His Forever Ride

Chapter Two - Fault Lines

The morning light filtered through the half-open curtains, casting golden lines across the sheets. Taylor stirred slowly, her body already instinctively curling closer to the warmth beside her.

Jax.

He was on his back, one arm under his head, the other resting across her bare hip. His chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm she had come to crave more than sleep.

She kissed his shoulder softly. Then again. Then lower.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice gravel-thick. “That’s how people end up staying in bed all day.”

Taylor smiled against his skin. “Maybe that’s the point.”

His arm tightened around her as he shifted to face her. They kissed—unhurried, deep. Not rushed, not greedy. Just full. Like they’d been waiting for it. Like they always did.

Their bodies fit in that easy, familiar way—no more hesitation, no more lingering ghosts in the sheets. Just need. And love. And the desire to remind each other they were still choosing this.

Taylor couldn’t stop touching him—her hands in his hair, along his back, gripping his shoulders as his mouth moved against her skin like he knew every inch.

And he did.

She wrapped her legs around him as he pushed into her, their rhythm slow but building, the kind of slow burn that curled around her spine and made her breath catch.

“Jax,” she whispered, voice raw with it.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and she believed him completely.

Her head tipped back, fingers threading into his hair, and just when her body was on the verge of breaking—

“Jax,” a voice called out, muffled through the house.

A knock. Then another.

“You home?”

Taylor froze, breath stuck in her throat.

Jax let out a low groan and dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “You’ve got to be f*****g kidding me.”

Taylor laughed, breathless. “That’s gotta be Kellan.”

“Of course it is,” he muttered, still buried in her. “Guy’s got the worst timing in the world.”

She kissed his cheek, then his jaw. “Go. I’ll still be here.”

He sighed like it physically pained him to pull away. “One of these days, I’m locking the damn gate.”

Taylor smiled as he climbed out of bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor. As he headed out, she collapsed back onto the mattress, heart still racing, body still humming from being that close.

Even interrupted, the morning had already done what it needed to.

She felt wanted. Grounded. Home.

Taylor slid out of bed with a low sigh, still warm and flushed from what might’ve been—if not for Kellan’s impeccable timing.

She pulled on a pair of black cotton panties, then reached for one of Jax’s shirts from the laundry chair—soft, slightly oversized, and still carrying the faint scent of cedar, soap, and him. She rolled up the sleeves and ran a hand through her hair as she crossed the room to the bathroom.

Quick rinse. Teeth brushed. A splash of cool water. She didn’t need to be polished—just presentable enough not to look like she’d almost been orgasming when the door knocked.

By the time she walked barefoot down the hallway, the low hum of conversation from the living room had settled into something serious.

She found them exactly as expected—Kellan leaning against the side table near the window, arms crossed, face unreadable. Jax sat on the arm of the couch, still shirtless, hair tousled, jaw tight in a way she recognized too well.

They both looked up as she entered.

Kellan gave her a quick, sheepish nod. “Sorry for the... uh. Early visit.”

Taylor smiled lightly, brushing a hand through her hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m getting used to interruptions around here.”

That earned the faintest smirk from Jax.

She stepped into the kitchen without asking and started the coffee pot. A few minutes later, she placed two steaming mugs on the table in front of them.

“Don’t let it go cold,” she said, giving Jax a meaningful look before heading back toward the bedroom.

As she walked away, she heard the shift in their voices—their conversation lowering, words tucked between the lines. Club stuff. The kind she never pushed into, unless he brought it to her first.

Back in the bedroom, she pulled open her top drawer, sorting through a few light dresses and tanks. The sun was already warming the house, and she figured today was a linen-and-sandals kind of morning.

She turned on the bathtub faucet, letting the water start its slow, steady climb. The scent of lavender from her bath oil drifted through the air.

Whatever brought Kellan here this early—it wasn’t small. That much was obvious. Jax’s whole posture had shifted the second he heard the knock.

Taylor stared at her reflection for a long moment in the mirror, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She didn’t know what the conversation was about—and she didn’t need to.

