We finish packing up and catch a flight from Seattle to Los Angeles.
It’s almost eleven by the time we pull into Jax’s driveway.
“I’m coming in,” I tell him.
“Why?”
“To check on Tiger.”
“She’s fine. Zephyr’s with her.”
I blow out hot air and shake my head.
Jax gives me a look but doesn’t argue.
We walk inside quietly. The house is dark except for a light in the kitchen.
The living room and kitchen are empty.
I walk down the hall to her room and look inside.
Her bed is empty. Untouched, actually.
Jax and I walk to Zephyr’s door.
I turn the knob. It’s locked.
I look at Jax and draw my finger across my throat in a slashing motion.
Zephyr really has her in his bed? With the fucking door locked?
Jax’s jaw clenches. But he doesn’t say anything. He walks to his own room and closes the door.
I stand there in the hallway for a minute, staring at Zephyr’s locked door.
Then I walk back to Tiger’s room and climb into her bed.
Her sheets smell like her. Floral. Clean. Soft.
I lie there staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about what’s happening behind Zephyr’s locked door.
Trying not to be jealous.
Trying to stop my imagination from running wild.
The next morning, I’m up early. I can’t sleep. There’s too much tension in my chest.
I find Jax already in the kitchen making coffee. He looks like he didn’t sleep either.
We sit at the table in silence, waiting.
Around seven-thirty, Zephyr’s door opens.
He walks out looking guilty as fuck when he spots us at the table.
I start clapping. Slow. Deliberate.
“Congratulations,” I say.
