Page 135 of Carrick
He tilted his head, calm and razor-sharp. “You’re here because you want permission.”
The words cut clean. No blood. Just truth.
“You want someone who understands your wiring to tell you it’s not a mistake. That you’re not breaking protocol. That wanting her doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”
I didn’t respond. Not right away. Because he was right. And that was the part that burned.
“You think it’s a mistake?” I asked finally, my voice lower than I meant it to be.
Jax’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes softened—just slightly. “No,” he said. “I think it’s inevitable.”
I looked down, jaw clenched. “I don’t know what this is going to be.”
“Most people don’t,” he said. “But if I may be blunt—and when am I not—most people also waste half their lives waiting for certainty that doesn’t exist.”
I lifted my head again. Met his gaze. “Even if it’s temporary?”
He nodded. “Most things are. But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth it.”
The words hit deeper than they should’ve. Because I’d been clinging to the illusion that temporary meant dangerous, disposable, unjustifiable. That if I couldn’t promise her forever, I shouldn’t offer anything at all. But forever was never the point—not for people like us. For us, it was never about duration. It was about depth. And she’d already carved herself into the hollowed-out parts of me.
I stayed silent. Let the weight settle. Jax sipped his tea, unbothered by the storm I wasn’t hiding well, then reached for a thin file beneath his tablet and slid it across the desk.
I stared down at it. “What’s this?”
“Security footage.”
My pulse jumped. “You tracked us.”
He didn’t flinch. “Didn’t take long. The external feeds were disabled, perimeter logs wiped. Impressively thorough. But the internal grid showed a 47-second deviation in door sensor data, followed by irregular motion signatures in the west hall. It took me less than ten minutes to reconstruct your exit.”
“Shit,” I breathed.
“I didn’t rat you out,” he added. “Didn’t tell a soul. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why not?”
He set his cup down gently, fingers steepling like he was solving for x and had finally landed on the truth. “Because you came back with actionable intel. Because she came back alive. And because you walked in like a man who finally understands the equation he’s been refusing to solve.”
My throat tightened. I looked down at the folder again, then back at him. “You think I should tell her?”
Jax tilted his head, his voice shifting—quieter now, almost reverent. “That you want her? That this isn’t about protection anymore?”
That landed hard. I glanced away, then back, the words barely more than a whisper. “Should I?”
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched me with that unshakable stillness—his way of reading breath and posture instead of words. Jax didn’t guess. He assembled. Calculated. Waited.
And when he finally answered, his voice was calm. Certain.
“I think you already have.”
26
Carrick
It started with a phone call.Not a dramatic one—no sirens in the background, no urgent ring. Just a single, sharp vibration against the edge of the desk. Barely a sound. But in this place, at this hour, even a whisper could detonate.
I glanced at the screen.
