Chapter 14 Zephyr
Chapter Fourteen: Zephyr
Three hours.
We’ve been sitting in Jax’s car for three hours, and my ass is numb.
The Chick-fil-A bag crumpled between us stopped smelling good two hours ago. Now it just smells like grease. My phone’s at twelve percent because I forgot to charge it, and Jax hasn’t said a word since we parked.
He’s just staring.
I should be at home finishing my bio lab report that’s due tomorrow. I need to study for the exam I have in two days. But here I am.
The last time I didn’t show up—the one night I told Jax I had too much work and couldn’t make it—he went alone. Parked here until four in the morning. He missed his eight AM class and looked like hell at practice.
So now I come. Every night.
Jax is my boy, and he’s spiraling, and someone needs to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid like kick down her front door. If he gets arrested for stalking or breaking in or whatever the fuck this technically is, it’ll tank the team’s season.
I tell myself I’m here because it’s the right thing to do as a friend.
But that’s only part of it.
I’m here because I saw her face when she left Callum’s house. I saw the way she looked at us—not at Jax, at all three of us—like she wanted to stay but couldn’t let herself.
I’m here because my little sister is fourteen and if some piece of shit ever laid hands on her, I’d want someone to care enough to sit in a car for three hours in the cold.
I’m here because Tigerlily reminds me of Marcy.
Not physically. Marcy’s blonde and loud and takes up space like she owns it. Tigerlily’s quiet and careful and folds herself into corners.
But the eyes are the same.
The way Marcy looked at our dad after he came home drunk and smashed her science project because she left it on the kitchen table. The way she apologized for leaving it there. The way she cleaned up the broken pieces and never said a word about it again.
That’s the look Tigerlily had when she told us her dad hit her.
Like it was her fault.
Like she deserved it.
So yeah. I’m here.
“Movement,” Jax says.
I sit up, following his line of sight.
The front door opens. Her dad steps out, keys in hand. He’s wearing a jacket and carrying a duffel bag.
My pulse kicks up.
“Where’s this fucker going?” I ask.
Jax leans forward, watching.
Her dad gets in his SUV, backs out of the driveway, and drives past us without even glancing our way.
The second his taillights disappear around the corner, Jax’s hand is on the door handle.
“Wait,” I say.
“No.”
I grab him. “We don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”
“I’m going.”
“Jax—”
“I’m just going to knock on the door and see if she’s okay.”
“And if Zinnia answers? What’re you gonna say?”
He hesitates. His hand doesn’t leave the door handle.
“What if she doesn’t want to see you?” I push. “What if she opens the door and freaks out because we showed up at her house uninvited?”
“She won’t freak out.”
“Barging in there isn’t gonna make it better.”
His jaw works. He’s grinding his teeth so hard I can hear it.
“We can’t just sit here anymore,” he says.
“We’re not just sitting here. We’re making sure she’s safe.”
“From a distance. Like cowards.”
“Like people who don’t want to make her situation worse.”
He slams his palm against the steering wheel. The horn beeps once. Loud.
We both freeze.
A light flicks in the living room. It’s normally never on. It must be the two girls enjoying being home alone.
Jax releases the door handle and watches.
The curtain shifts slightly like someone’s peeking through. Then it falls back into place, but the light stays on.
“She knows we’re here,” Jax says.
“Maybe.”
He runs both hands through his hair and grips the back of his neck. “I can’t do this shit anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Sit here. Watch. Do nothing.”
“We’re not doing nothing.”
“We’re not doing enough.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
The next night, we park in the same spot. Her dad’s car is in the driveway this time. Lights on in the living room.
We see Zinnia’s shadow pass by her window around eight-thirty. Bedtime.
We see Tigerlily walk past the kitchen window once. She’s carrying something—a plate, maybe. Or a cup.
And then she walks to the window and stares out.
“What is she doing?” I ask.
Jax leans forward.
Tigerlily doesn’t look scared. She looks like she’s been drained of everything that made her her and now she’s just a body moving through space.
Like a potted lily flower slowly dying from lack of sunlight.
Like a caged tiger.
“I can’t take this shit anymore,” I say.
Jax doesn’t look at me as he says, “Me neither.”
My phone buzzes. Jax’s rings a second later. The call comes through the car speakers because his phone’s connected to Bluetooth.
Callum’s name flashes on the screen.
Jax answers. “Yeah.”
“Hey, fuckers, where are you?”
I lean toward the speaker. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Callum scoffs. “What’s up, Zeffers? I’m at your place. Where the fuck are you two?”
Jax looks at me. I see the exact moment an idea hits him.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer me. He turns to the phone instead. “Callum, are you up for something?”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then Callum laughs. “Stupid fucking question, Jax. I’m down for anything.”
Jax’s eyes are still on me.
I know that look.
That’s the look he gets right before he does something reckless on the ice, right before he picks a fight with someone twice his size, and right before he says fuck it.