“My mom probably bribed her,” I tell her, wanting to get the look of unease off her face. And that probably isn’t a lie—I know my mom and dad both love kids. They would’ve had more than my sister and me if things had been different, but after being apart for so long, I know they wanted to focus on our family.

“Hope has never really had grandparents. My mom, as you know, is crazy, and my dad, who would have adored her, died long before she ever got a chance to meet him.” She pauses. “She already loves them,” she says softly, and before I have a chance to ask her about Hope’s father’s family and why none of them are around or involved in her life, she steps away from me toward the table, taking a seat. I follow and sit next to her, watching her face as she watches Hope, who is now sitting on my mom’s lap and babbling about something to my dad.

“They’re already in love with her too,” I say, nudging Ellie’s shoulder with mine to get her attention. When her eyes come to me, I dip my face closer to hers and tell her gently, “You have family now. Both you and Hope do.”

Her lips press together, and that tightness fill my chest again, making me uncomfortable. Taking her hand from the table, I wrap it around my thigh, placing my hand over hers. It might take some time, but one way or another, she will learn to accept she isn’t alone anymore.

Chapter 4

Ellie

After putting away the rest of Hope’s clothes in the closet and making her bed, I head downstairs to the kitchen. Since Ashlyn picked Hope up this morning, I have no possible reason to stay up here any longer, and I’m sure Jax, who knocked on my door thirty minutes ago and told me he needed to talk to me, isn’t going to give me much longer to avoid him.

It’s Tuesday, three days since July’s wedding, and I haven’t seen much of Jax since then. On Sunday, the day after the wedding, I had to work, so Jax’s mom watched Hope, and then Jax picked her up and made her dinner. He sent me a text at work asking if Hope could have ice cream, to which I told him not before dinner. I can see now that my girl has him wrapped around her finger.

When I got home, I had a quick dinner, and luckily Hope was just as tired as I was, so we had an early night. Yesterday, Jax worked, so I only saw him for a brief moment when he stopped at Hope’s bedroom door. His eyes collided with mine as we stared at each other until he rumbled, “Goodnight,” quietly and left the doorway. Hope had long since fallen asleep, but I couldn’t leave her, and if I’m honest with myself, I used her like a shield to protect myself from Jax.

I know I find him attractive. I know the kiss he gave me in the car stole more than my laughter. I know the way I felt when he told his friend I’m his girlfriend. I know that at the wedding, when I shared a slow dance with him and he held me tight against his body, I felt like the only women in the world. I know the way I felt watching him hold my daughter, who had fallen asleep in his lap as he laughed with his family, all while keeping a firm grip on my hand. I know I want more than anything to believe it’s my turn to find happiness, but I also know how I felt having a beautiful woman shove reality in my face and down my throat while I sat across from Jax in a restaurant.

I hate the way I feel about Jax being with other women. I don’t expect any man in this day and age to be a virgin or to have waited until marriage to have sex. But I can honestly say the idea of being with a man who looks like Jax, and who has his dating history, is worrisome. I don’t only have myself to think about; I have a daughter who watches everything I do. I don’t want to show her at an early age that some men are assholes and can’t be trusted.

Moving down the stairs, I pause. Even my lungs freeze up when I hear Jax ask, “When was she taken?” My heart beats hard against my ribcage and my legs begin to get weak. Another woman was taken. Could it be the same guys who took July and me? The same guys who had drugged that girl then brought her back so doped out of her mind she didn’t even know who she was?

I hate that one of them lived, and I hate more there are others no one knows about. I don’t want to live in fear, but I’m afraid. I can’t help but think they will come after me again. The first time they took me, I had just gotten off work at the salon and was heading for the bus stop, when their van pulled up, opened the side door, and hefted me inside like a scene out of a movie. I was so stunned I don’t even think I screamed until I realized what they were doing, that they were actually wrapping tape around my wrists, and then they told me my mom sold me to them. What kind of parent sells their only living child into sex trafficking? How does anyone even know how to get into contact with people who do traffic? The whole thing disturbs me, but one thing I do know—I have Jax now, and though I may feel conflicted about the status of our relationship, I know deep down he will protect Hope and me.

Tiptoeing toward the entryway to the kitchen, I try to be silent as I walk, so I can try to hear anything else. It does no good though, and I know Jax is still somehow aware I’m near without me ever making a sound, when he tells the person on the phone I’m there and he will see them in the office later.

“Hey,” I say softly, avoiding his eyes and moving to the counter to the coffee pot, where I pull down a mug from the cupboard, pour myself a cup, and then go to the fridge. I grab the cream, put a splash in before moving to the counter, pull a spoon from the drawer, and scoop three heaping spoonsful of sugar in then stir.

“Are you gonna look at me?” he asks.

I really want to say no, but instead, I say, “Hmm?” taking a sip of coffee and closing my eyes, letting the taste and aroma work its way through my system. I pray that I’ll magically teleport to another dimension, where I can look at Jax but not have to talk to him, where I can be invisible.

“You’ve been avoiding me since the wedding.”

Knowing I have no choice, I turn my head and look at him. “I know,” I agree rather than lying, which causes his eyes to open wider in surprise.

“You know?” he repeats as his brows pull together, causing two wrinkles to form between them.

“I could lie and say I haven’t been avoiding you, but you would know I’m lying, and I suck at lying, so I may as well just tell the truth,” I rattle out before taking another sip of coffee, trying to keep my mouth occupied.

“I appreciate that. I don’t like games,” he says as his face softens.

“Me neither,” I agree, even though I have never played the kind of games he’s probably talking about.

“So why are you avoiding me?” he asks, leaning back against the counter behind him and crossing his bare feet at the ankles. How can someone make leaning look hot? I do not know, but if I had a camera and took a couple pictures of him right now, with his still slightly damp hair, dark blue tee that’s straining against the muscles of his arms, his jeans hanging low, the warn material tight enough to show off the thickness of his thighs, I could probably sell those images for a lot of money to a catalog for whatever brand it is he’s wearing.

“I like you,” I blurt then bite my lower lip in punishment.

Why the hell did you say that?

“I like you too,” he states simply, picking up his cup from the counter and taking a sip. “That’s why I want to spend more time with you and get to know you better, and you avoiding me doesn’t really allow me to do that.”

“You’ve dated a looooot,” I drag out the word, telling him something he should know already, because obviously my filter is malfunctioning and I’m spewing out anything and everything that comes to mind.

Watching him closely, I’m surprised when I see regret in his eyes. “I’ve dated a lot.” He nods, and I nod back, because what the hell else am I supposed to do? “But—” He starts to say something else, when there’s a loud knock at the door then the doorbell goes off. “Fuck,” he mutters, looking towards the door then back to me. “I’ll be right back. Just drink your coffee,” he says before prowling out of the kitchen toward the front door.