Whatever it was, Jax would handle it.

He always did.

And when he left with Kellan—because he would—she’d have the house to herself. A quiet bath. A day to reset.

They had peace, yes.

But that didn’t mean life stopped knocking.

By the time the bath was full, the voices in the living room had gone silent.

Taylor turned the water off, the house settling into a soft hush again. She didn’t bother soaking just yet. Her mind was already somewhere else—half in the fridge, half in the pantry, and fully aware that if she didn’t go shopping today, they’d be eating toast and leftover marinara for dinner.

She tugged on a pair of shorts and tied the hem of Jax’s black shirt at her waist. Then she grabbed a notepad from the kitchen drawer and scribbled down what they were out of:

Milk. Bread. Garlic. Tomatoes. Ricotta.

She added a few extras—lemons, fresh basil, and the ingredients for the dessert she had in mind.

She hadn’t made her lasagna in months. Not since before she ran. It felt strange to think of it now—not as a peace offering or apology—but just… dinner. Something warm. Something theirs.

And if she timed it right, she’d have the coconut white chocolate cheesecake chilled and ready by the time Jax got home.

Taylor glanced out the front window. Jax’s bike was still parked in its usual spot, but the black Dodge Charger he kept under the carport was untouched.

She hesitated for half a second, then grabbed the keys from the hook by the door. He wouldn’t mind. He’d offered her the car before, and besides—he knew where to find her.

The drive into town was quiet. Roads familiar, radio low.

It felt good—this little independence. She hadn’t done a solo grocery run since moving into the house. Jax usually had things brought in, or they’d gone together. But today, she didn’t want delivery or help.

She wanted fresh mozzarella.

She wanted to pick the tomatoes herself.

She wanted to do something that reminded her she wasn’t just living in Jax’s world—she was helping shape it.

By the time she reached the market, the list was nearly memorized. She parked the Charger near the entrance and slipped on her sunglasses before heading inside.

She moved through the aisles with purpose, basket filling with everything from fresh garlic to cream. Her phone buzzed once, a message from Jax:

You take the car?

She smiled and texted back:

Yes. Grocery run. Don’t be mad unless you want to cook tonight.

Three dots appeared. Then:

Drive safe. Lasagna better be ready when I’m back.

Taylor smirked and added a bottle of red wine to the cart.

She had a cheesecake to make. A home to feed.

And maybe—just maybe—a life that didn’t need proving anymore.

Taylor loaded the last grocery bag into the trunk of the Charger, brushing her hair back from her face as the early afternoon sun climbed higher. The breeze carried the scent of asphalt and summer—familiar and oddly comforting.

She shut the trunk, slid her sunglasses back on, and paused.

One more stop.

Not for groceries. Not for the house.

For her.

Downtown wasn’t big, but it had enough charm to feel like something out of a small-town novel. She wandered past a few boutique windows before one caught her eye—lace and silk displayed like soft promises behind polished glass.

Taylor stepped inside the shop, the soft jingle of the bell above the door making her smile to herself. The place was quiet, tucked away from the heavier foot traffic, and it smelled like vanilla and something faintly floral.

She moved through the racks slowly, fingers trailing over satin, lace, sheer panels.

Then she saw it.

A set in deep crimson—delicate lace, high-cut, low-dip, the kind of thing that wasn’t about coverage. It was about intention.

And hers was crystal clear.

She carried it to the counter without second-guessing, her heart beating a little faster in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. This wasn’t about fixing anything or proving herself. It was about wanting.

She wanted Jax.

Not just emotionally. Not just because he’d forgiven her, or because they’d survived what most couples never would.

But because he still made her ache. Because the way he looked at her in the mornings—like she was both a peace offering and a temptation—lit something inside her she never wanted to lose.

As the woman behind the counter rang her up, Taylor smirked a little to herself.

Tonight, she’d finish what they started.

She walked back to the car with the little boutique bag swinging lightly in her hand, the wind teasing the hem of Jax’s shirt tied at her waist.

