6

My face was on fire. I could feel the heat radiating through his hands. “I... he... it has very sharp teeth for a Labrador,” I squeaked, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

Jax’s smirk was a tangible thing in the dark space between us. “Yeah, well, he also fetches slippers. He’s a real menace.”

He was about to say something else, probably another cutting remark about my screaming or my pathetic attempt at prayer, when his head snapped to the side. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the antique shop across the street. A light had flicked on in the back, and a shadow moved behind the closed blinds.

“Tank, go home,” he commanded, his voice low and sharp.

To my utter astonishment, the giant dog immediately stopped wagging its tail, gave a soft whine, and trotted off into the shadows without a sound.

Before I could process the dog’s military-level obedience, Jax’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. “Come on.”

“What? Hey—!”

He didn’t give me a choice. He yanked me off the main street, pulling me into the narrow, pitch-black alley between the flower shop and the bookshop. I stumbled, my shoulder scraping against the rough wall.

“Jax, what the hell—?”

“Shut up, Reed,” he whispered, his voice tight, all traces of mockery gone.

He released my wrist only to spin me around, pressing my back against the cold brick. Then he moved in, caging me in just like he had in the school corridor, but this was different. This wasn’t about intimidation. This was about concealment. He was using his body to hide me.

My brain short-circuited for the second time that day, but for a completely different reason. He was so close. The warmth of his body seeped through my thin jacket. I had to tilt my head back just to breathe, and even then, my face was buried in the fabric of his hoodie, right at the base of his throat. I came up to his chin, and I was not short. The solid wall of his chest was an inch from mine. If I took a deep breath, we would touch.

What are we hiding from? I thought, my mind reeling. And why is he hiding with me?

I tried to peek around his shoulder, to see who or what had spooked him so badly, but he shifted, blocking my view completely. All I could see was the column of his neck, the sharp line of his jaw above me, and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. The scent of him was overwhelming. It was nothing like Asher’s safe, sunny warmth. This was dark, sharp, and dangerously compelling.

He wasn’t looking down at me. His gaze was fixed over my head, trained on the alley’s entrance, his entire body tense and alert. He was listening, waiting. I found myself holding my breath, not out of fear of the person outside, but because of the person pinning me in. The silence between us was thick, charged with a strange, electric tension I didn’t understand.

After a long, breathless moment, his shoulders relaxed a fraction. He let out a slow, quiet exhale, the warmth of it ghosting over my hair.

I finally found my voice, a shaky whisper against the fabric of his hoodie. “Who was it?”

He looked down at me then, his green eyes glinting in the faint light leaking from the street. The intensity in them was startling.

“No one you need to find interesting,” he said, his voice a low rasp. The words were dismissive, but the way he was still looking at me, the way his body hadn’t moved an inch away, made them feel like a lie.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he pushed back from the wall, putting a foot of cold, night air between us. The sudden absence of his warmth was a shock. He ran a hand through his hair, making the blond strands messy, and gestured with his head toward the other end of the alley. “Come on. This way’s faster.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, just started walking. My legs, feeling like overcooked noodles, somehow managed to push me off the wall and follow him. We emerged onto a quieter residential street, the main road. An awkward silence descended, thick and heavy. The only sounds were our footsteps, his confident and steady, mine a hesitant shuffle.

He was walking a few feet ahead, his broad shoulders a dark silhouette against the halo of a streetlamp. The tension was unbearable. I felt like I had to say something, anything, to break it.

“I, uh... I didn’t know your way home was the same as mine,” I ventured, my voice too loud in the quiet.

He didn’t even turn around. “You don’t have to work your brain that hard, Reed. It’s a small town. Everyone’s way is basically the same.”

The sharp, sarcastic reply felt like a slap. Right. Stupid Elliot, stating the obvious. I shut my mouth, my cheeks burning. Well, okay then, I thought, resigning myself to a silent, miserable walk.

We walked another block in that stifling quiet. I focused on my shoes, counting the cracks in the pavement, trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

“Earlier.”

His voice cut through the silence, making me jump. He was still facing forward, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

“You looked in a good mood. At the cafe.”

The statement was so unexpected, so utterly bizarre coming from him, that I just stared at the back of his head. Why would he notice that? Why would he care? A part of me, the part that remembered his disgust in the cafeteria, wanted to snap back. None of your business. The words were right there, on the tip of my tongue.

But I couldn’t say them. Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline from the “hellhound” chase. Maybe it was the residual shock from being manhandled into an alley. Or maybe it was just that, for a fleeting second in that dark space, he hadn’t looked at me with contempt.

So instead, I heard myself say, “Yeah. I was.”

He didn’t reply, so I kept talking, the words tumbling out into the night. “The sun was bright today. I... I liked it.” It was a pathetic, weak answer, a deflection from the real, Asher-shaped reason for my happiness. But it was all I had.

He stopped walking.

Just... stopped. Right in the middle of the sidewalk.

I halted a few paces behind him, confused.

Slowly, he turned to face me. The streetlamp cast his features in sharp relief, highlighting the skeptical arch of his brow, the firm set of his mouth. He looked me up and down, a long, assessing stare that made me want to fold into myself.

“The sun,” he repeated, his tone flat and disbelieving.

I said nothing. I just stood there, clutching the strap of my backpack, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. What was he doing? What did he want from me?

He took a step toward me, then another, closing the distance between us on the empty sidewalk. He wasn’t as close as he had been in the alley, but it was close enough. His gaze was locked on mine, searching for something.

“You’re a terrible liar, Reed,” he said, but the venom was gone. He sounded... curious. “The sun is bright most days. You look like you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown most days. So what was it? Today.”

It felt like a challenge. A dare to tell the truth. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him about Asher. That would be signing my own social death warrant.

So I just shrugged, a tiny, helpless movement. “It was just a good day.”

He held my gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. I expected him to press, to sneer, to call me a freak again. But he didn’t. He just gave a short, quiet “hmph” that sounded neither like agreement nor disagreement. It was just a sound.

Then he turned and started walking again, his pace a little slower this time. I followed, the silence returning, but it was different now. The awkwardness was still there, but the sharp edges had been filed down. It was now filled with a thousand unasked questions, a strange, buzzing energy that hummed in the space between our footsteps. He didn’t say another word until we reached the intersection where our paths finally diverged.

He jerked his chin toward my street. “You’re good from here.”

I just nodded, unable to form words.

He stood there for a second, as if he was going to say something else. But he just shook his head slightly, shoved his hands back in his pockets, and turned, walking away without a backward glance.

I stood at the corner, watching his retreating form until he disappeared into the night.