Ashes & Asphalt

Chapter Eighteen- Measured Steps

The sound of hammers echoed like steady heartbeats through the halls of Jax’s childhood home.

He stood in what used to be the living room, now stripped to its bones. Sunlight poured in through the newly installed windows, casting sharp lines across the floor. He could already see it—soft rugs, the fire crackling, Taylor curled up on the couch with their future pressed into her palm.

It was dangerous, how badly he wanted it.

Kellan stepped into the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Security wiring’s going in next week. Reinforced glass for the nursery window too.”

Jax looked up. “Nursery?”

Kellan raised a brow. “You said kids. You think I wasn’t listening?”

Jax gave a slow nod, his jaw tightening with emotion he didn’t let show. “Good. I want it done right.”

“It will be,” Kellan said. “By the time Taylor walks through that door, this place will be untouchable.”

They walked through the hallway together, passing exposed studs and electrical lines, every inch of the place now touched by purpose.

“Anything else we’re adding?” Kellan asked.

Jax paused. Then pointed to a small alcove off the main hall. “That space. I want a bench there. Something simple. Wood. Ghost used to sit there when he was a kid.”

Kellan nodded without needing more.

They moved on, and the work continued—men outside hauling materials, the sound of saws and drills cutting into silence like progress made tangible.

Jax stood on the front porch as the day settled into late afternoon. He lit a cigarette, his eyes on the road beyond the trees, the air filled with sawdust and the low hum of trust.

Taylor would be here soon. And when she was, he’d be ready. Not just with walls and locks and gates—but with something stronger.

A home.

Taylor followed Jax as he led her into what would one day be a nursery. The walls were bare, the air tinged with sawdust and paint. There wasn’t a single toy or crib in sight, but the vision of what it could become hung in the air like a promise.

She looked around slowly, her steps careful, reverent almost. “This is the nursery?”

Jax nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Not much now. But it will be.”

Taylor let out a soft breath, her hand drifting to the edge of the window frame. “You already know where everything goes, don’t you?”

He shrugged, then smirked. “Roughly. Crib under the window. Chair in the corner for late-night rocking. Closet needs shelving. I figure you’ll want to pick the colors.”

She smiled faintly, but the weight of the room pressed in. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Even like this.”

Jax stepped further inside. “I wanted you to see it before it’s all done. So you’d know what we’re working toward.”

Taylor’s fingers curled around the windowsill. “It still feels unreal.”

Jax stood beside her now, his presence grounding. “It won’t be forever.”

She turned to him, hesitating. Then—quietly—“Would this still be happening… if Ghost was here?”

The question hung heavy between them. Jax didn’t flinch.

“You were always mine,” he said, voice steady. “I chose to share you with him. Not because I had to. Because I trusted him. And I knew we could handle it.”

Taylor blinked fast, throat tight. “I think about him all the time.”

“So do I.”

“But back then... when the three of us were together... I don’t know if I could picture this,” she admitted. “A baby. A home. It felt like... chaos and fire. Beautiful but unsteady.”

He nodded. “That’s because we were still figuring it all out. We didn’t have roots yet. But now?” He glanced around the bare room. “Now we’re building something solid. For us.”

Taylor stepped closer. “You still want that? Even after everything?”

“I wouldn’t be rebuilding this place if I didn’t,” he said. “We’ll finish this house. And when you’re ready—really ready—we’ll make that future happen.”

Her gaze dropped for a moment. “I’m still on birth control,” she admitted.

“I know,” Jax said, no judgment in his tone. “We move at your pace, Taylor. But I need you to know... this is where I see us. Eventually. Not just surviving. Living. Raising something that’s ours.”

She rested her head against his chest, letting the idea settle in her bones.

“I want that too,” she whispered.

The sun was sliding low when Jax and Kellan rode back onto the compound grounds, the rumble of their bikes swallowed by the sound of laughter and music already filling the air.

Smoke curled up from the massive grill Diesel was manning, beer flowed like it always did when the mood was good, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on Jax’s shoulders eased just a little.

Kellan parked beside him, kicking his stand down and pulling off his helmet. “Looks like we missed the prep but made it in time to eat.”

“That’s the best part anyway,” Jax replied, nodding toward the crowd. “Let’s go.”

They were greeted with cheers and back slaps, the crew already in full swing. Dani had taken over DJ duties with an old speaker she always managed to fix when no one else could, and Taylor—Jax’s eyes found her instantly—stood near the table, laughing with Mason as she passed out paper plates. She wore simple jeans, a white tank, and her hair in a low bun, but Jax still felt the air shift when she looked at him.

Her smile was soft. Familiar. Like a tether that kept him steady.

“She’s good for you,” Kellan said beside him, reading the moment without pressing too hard.

Jax gave a slight nod. “She’s home.”

Kellan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then we keep building around that.”

As the night wore on, the barbecue turned into one of those rare nights that felt like everything was okay again—at least for now. The club's laughter echoed under the string lights Dani had insisted on hanging, kids from nearby safe families darted between boots and legs, and even the toughest of them cracked open real smiles.

Taylor handed Jax a drink as they settled at one of the long benches.

“This feels good,” she said, watching Kellan and Diesel arm-wrestle to the cheers of the crowd.

“It’s what Ghost wanted,” Jax replied quietly. “Peace. Family. Nights like this.”

She leaned against him, and he felt her exhale, the sound like something sacred.

And in that moment—with the firepit glowing, music humming, and the crew around them—Jax Maddox didn’t feel haunted. He felt whole.

As the night wore on and the crowd slowly thinned, Jax found Taylor again by the drink table, her soft laughter chasing away the last shadows of the day. The way she fit into this life—his life—was seamless now, like she’d never been gone. And that warmth in his chest, the one that had crept in slowly since her return, had grown into something heavier. Needier.

She looked at him like she already knew.

Without a word, he took her hand and led her around the back of the compound, where the music faded into muffled thumps and the dark curled close. The sharp scent of grilled meat lingered in the air, mixed with the faint sweetness of her shampoo.

She looked up at him. “You okay?”

“I need you,” he said simply, voice low and sure.

There were no games between them anymore. No waiting.

She rose to her toes to kiss him first—soft, slow—and Jax deepened it, pushing her back until her spine met the cold steel wall. His hands slid up her shirt, memorizing the way her skin burned beneath his touch.

“Out here?” she whispered against his mouth, breathless.

“Right here.” His voice was rough. “You’re mine, and I want this moment with you.”

She nodded once, her pulse fluttering under his fingers.

It wasn’t frantic—not this time. It was reverent. Intimate. Jax undressed her like he had all the time in the world, kissing each new inch of skin like it was a promise. When he finally slid inside her, it was with a groan low in his throat, his forehead pressed to hers.

Their rhythm built slow, steady, like the beat of a heart coming back to life.

“I love you,” he murmured into her ear.

“I never stopped,” she whispered back.

And under the stars, behind the home they’d built with blood and loyalty, Jax Maddox found something deeper than fire or fury.

He found peace—in her.