Danny: Be smart, Jax.
I save the address and delete the conversation.
Melrose’s watching me as I grab my jacket.
“Zeff,” I call out.
He ties his shoes, glancing up at me.
I don’t need to say anything because he knows by the look in my eyes.
He nods, finishing up, and I walk outside before anyone else.
My phone lights up, but I silence it. Right now, I don’t give a shit about the league or suspensions or my career.
Right now, all I care about is the girl with blood on her lip and a pink labubu on her purse who looked at me like I was the first person who ever gave a damn.
And I’m going to make sure I’m not the last.
I halt in the parking lot, staring at where the scene unfolded. My blood is on fucking fire.
Fuck it.
The punch her dad threw at her face gnaws deep in my memory. I can’t just sit around knowing that she’s at home right now with that abusive fuck.
Fuck this. I’m going straight to her.
Zephyr walks out. “Are we hitting up the party?”
I look at him, answering his question with my eyes. “No.”
Chapter Three: Zephyr
Jax halts in the parking lot.
Just stops dead, staring at the asphalt. At nothing, but it isn’t nothing. I can see it in his shoulders. The way they’re pulled tight. The way his fists are clenched.
Something’s wrong.
I know that look. Seen it before, back when Jax used to be the guy who threw first and asked questions never. But that was three years ago. He’s been different since hockey became an ultimatum. He’s calmer now. More controlled.
Whatever the hell’s going on can’t be good.
I walk out into the cold. He doesn’t look at me.
“Are we hitting up the party?” I ask.
He looks at me then. And the rage in his eyes answers before his mouth does.
“No.”
I don’t ask questions. Just feel my own anger rise to meet his. Whatever this is, whoever pissed him off—I’m in.
We get in his car. The engine roars to life.
“We making a house call?” I ask once we’re on the road.
He stares straight ahead. “Yeah.”
