Beautiful Brute (Court University 3)

Instead, I decided to shower and wash the evening off. I still felt Lawson’s hands on me, and I wanted to remove the sensation as soon as I could. I exited the room with my shower caddy and a change of clothes. I assumed Jax was gathering things since his door was open and light spilled out into the hall.

Moving quickly in an attempt to avoid him, I went right to it with the shower. I didn’t use the communal area after the incident with him and stayed behind a private curtain. Something told me I wouldn’t have a problem tonight, though.

It seemed I was right, a completely quiet and easy shower. More than nice, I relished in the heat awhile before wrapping it up. When I got back to the room, I figured Jax would be done, gone, but I noticed his light still on down the hall. I didn’t hear anything so I figured he’d just left it on.

Padding lightly in my shorts and tank, I snuck a look into the room. He wasn’t in there, the area completely cleaned out outside of the bedspread and a few clothes in the walk-in closet. Since he wasn’t done I started to leave until I noticed the picture frame on his desk.

It had my father in it.

Well, my adoptive father. Truth be told, I hadn’t seen my biological dad in years. He’d stopped paying ch

ild support at eighteen, and outside of a few “How are you doing?” texts, I didn’t hear from him at all. He checked up on me, of course, from time to time, but had moved on. He’d even remarried.

I guessed like Jax’s dad.

But it wasn’t my mom and me in the photo with Rick Fairchild, but another family, a past.

There was a crazy beautiful woman in the photo, like crazy beautiful, and I assumed that was Jax’s mom Sherry. Blond, her hair breezed in the wind of whatever beach they were on. A younger version of my adoptive father, Rick was on the other side of her. He appeared so, so happy, a smile I’d seen many times, and to the left of Sherry, I found it hard to identify the boy under her arm.

Jaxen was so young, eyes far from anger as he held the waist of his mother on the beach. He maybe looked ten in this photo, if that, and the smile on his face he wore for days. It was obnoxiously huge like he was trying to win an award for it, on the tips of his toes. It was as if the very expression attempted to pull itself out of him, so much joy on his face as he grinned directly at the sun. I really didn’t recognize him, or this family. My adoptive dad held both his wife at the time and Jax, his reach that extensive. He held them both, his entire family gathered up under his arm.

It took me a moment to realize I was being watched and another to gather my wits as I’d somehow come to hold the keepsake. Jax, my Jax today, had his big body lounged up against the room’s empty desk, his arms folded and ankles crossed like he’d been there for a while.

“Sorry,” I said, completely flustered as I put the photo down. He pushed off the desk, coming over, and honestly, I didn’t know what he’d do.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, analyzing the photo before studying me. I stood so close I could taste him, his spicy aftershave.

Overwhelmed, I looked away, and he reached to take the photo himself. I shrugged. “I was just checking to see if you were done. I saw the light on and came to turn it off. I didn’t mean to get into your stuff.”

The truth, but I wrestled with my hands as if I were guilty. I had kind of sort of gone through his stuff. It wasn’t mine, and I had no right.

A shake of his head as Jax returned the photo to the desk.

“No big,” he said, all the attention he gave to the photo. I noticed it was one of few things he’d left in this room beyond his bedspread and clothing items. Had he been intending on leaving it? He cuffed his arms. “I am almost done so… just doing one more sweep.”

Nodding, I thought to leave him to it, but was curious when he passed the photo completely and started getting his clothes out of the closet. Gathering them up, he shoved them all in a box he had at the foot of the bed.

I watched him pack away, staying out of his way. I thought he’d get the photo, but all he did was close the box.

He picked it up. “I’ll be 5230 E. Lakeshore Dr,” he said, a subtle lift of his broad shoulder. “You know. Just in case.”

In case what? In case he forgot something?

Maybe even he didn’t know. Because he said nothing as he passed me with the box. I stopped him, grabbing the photo. “You’re not going to take this?”

He looked at it again, frowning. “I have others. That’s not my favorite. I look like a fucking goober in it I’m smiling so big.”

I thought it was cute, smiling myself. I touched his little face. “Where did you guys go?”

“Uh, St. Clare,” he said, sliding the box down and taking the photo. His gaze drifted to the ceiling in thought. “Like a summer or two before the divorce or something. One of our last family trips.”

There wasn’t any emotion behind what he said, and maybe it’d been so long ago there wasn’t any emotion.

I lounged back, gripping his desk. “My family’s was at Disney. World, not Land. It was a good time.”

A great time really. We had no worries back then, no drama.

And we’d had Nathan.