“Woah,” he chuckles. “You’re jumpy.”
“I…” I glance at the truck from his arms. “There’s…”
“There’s what?” A plume of breath leaves his lips.
“Blood,” I whisper.
He quirks a brow and rights me. Wiping the ice from my hands on my pants, I watch as he takes a look in the bed, shuffles around, and then pauses. “Well, look at that,” he says.
“‘Well, look at that?’” I hiss. How can he be so cavalier? “How the fuck am I not in jail right now?”
He turns and shrugs, infuriatingly casual. “People like money more than justice. But it’s all in one piece? Normally they tear cars apart when they—”
“I highly doubt everyone who saw that was fine with looking the other way for a paycheck,” I cut him off. “What did you do, Jax?”
“Do you really want to know?” He tilts his head.
I narrow my eyes.
He sighs, slowly stepping toward me and sliding his palms under my elbows. “Not only do people like money more than justice,” he levels his gaze to mine, “they also like to keep their kneecaps.”
I groan and practically stomp my foot.
“Come on, baby.” He smirks. “I may be putting on a suit every morning, but I’m still a criminal at heart.”
I eye his crisp white button down, sleeves rolled up and showing off his tattoos. He’s been back and forth between the city and here, sorting out the change with the firm, and maybe Ihaveforgotten who he really is—when the leather and jeans have been replaced with slacks and ties.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Just…” I blow out a breath. “Don’t let Nix find out you’re still a criminal, okay?”
I’ve been desperately trying to keep her reined in, tamping her pleas for him to teach her how to shoot guns by telling her that Jax has put all that behind him. I don’t need her wanting to know how to break kneecaps.
“Are she and Caleb still not talking?” he asks.
“You could cut the tension with a knife,” I whine and lean against his chest.
With Jax being back and forth, and Caleb only having a few more months until he graduates with Nix, it only made sense for us to all live together. Not that I think Jax would have had it any other way. And as much as he explicitly states that the house ismine, I wouldn’t want it any other way either. Even if Nix and Caleb refuse to speak to one another.
“If she would just say sorry, he would forgive her,” Jax says.
“I’ve told her that. She won’t listen to me.”
“Because she’s as stubborn as you.”
I roll my eyes as the driver approaches with a clipboard. Signing, I pointlessly try to step in front of the bed of the truck.
“We have to get this in the garage,” I say once he’s gone.
“So, you don’t want to take it to the service?” His lip twitches.
“Not with evidence in the back,” I hiss.
James’ funeral is at one p.m. The remains from the fire may have been cremated, but they are still putting a box in the ground for him. It’s something I would have preferred to avoid, but Nix is adamant that she needs to go to be there for Caleb—even if they aren’t speaking. It’s kind of the same way that Caleb still drives her to school but doesn’t look at her. They still care about each other but can’t get around the boulder between them.
Once the Chevy’s backed in, I’m out before the engine even settles, dropping the tailgate while Jax is still hitting the button to close the garage. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath since the night of the fire—bracing for a backlash that hasn’t come. Layton hasn’t reached out to pick apart my story. Arnold hasn’t bothered to show his face. Everything is seemingly tied up in a neat little bow, and yet there’s a knot in my chest that won’t loosen for the life of me.
I slide the sheets of cardboard toward me, telling myself this is it—this is the reason I can’t breathe. Some part of me must’ve known there was still a loose thread out there, something damning enough to unravel everything. And if I can just get rid of it… maybe I’ll finally be able to relax.
“Don’t worry about that,” Jax says. “The case is closed. No one’s looking at us anymore.”
