After the shower,Enzo and I head back to the kitchen, where Dylan and Marcus are still deep in conversation. They both fall silent as I slide into the booth, and Dylan immediately pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me in a warm, grounding embrace. Marcus looks up from his phone, his expression tired but with a glint of hope.
“Any ideas?” I ask, my voice steady. Enzo’s words from earlier echo in my mind, reminding me to keep my focus balanced between all of them. But right now, what we need is a solid plan.
Marcus shakes his head. “Nothing yet. But we’ll keep brainstorming.”
Dylan leans his face against my cheek, his usual playful energy muted. “Maybe we should start calling rehabs. See if he checked himself in somewhere.”
It’s a long shot, but we have to explore every possibility. My heart aches every time Jax’s struggle with addiction is mentioned, but I push the feeling aside. We need tomove forward. We need to keep trying. “Good idea. Let’s make a list and divide it.”
Enzo nods in agreement, and we all gather our phones. We split up a list of rehab facilities across the city and begin the painstaking task of calling each one.
Hours pass, each call stretching my already thin patience. The repetitive responses remind me just how vast the search feels, how impossible it seems. Half of the facilities refuse to release any patient information, citing privacy policies that feel like yet another wall that keeps us from finding Jax.
“Hi, I’m looking for a patient named Jax Ryder. He might have checked in recently,” I say, my voice raw and hoarse after what feels like the hundredth call.
“We can’t disclose any patient names. If you know the room number, I can check if he’s available,” the receptionist responds in a practiced tone.
“I don’t have a room number,” I sigh, barely registering as she gives a polite goodbye. As soon as she finishes, I hang up, my fingers trembling with frustration. The sense of helplessness threatens to swallow me, but I force myself to continue. I have to try something, even if it feels like every avenue leads to another dead end.
“Any luck?” Dylan asks, casting a glance my way.
“Nothing,” I reply, my voice a strained whisper.
“Keep going,” Marcus encourages, his voice strained as well. “If he is in a rehab, we’ll find him. If he isn’t, it’s another thing we can cross of the list.”
I nod, taking a deep breath as I steel myself, my eyes scanning the last few places on my list. Marcus insists that if Jax is in a rehab, someone at the front desk will find a way to give us a clue, even if it goes against their policy. Icling to that belief because the alternative—that all of this is a wasted effort—is too unbearable to consider.
Just six more calls. If those don’t turn up any leads, we’ll regroup and brainstorm a new approach. We won’t stop. Not until we bring Jax home, no matter how many hours or phone calls it takes.
The next hour passes in a blur as I finish my portion of calls. One by one, the guys stop calling too, their lists of crossed-out locations laid on the table, their expressions a blend of frustration and disappointment.
No one has found him.
“Hospitals?” Marcus suggests quietly.
“Hospitals,” Enzo agrees, nodding.
We take a deep breath, and then we begin the tedious process all over again.
After we finish the hospital calls, we move on to hotels. Then motels. Then local short-term rentals.
Ten grueling hours of phone calls later, we’re no closer to finding Jax. Exhaustion weighs on me, heavy and relentless, but I force myself to keep going.
“What’s next?” I ask, my throat scratchy and raw from spending the entire day on the phone.
“Dinner, then rest,” Marcus says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
I want to push back, to demand we keep searching, but I can’t. I have nothing left—no energy, no ideas, no fight. And I know Marcus is doing everything he can for Jax, for all of us, while also trying to keep everyone from burning out completely. He’s taking charge, and the last thing I want to do is undermine his efforts.
With a small nod, I rise from the table and stretch, reaching my arms above my head and leaning side to side.My joints creak with the effort, and a soft moan escapes me as I try to work out the tension.
Dylan clears his throat, and my eyes snap open, meeting his. His heated gaze locks onto mine, and my breath catches. For a moment, the exhaustion fades, replaced by something electric and undeniable.
Enzo claps his hands, the sharp sound jolting me out of the charged moment with Dylan. I glance in his direction, and he smirks, one brow quirking in amusement. "What does everyone want to eat? Besides Lily."
My cheeks flame, but I refuse to dignify the second half of his comment with a response. "How about pizza?" I offer quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from Enzo’s embarrassing commentary.
"I could go for some pizza," Marcus agrees with a casual shrug.
