19. Jax #2
"Time and distance. Complete denial." He pauses. "Or complete surrender." He grabs his medical kit, slinging it over his shoulder. "Guess which never works."
"Time and distance?"
"Smart man." He pauses at the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing."
"Keeping the team safe?"
"Keeping the woman you love alive, even when she's too scared to let you love her."
After he leaves, I head to the equipment room adjacent to the kitchen, close enough to hear the distant hum of the industrial coffee machine still cycling.
Maps cover every surface—not desperate scribblings of a man falling apart, but precise calculations of someone who just figured out how to turn professional protocols into personal warfare.
"Jesus, Jax." The voice comes from the doorway. Cole stands there, taking in the controlled chaos with those eyes that miss nothing. "Planning to coordinate an invasion?"
"Just ensuring optimal operational security." I don't look up from the route calculations, but satisfaction edges into my voice. "Complex venues require comprehensive contingencies."
He enters, studying the maps spread across every surface—extraction routes, medical stations, communication dead zones, all marked with obsessive detail.
"Since when do you plan like this?"
Since I realized that loving someone doesn't mean breaking down, it means getting strategic.
"Since we're dealing with Viktor's network." I mark another overwatch position. The movement pulls at the scratches on my back, a constant reminder. "These people have resources. Political connections."
He settles into the chair across from my command center, movements deliberate and measured. "Want to discuss what's really happening here?"
"Mission preparation—"
"This isn't mission prep." His voice stays calm but pointed. "This is something else entirely."
I finally look up, meeting his analytical gaze. "Such as?"
"Whatever happened between you and Mira, she's been moving like she needs medical attention, and you look like you went ten rounds with a wildcat."
I go back to marking emergency routes, but now there's satisfaction in every line I draw. "She established professional boundaries. Very clearly."
"Ah." Understanding dawns in his voice. "She's compartmentalizing."
"She's maintaining appropriate professional distance." The words don't taste bitter anymore. They taste like opportunity.
"And you're dealing with that by creating the most comprehensive protection protocol I've ever seen."
"I'm ensuring mission success and asset security."
"You're protecting her."
The observation settles like certainty in my chest.
"You assigned me reconnaissance and crowd management," I answer, but there's something calculating in my satisfaction now.
"I assigned you intelligence gathering. You assigned yourself something much more comprehensive."
I gesture at the equipment spread across the workbench: enhanced communication gear, GPS tracking with real-time medical monitoring, emergency beacons that will alert me the instant her heart rate spikes.
"Advanced safety protocols. Real-time health monitoring. Redundant emergency response."
"For everyone?"
"For the most valuable asset on the team."
Cole's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, there's resignation in his tone. "So she won't let you care for her emotionally—"
"So I'll care for her professionally." The words come out with quiet confidence. Another map spreads across the desk, and I mark sight lines from the convention center. "Mission parameters give me every justification I need."
"That's..." He pauses. "Actually brilliant. Completely transparent. But brilliant."
The scratch marks burn as I reach for another map.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number: "Your friend from the desert sends regards. Looking forward to Saturday's races."
Viktor. The Grand Prix is Saturday.
I forward it to Kade immediately. His response is instant: "Mission timeline confirmed. You and Mira primary. Three days prep."
My phone rings. Kade again.
"Nitro." His voice carries that careful tone. "Cole just briefed me on your... situation with Mira."
"Which situation?"
"The one where half the team heard you two destroying furniture last night. For hours."
Shit.
"Kade—"
"Viktor's our best lead to Roman. I need to know if personal complications will affect intelligence gathering."
"They won't—"
"Asher's medical telemetry shows neither of you slept enough. She's moving like she's injured. You look like you got mauled."
The medical monitors. Of course.
"Can you work with her or not?"
"Yes."
"Can you focus on finding Roman instead of fucking her?"
The blunt question hangs there.
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"Probably."
A long pause. "Get through the Grand Prix. Get intel on Roman. Then I don't care if you two kill each other or fuck each other to death."
"Copy that."
"Jax—" His tone shifts. "Roman would tell you not to get distracted—"
"Roman's not here."
Another pause. "No. He's not. Which is why we need Viktor's intel."
The line goes dead.
Down the hall, her door opens. Soft footsteps on hardwood. She heard my side of the conversation through these thin walls.
My phone buzzes. From her: "Got Kade's message too. He's wrong about one thing.
Me: "About which part?"
Mira: "I'm not injured. I'm just thoroughly fucked."
Jesus Christ.
Me: "That's not helping with the whole professional distance thing."
Mira: "We have three days before the mission. Today doesn't count."
I stare at the message. Is she actually suggesting—
The door opens. She walks in wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts, marks visible on her thighs.
"One last time."