33. Jax
Chapter 33
Jax
T he SUV glides silently through morning traffic, city buildings rising all around us. Ren sits in the back as always, his reflection in my rearview mirror, expression carefully blank, as if he doesn’t want me to know what he’s thinking. I take the long route to the office, giving us both time to settle. The familiar landmarks scroll past—the café where Finn used to stop by to get cinnamon rolls for the office, the park where we’d sometimes eat lunch together, the shortcuts we’d take on days when being apart felt like drowning.
Before.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as we pass the intersection where it happened. Where everything changed. I don’t look in the mirror, but I know Ren has gone very still, his scent spiking with that bitter note of self-loathing that’s become far too familiar.
“Traffic’s light today,” I say, just to break the silence.
Ren makes a noncommittal sound. Through the mirror, I watch him stare out the window, jaw like rock.
The city passes in a blur of steel and glass, signs for boutiques and cafes blending together. Two more blocks to the corporate office of Iron Fitness and I can already see its sleek silhouette rising against the morning sky, all clean lines and dark windows. Finn helped design the lobby, back when we first bought the place. His touch is everywhere—the indoor garden with its carefully curated plants, the natural light streaming through strategic skylights, the way the whole space feels welcoming rather than intimidating.
I release a measured breath as I pull into the underground parking. Our usual spot sits empty, waiting. Everything about this morning feels loaded with meaning.
“How’s the Burlington merger coming along?” I ask as we step into the elevator. I don’t even know why I ask. I certainly am not focused on any of the many companies that have wanted a cut of the Ironwood name.
“Road was clear. No signs we were followed.” Ren’s voice is clipped, distracted. Then he blinks, seeming to register what I actually asked. “I mean—the merger. It’s…proceeding.”
I study his reflection in the polished elevator doors. He’s already three steps ahead, running scenarios I hadn’t even thought to worry about. This is what he does—what he’s always done, even back when we opened our first gym. While I focused on expansion plans and equipment orders, he’d spend nights researching security systems, background checks, liability issues. Always looking for the darker angles, the hidden threats.
It would be admirable if it wasn’t so telling of how deeply yesterday’s events shook him. Sometimes I wonder what made him this way—what happened in that wealthy family he never mentions, why he showed up at my apartment one night with nothing but a duffel bag and the declaration he wanted to be my business partner instead of taking over his family’s corporate empire. But even after all these years, some doors between us remain firmly closed.
The elevator rises smoothly, numbers ticking upward. Neither of us speaks again until we reach our floor. The early morning quiet wraps around us as we move through the office. A few employees are already at their desks, heads down over computers. They barely glance up as we pass—they’re used to us arriving early, used to the careful distance we maintain.
My office door stands open, exactly as I left it two days ago. But instead of going in, I follow Ren to his. He doesn’t comment when I enter behind him, just moves to his desk with that precise control that means he’s barely holding himself together.
The room is spartan compared to mine—no personal photos, no artwork, just clean lines and organized efficiency. A sleek monitor sits on his desk, cycling through various feeds: security cameras, traffic data, news tickers. I never questioned it before—not with the property and land disputes we’d faced as the gyms expanded, not after other packs started viewing our success as a challenge. And after the accident…well, Ren’s heightened vigilance seemed like a natural response. Stone and I assumed it was his way of coping, of trying to control what he could.
But now, as the feed switches to a view of our property, something catches in my chest. There’s Finn in the garden, wearing that ridiculous pink sun hat he loves, showing Hailey how to properly till the soil. Even from this angle, I can see how Finn’s smile transforms his face—all perfect white teeth and deep dimples, the kind of handsome that makes people stop and stare.
I didn’t know Ren had cameras covering the garden. Didn’t know he sat here every day, watching Finn tend his herbs and flowers. The realization settles like ice in my gut, making me question what else I might have missed by writing off Ren’s obsession with security as simple business precaution.
I settle into one of the chairs before his desk, waiting. Ren pretends to work for exactly seven minutes before his hands still over the keyboard.
“You should be in your office,” he says without looking up.
“Who cares. What’s the point of being the boss if I can’t use the perks?” I lean back, studying him. The shadows under his eyes are darker today, his normally perfect posture rigid with tension. “What did you find?”
His jaw works. “Who said I was looking?”
