Before Sunday

Twenty Seven

9:46 PM

I don't. I don't let go. I do pull away long enough to inspect his face. His brows are drawn down, his bottom lip raw. The way he's chewing on it, I can see why.

"Jax. Oh my God. What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, saying nothing before bowing it and burying it into my shoulder.

Has Xavier completely crossed that line? Has he said something?

My stomach drops to the floor and the air becomes too thick to breathe. "Jax," I repeat. "What's wrong? You're scaring me."

He still doesn't speak but I feel his hands link through my hair. His touch is far more rough than I'm used to. They slide from my hair and as they move up my back he finally moves his face from my shoulder so he's looking at me. He cups my face, the pads of his thumbs tracing across my cheeks.

"Angel," he whispers.

"Jackson."

His lips press to my forehead.

"Jackson. Talk to me, please."

"I can't Lola. Just let me hold you."

He knows. He either knows something is up or this Jax in front of me is a glimpse of the person he was, or claimed to be before me. Before Sunday himself, was as vital to me as air.

I wrap my hand in his and tug him to the bed. Obviously he doesn't want to talk, or he can't bring himself to say what he wants to say. I pull the covers to the side and motion for him to get in. He does, shuffling across the small twin bed so his back is against the wall. I follow suit and climb in beside him, moving my body until I feel his chest pressed to my back. His arm scoops around me and he pulls as if I can somehow get any closer.

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"If I ever lost you, I'd have no reason to live."

These are the only words he mutters before I hear his breathing slow. It's deep and shallow.

"Jax?" I whisper.

I get no response.

While Jackson sleeps, I can't help but worry about the future.

The next morning, I wake to a text from Madeline. There are none from Xavier, thank God. Jackson slept beside me like a log but with the limited space in my bed, his limbs are dead weight on top of me.

"Jax," I say, trying to slip out from underneath him. "Jax."

He groans and rolls over, mumbling something almost incoherent. I can't be sure but I think he speaks my name. I do an ungraceful dismount from the bed, sure that the thud of my feet hitting the ground is going to wake him but it doesn't. Tori's bed remains empty.

I grab my toiletry bag and head to the shower, convinced he will be awake when I return, but he's not. I crawl on the bed and place my lips on his. His eyelashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly before they open.

"Hi," he says.

"Good morning Jackson Nathaniel Sunday."

"I like it when you use my full name."

"I know. Listen. I promised Madeline I'd meet her for a coffee. Stay here. Sleep. I'll bring you a coffee back and we can spend the day together."

"Madeline? As in Mason?" he questions.

"The same one. It's kind of a long story. I'll explain later."