Chapter 19
Nineteen
NOW | JAX
“What do you want to eat?” I ask again, like I didn’t hear her the first time.
Sisk’s eyes are bright with that exhausted kind of fury—the kind that shows up when you’ve already made up your mind.
“Did you even hear what I said?” she spits.
I keep my hands on the dresser, fingers digging into the wood like I can anchor myself there. Days after the full moon, I’m barely myself. The tar doesn’t leave—it just quiets. But around her, I feel it stirring in my veins anyway.
“Yeah, I heard you,” I say. My voice comes out too controlled. “Right now you need meds, and you don’t take those on an empty stomach.”
Her mouth twists. “You sound like a brochure.”
I ignore it. I can’t afford to rise to it.
“Food first,” I repeat.
She shifts on the bed and the brace knocks lightly against the frame. A flash of pain crosses her face before she can swallow it down. She catches me looking and her expression goes numb, daring me to react.
“So,” she says, almost conversational, “what do you recommend for someone whose career you just snapped in half?”
The words land surgically clean. I inhale too sharply.
Scotch lifts his head at the sound—ears twitching—then crawls up and presses himself against her hip like he can glue her together.
She drags her fingers through his fur, like petting him is the only thing keeping her from ripping my throat out.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
“Don’t what?” she asks.
“Don’t talk like that.” My throat burns. “You’ll dance again.”
She laughs bitterly.
“Right,” she mumbles. “Sorry. Forgot we’re pretending this is temporary.”
I take two steps toward the bed, stop myself at the last second. Distance is a rule. A wall. A promise I made to both of us. I force my voice steady. “What do you want, Sisk?”
She doesn’t answer right away. She looks down at Scotch—at the way he’s watching me like I’m both master and threat.
“Whose blood was in the bathroom?”
The overhead light flickers.
Sisk’s gaze lifts slowly, pins me. “You told me not to ask questions,” she says. “And then you left evidence on the floor like you wanted me to.”
“That towel wasn’t supposed to—” I cut myself off. Swallow it. “You need to take your meds.”
“Answer me,” she says.
My jaw clenches. “You think you can just demand things from me now?”
Her chin lifts. “I think I already did.”
Scotch whines, caught between us.
I turn away because if I look at her, I’ll tell her the truth, and then she’ll leave, and then the next full moon will eat the city.
“Food,” I say. “Then one question.”
Her brows knit. “One question.”
“One a day,” I say, and I hate myself because it sounds like control but it’s really desperation dressed up as authority. “You’ve got twenty-nine left.”
“This isn’t a game, Jax.”
“It is,” I say, colder than I mean to. “It’s the only way you stay and heal long enough to hate me properly.”
She goes still and then her eyes soften.
“Fine,” she says. “Noodles.”
“Okay,” I say. “What kind.”
She gestures vaguely. “Any. Instant. Don’t get fancy. I’m sure you remember—my taste isn’t… refined.”
A thread of memories twists in my chest. Too many fucking memories.
“You don’t have to say it like that,” I tell her.
“Like what?” she snaps. “Like I’m poor? Like I don’t belong in your world?”
“Does this look like fancy to you?” I gesture to the room.
“You’ve belonged in my world since we met, fuck, you are the sole reason my world spins.
” The words are out before I can stop them, a fucking slip-up.
I see her expression shift, and I have to backtrack, fast before she starts doubting my douchebag attitude is a facade.
“I mean, never mind. Shit, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. You drive me fucking insane, you know?”
The light flickers again.
Sisk’s eyes dart to it then to me.
“Stop with the lights,” she asks quietly.
“I’m not—” I start.
“Yes, you are,” she cuts in.
I slide my hands into my pockets.
“How do you keep it so controlled down there?” she asks, voice low. “At the bar.”
I don’t answer.
She presses anyway. “You talk like you’re always one breath away from turning into… something. But down there, you’re just Jax. Pouring drinks. Like a normal guy.”
I exhale hard through my nose. “I’m not a normal guy.”
“Then what is it? I know you got powers from the tar, but what else are you not telling me?” she asks.
I finally look at her. Her leg’s propped up all wrong. She’s pretending it doesn’t hurt because needing help is a fate worse than death for her. And her mouth—
I should get the hell out of this room.
Instead, I hear myself say, “People don’t notice because they’re drunk. They’re loud. In this city, everyone’s an expert at looking the other way.”
Her throat works. “So… you can hide there.”
I nod.
“And you can’t hide here.”
I swallow. “You don’t have to be afraid,” I say. “I can handle it until the next full moon.”
“I’m not afraid, Jax.”
I let out a short, humorless breath. “You should be.”
Her eyes flash. “You don’t get to tell me what to feel.”
The light above us flickers again—longer this time. She watches it, and then looks back at me.
“I’ll get your food,” I say, already turning away.
She leans back against the pillows too fast, winces, hides it by scratching Scotch behind the ears like the pain is nothing. It’s not nothing.
Behind me, her voice cuts in.
“And after I eat… you’re going to tell me whose blood it was.”
I stop with my hand on the doorknob. The tar inside me wakes up, stretches, like it’s fucking smiling. It knows what that answer will do to her, and it knows what it’ll cost me.
“Already answered a question today,” I say, not turning around. “Try again tomorrow.”