John

---

Back to running. Running is good, the painful burn in my lungs and legs pure, uncomplicated. If I run long enough, my mind goes perfectly blank. I love those times. I live for empty thoughts. The second something unwanted tries to push its way to the surface, I run harder, faster. I can do this; I excel at diversion.

But eventually, I have to return home from my run. The sight of that stone staircase leading up to those damn ornately carved-wood doors hurts my chest. Entering my code on the number pad hurts my chest. Even the damn sanitized smell of the elevator hurts my chest. She is everywhere, and I can’t hide at home. So I stay out running as long as I can.

Facts are facts: I can dither no longer. I have to move on. I need out of New York. Out of the U.S.

I’ll go to England. No, fuck that. I’ll go visit Killian in Australia. He’s staying in Scottie’s house; there’s room for me.

The Raconteurs’ “Steady, as She Goes” starts thumping through my earbuds. Usually, I love this song, but music makes my skin crawl right now. I yank the earbuds out as I turn down the street to home. There’s a massive stone pressing down on my chest. I’d worry I’m having a heart attack but that heinous stone has been there since … Well, I’m not going there.

Exhaustion makes my pace wobble, and I nearly stumble by the time I get to the stairs. There’s a guy lounging on the stoop, his long legs sprawled in my way. For a weird, hazy second, I think he might be a hallucination; I’m certainly weak enough to be seeing things, but then he looks up and gives me that supercilious smirk I’ve seen more than half my life, and I know I’m not dreaming.

“You look like shit,” Killian says. To the point as always.

I take the bottle of lemonade he holds out for me and guzzle it down. It’s cold and sweet and gives me a chance to get my brain working again. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I take a breath and then another.

“You’re back.” Obviously.

“Aw …” He smiles. “You noticed.”

“Asshole.” I toss the empty bottle his way and he catches, clearly anticipating the move. Killian and I have always known each other on a level that goes deeper than words or action. He is part of me. Or he was. When I tried, it fractured something between us that did not heal well but thickened and twisted like a keloid scar.

Scarred or not, I’ve missed the guy and have the weird urge to break down right here. The burn behind my lids is so unexpected, I can’t look him in the eye. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Yeah, you do.” Killian stands and dusts his ass off. “You’re ripe.”

It hits me again that Killian is here. And that means Stella is gone. My hand grips the stone balustrade as my knees go weak and pain punches into me. Maybe I am having a heart attack; it hurts badly enough. “When did you get back?”

When did she leave? Why do you care? You told her to go.

“Late last night.” Killian stares at me, deliberating. “Stella called me.”

“What?” It comes out as a croak.

“She said I should be home.”

I jog up the stairs. Killian follows in silence. When we get to our floor, he walks into my apartment.

“Good God, Jax.” He gapes around. “Did you add more antiques since I’ve been gone? How the hell did you manage to turn this modern loft into a stuffy English manor?”

“Talent. Piss off back to your cold, soulless loft if you don’t like it.”

He laughs low and easy. “I’m going to get you a satin smoking jacket to wear around the house.”

“I don’t smoke, but I kind of like the idea of that jacket.” I head toward my room. “Taking a shower now.”

Killian is still in my living room when I return. He doesn’t look pleased, and I’m guessing he’s going to give me a lecture about Stella. God knows I deserve one. But frankly, having Killian on my case right now might make me snap.

I eye him warily. “It’s good to have you back, man, but I’m not in the mood for company right now.”

He nods but then plops his ass down next to me on the couch. “It will only take a minute.”

A dull pounding starts at my temples. “Kills, I can’t talk about her.”

Silence follows, and I find myself glancing his way. Worst of it is, he looks sad.

“I’m not here to talk about her,” he says, thankfully knowing me well enough not to use her name. Killian leans back against the couch and pinches the bridge of his nose before facing me again. “Jax … Man, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Sorry? What the hell is he talking about? Sorry for leaving? I wouldn’t have met Stella if he hadn’t.

You’re not supposed to think about her.

Fuck, I miss her like air.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice as raw as it gets when we’ve been singing all night. “I let you down so fucking badly.”

I can only stare, my pulse pounding, the urge to get the hell out of the room making me twitch.

Killian’s bloodshot eyes hold mine. “When you tried, I was so … It scared the shit out of me.”

I wince, looking away. “I know. I understand. I really do. I just can’t apologize anymore. I—”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m trying to explain.” He swallows convulsively. “I was so fucking angry. You didn’t confide in me. You didn’t tell me what was going on in your head.”

