that dreaded day.

Heat clung to him like a second skin. Back home, the leaves would be changing color, but here in the desert, it was still ninety degrees and not a single tree in sight. Sanders, his best friend and partner in crime for the last decade, walked beside him.

A woman dropped a bag, and Sanders, being the southern gentleman he was raised to be, jogged over to help her pick it up. Jax stopped and waited, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for anything suspicious. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and when he brought his eyes back to the woman, his heart slammed against his chest as she held her arms out like a woman ascending.

“Sanders!” he screamed. “Take co—” An earsplitting bang resonated through the quiet afternoon. Everything around him burst into a rainfall of sand and debris. The explosion, so powerful, knocked him off his feet. He slammed against the ground yards away from where he stood.

Sharp, burning pain pierced his thigh and his body, but he didn’t care about the pain. He needed to get to Sanders. He got on his knees and crawled toward the chaos. Finding the strength, he pushed to his feet and stumbled over a body.

No. “Sanders!”

“Jax!” His arms shook, and the world came back into focus until he was staring into the familiar glass blue eyes of his sister.

He ran a hand over his face, taking in his surroundings and planting himself firmly in reality. He looked at the old pictures on the wall Layla had never updated, the brown couches, and the leopard-print-clad Terry who was standing innocently with a bottle of champagne in her hand. The cork lay on the floor, and the bubbles ran over the bottle and dripped onto a towel in her other hand.

“Whoops,” she said, and Jax sighed.

He glanced over at Layla. Terror widened her eyes to the size of saucers. Other than the shock, she seemed okay. He didn’t hurt her, but he could have. There were many things he’d done in his life that he wasn’t proud of, but if he’d hurt his sister, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’ll make an appointment,” he said.

Chapter 2

Kristen Morgan sat in the waiting room at the psychiatrist, expecting her son to be finished with his session shortly. It had been almost a year and a half since she’d lost her husband and Travis lost his father in a terrible fire that had torn through their home. It was the day her happily ever after turned into nothing more than a charred nightmare.

Sitting in the waiting room with not much to keep her mind occupied was like walking on a tightrope. Anxious energy spread through her, causing her heart to pick up speed and making it hard to breathe. She tried to focus on the magazine in her hands, but the words blended together. Her leg shook, and she looked across the small space to Celia, the receptionist. Normally Kristen would chat—occupy her mind and help pass the time, but Celia had been on the phone with an insurance company since Kristen had arrived.

She took a deep breath and silently counted to ten—a stupid trick she picked up on the internet that rarely ever worked, but she was desperate. Going into a full-blown panic attack while her son was only a room away was unacceptable. Though, trying to tell that to the irrational side of her brain wasn’t exactly easy. Somehow, though, she’d managed to keep the attacks hidden from her son. Sometimes it was hard to explain why she plucked him from the store, leaving behind the items she’d collected with the intention to buy, or why she’d forgotten to pick up ice cream on the way home, because in reality, she couldn’t find the courage to get out of the car to make the purchase.

What if the building collapsed, or she was struck by lightning? How could she willingly put herself into that path when she had two kids who’d already lost their dad? It was such a ridiculous thought, and she knew that, and for the most part she could shove it down, but there were times when the attacks would come out of nowhere, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself that everyone would be fine, she couldn’t convince that stubborn side of her brain.

The door opened, and Kristen’s attention drifted to the man walking in. He was tall and broad with muscles that put his olive-green t-shirt’s stretch to the limit. His warm, walnut-brown hair was cut short on the sides while a bit longer on top. He moved with precision, as if each step was a calculated process that made him aware of every inch of the room. He didn’t smile as he entered and approached Celia.

The guy was good looking, but good looks didn’t mean he wasn’t some psycho who was about to put her in danger. She fidgeted in her seat, linking her fingers together. Celia covered the phone receiver and greeted him. The man signed Celia’s form, and she motioned for him to take a seat.

He clearly had an appointment, so he probably wasn’t some disgruntled patient. She let out a relieved breath as she told herself to get a grip. She shoved the irrational thoughts to the back of her mind where she hoped they would stay.

She adjusted again in her seat when the man sat in the row of chairs across from her. He shoved his wadded-up coat into the chair beside him.

His long, tanned fingers tapped insistently against his knee, and she wondered if he was anxious, too. “I hate waiting rooms,” she said as her own anxious energy found its escape. Talking, for whatever reason, helped to distract her from the chaos in her mind.

Unfortunately, the guy didn’t seem to be much of a talker, but that was okay. She could talk for the both of them. It was better than skimming through the tattered magazine in her hand for the hundredth time. “They are always too small, you know? Feels like the walls are caving in. And it’s always so quiet. What is that about? It’s like everyone is sitting and waiting for impending death.” The irony of her words wasn’t lost on her. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah sure,” he responded, and she was immediately intrigued by the gravel of his tone. It was deep and rough, like he’d lived a thousand years and was still around to talk about it.