I just stare at him until he sighs, turning his monitor so I can see. “Nothing concrete. Yet.” A map fills the screen, dotted with red markers. “These are all the private academies within a hundred-mile radius. All are legitimate.” He goes silent, fingers drumming against his desk.
I lean forward, examining the pattern of red dots. “Any matches to the Academy’s methods? The conditioning we’ve seen in Hailey?”
“None.” The monitor swivels away from me, but the lie hangs heavy in the air between us. I’ve known Ren long enough to recognize when he’s protecting me from something. And right now, every instinct I have is screaming that there’s more. So much more.
“And the accident?”
“Still no official reports.” Ren’s scent spikes with frustration. “Someone’s covering their tracks. Professional cleanup crew, probably. The kind with enough influence to access traffic cameras.”
I let the words settle between us, studying Ren’s face. There’s something in the way he says it—like he’s speaking from experience rather than speculation. The precise terminology. The understanding of procedure.
“How do you know all this?” I ask carefully.
Ren’s fingers still on his keyboard. For a moment, the only sound is the quiet hum of the staff working in the cubicles outside the door.
“Because it’s what they do,” he says finally, voice flat. “Clean up their messes. Make problems disappear.”
“They?”
His jaw tightens. “People with money. Power. The kind who think they can own others.”
Something clicks in my mind—a half-formed suspicion I’ve carried for years. “Like your family’s charity work? ”
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Ren goes completely still, that eerie stillness that always reminds me he wasn’t born to this life of business meetings and quarterly reports.
“It was never a charity.” His voice comes out like shards of ice. “That was just the cover.”
I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, I clear my throat.
“Ren…if your family has connections to this world—if they might know something about this Academy?—”
“No.” The word cuts through the air like a blade.
“We need information. Resources. Anything that could help us protect Hailey.”
His laugh is bitter, barely more than an exhalation. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“Then help me understand.” I lean forward, trying to catch his eye. “Whatever happened with your family, whatever made you leave—I know it was bad. But Finn and Hailey need us. All of us. At full strength.”
“You think my family would help?” Now he does look at me, and the coldness in his eyes makes me want to flinch back. I don’t. “You think they’d help me ?”
I blink, brows furrowing slightly. “Ren, you’re their flesh and blood?—”
“No. I’m Ironwood now. I’ve been Ironwood since you bit me and Stone back in college. Remember that, Jax?”
Of course, I remember that. It was the first time I felt like I had the brothers I’ve always wanted.
“They don’t want anything to do with me, Jax. Not after I destroyed everything.”
The implications of that statement make me blink. But before I can process it fully, Ren continues.
“But you’re right.” The words sound like they’re being dragged from him. “We need intel. And they…they know things. Places to look. ”
“I’ll go with you,” I offer immediately. “Face them together.”
That cold smile he does, the one that never reaches his eyes. “No. I’ll do this alone.”
“Ren—”
“I said no.” His voice carries the weight of alpha command, though we both know it won’t work on me. “Some doors shouldn’t be opened, Jax.”
I want to argue. Want to insist that he doesn’t have to face whatever demons lurk in his past alone. But something in his expression stops me—something raw and wounded that makes my protective instincts surge.
“Just…” I stand slowly, choosing my words with care. “Just remember, you’re not alone anymore. Whatever happened then, whatever happens now—you have us. A real pack.”
For just a moment, something flickers across his face—something that might be gratitude or might be grief. Then it’s gone, replaced by that familiar mask of ice.
“I know,” he says quietly. “That’s why I have to do this alone.”
Hailey
The soil feels alive between my fingers, dark and rich and nothing like I expected. Finn keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he shows me how to prepare the beds, his pink sun hat bobbing as he gestures. The crisp morning air nips my shoulders through the old t-shirt he lent me, and everything feels…heightened somehow. Like my senses are slowly waking up after a long sleep.
“—and these will be perfect for chamomile,” Finn is saying, marking out neat rows with twine. “The bees love it, and it’ll help with your sleep. Plus the flowers look like tiny suns. Don’t you think that’s perfect for you, sunshine?”
I nod, though I’m slightly distracted by a butterfly that just landed on the edge of his hat. Its wings are an impossible shade of blue that pulls my attention. Have butterflies always been so vibrant?
