Jaded Until Jax

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kristen Morgan sat in the waiting room at the psychiatrist, expecting her son to be finished with his session shortly. It had been almost a year and a half since she’d lost her husband and Travis lost his father in a terrible fire that had torn through their home. It was the day her happily ever after turned into nothing more than a charred nightmare.

Sitting in the waiting room with not much to keep her mind occupied was like walking on a tightrope. Anxious energy spread through her, causing her heart to pick up speed and making it hard to breathe. She tried to focus on the magazine in her hands, but the words blended together. Her leg shook, and she looked across the small space to Celia, the receptionist. Normally Kristen would chat—occupy her mind and help pass the time, but Celia had been on the phone with an insurance company since Kristen had arrived.

She took a deep breath and silently counted to ten—a stupid trick she picked up on the internet that rarely ever worked, but she was desperate. Going into a full-blown panic attack while her son was only a room away was unacceptable. Though, trying to tell that to the irrational side of her brain wasn’t exactly easy. Somehow, though, she’d managed to keep the attacks hidden from her son. Sometimes it was hard to explain why she plucked him from the store, leaving behind the items she’d collected with the intention to buy, or why she’d forgotten to pick up ice cream on the way home, because in reality, she couldn’t find the courage to get out of the car to make the purchase.

What if the building collapsed, or she was struck by lightning? How could she willingly put herself into that path when she had two kids who’d already lost their dad? It was such a ridiculous thought, and she knew that, and for the most part she could shove it down, but there were times when the attacks would come out of nowhere, and no matter how much she tried to convince herself that everyone would be fine, she couldn’t convince that stubborn side of her brain.

The door opened, and Kristen’s attention drifted to the man walking in. He was tall and broad with muscles that put his olive-green t-shirt’s stretch to the limit. His warm, walnut-brown hair was cut short on the sides while a bit longer on top. He moved with precision, as if each step was a calculated process that made him aware of every inch of the room. He didn’t smile as he entered and approached Celia.

The guy was good looking, but good looks didn’t mean he wasn’t some psycho who was about to put her in danger. She fidgeted in her seat, linking her fingers together. Celia covered the phone receiver and greeted him. The man signed Celia’s form, and she motioned for him to take a seat.

He clearly had an appointment, so he probably wasn’t some disgruntled patient. She let out a relieved breath as she told herself to get a grip. She shoved the irrational thoughts to the back of her mind where she hoped they would stay.

She adjusted again in her seat when the man sat in the row of chairs across from her. He shoved his wadded-up coat into the chair beside him.

His long, tanned fingers tapped insistently against his knee, and she wondered if he was anxious, too. “I hate waiting rooms,” she said as her own anxious energy found its escape. Talking, for whatever reason, helped to distract her from the chaos in her mind.

Unfortunately, the guy didn’t seem to be much of a talker, but that was okay. She could talk for the both of them. It was better than skimming through the tattered magazine in her hand for the hundredth time. “They are always too small, you know? Feels like the walls are caving in. And it’s always so quiet. What is that about? It’s like everyone is sitting and waiting for impending death.” The irony of her words wasn’t lost on her. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah sure,” he responded, and she was immediately intrigued by the gravel of his tone. It was deep and rough, like he’d lived a thousand years and was still around to talk about it.

“And the walls are always stark white. They should paint them a fun color, like yellow or lime green.”

His eyebrow arched.

“Not a lime green fan? Okay, suit yourself. It’s a fun color that provokes joy.”

His jaw tightened, and he slumped down in his chair. It was obvious he didn’t want to speak, but the dizzying spiral she was racing toward before he got here was becoming a hazy memory, so she took her chances and kept talking.

“I’m waiting for my son. He should be out in a few more minutes, then I need to pick my other son up from the sitter. I’m thinking I’ll treat them to pizza for dinner. Have you been to the new pizza place right off Main Street? Little Gino’s? He’s from Brooklyn and has water shipped in from New York because apparently, it’s the water in New York that makes their pizza so good, but how could that be? You know? Has he even tried our water?”

Oh god. Why did she blurt that out? She was their sole protector, and now she was divulging information about their whereabouts to a total stranger. Small-town life was getting to her head.

“Look lady, I know you’ve probably lived a sheltered small-town life where you think everyone gives a s**t about everything you have to say, but in the real world, no one cares. So, if you could… please shut up.”

Her oncoming panic attack took a backseat as her anger climbed in front and center, snapping her head to attention as his words hit her with a force she was not expecting. She should’ve let it go; he obviously had issues, but so what? Everyone had issues, and that didn’t give a person the right to be a d**k.

“For your information,” she said, “I am far from sheltered. I lived in seven different cities by the time I was eleven, thirteen by the time I was eighteen.” Her father had been in the Navy, so it was nearly impossible to settle down. Every time her mom had gotten the house just right, they’d have to move again. “So no, I don’t think everyone gives a s**t about what I have to say, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong with a little small talk. Clearly, I should have realized you’re an unsociable jerk who would rather sit there with a scowl on your face than have a conversation with someone.”