“And the walls are always stark white. They should paint them a fun color, like yellow or lime green.”

His eyebrow arched.

“Not a lime green fan? Okay, suit yourself. It’s a fun color that provokes joy.”

His jaw tightened, and he slumped down in his chair. It was obvious he didn’t want to speak, but the dizzying spiral she was racing toward before he got here was becoming a hazy memory, so she took her chances and kept talking.

“I’m waiting for my son. He should be out in a few more minutes, then I need to pick my other son up from the sitter. I’m thinking I’ll treat them to pizza for dinner. Have you been to the new pizza place right off Main Street? Little Gino’s? He’s from Brooklyn and has water shipped in from New York because apparently, it’s the water in New York that makes their pizza so good, but how could that be? You know? Has he even tried our water?”

Oh god. Why did she blurt that out? She was their sole protector, and now she was divulging information about their whereabouts to a total stranger. Small-town life was getting to her head.

“Look lady, I know you’ve probably lived a sheltered small-town life where you think everyone gives a shit about everything you have to say, but in the real world, no one cares. So, if you could… please shut up.”

Her oncoming panic attack took a backseat as her anger climbed in front and center, snapping her head to attention as his words hit her with a force she was not expecting. She should’ve let it go; he obviously had issues, but so what? Everyone had issues, and that didn’t give a person the right to be a dick.

“For your information,” she said, “I am far from sheltered. I lived in seven different cities by the time I was eleven, thirteen by the time I was eighteen.” Her father had been in the Navy, so it was nearly impossible to settle down. Every time her mom had gotten the house just right, they’d have to move again. “So no, I don’t think everyone gives a shit about what I have to say, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong with a little small talk. Clearly, I should have realized you’re an unsociable jerk who would rather sit there with a scowl on your face than have a conversation with someone.”

“Good. We’re on the same page.”

“Unbelievable.” She grabbed her bag and stood. It was still another five minutes before Travis’ session was over, so she crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed that she’d stood up in the first place. Now if she didn’t leave, she’d look like an idiot, but she couldn’t leave without her son.

She dropped back in the chair. “I’m only staying because my son is still not done, but as soon as he is, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Oh goody.”

She harrumphed and turned her body away from his. The anxious energy that had been racing through her body earlier was overpowered by annoyance and rage. She glanced at the jerk, and surprise, surprise, he had a scowl on his face.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” she said, unable to help herself.

He ran a hand over his face, the corded muscles in his arm straining against his tanned skin. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on.”

“You’re not the only one.”

This time his head snapped to hers; the gray of his eyes darkened like a storm rolling in over the coast. “I think my problems are a little more serious than yours.”

She snapped to her feet. He had no idea what he was talking about. It was obvious he didn’t know who she was. Everyone in town did. It was the hazard of small-town life. Though, it was almost refreshing that he didn’t know her tragic story, but she wanted him to realize he couldn’t talk to people the way he did. “Oh, I bet,” she quipped. “Because moving to a small town where I literally knew no one because it was my husband’s dream to return to the place he grew up, only to lose it all when his childhood home burned to the ground. My kids lost their house, their belongings, and their father that day, and I lost my college sweetheart, my partner in life, leaving me a single mom of two boys who ask daily why they can’t see their father.” Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them at bay. She was used to holding the sadness back; it was how she survived. “So, don’t you sit there and tell me that your problems are more serious than mine.”

The office door opened, and Travis ran out, lollipop in hand. “Mom!” he exclaimed. “Look, I got a lollipop!”

She rustled his hair and took a deep calming breath, letting all her emotions fall away. “Aren’t you lucky?” she said without a hint of the anger she felt slipping into her tone.

The jerk held his hand up like he wanted to say something, but she’d had enough of him and his shit poor attitude.

“Come on, Travis, it’s time to go.” She guided her son to the door, waved to Celia, and got the hell out of there.

***

Jesus. Jax didn’t mean to snap like he did, but how the hell was he supposed to know that she had a fucked-up life? He just assumed she was like the rest of the town folk here. The biggest travesty was when the local bakery was out of their favorite dessert.

And with all those places she’d lived, she was either a military brat or stuck floating through the system until she was of age. He could’ve asked; she would have gladly shared with him, that he was sure, but instead, she was right; he was rude.

It was the lime green that did it. Lime green provoked joy, his ass. Lime green provoked death and destruction, and he would know. It was the color of the flowers on the shirt of the woman who killed his best friend and three innocent shoppers. Not that the widow knew that, of course, but she evoked a memory, and he was afraid of spiraling into that black hole of desolation that had a way of sinking its teeth into him and refusing to let go.

