Chapter 18 Jax
Chapter Eighteen: Jax
I have a six AM flight to Minnesota tomorrow.
Coach will lose his shit if I’m dragging ass at practice. The team’s already down after the Portland loss, and I need to be sharp. I need to show up and prove I give a damn about this season.
But here I am at midnight, parked three houses down from Tigerlily’s, watching her bedroom window like some obsessed piece of shit who can’t let go.
Zephyr bailed hours ago. He told me to get some sleep. He probably thinks I’m in my bedroom right now.
Callum’s probably passed out already, dreaming about whatever the hell Callum dreams about.
So I find myself here.
And I can’t fucking leave.
The porch light’s still on. Her window glows dim behind half-drawn curtains. The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen.
I’ve been coming enough to memorize the layout of the house. I know exactly where the cameras are mounted.
The street’s quiet. No cars. No movement. Just me and the sound of my own breathing, leaning against my car.
Then I hear something hit a wall.
Not outside but inside the house.
The sound rips through the night—sharp, violent, unmistakable. Something thrown hard enough to explode against a wall.
I’m across the street before I process what I’m doing.
My feet hit the pavement. The neighbor’s lawn. The edge of her property.
I force myself to slow down and think.
He has cameras everywhere. Every neighbor has a Ring doorbell. Her dad’s paranoia means I can’t just walk up.
I move along the side of the neighbor’s house where the shadows are thickest. Yeah, the kitchen light is on. It’s dim.
I try to look through, but I can’t see anything. Instead, I duck down and voices bleed through the walls.
His voice first. Loud. Jagged with rage.
Then hers. Quieter. Shaking but trying to stay controlled.
I can’t make out full sentences. Just fragments that punch through.
“—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“—lying to my face—”
I move closer, press my back against the siding, and listen.
“I’ll make them leave me alone.”
Her voice.
Small.
Defeated.
Like she’s trying to shrink herself down to nothing, so he’ll stop.
My jaw locks so tight I feel my teeth grinding. My hands ball into fists.
I don’t kick the door in.
I don’t storm inside and drag him out by his throat.
Because, as much as that’s what I want to do, I’ll end up in prison.
So I wait.
Footsteps pound in the opposite direction, and a door slams hard enough for me to feel it. Then silence.
I count in my head. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
The kitchen light flicks off.
I move to the side of the house. Her window’s on the corner. I’ve stared at it enough nights to know it by heart.
I force myself through the bushes and stand at the window. It takes me a second, but I finally tap lightly.
At first, she doesn’t take the bait. I wait a few moments, and then the curtain shifts.
Her face appears behind the glass, pale and red-eyed. She looks at me, and for a second, she just stares.
Then she opens the window just a crack.
“You can’t be here.” Her voice is barely a whisper. Her eyes are wild like she can’t believe how stupid I can be. Little does she know I was two seconds from breaking in and punching her dad again.
I wish she knew how much turmoil is in my head right now. It’s taking all of my self-control to stop myself from forcing her out of this fucking house.
“Did he hurt you?”
“You need to leave.”
“No.”
She looks away. Her hands grip the windowsill like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. “Please—”
“Not without you,” I say.
Her eyes snap back to mine. “What? I can’t just leave.”
“You can.”
“Zinnia—”
“Will be fine for one night.”
“He’ll know I’m gone. He’ll—”
“He’ll do this again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day until you’re so beaten down you forget what it feels like to breathe without permission.”
She flinches.
Good. She needs to hear it.
“Get your shoes,” I say. “And a jacket. Nothing else. Two minutes.”
I step back from the window and give her space to decide.
As much as I want to force her, I’m not dragging her out of there. Not forcing her hand. Not becoming another man who tells her what to do.
She has to choose.
One minute passes.
Two.
The window closes.
My chest tightens. My hands curl into fists again.
She’s not coming.
I start to turn away.
Then the other window opens, and I exhale. I take a couple steps and remove the screen quietly. She crawls through, wearing sneakers and a hoodie. She doesn’t look at me. Just focuses on climbing out without falling.
I move closer, holding my arms out to catch her if she slips.
She drops to the ground, stumbling forward. I steady her by the shoulders. Just long enough for her to find her balance.
She pulls away and looks back at Zinnia’s dark window.
Her whole face crumples.
But she doesn’t hesitate.
We walk in the direction where there are no cameras and then to my car in silence. I open the passenger door for her, and she slides in without a word.
I close it, then walk around to the driver’s side.
When I get in, she’s staring straight ahead, hands folded tight in her lap, trying to hide how they shake.
I don’t say anything as I start the engine and pull away from the curb.
In the rearview mirror, her house shrinks. Then disappears.
She finally speaks. “Where are we going?”
“My place.”
“Why not Callum’s?”
That turns my head. She’s grown to like Callum. I can tell by the way she chews her lips.
She says, “I don’t want my dad to find me at your place. Callum’s is probably the safest, right?”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Loaded. I don’t answer.
Then she says it so quietly I almost don’t hear. “If he finds out I’m not home…”
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
“I know.”
“He’s going to be so angry.”
“Let him be angry.”
“I have to go back.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She doesn’t respond. Just keeps staring out the window at the town blurring past.
When we reach my place, she’s finally stopped shaking. I pull all the way into the garage. When I put the car in park, I linger for a moment.
“I have to wake up in––” I lift my phone to read the time. “A few hours. We have an away game tomorrow, so we need to catch a flight.”
“Oh,” she says.
“Yeah, so I can take you back home before then, or you can stay.”
“Shit,” she gasps, reaching for her phone. “My location. He’s going to know I’m here.”
“Turn it off,” I say.
“It’ll notify him if I do.”
I glare at the phone and say, “What’s he going to do? Storm into my house?”
She blinks a few times; her mind has clearly run through several versions of what could happen.
“He won’t know you’re here. I’ll make sure you’re back in a few hours. Come on.”
I open my door and step out. When I turn around, she’s frozen. I lean down, taking in her fearful eyes.
I hate seeing her like this. I wish I could take away all of her pain, all of her fear. I wish I could give her normalcy.