A bird calls from the forest edge, answered by another, and another, until the air is full of their song. The breeze carries the scent of pine and wild roses, making my head spin slightly. Everything feels so…much. The textures, the sounds, the way the clouds above drift like spun sugar across the endless blue of the sky.
“You okay there?” Finn’s voice draws me back. When I look at him, his expression is almost tender.
I smile and nod, cheeks warming at just the intensity of his focus.
“If it’s too much too soon, we can always head back inside…”
My head snaps up, heart pounding. I don’t want to stop this. “No.” I shake my head. “I want to stay. I…I like this.”
I smile again, forcing it wider, and Finn studies me for a moment, eyes still kind, before he nods too.
Before either of us can say more, Stone appears with another load of mulch. He’s been hauling bags back and forth all morning, pretending he’s not watching us like a hawk. But now he pauses, running the back of his hand across his brow.
“Need water?” he asks, and I’m struck again by how different his voice sounds when he’s trying to be gentle. Like a lion attempting to purr.
Finn grins up at him. “Trying to mother hen us already? It’s barely been an hour.”
“You’re both covered in dirt,” Stone grumbles, but there’s fondness in his tone. “And you haven’t touched your water bottle.”
“Yes, yes, hydration is important,” Finn waves this away. “But first, help us with these new beds. There’s a good alpha.”
I expect Stone to bristle at being ordered around by an omega, but he just sighs and kneels beside us. It’s…strange, watching such a large alpha get his expensive pants covered in dirt. Stranger still wh en he starts carefully separating seedlings with those huge hands, handling them like they’re made of glass.
“Careful with those,” Finn instructs, leaning over to adjust Stone’s grip. “They’re delicate until they get established. Like this?—”
The work must be getting to Stone because he suddenly strips off his shirt, revealing a torso that looks like it was carved from marble. I quickly avert my eyes, heat flooding my cheeks, but not before I catch Finn’s reaction. His words actually stutter to a halt mid-sentence, cheeks flushing crimson as he stares at Stone’s bare chest.
“You were saying?” Stone asks, and there’s definitely amusement in his voice now. “Something about being delicate?”
“I—you—that’s not fair,” Finn mutters, turning back to his seedlings. But I notice he keeps stealing glances, his usual stream of chatter punctuated by moments of distracted silence.
Another breeze sweeps through the garden, carrying the mingled scents of earth and sweat and alpha musk. My head spins again, but this time it’s different. Everything feels…sharper. More intense. The way the muscles in Stone’s back flex as he works. The soft sounds Finn makes when their hands brush accidentally. The way the air between them seems to crackle with something that feels electric.
A bee buzzes past my ear, startling me from my thoughts. I watch it land on a nearby flower, its fuzzy body dusted with pollen. The world suddenly seems very large and very small at the same time.
“Look,” Finn says softly, drawing my attention back. He’s holding out a tiny sprout, its leaves unfurling toward the sun. “See how it’s already reaching for the light? Plants always know which way to grow.”
I stare at the delicate green thing in his palm, something catching in my throat. Because I understand what he’s really saying. What he’s been trying to tell me all morning with his gentle instructions and endless chatter.
That even after being kept in darkness, things can still grow toward the light.
The morning stretches on, warming into midday as we work. My knees are covered in dirt, hands stained with earth, but I don’t mind. There’s something soothing about the repetitive motions—dig, plant, water. Dig, plant, water. Finn’s voice provides a constant backdrop, explaining each step, each plant’s purpose.
“These will be good for tea,” he says, carefully settling another seedling into its new home. “And these—” he holds up something with purple leaves, “—are perfect for headaches. Though honestly, sometimes I think Stone’s the bigger headache.”
“I heard that,” Stone rumbles from where he’s hauling cedar mulch around the beds we’ve finished.
“You were meant to.” Finn’s smile is bright, but there’s a slight tremor in his hands as he pats soil around the seedling. His cheeks are still flushed, and not just from the sun.
I notice these things now—the way Finn’s breath hitches when Stone moves too close, how his usual fluid movements become slightly jerky. The way Stone finds excuses to brush past him, to reach around him for tools, each casual touch making Finn’s scent spike with something warm and sweet that makes my own pulse quicken.
