Saved By A Bad Boy

[3]. Left Behind...

The moment I returned home, my mother started drilling me with questions about what happened, but I wasn't in the mood to talk. All the excitement I felt at the prospect of the library had drained away after Jax confronted me. Why did he even want that library? He hated books. I loved them. Mrs. Maxwell probably left them to me because - unlike her son - I'd actually read them. Why couldn't he understand that? Wasn't it enough that he had her mansion and her garden and everything else about her? Why couldn't he give me this one piece of who she was?

Perhaps I was being selfish, but I loved Chloe Maxwell with so much of my heart that it ached when I thought of her. I wanted a part of her, too.

Practically slamming down onto my bed, I let my eyes wander throughout the bare room. My anger was gradually dissipating and being replaced with the usual feeling of hurt and self-hatred. Why did talking to Jax, my best friend since preschool, have to be so hard?

My thoughts traveled back to the night after he found out his mother was going to die, the memories flooding my consciousness with unforgiving pain. Usually, I was the one who called him up in the middle of the night, but this time, I was awoken by a hard rap on my glass window. I had pulled back the curtains and peered into the darkness, the blazing city lights illuminating Jax's face as he stared at me from the other side. As he stood on my fire escape, his shirt clothes askew and his eyes wild with hurt, I knew that this was going to be harder than anything we had ever faced.

Because unlike the rest of our troubles, we wouldn't face this together.

That night, I had been lying on my bed, wide awake before he interrupted my thoughts, sort of like how I am now. And I felt horrible.

Sort of like how I feel now.

I knew Mrs. Maxwell's cancer was most likely terminal, but hearing the doctor give her a month to live...

...It was like someone buried a stone in my chest that blocked anything from going in or out. Pain tore through me harder than it had in a long time, and I felt every tear I had ever shed crawl back to the surface. I knew I had to be strong, though. Jax was my best friend. He was my hero and my healer, my protector and comforter. But with the death of his mom drawing closer, I knew I'd have to be all those things for him. 

"Jax," I had gasped, taking his hand and drawing him through my bedroom window. The moment he was inside, he grasped me in a rib-crushing embrace, smashing me against his steely chest and burying his nose in my hair. He was breathing heavily as he hugged me, squeezing me tightly in his muscled arms.

"What am I gonna do, Lis?" he had asked. It was a rare occasion to see my best friend like that. He was always calm, cool and collected. But that night, he was torn and frantic. 

"Hey, hey, it's alright," I assured him softly, my voice no more than a whisper as I spoke. I placed my hands on his shoulders and rested my head against his chest, my fingers running in a circular motion at the base of his neck so he would relax.

"She's really gonna die, Lissy. She...she's gonna die," he choked out in a panicked voice, tightening his hold on my body.

"I know. But you'll get through this. We'll get through this. I'll be here for you, the whole time," I reminded him, listening to his harsh breathing. I felt his lips on my forehead, and I had been reminded of the kiss we shared just before I found out about the cancer. Neither of us had acted on that kiss since, and of course, with his mom being so sick I doubted we would do anything for a long time. But I wasn't worried about the romantic aspect of our relationship at that point, even though I still liked him in every way possible. Jax and I were always best friends, and no matter what, we'd always be best friends.