Jonquils for Jax: The Rousseaus #1 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 12) (9 page)

Meanwhile, Gard was supposed to be considering whether or not a life as Haverford Park’s head groundskeeper could be his next step in life. And damn but he wished it felt like the next organic step for his life rather than a backup plan born from a shattered dream with skills he’d never really intended to use.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was a mellow evening with crickets chirping and the sound of a sprinkler
whoosh-whoosh-whooshing
in a rhythmic circle nearby. With the summer solstice only recently behind them, the sun was still brightening the sky even at 8:05, and a warm summer breeze blessed the skin of his face.

His face
, which Jax had finally noticed, in all its gnarled ugliness, today.
His face
, the upper half of which was covered in the scars left behind by taking a sprinkle of birdshot to his forehead that had compromised his vision so irreparably that even after six surgeries, it was unlikely he would ever see clearly again.

He tipped the bottle to his lips and let the cold water sluice down his throat, unable to keep his dark memories at bay.

It had been an unseasonably chilly September day, almost two years ago, when he and his partner, Gil DeMarco, had approached Miguel Santiago’s apartment in the rough Strawberry Mansion neighborhood of Philadelphia. As he pounded his fist on the Santiagos’ door, he’d had no idea that it would be Gil’s last day on earth and
his
last day as a whole man.

If he’d known, would he have done anything differently? Would he have ignored the screams of Carolina Santiago from inside the apartment and waited for backup? Probably not. Miguel was armed, she was in trouble, and if he and Gil had waited, her brother probably would have ended up shooting her. The only good that had come out of that horrible day was the fact that Carolina and her two young children had survived.

A sudden memory of Gil’s face, partially blown off by the shotgun blast, flashed through Gard’s mind, and he winced.

Don’t go there
, he told himself, his fingers clenched tightly around the plastic bottle.
That’s an old chapter in a life that’s over. Don’t think about it. Think about something else.
Anything
else.

With his eyes still closed, he took a deep breath, catching a whiff of something unexpected on the breeze…lemon, maybe. And a hint of rosemary. Wait a second…

He opened his eyes and there, standing in front of him, just over the railing, with a small grin on her beautiful face, was Jax Rousseau.

He stared at her, surprised by her sudden appearance and dumfounded by her beauty.

“Hi,” she said softly.

He dropped his legs from the porch railing and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing and smiling back at her, gratitude for her sudden company welling inside of him like a burst of something very sweet and very bright in a dark, bitter life. Like a jonquil. Like a kiss of bright orange in the middle of quiet white.

She searched his eyes, her soft smile enchanting him. “What?”

“What?” he parroted, grinning back at her.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“
Vous etes si belle que vous regarder est une souffrance,
” he whispered.
You’re so beautiful, it hurts me to look at you.

“Oh,” she murmured, her lips parting as she gazed back at him. Finally she shrugged—the barest motion of one shoulder grazing the delicate lobe of her ear. “
Merci
.”

Frissons of excitement and awareness leapt between them, making him sit up straighter, pay attention, drink in the sight of her. She wore her hair down for the first time he could remember—long, silken tresses parted in the middle of her head, falling past her shoulders in dark waves. Her lips were shiny, and a simple black T-shirt covered her breasts. She was as natural as he’d ever seen her, but so lovely, she didn’t seem real.

“Nice night for sitting outside,” she said.

He nodded, staring at her glossy lips and picking up the scent of the gloss she wore. Coconut? No. Pineapple. His mouth watered. “Yep.”

They stared at each other in silence for several seconds before Jax looked down, shifting her weight back and forth. It was a tell, he realized. She was trying to gather her courage to do or say something, and she wasn’t sure how he’d respond. It made him feel a little bad, that, because it meant he’d probably hurt her with a gruff response or two over the last few days. It made him angry at himself, because when he hurt her, her eyes lost a little of their cautious shine, and the more time he spent with her, the more he hated seeing that happen.

“What’s up, Jax?” he asked softly.

“I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “Remember what you said today? About how you’d need to find a friend to watch games with?”

“Uh-huh. Somehow I don’t see you fillin’ that need, Duchess.”

She held up the six-pack of Abita, resting it on the railing about an inch from his nose. “Don’t be so sure.”

His eyes focused on the cardboard box, and he felt a beaming smile pulling at his lips, crinkling his eyes and lightening his heavy heart. “Abita.”

“It’s from Louisiana.”

“You bought Abita.”

She cringed. “Good or bad?”

Gard massaged his bristly chin with his thumb and forefinger, his mouth watering. “Good, Jax. Very, very good.”

“You like it?” she asked, her voice high with an excited squeal.

“
Beaucoup
.” He took the beer and stood, looking down at her as he gestured to the door with his chin. “You comin’ in?”

She nodded. “If I’m invited.”

“You’re invited, Duchess.”

He opened the door and stepped into the small living room area, setting the six-pack on the coffee table and heading to the kitchen for two glasses. He didn’t know why she was here again, and honestly, he didn’t care. Five minutes before she’d arrived, he’d been alone with his terrible memories. Now he was about to share a bottle of his favorite beer with a gorgeous woman who wanted nothing more complicated than to be his friend. Looked at in the right light—the light that didn’t include the way his heart started racing whenever he locked eyes on her—he was one lucky bastard.

“You want a glass?”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll drink it from the bottle.”