Goddamn, I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to break down, but my sinuses are burning and my throat keeps convulsing. “I couldn’t,” I rasp.

“I know,” he says. “I know, man. And the truth is, I was pissed at myself for missing the signs. For leaving you out there alone.”

Fuck. I’m going to… I press my fingers to my eyes and take a breath. “I’m good at hiding it. Don’t be sorry.”

“But I am,” he cuts in. “I reacted like an asshole. I packed up and ran away with my tail between my legs, feeling sorry for myself when I should have been there for you.”

He did that. He did that.

Rage bubbles up so swiftly, I can’t hold it in. “You left me behind!” The shout echoes in the rafters. “I tried to take my own life, and you left. Like I was a disease you were afraid you might catch.”

Tears well in Killian’s eyes, and the sight is so foreign to me, it turns my stomach. But the rage, the hurt, won’t settle down. “I needed you. I needed my best friend. And you fucking left—”

Killian hauls me into a hug so tight my air cuts off. The hold hurts, and until he’d hugged me, I hadn’t known I needed that too. A deep sob hitches his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He keeps saying it, barely a whisper, as we huddle together crying. He says it until our shaking dies down. I feel exposed, rubbed raw and open. At least on the surface. Inside, I begin to calm. I’m drained, but it doesn’t leave me hollow. It leaves me lighter.

Killian’s big, sweaty hand is on my head, clutching me as he shudders. “Shit, man, the first day I faced you again I hit you…” He trails off with a ragged breath. “Fuck, that was not okay.”

My memory of that day is crystal clear. I hadn’t seen Killian for a year after my attempt, and suddenly there he was—seething, hurt, afraid, and awkward as hell. I’d understood him perfectly in that moment because I felt the same.

Truth is, I’d goaded him to hit me. I wanted it. For both of us. Because a good hit was simple. A good hit was something we both needed.

Despite myself, a smile wobbles over my lips. “You want to know the crazy thing? I preferred that response to silence. It felt like the real us, the way we used to be when one of us would piss the other off, and we’d settle it with a punch on the mouth before getting back to business.”

A broken laugh leaves Killian, and he leans back to scrub at his wet cheeks with the heel of his hand. “Nobody can piss me off quite like you.”

Snorting, I wipe my eyes. “The feeling is more than mutual.”

We sit in silence, each of us trying to get it together.

“You are my brother,” he says after a minute. “Life without you doesn’t … It doesn’t fucking work.”

Guilt washes over me, fresh and burning. “I fucked things up—”

“No!” His stern shout snaps between us, and we both flinch.

Killian sucks in a breath. “No, John, you didn’t. Not with this. That’s what I’m trying to say. You did nothing wrong. You are the strongest person I know. Don’t you ever fucking say this was your fault.”

He stares at me like he’s trying to slice through my skin. “I fucked up. The guys fucked up. We are the ones who let you down. It’s no different if you had a broken leg and we let you limp along.”

A short, humorless laugh escapes me. “It’s a little different. You can see the broken leg. You can’t see what’s going on inside my head.”

Killian shakes his head. “Maybe so. But when you tried, it was pretty freaking apparent that you needed help. I’m not going to let you down again.”

The determination in his voice has me turning to face him, and he stares back unflinching. “Whatever you need, John. Whenever you need it.”

“Thing is,” I tell him, “if it had been you who tried, I would have reacted the same way. I would have been pissed as hell that you didn’t come to me.”

His brows wing up in shock, and I give him a bitter smile.

“No one reacts perfectly. Don’t try to. I’m just over being the elephant in the room. Let it go, man. Treat me like before.” I glance his way and smirk. “Be the dickhead you used to be instead of the dickhead holding this shit between us.”

Killian rubs a hand over his face. “I can do that.” He sits straighter. “I will do that.”

“Good.” I clear my throat. “And thank you.”

He knows I’m not only talking about his agreeing to my request. His shoulder presses more firmly into mine. “Any time.”

We sit like that, propping each other up, not saying a word. And though it’s hard for me to admit it, even to myself, the physical connection and the familiarity of my oldest friend sinks into my bones like a balm.

Stella was right; I did need to hear this from Killian. I’ve been holding so much shit in—again—and never realizing it. Stella knew exactly what I needed and got it for me. Even though I stomped on her heart and cast her aside, she helped me.

