Page 17 of Jax

I recoil from his words and hit my head on the brick again. “Fuck,” I groan, rubbing my hand over my sensitive scalp where I wouldn’t be surprised if Psycho literally tore chunks of my hair out.

Jax used to love running his hands through my long blond strands. Especially in the morning when the sun would stream through the windows. My hair would look like spun gold as he’d weave his fingers through it.

I cringe again, and Leenie moves forward. “Here, let’s get you covered up.” She takes off the hoodie she’s wearing and wraps it around my shoulders.

“I’m really fine,” I protest. “I’ll go somewhere to get cleaned up, and then I’ll head back when he’s simmered down.” I stare at my shoes. I hadn’t meant to share so much with them—with him—but it’s hard turning that switch off when you’ve literally never felt more comfortable than you do with that one person. Old habits are hard to repress.

“You should probably go to a hospital to get checked out,” Leenie suggests.

I scoff. “It’s just a little—”

“Beat down?” Jax seethes.

I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off when he lunges forward, picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder. My head swims, and I groan.

“Well, you probably could have done that better,” Finn says unhelpfully.

Once I get the floor to stop moving, I grind out, “You know you don’t want to help me, Jax. Put me down.”

“You’re right. I don’t fucking want to help you.”

Still, he marches on. At the end of the street, he whistles, calling a taxi over. He finally settles me on my feet and then moves out of the way for Leenie to help me into the seat. Finn and Jax share a conversation while I wait, and finally, Jax strides away without looking back.

“The hospital,” Leenie tells the driver.

“No,” I cry out, my voice somewhere between firm and a banshee wail. Watching Jax’s form walk away from the car breaks my heart. I peer after him, chest ripping down the center. “Actually, I’m leaving.”

Jax roars, and I jump. He spins, marches back while glaring at me, and then opens the passenger door of the taxi. As he gets in, he barks out instructions to the driver to take us all to the hospital before slamming the door behind him.

I don’t contradict him. Either I’m too tired or it’s the growing warmth in my stomach that hopes he does still care.

Throughout the whole trip, I watch the popping vein in Jax’s neck, the coiling and tightening of his muscles. In fact, having him next to me is so soothing that before I know it, I’m asleep.

9

The needle pinches my skin as it slides underneath the surface. Apparently, the ER doctor says I’m malnourished and dehydrated after getting the results back from my bloodwork, so they’re hooking me up to an IV. The bubbly nurse keeps rambling on about a puppy she just got, and I can’t help but be jealous that the only thing she has to worry about is potty training her dog when I have far greater concerns on my hands.

“Aw, that’s cute,” I say, smiling at the nurse as she hooks me up to the machine.

When she’s finished, she frowns at me. “I hope you feel better.”

I’m sure I already look a lot better. They cleaned off the blood, put a bandage on my lip and gave me an ice pack for my cheek. I’m not even sure why they wanted the bloodwork but apparently it was a good idea since I’m practically wasting away.

She flits from the room, and I lie back, groaning. Everything is white and pristine in here. They told me I could turn the TV on in the corner but someone else in one of the sectioned off little areas already has theirs on full blast, playing some kid cartoon so it’s not like I’d be able to hear anything anyway. Plus, it’s been so long since I’ve watched TV, I would have no idea what’s even good anymore. Is Pretty Little Liars still on? Did they find out who “A” was?

I don’t have much time to think about it because the curtain parts, and a middle-aged woman walks in. She introduces herself as another ER doctor. She examines me again then crosses her arms in front of her as she stares down at me. “Did you know your attacker?”

I shake my head, trying for the perfect picture of a victim. “No, he just accosted me while I was out.”

“I’ll call the police for you then.”

“Don’t bother. I didn’t get a good look at him.”

“Maybe one of the houses and businesses nearby has a camera?”

“In the Heights?” I lift my brows. “Doubt it.”

I know I’m being difficult but pointing the finger at Psycho isn’t a good idea. I’ve been replaying the scene where he left me with Jax in my head, and I’m pretty sure he did it on purpose. He saw an opportunity for me to work my way into their lives again, and he used it. Otherwise, there’s no freaking way he would’ve let me leave with them. In his mind, he owns me.

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