“We should put in the trellis next,” Stone suggests, and his voice has gone deeper, rougher. “For the climbing roses.”
Finn swallows hard. “Right. Yes. The trellis. Good idea.” His usual chatter falters slightly. “Hailey, would you like to see how to—um—how to…”
He trails off as Stone approaches with the wooden lattice, muscles in his bare chest taut and visible. The alpha’s scent wraps around us both—pine and musk that are so heady a lump rises in my throat .
“Here,” Stone says softly, positioning one end of the trellis. “Like this?”
“A little to the left,” Finn manages, moving to help him. “It needs to catch the afternoon sun, so the roses will—oh.”
They’ve ended up very close, both gripping the trellis, bodies aligned like puzzle pieces about to click together. Finn’s breath hitches audibly. Stone goes still.
“Finn,” Stone breathes, and the way he says it makes something hot curl in my belly. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.” But Finn’s voice comes out breathy, unsteady. “Just…I need a moment. Maybe we should take a break?—”
“Look at me.”
The alpha command in Stone’s voice makes me shiver, but it’s not directed at me. Finn’s head tilts up slowly; he can’t help himself. They’re so close now, barely inches apart, the trellis forgotten between them.
“Stone,” Finn whispers, “we shouldn’t?—”
“Why not?” Stone’s free hand comes up to brush Finn’s cheek, thumbing away a smudge of dirt. “Because it’s been so long?”
“Because I can’t think straight when you’re this close.” The confession seems to burst from Finn. “Because you’re not wearing a shirt and you smell like summer and I—I’m trying to be good, to be normal, to show Hailey that everything’s okay, but you’re making it really hard to?—”
Stone’s thumb traces Finn’s bottom lip, silencing him. The gesture is so intimate it makes my breath stop in my chest. Heat floods through me as I watch them, unable to look away. Their scents mingle in the air—pine and sage and want—making me dizzy.
“You don’t have to be good,” Stone murmurs, leaning closer still. “You don’t have to fight this.”
“Stone,” Finn breathes again, and this time it sounds like surrender.
The kiss, when it happens, steals the air from my lungs. Stone’s hand slides into Finn’s hair, tilting his head back as their mouths meet. Finn makes a small, broken sound that shoots straight through me, his fingers curling against Stone’s bare chest.
It’s nothing like the kisses me and Finn shared. Stone grabs him rough, aching, and Finn responds just as hungrily. There’s nothing gentle about it—all need and raw want. The way they crash together makes me realize just how careful, how restrained Finn has been with me. These are two forces of nature colliding, and I can’t look away.
The trellis clatters to the ground as Stone backs Finn against the garden wall, never breaking the kiss. His huge hands span Finn’s waist, pulling him against him and Finn whimpers into his mouth. The sound Stone makes—half growl, half groan—sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
I should look away. Should give them privacy. But I can’t seem to move, can’t seem to breathe. Every nerve in my body feels electrified, aware in a way I’ve never experienced before. Their scents fill the air, thick with desire, and something inside me responds—something primal and hungry that makes me press my thighs together.
Stone breaks the kiss to trail his lips down Finn’s throat, and Finn’s head falls back against the wall, eyes closed in bliss. “Alpha,” he gasps.
Watching them feels forbidden, illicit, but I can’t tear my eyes away. Each sound they make, each shift of their bodies, sends shockwaves through me. Stone’s massive hands grip Finn’s thighs, holding him against the wall like he weighs nothing. When one of his hands dives beneath the band of Finn’s sweatpants, my breath hitches. I see the moment it closes around Finn’s cock. A low groan rumbles in Finn’s chest, and the sight of Stone’s hand stroking him, the undeniable evidence of their arousal, sends a jolt of desire through me.
My breath comes faster as Stone’s mouth moves down Finn’s throat. The sweet scent of omega arousal mingles with alpha musk, creating a heady perfume. Heat pools between my legs—an insistent, unfamiliar ache that makes me press my thighs even harder together in confusion.
“Please,” Finn gasps as Stone nips at his collarbone. “Stone, please?—”
The desperate need in his voice resonates through me, awakening something hungry. My skin feels too tight, too sensitive. Every brush of fabric against my body sends sparks of awareness shooting through my nerve endings. The moisture gathering between my thighs makes me want to squirm, to seek friction, to?—
Suddenly, Stone goes absolutely still.