The pain in my chest becomes bright and ice cold. All the miles I’ve run are a wasted effort. I can’t keep her out of my head or my heart. She comes crashing back in, so hard that I flinch.

Where is she? Does she hurt the way I do?

Stop thinking about her.

Killian eyes me sidelong. “My pet sitter called to tell me I’d better get my ass home and be there for my best friend. Now, you’re wearing a look I am way too familiar with because I wore it myself when I cut Libby loose. Talk to me, man.”

“Stella,” I croak. “I fell in love, freaked out, ended it.”

“Bonehead.” He slaps my head for emphasis.

I rub the spot absently, but it’s my heart that hurts, not my head. “She’s better off with someone who isn’t messed up. She needs someone dependable.”

Killian frowns as though smelling something rotten. “You’re seriously trying to peddle that bullshit?”

“It isn’t bullshit. I am unreliable. I’m a fucking mess.”

“And yet she loves you anyway.” He levels a hard stare. “Don’t give me that look. She called me right after you stomped on her heart. She loves you.”

Damn it, I am freezing. I rub at my shaking chest. “I doubt she does anymore.”

“Because it’s so easy to turn those feelings off.” He snorts. “How’s it working for you?”

“Not so great.” Understatement of my life.

“Stop running, John. Figuratively and literally. It won’t work.”

With a sigh, I rest my arm over my aching eyes. “I know you think I’m talking shit, but I’m serious. I can’t go back to Stella and say I’m sorry, only to turn around and do it again when I’m feeling unstable. It isn’t fair to her.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to let her go?”

There’s a greasy feeling in my throat, and I swallow convulsively. “I already did.”

Killian makes a noise of protest but he doesn’t argue, and I sit there on the couch wishing it would swallow me up. Finally, he sighs and rises to his feet. “If I fall asleep, I’ll have jet lag from hell, and Libby is in the Hamptons with … Brenna. You’re coming out with me and getting some pizza.”

I don’t want to eat. I’ll probably choke on it. “You’re going to nag me if I say no, aren’t you?”

His smile is genuine and kind of evil. “I’ll just call Whip and Rye. Whip has been talking about playing charades.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“You want to take that risk?”

No, I really don’t. And since I can’t get away from him, I stand. “Fine, I’ll go.”

Neither of us says another word about Stella. It’s as though she never existed. I can see the well-worn road of my old life stretching out before me once more. It isn’t happy but it’s a path I know.

By the time the night is over, I’m so numb, I’m almost able to ignore hole in my chest where Stella ought to fill.

Almost.

Almost isn’t going to cut it. I need my life back. Fear tells me one path to walk on; my heart insists on another. I’m going to listen to my heart.

It doesn’t take me long to call her. As soon as we return from pizza, I pull out my phone. It’s a kick in the gut when a mechanical voice tells me her number is no longer in service.

“Fuck.” I disconnect.

Killian, who’s still hanging out and trying to distract me with video games, grabs two beers out of the fridge and walks into the living room and watches me pace. “What’s your problem?”

I plop down on the sofa next to him but ignore my beer. “She cut off her phone.” Tossing my phone onto the coffee table, I pinch the tense spot between my eyes. “Or got a new one.”

Killian shrugs. “Did you expect anything less? You kicked her to the curb.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”

He smiles wide. “No more patronizing you, remember?”

Asshole.

“I don’t know where she is or how she’s getting along.” I run a hand through my hair. “If she’s all right.”

“Stella is a capable woman. She’s been taking care of herself for years.”

I cut him a look. He’s not being sarcastic but it irritates me just the same. “I know that. I just …” The tightness in my chest increases. “I want to be the one taking care of her. Not because she can’t, but because I can.”

That doesn’t make any sense. But I don’t know how else to explain it.

Killian sits next to me, silent and sipping his beer. We’ve been friends for so long, I know how he sits when he’s agitated, ignoring me, or when he’s simply waiting for me to figure my shit out. He’s going to have a long wait.

I blow out a hard breath. “Kills, man, how did you do it? With Libby, I mean.”

He turns his head to meet my eyes. “You mean, how did I let her in and keep her there?”

“Yeah,” I croak. “That.”

Slowly, he nods, his beer bottle dangling between his fingertips. The bottle swings as he gives a dry laugh. “Thing is, I didn’t let her in. She just ended up there. I met her, and she became a part of me.” His dark eyes pin me. “It wasn’t a matter of letting her in. It was accepting that she was already there and going with it.”

