“I told myself I wasn’t going to.”
He leans back against the bike, arms folding loosely across his chest, smug, and completely unsurprised. “Knew you would.”
I glance at him. “You seem very confident about that.”
One shoulder lifts in a lazy shrug. “Saw the way you looked at me before I even took the helmet off.”
“That’s because I didn’t know it was you.”
The corner of his mouth tilts.
“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you,” I say, taking him all in. It’s true—he’s a stranger. He’s not just bigger or stronger, he’s someone else entirely. There are more tattoos and scars than I can count, and while his hair is shorter, it’s the way he moves that’s truly changed. Something in his stance screams that he’s been through things, things I think about asking about but probably don’t want to know.
“So let me get this straight,” he says. “When you had no idea who I was, you were fine getting on a stranger’s bike in fucking Tar City. But then you saw me—an old friend—and suddenly it’s a problem?”
“We aren’t friends,” I snap.
“Right. Fuck buddies. Isn’t that what you called us last time?”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want, Jax?”
He pushes off the bike and steps closer.
I look away first, which annoys me.
“What did you want before you knew it was me?” he asks.
“I—”
“Were you looking for fun? To get laid? That new shiny place of yours lacking in men?”
I laugh in surprise. “As a matter of fact, no. They’ve got plenty. And much better options than what I can find around here, if you really want to know.”
“Do tell me, rabbit.” There’s humor in his voice, but it’s unconvincing. “Let me guess. They all drive sensible cars. Ask about your day and actually listen to the answer.”
I cross my arms, more to steady myself than anything else. “They talk, they’re mature, they want relationships, they commit—that should tell you enough.”
He looks out toward the water instead of at me. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Sounds thrilling.”
I’m so done with this conversation, with him. I turn away and eye the bike, moving to the side to swing my leg over the seat, but the whole machine shifts under my weight, tilting dangerously. My hands fly out to brace against the handlebars as the bike feels like it’s going to crash onto the ground with me under it.
Jax is there in a second with one hand on my shoulder, steadying me, while his other grips the back of the seat, his muscles locking as he effortlessly rights the bike’s weight.
“Easy. It’s not a toy.”
I don’t reply. The bike is steady now—a solid platform beneath me, but I feel anything but.
“So,” he says after a moment, “you’re just visiting?”
I shrug, hugging myself. “Yeah.”
He nods once, still looking at the water. “Finally remembered you left people here.”
I stiffen. “What does that mean?”
He hesitates. “Your mom,” he says. “She was in the hospital.”
I look at him. “Millie… never said anything. All her letters—everything sounded fine. I knew she was probably leaving things out, but…” My voice falters. “How do you know?”