Finn’s eyes flutter open, clouded with desire before awareness crashes in. His gaze locks onto me and horror floods his features.
“Hailey,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Oh gods.”
He pushes at Stone’s shoulders, scrambling to break free. Stone lets him go but seems dazed, nostrils flaring as he scents the air.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. For watching? For the way my body is reacting? For interrupting?
But Finn is already backing away, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m the one who—this was—I shouldn’t have—” His voice breaks and he turns, practically running toward the house.
“Finn!” Stone calls after him, starting to follow. “Wait!”
I trail behind them, drawn by some instinct I don’t understand. Their voices drift back to me as they reach the back porch.
“It was a mistake,” Finn is saying, his voice tight with distress. “We shouldn’t have?—”
“How can it be a mistake?” Stone’s deep voice rumbles with frustration. “You’re mine . Ours. You always have been.”
“That’s not the point!” Finn whirls to face him, and I can see tears gathering in his eyes. “She’s in preheat, Stone. She’s vulnerable and confused and we were out here just—just perfuming like fucking teenagers!”
“Finn— ”
“No, you don’t understand.” Finn runs shaking hands through his hair. “I could smell her. Her slick. Gods, what kind of monster am I? She doesn’t even have—she doesn’t even have basic necessities. No girls’ things, no underwear, nothing! And here I am getting carried away, probably making everything worse for her?—”
“You’re not a monster,” Stone tries to reach for him but Finn steps back.
“Aren’t I?” His laugh is bitter. “I know what preheat feels like, Stone. How overwhelming everything it was as my body prepared for my first full heat. How your body betrays you, wanting things you’re not ready for. And instead of helping her through it, I’m out here putting on a show that’s probably triggering all sorts of?—”
He cuts off as Stone’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring again. I realize with mortification that they can probably smell me—smell the evidence of my arousal.
“Oh gods,” Finn whispers, horror creeping back into his voice. “I can smell her from here. Stone, what have I done?”
The back door opens and closes as Finn disappears inside. Through the window, I can see him pacing, hands still buried in his hair. Stone hesitates on the porch, torn between following and giving space.
“She needs supplies,” Finn’s voice drifts out. “Basic things. Things I should have thought of yesterday instead of being so caught up in—” He breaks off with a sound of frustration. “I ordered stuff, but they’re not delivering them for another week. We need to go to the store.”
“Finn, sweetheart, you’re spiraling?—”
“Don’t say that to me!” The words crack like a whip. “Don’t try to make this okay. It’s not okay. None of this is okay.”
I hover uncertainly by the garden wall, my body still thrumming with unfamiliar sensations. My center feels sensitive, uncomfortable, and shame burns in my chest. This is my fault. I did this—made Finn upset, ruined whatever moment they were sharing.
Through the window, I can see Finn scribbling frantically on a notepad while Stone hovers nearby, shirtless and uncertain. Their voices rise and fall, fragments reaching me:
“—need to call Jax?—”
“—not your fault?—”
“—should have known better?—”
“—let me help?—”
“Just go!” Finn’s voice breaks on the word. “Please, Stone. Just…just go freshen up and get the car. I need…I need to think.”
A long silence follows. Then the sound of a door opening and closing.
I remain frozen by the garden wall, unsure what to do. Go inside? Stay out here? My body feels strange, hot and achy in ways I don’t understand. The memory of Stone and Finn kissing keeps replaying in my mind, making the ache worse. The sight of Stone’s large hand fisting Finn’s shaft…
The back door opens and Finn appears, his face drawn with worry. When he sees me still standing there, something complicated crosses his features—guilt, concern, something else I can’t name.
“Hailey,” he says softly, and his voice is gentle despite the tension I can see in his shoulders. “Why don’t you come inside? We should…we should talk.”
I follow him into the house, not sure if I even should.
The kitchen is warm after the garden’s chill, and it doesn’t help the burning under my skin. Finn moves to the sink, washing dirt from his hands with extreme focus.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, wringing my hands. “I didn’t mean to…to ruin things. It was just so nice to see…” Gods, I’m a pervert. But I’m telling the truth. It really was nice to see Finn and Stone be so swept up in each other they forgot I was even there. Seeing Finn with his alpha didn’t make me jealous. It just…
It just made me want.
