I look at him. He’s tired. Always tired when it comes to me.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me you’re not about to blow up this entire season over some petty bullshit.”
Petty bullshit.
Right.
“I’m not,” I say.
“You’re not what?”
“Blowinganything.” I scowl.
He shakes his head. “Get inside. Clean up. And stay the hell away from Theo.”
I nod and start walking.
“Jax.”
I stop.
“Whatever happened out here—let it go.”
I keep walking, hating that he knows what happened. At the very least, I wanted privacy. I don’t want to be painted as a fucking villain.
The locker room’s empty, and I can hear the game through the walls.
I head to the bathroom.
I let cold water run over my knuckles until they go numb. Pink swirls down the drain.
I splash my face. The cut on my lip stings and opens again. I press a towel against it.
When I look up, there I am in the mirror. Swollen cheek. Split lip. Bruise forming under my eye.
I look like my old man.
The thought comes out of nowhere, and I shove it down fast. Grab my phone. Open the notes app.
7KDL921. CA. Black Honda Pilot. Costa Mesa Honda.
Pink labubu on her purse.
I stare at the screen. Add another line.
I asked if he was her boyfriend.
Seeing her reaction was priceless. I’ll be keeping that shocked, disturbed expression in my pocket for a rainy day.
I close the app and pull up my contacts. I scroll to a name I haven’t used in months.
Danny. Ex-cop. Runs private security now.
Me: Need a favor.
Danny: Shoot.