My hands curl into fists. “Stella was in. She was all the way in, and I was so fucking happy. No, not just happy, I felt peace.”

“I know,” Killian says in a low voice. “Believe me, I know.”

I snort, but it’s directed at myself. “And I still cast her out.”

His smile is tight and wry. “Yeah, well, no one said it was easy accepting that you’re all in.”

A groan leaves me, and I slump into the couch. “I did a Cowardly Lion sprint out the window, and I killed the best thing I’ve ever had.”

“Pretty much.”

Killian ducks when I chuck a couch pillow at his head. “Seriously, you can shut it with the tough love.”

He snickers, then grows serious. “You fucked up. Everyone does at some point. You want her back?”

“Yes.” Just saying the word dislodges something in my chest, and I take what feels like the first real breath I’ve had since she left. So I say it again, because it’s the only true thing in my world now. “Yes, I want her.”

“Then nut up and fix the problem.”

The reality of what I face isn’t pretty. “I’m not sure I can fix it. Stella doesn’t trust easily. Less than we do. And I’ve gone and stomped all over that trust.”

He gives my shoulder an encouraging slap. “You love her. She loves you. The rest is logistics. Now, go get your girl.”

Getting my girl is easier said than done. First off, I don’t know where the hell she is. Stella learned from her dad how to stay off the grid. If he managed to stay hidden for years, Stella is certainly capable of doing the same. The idea that I might not be able to find her fills me with panic. Imagining a long life ahead of me without knowing where Stella is or never saying another word to her makes me ill.

Since I’m clueless, I go the fount of knowledge in my personal universe.

Scottie answers the door on the fifth knock. His hair is sticking up on one side and his tie is askew—being clutched in the merciless grip on a chubby baby fist. Felix gives me a toothy smile as if to say look who I made my bitch. My admiration for his game is strong.

“Thought you might turn up. Here, take this.” Scottie thrusts Felix into my arms. “I’ve got to piss something awful. Sophie just came back from the Hamptons and is napping off a hangover, and …” He stops at that, turns heel, and takes the stairs two at a time to the upper floor.

“You know, you could just put him in his crib,” I call after Scottie.

His disembodied voice rings out. “Try it, mate. I dare you.”

A door slams, and I’m left alone with twenty pounds of drooling baby who has decided that my eyebrows would be better off detached from my face.

“Okay, little dude.” I ease his fingers away from my abused flesh. “Let’s find you something better to play with.”

Scottie’s Upper West Side brownstone is wide enough that there is a central staircase and rooms on either side. They have a family room set up in the back with a wall of windows overlooking a small garden.

Before baby, the place was immaculate—cream couches, pale silk Aubusson rugs, and glass tables. The couches are now charcoal, the rug is still silk but a crimson Persian, and the tables are all sturdy dark woods. Still nice, but way more spot friendly. And messy. Toys litter the floor. Four mugs with various amounts of cold coffee in them are on the table. A few baby blankets are spread out, and there’s some weird-looking jungle-gym thing that seems to be made out of padded plastic with stuffed bugs hanging from it. Bizarre.

“Here, bud. Let’s play with this.” I set Felix down in front of the dangly bugs.

He looks at the sappy bugs, then at me, then back at the bugs. His little chin prunes up. I hear an internal warning alarm blaring, “Danger! Danger! Abort mission! Abort!!”

I jiggle one of the toy bugs. “Fun, yeah?”

No, no it is not. Tears well in Felix’s eyes, and he sucks in a deep breath. It is the scary calm before the storm. His temper breaks with an ungodly wail, his little arms flailing, face bright red. It is horrifying.

“Okay, okay.” I pick him up and start walking around. “It’s okay. Those bugs are creepy anyway.”

Felix does his best to blow my eardrums out. Considering I’ve made a career of dialing the sound up to eleven, his vocals are impressive.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I try to jiggle him like Sophie does but it’s a no-go. Little Dude is not having it. His back arches as he screams his fury, and I have to clutch him closer for fear of dropping him. “Jesus, I thought I was emotional. What about this little …” I look at the gray stuffed thing I’ve picked up. I have no fucking idea what it is. “Monkey? You want your monkey?”

Gray lumpy monkey goes flying with one indignant swat.

“Right. Monkeys suck. Noted.”

Felix has murder in his eyes and the freaking lungs of Robert Plant.

Scottie strides into the room with a harried expression. “You put him down, didn’t you?”

“I thought he might want to play! I mean, what the fuck, dude?”