The groceries were done. The lasagna would go in the oven by five. The cheesecake was waiting in the backseat, boxed and chilled.

And the red lace?

That was dessert.

The house smelled like garlic, herbs, and toasted coconut by the time Taylor slid the lasagna into the oven.

She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and stepped back, eyeing the counter with satisfaction. The cheesecake had already been chilling in the fridge for hours, thick and creamy with a smooth layer of coconut ganache spread across the top. A few white chocolate curls were scattered across it like something straight out of a pastry window.

The wine was breathing. The table was set. Candles stood tall and clean in their holders. She even pulled out the linen napkins they’d never used—because tonight wasn’t about function.

It was about intention.

Once the dishes were done and the kitchen counters wiped clean, Taylor moved through the house with purpose, tucking things into place. A throw blanket here. Books stacked neatly on the coffee table. It wasn’t about perfection—it was about presence.

She wanted Jax to walk in and feel it: this was their home, and tonight, it was glowing.

Upstairs, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, already wearing the deep red lace beneath the silk wrap dress she’d chosen.

The lingerie fit like a second skin—soft, barely-there, designed for reveal more than coverage. Over it, the dress clung to her curves, slit high, neckline lower than necessary. Red lips. Soft, smoky eyes. Hair in loose, sculpted waves.

For a moment, she just stared.

Not in doubt.

In recognition.

This was her again.

The woman who walked into The Barrel that night all those months ago and made Jax Maddox look twice.

But this time, there was more behind her eyes.

This wasn’t about attention. It was about ownership—of herself, her story, her place in his life.

She smiled, just slightly, and turned toward the sound of the oven’s timer going off downstairs.

Back in the kitchen, she pulled the lasagna out, the scent rich and bold. It rested on the stovetop while she lit the candles on the table, checked the glasses, made one last adjustment to the music playing low through the house.

Everything was ready.

She was ready.

And when Jax walked through that door, she wanted him to see what she already knew—

He wasn’t coming home to the woman who ran.

He was coming home to the woman who stayed. Who chose him. Who built this life with her own two hands and damn well knew how to light it on fire.

Taylor heard the low growl of Jax’s bike before she saw him.

The sound cut through the quiet evening like a familiar heartbeat—steady, strong, and unmistakably him. Her pulse jumped. She gave the candles on the table one final check, smoothed the front of her red silk dress, and made her way to the kitchen just as the engine went silent out front.

A few seconds later, the front door opened.

Jax stepped inside, and the second his eyes landed on her, the whole world seemed to slow.

He didn’t speak.

His gaze swept over the room—the candles, the wine, the lasagna still warm on the stove—and finally settled on her. She watched his chest rise as he took her in. Not just the dress, or the makeup, or even the scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air.

He was seeing all of it.

Her. This home. What she’d created here while he was gone.

“What is all this?” he asked, voice rough from the wind and road.

Taylor smiled gently. “Dinner. Dessert. And maybe a little unfinished business from this morning.”

That finally pulled a hint of a smirk from him, but it didn’t reach the weight in his eyes—not yet.

He moved toward her slowly, unzipping his jacket as he stepped inside the light. She could tell he’d had a long day—his shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched. Whatever Kellan brought to his door earlier hadn’t been simple.

But that tension began to bleed away with every step he took closer to her.

“You took the Charger,” he said softly, more observation than question.

“I did,” Taylor replied. “Grocery run. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

He shook his head slowly, eyes dragging over her from head to heel. “I don’t.”

He came to a stop in front of her. Close enough for her to smell leather and road dust and something warm beneath it all. Jax.

“You look like trouble,” he murmured.

Taylor tilted her chin up slightly. “I look like your girlfriend who made lasagna and cheesecake in heels.”

He smiled then—slow, real, the kind that hit her right in the ribs.

And when he reached for her, drawing her gently against him, she melted into the moment like she’d been waiting for it all day.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

“I was gone for three hours.”

Taylor leaned up and brushed her lips over his. “Still counts.”