It was a hard hole to avoid, and most of the time he had no control over it. It didn’t help that he didn’t want to see a shrink, but he’d also pissed his sister off enough and didn’t want to fight over this. He figured he’d come in, talk to the guy, and go on his way the same as he went in.

There was nothing this guy could say or do. If the military shrinks couldn’t help him, how could this guy? Jax’s head was messed up, and no amount of talking would fix that. In an hour he’d be back on his way, dealing with this shit the best way he knew how—keeping it to himself the best that he could and downing a fifth of Jack to knock him out enough to get a few hours of sleep.

He needed to avoid all loud noises, yelling, bright lights, and maybe even people in general to be safe. He rested his head in his hands, wishing like hell Sanders was here. That scrawny bastard would know exactly what to do. He always did. Jax might’ve been the man in charge, but Sanders was his voice of reason, his number one who not only had his back but had the right words when words didn’t seem adequate.

A lump lodged itself in Jax’s throat as a rush of regret and sorrow slammed into him. He held his ground against the onslaught of memories, trying not to let the awful visions from that day reenter his mind. His hands tightened on the armrest of the chair, his nails biting into the shiny, silver metal.

Deep breath. Deep breath. He didn’t need to freak out while he was here. With his luck, the shrink would insist he be locked up, the key thrown away, and he’d live out his pathetic existence in a mental ward.

“Jax Marshall?” An old guy wearing tan slacks and a red cardigan over a button-down shirt with a tie appeared in the doorway. Great. If Jax had known Mr. Rogers was going to be his therapist, he definitely would have canceled.

One hour. He reminded himself.

Jax stood, but he’d forgotten about the weak muscles in his leg. The muscle—what was left of it—seized, pain ricocheting up and down his thigh in a stomach-churning fashion. A loud growl tore from his throat as his leg gave out, and he came down hard on his knee.

“Are you okay?” The old guy came to his side and grabbed his arm to help him up.

“Just great,” he mumbled.

“Do you need to sit for a moment?” Dr. Howard asked.

“No,” Jax said. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Chapter 3

Every Wednesday while Travis was at karate practice, Kristen met up with her friends Sophie and Sarah for dinner. Sarah’s husband, Cooper, always volunteered to take Noah since he got along with their youngest, Theo. Kristen hated to leave her baby, especially after what happened with her husband, but locking herself up in the house wasn’t good for her anxiety. She needed to go out and be amongst people her own age. A bit of wine and a little laughter helped keep her sane.

She and Sarah walked into the Happy Apple. No matter how many times Kristen had been there, she was still amazed by all the apple décor donning the walls and shelves. The first time Rich had taken her here, she’d thought they walked into some sort of bizarre museum. Never did she expect it to be a restaurant with the best food she’d ever had.

Sarah waved to Sophie, who was holding down their usual Wednesday night table. Sarah took the lead and Kristen followed. Sophie stood; her navy-blue dress pants were perfectly tailored to her petite frame, a white and blue polka-dot collared shirt was tucked into the waist, and she finished the look off with a white cardigan.

Both Kristen and Sarah gave Sophie a hug hello before taking their seats.

“Did you talk to Principal Mathers about the bake sale?” Sophie asked Kristen.

“I did, and we’re all set.”

“If you need me to bake anything, let me know,” Sarah said.

Sophie turned a skeptical eye on Sarah. “We all know you’ll hire Shay to do the baking.”

Sarah laughed. “It does help having a bakery owner in the family.”

Kristen picked up her menu, and Sophie placed her hand on top of it. “Don’t bother,” she said. “Terry already put our order in.”

“What if I wanted something different?” Kristen asked.

Sarah laughed. “We all know that is highly unlikely. Every time we come in, look at the menu, and still order the same apple cheddar turkey burger. She has our number.”

“Have we figured out if Terry puts drugs in the meat?” Kristen asked.

Sarah looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen, then back to Kristen. “No, but it’s the only way to explain why it’s so addicting.”

“The only drug in my food is love.” Terry popped up out of nowhere, and Sarah grabbed her chest.

Terry placed their orders on the table, and Sophie took her burger in her hands. If only love was this good,” Sophie said.

“Then you’re doing it wrong, sweetie, and I should know. Forty years of marriage under my belt.” She gave a wink and teetered off to the kitchen in her spiked heels.

“I’d give anything for a good year of love,” Sophie said. “Hell, I’ll settle for six months. I just want a taste.”

Kristen looked at her burger and then at her friend. “Once you get a taste, you won’t want to lose it.”

“I’m sorry, Kris. I—”

“It’s fine,” Kristen said. “Really.” She didn’t want her friends to feel like they couldn’t speak their minds. They had been there through the darkest moments of her life, and now she wanted to repay Sophie—give her a chance at love; Sophie deserved a good man who would adore her.