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“Nah. It’ll be fine.”

“As someone who is known for gluing his own wounds instead of going to a doctor, trust me, you need to get it looked at.”

“Fine,” I agreed. “Ama’s clinic is over this way somewhere,” I added.

“You start walking. I’ll catch up after I tell my brother where we’re heading.”

“Nah, hit the town with all them. Have fun. I got this.”

“I don’t—” he started.

“Trust me. You don’t wanna miss a trip to Teddy’s fucking mansion. Have fun. Don’t need a babysitter.”

“Starting to think that’s not true,” Caymen said, but I was already walking away.

To be fair, he was right. I’d been itching for a fight for days. I’d been restless and moody for reasons I couldn’t pin down.

Normally, I lived for nights when we headed out of our little nowhere town and into the city. Where we could find lots of clubs, lots of women. Sometimes we even lucked out to run into crazy-ass Zayn, who took us on wild adventures.

But the second the guys said they were planning it, I hadn’t felt anything more than a mild annoyance that I would have to go and pretend to be interested. Or else face even more looks from the guys and questions from Velle.

So I hopped on my bike and drove in with them. I had a few rounds. Then I looked for an excuse to start some shit.

Mature way to handle my issues?

No.

But it was what it was.

The walk to the clinic was long enough that my mind started to clear and the walls I’d put up started to fall.

Leaving the truth.

I’d been in a bad mood since Zoe drove away from the clubhouse.

It’d been almost instantaneous.

My mood had been great that whole morning. Ordering food while Jade fussed over Lainey. Then taking Lainey to see the tortoise and the trucks. Putting her into her car seat.

But as she drove off, my mood plummeted.

The last bit of dopamine I’d gotten was adding a fat tip to the order from the night before. It’d been all downhill from there.

“‘Sup?” I said to the security guard at the clinic. “Is Ama still here?” I knew she’d had a shift since Seeley was hanging back at Che’s place.

“Coast?” Ama called, sounding like she was sighing. “What’d you get int—oh, ouch,” she said, walking out toward the lobby. “Alright. Come on. Let me check you out.”

“I’m only here because Caymen said my eye looked fucked. He doesn’t seem like the alarmist type.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Ama said. “You’ve got a wicked subconjunctival hemorrhage. See?” she said, handing me a mirror when we got to a room.

All the whites of my eye were red. And the black eye was starting to set in.

“I just want to make sure you didn’t break your eye socket. Or tear your cornea. How’s the pain?”

“It’s an expected amount.”

“That’s not helpful. Can you move your eye side to side for me? Good. Up and down? Alright. Does ithurtto move the eye?”