Home To You by Robin Kaye Page B

would return just as quickly as it had disappeared. He waited until Jaime kicked the snow off his boots and stepped into the dilapidated cabin before releasing a relieved breath. He rubbed the indentation in his skull where, a few weeks ago, doctors had drilled the hole to relieve the pressure on his brain.
    Jax stared through the branches of pine trees towardthe ridge where Kendall hiked, and then above it into the crisp, bright blue winter sky. The one time he took a ski vacation, he’d inadvertently ended up playing chicken with a tree and lost. One doesn’t realize what a big part numbers play in daily life, and the loss would suck for anyone. For him, a fund manager, a man who built his life on numbers, it achieved cosmic-joke status.
    Breathing in the crisp, pine-scented air, Jax concentrated on the cold seeping through the soles of his work boots when he heard the cabin door slam behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps stomping through snow. He didn’t look at Jaime. He knew he’d been found out—not that he’d tried overly hard to hide it. And why was that? From the look on Jaime’s face, it was obviously something better contemplated at a later time.
    “What the hell is going on with you?” Anger, urgency, and the live wire of frustration rolled off Jaime and slammed into Jax’s central nervous system with all the subtlety of a no-holds-barred electroshock therapy treatment rendered by Dr. Frankenstein.
    He’d known sooner or later he’d have to tell Jaime the painful truth—all of it. And he supposed, if Jaime had entered the cabin sooner, he’d have known a lot earlier. As it was, in the back of his mind, Jax had expected Jaime to confront him. After all, Jaime was smart and definitely not like one of the guys he’d worked with who would pretend to be your best friend but not really give a shit about you or your life. Still, he hadn’t been prepared for the ferocity of Jaime’s reaction.
    Jax blinked, slowly moved his aching head, and focused on Jaime. Wow, he didn’t have to have a master’s degree in the study of body language to know that this was not going to be pretty. Jaime bounced on the balls ofhis feet in a fighter’s stance—hell, even his hands were fisted—and the look of concern mixed with anger and hurt eclipsed everything else. Shit.
    He lifted a brow, hoping the subtle challenge would remind Jaime of the live-and-let-live attitude to which he usually subscribed.
    “Come on, Jax. That King of the Lake House superior smirk is not going to work with me. I’ve known you since we were, what—four or five?” He lowered his shoulders and crossed his brawny arms.
    Grace had shown him a picture once of his fourth birthday party, and, as always, Jaime had been there, right by his side.
    “Something’s way off with you, and I want to know what it is.”
    How does one say he’s lost his mind—or at least an important part of it—without sounding like a fucking basket case or a loon?
    “What’s with the stack of cash in your wallet?”
    “Where else do you keep cash?”
    Jaime got in his face. “It’s not in order.” Each word was punctuated. He stepped back and dragged his hand through his hair. “Even when we were kids, you kept your change in different pockets because you hated when the coins were mixed. Hell, you still sort your cash by denomination and have all the faces pointing the right direction. That wallet you have in there”—he shook an accusing finger at the cabin—“is one step above wadded bills stuffed in a paper sack. Unsorted currency is normally enough to make your ass twitch. A wallet in that condition would send you completely over the edge.”
    Jax opened his mouth to say something—anything—to shut Jaime up, but he was like a snowball boundingdownhill, picking up girth and speed and rolling over everything in its path—even Jax’s attempts to change the subject.
    “And since when do you leave that much money just lying around? Shit,