“Good. We’re on the same page.”

“Unbelievable.” She grabbed her bag and stood. It was still another five minutes before Travis’ session was over, so she crossed her arms over her chest, annoyed that she’d stood up in the first place. Now if she didn’t leave, she’d look like an i***t, but she couldn’t leave without her son.

She dropped back in the chair. “I’m only staying because my son is still not done, but as soon as he is, I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Oh goody.”

She harrumphed and turned her body away from his. The anxious energy that had been racing through her body earlier was overpowered by annoyance and rage. She glanced at the jerk, and surprise, surprise, he had a scowl on his face.

“You didn’t have to be so rude,” she said, unable to help herself.

He ran a hand over his face, the corded muscles in his arm straining against his tanned skin. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot going on.”

“You’re not the only one.”

This time his head snapped to hers; the gray of his eyes darkened like a storm rolling in over the coast. “I think my problems are a little more serious than yours.”

She snapped to her feet. He had no idea what he was talking about. It was obvious he didn’t know who she was. Everyone in town did. It was the hazard of small-town life. Though, it was almost refreshing that he didn’t know her tragic story, but she wanted him to realize he couldn’t talk to people the way he did. “Oh, I bet,” she quipped. “Because moving to a small town where I literally knew no one because it was my husband’s dream to return to the place he grew up, only to lose it all when his childhood home burned to the ground. My kids lost their house, their belongings, and their father that day, and I lost my college sweetheart, my partner in life, leaving me a single mom of two boys who ask daily why they can’t see their father.” Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them at bay. She was used to holding the sadness back; it was how she survived. “So, don’t you sit there and tell me that your problems are more serious than mine.”

The office door opened, and Travis ran out, lollipop in hand. “Mom!” he exclaimed. “Look, I got a lollipop!”

She rustled his hair and took a deep calming breath, letting all her emotions fall away. “Aren’t you lucky?” she said without a hint of the anger she felt slipping into her tone.

The jerk held his hand up like he wanted to say something, but she’d had enough of him and his s**t poor attitude.

“Come on, Travis, it’s time to go.” She guided her son to the door, waved to Celia, and got the hell out of there.

***

Jesus. Jax didn’t mean to snap like he did, but how the hell was he supposed to know that she had a f****d-up life? He just assumed she was like the rest of the town folk here. The biggest travesty was when the local bakery was out of their favorite dessert.

And with all those places she’d lived, she was either a military brat or stuck floating through the system until she was of age. He could’ve asked; she would have gladly shared with him, that he was sure, but instead, she was right; he was rude.

It was the lime green that did it. Lime green provoked joy, his a*s. Lime green provoked death and destruction, and he would know. It was the color of the flowers on the shirt of the woman who killed his best friend and three innocent shoppers. Not that the widow knew that, of course, but she evoked a memory, and he was afraid of spiraling into that black hole of desolation that had a way of sinking its teeth into him and refusing to let go.

It was a hard hole to avoid, and most of the time he had no control over it. It didn’t help that he didn’t want to see a shrink, but he’d also pissed his sister off enough and didn’t want to fight over this. He figured he’d come in, talk to the guy, and go on his way the same as he went in.

There was nothing this guy could say or do. If the military shrinks couldn’t help him, how could this guy? Jax’s head was messed up, and no amount of talking would fix that. In an hour he’d be back on his way, dealing with this s**t the best way he knew how—keeping it to himself the best that he could and downing a fifth of Jack to knock him out enough to get a few hours of sleep.

He needed to avoid all loud noises, yelling, bright lights, and maybe even people in general to be safe. He rested his head in his hands, wishing like hell Sanders was here. That scrawny bastard would know exactly what to do. He always did. Jax might’ve been the man in charge, but Sanders was his voice of reason, his number one who not only had his back but had the right words when words didn’t seem adequate.

A lump lodged itself in Jax’s throat as a rush of regret and sorrow slammed into him. He held his ground against the onslaught of memories, trying not to let the awful visions from that day reenter his mind. His hands tightened on the armrest of the chair, his nails biting into the shiny, silver metal.

Deep breath. Deep breath. He didn’t need to freak out while he was here. With his luck, the shrink would insist he be locked up, the key thrown away, and he’d live out his pathetic existence in a mental ward.

“Jax Marshall?” An old guy wearing tan slacks and a red cardigan over a button-down shirt with a tie appeared in the doorway. Great. If Jax had known Mr. Rogers was going to be his therapist, he definitely would have canceled.

One hour. He reminded himself.

Jax stood, but he’d forgotten about the weak muscles in his leg. The muscle—what was left of it—seized, pain ricocheting up and down his thigh in a stomach-churning fashion. A loud growl tore from his throat as his leg gave out, and he came down hard on his knee.

“Are you okay?” The old guy came to his side and grabbed his arm to help him up.

“Just great,” he mumbled.

“Do you need to sit for a moment?” Dr. Howard asked.

“No,” Jax said. “Let’s just get this over with.”