Made me want so, so badly.
Finn’s shoulders tense. “You didn’t ruin anything, sunshine. This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” He turns, drying his hands on a towel. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should have been more careful. More aware.” He sighs again. “Let’s go clean up.”
He lets me use the bathroom first and when I emerge from the steamy room, there are fresh new clothes waiting for me to choose from. I choose a grey flannel shirt and gray sweats, mind swirling as I listen to the shower running behind the door as Finn gets clean, too.
When he finally exits, he’s already wearing clean jeans and he smiles at me briefly before moving over to his wardrobe where he grabs a t-shirt with a single daisy printed in the center.
He runs a brush through his hair, helps me to pull mine into a ponytail, but all the while I can see the strain around his eyes, the way his hands tremble slightly. Whatever is happening to me is affecting him too—making him doubt himself, question his actions.
“I liked watching you,” I whisper, then immediately want to die of embarrassment. “I mean—you looked happy. With him. Like you belonged.”
Finn’s goes still. “Hailey…”
“I’ve never seen alphas be gentle before,” I push on, needing him to understand. “Never seen them look at anyone the way Stone looks at you. Like you’re precious. Important.”
“Stop,” he whispers, but there are tears gathering in his eyes again. “Please.”
“Why? Because it hurts?” The last thing I want to do is hurt Finn. Not Finn. In a matter of days, he’s become invaluable to me.
Finn’s throat works as he swallows. “It’s complicated.” He adjusts my ponytail one final time. “Come on, we should head down. Stone’s probably waiting.”
We make our way downstairs and through the kitchen to the front drive. A sleek black high-end car idles in the driveway, with Stone leaning against the passenger door. He’s changed into dark jeans and a fitted grey Henley that makes his broad shoulders look even more impressive. His chestnut hair is still damp from his shower, falling across his forehead in a way that softens his strong jaw and stern expression.
“I’m not sure about this,” he says as we approach. “Taking her into public right now…”
Finn is already shaking his head, reaching for a canvas bag I hadn’t noticed before. “We don’t have a choice. She needs things.” He starts pulling items from the bag. “Here, sunshine. This will help.”
He holds up a small bottle with a spray nozzle. “Scent blocker. Very potent stuff—it’ll mask your natural scent completely.” He demonstrates by spraying it on his own wrist. “See? Nothing.”
I hold still as he applies it carefully, explaining as he goes. “Around your neck, behind your ears, inside your elbows—anywhere your scent glands are active. It lasts about four hours.”
“Which should be plenty of time,” Stone adds, checking his watch.
Next, Finn pulls out a pair of oversized sunglasses. “Your eyes are… distinctive. These will help you blend in better.” He settles them carefully on my face, then pulls out a silk scarf in soft blues and greys. “And this is just an extra precaution.”
His fingers are gentle as he arranges the scarf around my head, tucking in loose strands of hair. “There. Perfect.”
“Oh yeah, she looks totally inconspicuous now,” Stone drawls. “The sunglasses and headscarf combo isn’t suspicious at all.”
“Better suspicious than recognized,” Finn retorts, but there’s no derision in his tone. “Besides, lots of people wear sunglasses.”
“In winter?”
“Fashion knows no season, darling.” Finn gives the scarf one final adjustment. “Besides, it’s almost spring. Ready, sunshine?”
I nod, though my stomach is churning with nerves. It will be my first time in public since forever. The thought makes my hands shaky .
Finn must notice because he takes my hand, squeezing gently. “It’s okay. We’ll be right there with you the whole time.”
Stone opens the back door for us, and I slide in first, followed by Finn. The leather seats are cool and soft, the interior smelling of pine and leather and alpha. As Stone starts the car, I catch his concerned gaze in the rearview mirror.
“If anything feels off,” he says quietly, “anything at all—we leave immediately. No questions asked.”
I nod again, grateful for the sunglasses hiding my eyes. Finn’s hand finds mine again as we pull out of the driveway.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers, just for me. “Everything will be fine.”
But as we turn onto the main road, I notice him checking the mirrors, just like Stone. Watching for anyone who might be watching us.
The scarf suddenly feels very necessary indeed.