He put the glasses back in the cabinet and turned to face her.

She’d surprised him. Again.

“Really?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay with you.”

“Whatever you want.”

He opened a drawer, feeling around for the bottle opener he kept there, then joined her. He sat across from her, in one of two easy chairs, while she sat on her usual sofa-edge perch. The bottles hissed as he popped the caps off, and he lifted the cold glass to his lips, unable to keep from groaning with pleasure as the bubbles slipped down his throat.

Home. Glory Lord, it tastes like ever-lovin’ home. All the good bits without the bad.

When he opened his eyes, she was watching him with interest, her eyes wide and soft.

“What?” he asked.

“
Vous etes si belle que vous regarder est une souffrance
,” she answered, giving him a small, disarming grin before tilting her own bottle back.

***

His eyes registered shock, and she wondered if it was the same jolt of awareness she’d felt when he’d said the same words to her in his dark, rough, Cajun-accented French. If so, he deserved it. Her stomach hadn’t stopped fluttering since.

She didn’t know what was going on between them. Hell, they’d only met each other a few days ago, but suddenly she felt like she was in the middle of something bigger than a flirtation or acquaintance, and it surprised her to discover there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

“Tell me about makin’ a movie,” said Gard, rolling the bottle rim along his full lower lip.

She took a deep breath and sighed. The last thing she wanted to talk about was movies, because talk of movies invariably led to talk of her
next
movie, and Jax wasn’t sure what came next in her life, movies or otherwise. All she knew was that the entire conversation felt daunting and left her anxious.

“There’s a soccer game on,” she said. “We could just—”

“You like soccer?” he asked her, his eyes narrowing as he cocked his head to the side.

“Sure,” she said, but she knew immediately her tone wasn’t convincing, because he chuckled.

“About as much as a root canal, eh, Duchess?”

“You wanted a friend who’d drink beer with you and—”

“I don’t need you to be that friend, Jax. Just be yourself.”

Just be yourself.

Just be yourself.

Tears filled her eyes without permission and a huge lump formed in her throat.

Just be yourself.

Such easy advice…if you knew who that was.

“Jax?”

“I lost her,” she said softly.

“Who?” he asked, his forehead creasing in confusion.

“Whoever I was before…before…”

“Before makin’ the movie,” he said slowly, lowering his bottle.

She nodded.

“Well…what do you recall of her? What did you like about her?”

“She was carefree. She was fun-loving. She was strong.”

“Those sound like good things,” he said.

“They were.” Jax paused, feeling a bleakness envelope her as she told him about the girl she used to be. “She went to parties and posted silly pictures on Facebook and Instagram. She lived in LA.”

“Did she like that?” He asked, taking a long draw on his beer. “Goin’ to parties and livin’ in a big city?”

Jax took a deep breath.

“I was
supposed
to like it, but…”

“But?”

“No.”

The word came unbidden but easily.

“Why not?”

“I…I missed the country. The dark nights. The sounds of crickets in the evening and black-capped chickadees in the morning. The smell of cut grass. The space to breathe. I mean, the partying? It
looked
fun, but it wasn’t. It was either assholes like Tripp groping me or people I barely knew acting like we were best friends. It was all fake. I had no…anchor. Not in that world.” She took a deep breath, remembering the crowds of photographers who’d started following her after the Oscars. “When the paparazzi started hounding me, there was no one to protect me, no one who made me feel safe. My family was here, so far away. I didn’t want a bodyguard, but I hired one, and he sold pictures of me sleeping…to the
Star News
.”

“
Salaude
,” he muttered under his breath, his expression murderous.
Bastard.

“Exactly.” She shrugged. “And you know the worst? I didn’t even know until I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things and saw myself on the cover. They said I was passed out drunk in the caption, but I wasn’t. I was just…sleeping.”

“I’m sorry.” He flexed his jaw, his narrowed eyes searching her face without judgment. “Keep goin’. Tell me more about that girl.”

Jax sat back a little, taking a sip of beer, then backhanding her lips in thought. “She wasn’t sure where she was going. I mean, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her life. She’d graduated college with honors six years ago, but she hadn’t found her thing yet, and then—”

“Her
thing
?”

“You know…the thing she wanted to do with her life. She’d tried raising horses. She’d tried becoming a lawyer. She’d tried the family business…”

“And she tried makin’ a movie.”

Jax nodded. “She did.”

“And…did she like it?
Any
of it?”

“She loved horses, but not breeding them. She loved her brothers, but not working with them. She liked that
studying
the law gave her purpose and direction, even though she didn’t love the law itself. She
loved
making
The Philly Story
,” she said in a passionate whisper, looking up at him, meeting the intense gaze in his dark eyes. “She loved it more than anything.”

“But you didn’t love livin’ in…”

“Beverly Hills,” she said.

“Well, there’ve got to be lots of ritzy suburbs outside of LA, right? So buy a house in one of those neighborhoods and get out of the city.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, but since she’d returned home to Haverford, she couldn’t imagine leaving it again. And that was when she made her decision—right then and there with a cold bottle of Abita in her hand and this beautiful man she barely knew helping her sort out her life: Whatever plans lay ahead for Jax, they didn’t include returning to LA. She was staying in Haverford near her family. And what a burden lifted from her heart as she felt the rightness of her decision.

Gard continued. “You said didn’t like constant partyin’. The people who surrounded you in that life.”