Chapter 22 Jax
Chapter Twenty-Two: Jax
I’d been parked across the street from Tigerlily’s house for over an hour when Callum’s silver Accord pulled up and drove around the block.
When I saw him, I turned off my engine and settled into my seat.
I tracked him as he moved across the neighbor’s yard, keeping low and close to the fence line. When he reached her window, he stopped, looking in. He tapped the glass once, and I saw his shoulders loosen. The screen came off easily, then he climbed through.
The light in her room stayed on, and I didn’t see either of them for forty-eight minutes until he climbed back out.
I watched him replace the screen carefully, almost tenderly. Watched him pause at the window with his hand pressed against the screen. Then I saw her hand appear on the other side.
Then he was gone, jogging behind the house across the yard.
I sat there alone in the dark, engine still off. My chest felt tight. My jaw ached from clenching. But my mind was calm. Clear.
Because whatever just happened in that room changed the equation.
It’s morning now, and I’m leaning against a brick wall near the library, watching Tigerlily walk across campus.
She looks different in daylight. The tension she carries at her house—the way she hunches her shoulders, keeps her head down, moves like she’s trying to disappear—it’s gone. Her backpack slips off one shoulder, and she adjusts it without thinking, tucking her hair behind her ear as she walks.
She’s not looking over her shoulder, not scanning for threats.
She’s just a girl walking to class.
That realization hits harder than it should.
I watch her stop at the campus café. I see Callum appear from the opposite direction like they planned this. Like they coordinated when and where to meet.
Interesting.
The way she smiles at him makes my chest constrict.
It’s not the careful smile she gives me—the one that’s grateful and uncertain and a little bit scared. This smile is easy. Unguarded. She leans into him when he says something, laughs with her whole body, touches his arm without thinking about it.
Comfortable.
She’s comfortable with him in a way she’s never been with me.
I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but I don’t need to. I can read it in her body language. In the way she blushes when he hands her a coffee. She doesn’t flinch when he gets close.
This isn’t what I thought it was.
She’s not using Callum as an escape or a distraction or a way to forget about her dad.
She genuinely wants to be with him.
The thought settles in my stomach.
She walks away, leaving Callum standing there with a stupid smile on his face. Then he walks off.
That’s when I push off the wall and move.
I catch up to her on the path between the humanities building and the science quad—a stretch of walkway with trees overhead and enough people around that she can’t avoid me but not so many that she can disappear into a crowd.
She senses me before she sees me. Her pace changes, shoulders tensing, and when she turns her head and meets my eyes, the softness from thirty seconds ago vanishes completely.
“Jax.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hi.”
I fall into step beside her. “How are you?”
“I’m fine. Just heading to class.” Her voice is quiet but steady.
“Everything okay at home?”
“Yeah. Everything’s normal.”
“Normal,” I repeat.
She nods quickly. “My dad’s been... quiet. Since that night. He hasn’t said anything.”
“That’s good.”
We walk in silence for a few seconds. She’s gripping her coffee cup tight.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks quietly.
“Just checking in.”
She offers a small smile. “I’m okay.”
I let the silence stretch, watching her fidget with her backpack strap.
“Your dad installed new cameras,” I say finally.
She stops walking. “What?”
“Two more. One on the back corner of the house facing the side yard. One mounted higher up to cover the driveway approach.”
The color drains from her face. “How do you know that?”
“I pay attention.”
She stares at me. Now she understands.
“Why are you telling me this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“Because you should be careful.”
She looks away. Down at her coffee. At the students walking past us. Anywhere but at me.
“I have to go,” she says.
I don’t stop her. Just step aside and let her pass.
But as she starts to walk away, I say her name.
“Tiger.”
She stops.
“If you need anything—and I mean anything—you know where to find me.”
She nods once, a barely perceptible movement, and then she’s walking again. Faster this time. More aware. The lightness from earlier completely gone.
I watch her disappear around the corner of the building, and I know she understands now.
I saw Callum last night. I saw everything. And so did her dad.
I pull out my phone and text Zephyr.
Jax: We need to talk.
Zephyr: Tonight.
Jax: Her dad’s escalating. We need a plan.
I pocket my phone and head back to my car.
Callum thinks he’s sneaking around, that he’s clever by showing up at night when he thinks I’m not around.
He has no idea I’ve been watching the whole time.
He has no idea that her dad’s camera system just got upgraded.
He has no idea that this situation stopped being manageable the moment he climbed through that window.
But he will.
I’m done sitting back and waiting for things to get worse before acting. I’m done watching her go back to that house every night knowing what’s waiting for her there.
And I’m done pretending there’s a version where she stays with her dad and everyone ends up fine.
There isn’t.
The only question now is how we get her out.
And how much damage control we’ll need to do once we make our move.
I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot, already running through scenarios in my head.
Already planning three steps ahead.
Because that’s what I do.
I see what’s coming before anyone else does.
And what’s coming is a choice she’s not ready to make yet.
But I am.