Page 17 of Coming In Hot
I peer up at Jax, the fog in my head not quite lifting, but the haze of it a little more bearable now that I’m not alone. The room feels too small, too suffocating, like I’m drowning in the silence between us. I can’t escape the guilt twisting in my chest.
“I didn’t protect him, Jax,” I say, my voice low, almost broken. “Arlo—he got hurt, and I wasn’t there. Same as Jordan.” My fists clench at my sides, anger stirring beneath the layers of guilt. I want to punch something, anything, to make it go away.
Jax doesn’t flinch, doesn’t seem surprised. He just stands there, his gaze sharp and cold, like he’s waiting for me to get to the point. His shoulders don’t dip in sympathy, his eyes don’t soften with understanding. No, Jax is all hard lines and sharp edges.
“You couldn’t save him, Pharo,” he says, his voice low but full of venom. “Just like you couldn’t save Jordan. I don’t know who Arlo is, and I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me is that you stop endangering people’s lives.”
That hits me like a sucker punch, a brutal reminder of what I couldn’t do. But it’s not just what he said. It’s the tone, the way he’s glaring at me, like I’m the one who let it all go to shit. His beliefs settle in my chest, pushing me down even more.
“You can’t carry it all, Pharo,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like advice. It feels like an accusation, like he's blaming me for everything that went wrong. “You can’t protect everyone. No matter how much you want to.”
I rub my face, but it doesn’t help. The guilt won’t leave. “I wasn’t there,” I mutter. “I was supposed to be there.”
Jax doesn’t even step back, doesn’t let up. Instead, he moves forward, close enough that I can feel the heat of his anger. He sits on the edge of the coffee table, his eyes never leaving mine, that cold, hostile gaze boring into me like he’s judging every mistake I’ve made. His faux-hawk stands on end like he’s been running his hands through it.
“You’re right,” he says, his voice low and sharp. “You weren’t there. You weren’t there when it counted, just like you weren’t for Jordan.” He leans in, his eyes narrowing with something close to disgust. “You’ve been running away from your responsibilities, Pharo. Chasing some stupid dream while the rest of us are stuck dealing with the fallout.”
I feel the anger spike. I want to scream at him, tell him he doesn’t understand, but I can’t. He’s right, in a way.
“I wasn’t even there,” I snap, my voice rising again, but I’m not yelling at him. I’m yelling at myself. “You don’t get it. I failed them. I failed both of them. I should’ve been the one to keep them safe, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t.”
Jax doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t show a shred of sympathy. His dark eyes narrow, but it’s not pity I see in them. It’s contempt, like he’s disgusted by the weakness in me. “You’re not a god, Pharo,” he says, spitting venom. “You can’t be everywhere. You can’t fix everything. And sometimes—” he pauses, his gaze turning cold, like he’s relishing in the pain he’s inflicting on me, “—sometimes, it’s just not in the cards.”
I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat, the anger still bubbling up, but there’s no way to get rid of it now. “Then what the hell am I supposed to do with all this?” I ask, my voice hoarse, the pain almost unbearable.
Jax doesn’t answer right away. He leans back, but it feels like he’s waiting for me to come to terms with everything he’s just thrown in my face. The silence hangs heavy between us. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks again, his voice softer but still full of judgment.
“You start by accepting that you can’t fix it,” he says, his tone almost condescending now. “Even though you think you’re invincible. You’re playing with real lives, real people.”
I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear. It doesn’t make the guilt or the anger go away.
I sit there, the silence suffocating me, my thoughts spiraling, crashing against each other like waves. Maybe, for once, I don’t have to shoulder this alone. But Jax’s words are like stones in my chest, and I’m not sure if I can forgive myself, let alone if he ever will.
Maybe I’m already broken. Maybe it’s too late to fix anything.
“And then?”
His eyes burn with that familiar intensity, the kind that always made me feel like I was a few steps behind, like I was playing a game where I didn’t even know the rules. “And then you get even.”
The realization hits me like a slap in the face. That’s what he’s been doing all these years to me—getting even. It’s what he’s beenwaitingfor, isn’t it? The whole damn time.
“Revenge?” The implication tastes bitter on my tongue. It doesn’t sound like something I want to hear, not from Jax. But there it is, hanging in the air.
“Revenge is a nasty word,” he scoffs, shaking his head with that annoying, smug half-smile that always makes me want to throw something. “I prefer to call it returning the favor.”
Returning the favor.
I’m not sure what I feel anymore—anger, confusion, a deep, gnawing sense of loss. I can’t keep up, can’t process what he’s saying or his reasons. I’m too damn tired. “Revenge against who?”
I almost don’t want to know, but I need to hear it. Maybe if I hear it, it’ll make sense of all this bullshit.
Jax pauses, like he’s savoring the moment, watching me squirm. He knows what he’s doing. He always knows.
“That depends,” he says, his voice soft, almost too soft, like he’s speaking to a child. “Who’s to blame?”
Under his intense stare, I find myself unable to look away. “Me?” I don’t even know why I say it. I don’t know what he wants me to say or what the right answer is. My mind is thick, sluggish. The words feel foreign in my mouth. But somehow, it feels like the answer he’s been waiting for.
“Exactly.”
