002

~KAI~

I don't run, not really.

I just keep walking until the tunnel spits me out behind the rink, into the loading bay where the Zamboni lives and the snow piles up against the chain-link fence.

Cold bites my face. My lips still burn from Jax's mouth.

My hoodie's twisted wrong, one sleeve half-up my arm like I got dressed in the dark. I lean against the brick wall. Breathe. Try to make it normal.

It doesn't work.

My phone buzzes. Once. Twice. I don't look. I know who it is.

The third buzz is a text preview that lights up the screen anyway.

Jax: 'You left your bag in the tunnel.'

I close my eyes. Fuck. There is another buzz.

Jax: 'Milo grabbed it. He's looking for you.'

Of course he is.

I shove the phone in my pocket. Dig my palms into my eyes until I see stars. The taste of blood and cedar is still in my mouth.

My throat feels raw from the things I didn't say. From the things I let him do. I should go home. Lock the door. Pretend the last fifteen minutes were a bad dream.

Instead I slide down the wall until my ass hits the frozen concrete. Knees up. Hood pulled low. Minutes pass. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. The cold seeps in slow, like guilt.

Footsteps crunch snow.

I don't look up. I already know the rhythm.

Milo stops a few feet away. Doesn't crowd. He never does.

"You forgot this." He sets my bag down between us, gently. Like it might break.

I stare at it. "Thanks."

He doesn't leave. He just stands there in his team jacket, hands shoved in pockets, breath fogging the air. The bruise on his cheek from last week's practice is fading yellow.

He looks tired. Not angry. Just... tired.

"You okay?" he asks again. Same soft voice. Same question.

I laugh once. It was short and bitter. "Do I look okay?"

"No."

Milo's always honest when it hurts. He shifts his weight. Snow creaks under his boots.

"I saw the marks," he says quiet. "On his neck."

My stomach drops.

"You left them."

I don't answer.

He exhales, fog curls. "Kai."

"Don't."

"I'm not mad."

"You should be."

"Maybe." He crouches then, slow, eye level. "But I'm not."

His eyes are steady. Brown. Warm. The opposite of Jax's dark burn. I hate how safe they make me feel. Hate it more because I know what he did. Or didn't do.

Four years ago. Tyler's party. Basement stairs. Jax's hand on my wrist. Dragging me into the bathroom. Door clicking shut. Milo was there. In the hallway. Leaning against the wall with a red cup.

He saw Jax pull me past. He heard the lock. He didn't knock. He didn't yell. He didn't do anything. He just stood there.

I found out later—overheard him telling someone it "wasn't his business." That I had been laughing earlier. That I had wanted it.

I never confronted him. I never said the words.

Because saying them would make it real. Now he's looking at me like he's waiting for permission to speak.

"I should've stopped it," he says. His voice cracks on the last word. "Back then."

My chest tightens. "Yeah."

"I thought..." He trails off and swallows. "I thought if I pretended it didn't happen, it wouldn't."

"Smart plan."

He flinches. Small. But I see it.

"I'm sorry," he says.

The words hang there, cold and deep. I want to tell him it's fine. That it's old news. That I forgave him years ago.

I can't.

Because it's not fine. And forgiveness feels like another lie.

He reaches out, hesitates. Then touches my knee, just fingertips. It warm through my jeans.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he says.

"Too late."

His thumb moves once. In small comfort circle.  I don't pull away. But I don't lean in either. We sit like that. Snow falling soft. Rink lights buzzing behind us.

Then headlights cut across the lot.

A black Jeep. Jax's.

He doesn't get out right away. Just sits there. Engine idling. Watching us through the windshield.

Milo's hand stills on my knee.

Jax kills the engine. His door opens. His boots hit snow. He walks over slow. Hands loose at his sides. No gear now—just hoodie, jeans, that bruise under his eye looking worse in the sodium light.

He stops a few feet away. Looks at Milo's hand first. Then at me.

"You left," he says.

"Needed air."

"You needed to run."

I shrug.

He glances at Milo. "You good?"

Milo doesn't answer. Just looks up at him. Something passes between them—old, ugly, wordless.

Jax's jaw ticks. "Take your hand off him."

Milo doesn't move it right away. He just looks at me. Waiting. I don't tell him to stop. But I don't tell Jax to fuck off either.

The Silence stretches. Intense.

Jax steps closer, Crouches on my other side, mirror of Milo. Two walls and no way out. He doesn't touch me, not yet. He just watches.

"You're shaking," he says quietly.

"Cold."

"Liar."

He reaches out. Slow. Tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Fingers linger on my neck. Right over the spot he bit earlier.

I flinch.

He smiles, small and dangerous. "Still sensitive."

Milo's hand tightens on my knee. Jax notices. But doesn't comment. He just keeps looking at me.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says. Like it's a promise. Like it's a threat.

"I know."

"Good."

He leans in. His forehead to mine. His breath warm on my mouth.

"You can hate me tomorrow," he whispers. "Tonight you're coming with me."

My heart slams.

Milo's fingers dig in.

I close my eyes. The snow keeps falling. It was quiet, unavoidable. I don't say yes. I don't say no.

I just stand up, and when Jax offers his hand, I take it.

Milo lets go. He doesn't speak. He just watches us walk away. Jax Headlights flare again, the door slams, and the engine growls.

And I let Jax drive me into the dark.

Knowing I'm not safe.

Knowing I never was.