made my belly cramp. I found an empty plastic canister and carefully tucked it away. Protecting the film until I found a dark room. “Why would you do that?”
“He didn’t win,” Jax said softly. “He didn’t win and it will piss him off knowing that. How is Sarah mine?”
My hand fisted on the film and I leaned back to shove it into his pocket. “Don’t call her that.” The chuckle from Jax said he knew he had scored a point. Asshole. “Fine. Sober.”
“Really? Good for her. Did she say why?”
I shook my head slowly. No, she hadn’t and I hadn’t asked. I felt Jax staring at me and I fiddled with the camera. “What?”
“Still the little shit, Billy boy. I was going to drag your ass home with me to see Ally, but I think I’m going to leave you here so you can figure your shit out. You’re twenty-fucking-six. Grow up.”
Even though Big Jack had broken up Jax and Ally, he hadn’t succeeded in the end. It had taken a few years and a lot of forgiveness, but Jax had married the girl. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know you’re running,” he said, nodding his head to the bag. “You come here for a reason. Why? To piss off Big Jack? To romp in Sarah mine’s bed? To visit the glory days of being a Deveraux? Why? You’re the only one of us who keeps coming back. Why?” He stood and I gazed up at my oldest brother. “Call me when you know.”
I didn’t want to figure out why I came back. That was something I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to confront. “How about a ride to the airport?”
Jax stared at me with cool grey eyes. He may wear a fancy suit while he drew fancy buildings, but there was no mistaking that beneath the civilized veneer he was still the big brother who had kicked my ass more than once. “How about you get a fucking clue? See you soon, son. Call me when you really need me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Jax lifted his hand in acknowledgement and walked toward a slick-looking Mercedes SUV. They were paying him way too much to draw buildings. Within minutes my ride out of Pierce Point was gone. So much for a rescue. So much for loyalty.
Deverauxs.
You just can’t trust them when you need to.
Sarah
The last person I expected to find on my front step was Jax Deveraux. I blinked a few times. Yes, that was Jax with his short, dark blonde hair and tall, lanky strength. “Jax.”
“Hello, Sarah mine.”
My eyes filled with tears and I threw myself at him. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected a white knight to show up in my life. He had come to see me in the hospital, looking like some vengeful angel. Pissed. He had been so mad. Jax had been the one who paid for my time at rehab. There was one requirement: if I fell off the wagon within the first year, I had to pay him in full. For everything. Including the small personal loan that had gotten me out from above Brandi’s and into my house. Every day he would phone: “Hello, Sarah mine. Are you sober today?” On the one-year anniversary of my sobriety, he had torn up the contract, hugged me, and walked away.
On my two-year sober-versary, as he called it, he had taken me into the Pierce Point cemetery. There he had shown me a modest marker that read Sarah Jane James October 15, 1989. “I found your next home,” he said to me. “What do you think? A little smaller than your apartment but really, how much space will you take up?”
On my three-year sober-versary he gave me a job. He flew me from Vancouver Island to Toronto where I drew a sad five year old girl the bedroom of her dreams: a castle on one wall, a fairy garden on another, and in the clouds above her head, smiling images of the little girl’s family that had been killed by a drunk driver.
Jax Deveraux was not subtle with his lessons.
“What are you doing here?”
He hugged me back, lifting me and walking me inside. “I ask myself that every time I come to this shit hole of a town. More importantly, what are you doing here?”
I shrugged as I
“He didn’t win,” Jax said softly. “He didn’t win and it will piss him off knowing that. How is Sarah mine?”
My hand fisted on the film and I leaned back to shove it into his pocket. “Don’t call her that.” The chuckle from Jax said he knew he had scored a point. Asshole. “Fine. Sober.”
“Really? Good for her. Did she say why?”
I shook my head slowly. No, she hadn’t and I hadn’t asked. I felt Jax staring at me and I fiddled with the camera. “What?”
“Still the little shit, Billy boy. I was going to drag your ass home with me to see Ally, but I think I’m going to leave you here so you can figure your shit out. You’re twenty-fucking-six. Grow up.”
Even though Big Jack had broken up Jax and Ally, he hadn’t succeeded in the end. It had taken a few years and a lot of forgiveness, but Jax had married the girl. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know you’re running,” he said, nodding his head to the bag. “You come here for a reason. Why? To piss off Big Jack? To romp in Sarah mine’s bed? To visit the glory days of being a Deveraux? Why? You’re the only one of us who keeps coming back. Why?” He stood and I gazed up at my oldest brother. “Call me when you know.”
I didn’t want to figure out why I came back. That was something I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to confront. “How about a ride to the airport?”
Jax stared at me with cool grey eyes. He may wear a fancy suit while he drew fancy buildings, but there was no mistaking that beneath the civilized veneer he was still the big brother who had kicked my ass more than once. “How about you get a fucking clue? See you soon, son. Call me when you really need me.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Jax lifted his hand in acknowledgement and walked toward a slick-looking Mercedes SUV. They were paying him way too much to draw buildings. Within minutes my ride out of Pierce Point was gone. So much for a rescue. So much for loyalty.
Deverauxs.
You just can’t trust them when you need to.
Sarah
The last person I expected to find on my front step was Jax Deveraux. I blinked a few times. Yes, that was Jax with his short, dark blonde hair and tall, lanky strength. “Jax.”
“Hello, Sarah mine.”
My eyes filled with tears and I threw myself at him. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected a white knight to show up in my life. He had come to see me in the hospital, looking like some vengeful angel. Pissed. He had been so mad. Jax had been the one who paid for my time at rehab. There was one requirement: if I fell off the wagon within the first year, I had to pay him in full. For everything. Including the small personal loan that had gotten me out from above Brandi’s and into my house. Every day he would phone: “Hello, Sarah mine. Are you sober today?” On the one-year anniversary of my sobriety, he had torn up the contract, hugged me, and walked away.
On my two-year sober-versary, as he called it, he had taken me into the Pierce Point cemetery. There he had shown me a modest marker that read Sarah Jane James October 15, 1989. “I found your next home,” he said to me. “What do you think? A little smaller than your apartment but really, how much space will you take up?”
On my three-year sober-versary he gave me a job. He flew me from Vancouver Island to Toronto where I drew a sad five year old girl the bedroom of her dreams: a castle on one wall, a fairy garden on another, and in the clouds above her head, smiling images of the little girl’s family that had been killed by a drunk driver.
Jax Deveraux was not subtle with his lessons.
“What are you doing here?”
He hugged me back, lifting me and walking me inside. “I ask myself that every time I come to this shit hole of a town. More importantly, what are you doing here?”
I shrugged as I
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