Scottie takes his son, grabs a pacifier, and holds it up to Felix’s mouth. “Here’s your dummy, love.”

The little stinker immediately sucks it in and then rests his head on Scottie’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh like he’s just been through a long, hard battle. Clearly, one I lost.

“Plug up the hole.” I slap my forehead. “I should have known.”

Scottie and Felix shoot me twin glares.

My nerves are officially shot, and I swear I need a drink or to run this adrenaline out. “Holy hell, mate, how do you even know what to do?”

“Trial by fire.” Scottie smiles thinly. “Only the strong survive.”

I take back every dad joke I’ve made about Scottie. He deserves a medal.

“Put me down as a ‘thank you but no’ when it comes to babysitting duty.”

Scottie snorts. “Mate, none of you clowns are getting anywhere near my progeny. He’d end up in leather pants and likely develop an unfortunate attachment to drums.”

I can’t help but smile. “That would be kind of cool. I’m going to look into leather baby pants. Maybe have some made. You’ll have to ask Whip for the drums.”

Sophie strolls in looking tired but amused. “Someone set the baby down.”

I turn and give her a kiss on the cheek. “You two have a tiny dictator in your midst. Throw down some tough love and say no once in a while.”

Sophie and Scottie burst out laughing. They keep laughing until Felix smiles around the edges of his dummy, and Sophie wipes a tear from her eye. “Oh, that was good. I needed that.”

“Har.” But I’m smiling too.

“Can you say it again?” Scottie pulls out his phone. “I want to record it for future use on the off chance you decide to have kids.”

That sobers me right up. My future happiness is why I’m here. “Maybe later.” I grimace. “Look, I need to find Stella.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. Scottie adopts his business face, which is basically a wall of “I know nothing.” Sophie’s eyes narrow like she’s considering pulling Felix’s dummy free and siccing him on me.

“Sorry,” Scottie says, “but she isn’t here.”

Nice evasion. I step closer. “That isn’t what I asked.”

“Actually, you didn’t ask anything.”

He’s going to play it like that? I smile thinly. “Scottie, old boy, would you happen to know the whereabouts of Ms. Stella Grey?”

He glances at Sophie, who glances at me, then back to Scottie. It’s like some bad reenactment of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly standoff.

“Hey,” I cut in, “I’m just trying to find my girl.”

“Your girl?” Sophie snorts. “You lost the right to call her that when you kicked her out.”

“Sophie,” Scottie says softly.

She glares at him. “He hurt her.”

God, that gets me. I know it’s true. But it still slices through the gut. “I need to apologize and try to make it better, Soph. But I can’t if I can’t find her.”

Stubborn as hell, Sophie lifts her chin and refuses to talk. I sigh and turn to Scottie. There was a point in my life where I’d laughed at the idea of laying my heart on the line. He was there to witness it. We both know this well, but I’m not afraid to beg now.

I know Scottie sees this in my expression. I don’t have to say a word before his shoulders slump and he sighs. His eyes cut to Sophie, who glares.

“You are not telling him.”

“Darling,” he begins.

Sophie crosses her arms under her breasts in a huff. “So it’s bros before hoes, huh?”

Scottie’s lips twitch. “I would never call a woman a ho. And it isn’t our place to intervene.”

“Just think,” I say, “if Scottie’s bros hadn’t stepped in when we found him unshaven, surrounded by an utter mess, and pitifully moaning over your loss, you’d still in Australia.”

Her eyes go wide and a small smile blooms over her face. “You were moaning?” she asks a disgruntled Scottie.

He makes a face. “I was not moaning.”

“Whimpering,” I correct, earning a glare. But really, I’m doing the guy a favor—Sophie’s already across the room and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“That’s so sweet, Sunshine.”

“Glad you think so.” Scottie kisses the tip of her nose before telling me, “Stella is staying with Brenna.”

“Shit.”

“Mmm,” he agrees. “I don’t know how you’ll get past her. Brenna has become extremely protective of Stella.”

Still clinging to Scottie, Sophie smirks. “You think I’m a hard-ass? Good luck with all that.”

Strangely, the fact that the other women in my life are looking out for Stella makes me happy and grateful. Stella has always wanted friends, a family. I can give her that. I glance at little Felix who is drooling all over Scottie’s shirt and giving me the stink eye, and I shudder. Well, maybe not the full-on family thing just yet. One hurdle at a time.

I need to get my act together, and I need to plan this carefully. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win back her trust. And it doesn’t scare me.