Page 22

CHAPTER 22

JAX

I stare at the empty couch where Pharo bent me over last night. Every line from that document tolls in my mind, loud as a bell.

We formally offer you the position of Head of Transportation and Flight Training.

His absence is louder than any argument we could’ve had face-to-face, and the silence in my apartment is deafening.

All this anger and hurt are swirling inside me, demanding to be released, but I don’t know where to start. I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I thought we were building something. I thought the last few weeks meant something. The moments we shared, the quiet ones where he let down his walls, when we went to dinner and talked about anything and everything, and the understanding we reached in Brewer’s office... I thought he meant it. But that was before I found out he’s taking a six-figure job halfway across the world, like he’s throwing away everything we had. Throwing me away like I’m nothing.

Again .

Did all of that mean nothing? Did last night mean nothing?

I press my fingers to my forehead, trying to fight off the headache building behind my eyes. This isn't just about him taking the job. It's about what that job means—about the fact that he never even gave me the courtesy of a heads up. That this thing we were doing was never more than an afterthought.

A quick fuck between deployments to take the edge off. Maybe his idea of a farewell party.

A farewell fuck.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I was fooling myself. But now I can’t help but wonder if it was all just a game to him. And if it was, then I guess the joke’s on me.

I don’t know what hurts more. The fact that I feel used and discarded? Or that I won’t be seeing him again anytime soon.

Fuck… These are the reasons I kept him at arm’s length in the first place. I knew this shit would happen, and I’ve obviously felt this way about him all along, masked by hurt, fear, insecurity, and guilt.

I didn’t even get a chance to say what I needed to say.

“Goddamn it,” I mutter under my breath, slamming my palm against the countertop. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to get tangled up in him, to let him get so close, to start seeing a future that now feels like a joke.

I could’ve been prepared for this. I could’ve braced myself if I knew it was coming. But instead, I’m standing here, picking up the pieces of something I thought was real.

And now... I’m just trying to make sense of it, of him, of what the hell I was supposed to do with all the feelings I let myself have.

I’m so fucking stupid.

I drag my hands down my face, letting out a long breath, trying to steady myself. I need to move. I need to get out of this apartment before I do something stupid like text him or—no, I can’t do that. That’s not going to change anything.

I grab my jacket and step out the door, feeling the humid air hit my face like a slap, but I’m still burning up inside. The heat is no match for the fire that’s raging in my chest.

The tavern smells like stale beer and fried food, but right now, it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want to go home, not yet. Not while the hurt is still choking me, tightening its grip with every thought of Pharo and his sudden, cold departure.

The place is busy serving the lunch crowd, but I’m not here to eat. I take a seat at the far end of the bar, ordering a whiskey straight. I don’t want to waste time on beer. I need something stronger to burn away this ache that’s settling deep in my gut.

The bartender slides the glass in front of me, his eyes lingering just a bit too long, but I don’t care. He knows me, and seeing me here in the middle of the day, without the Bitches, drinking hard liquor, worries him. I grab it without a word, the amber liquid swirling as I bring it to my lips. The burn in my throat is nothing compared to the fire inside me. I down the shot in one go, slamming the empty glass onto the counter with a dull thud.

“Another,” I grunt, not bothering to glance up.

The bartender hesitates, but he pours the drink anyway, and I take it gratefully, not even letting it breathe before I swallow it down, this time a little slower. The warmth spreads through me, loosening something in my chest that’s been locked tight for too long.

Six fucking years too long.

I lean back in my seat, letting my eyes close for a moment. I don’t care that the world is spinning a little now. I don’t care that my mind is clouded, that my thoughts are starting to slow down and blur together. I just want to stop feeling this way.

Used.

Insignificant.

Humiliated.

Because I hoped for something more. Something real. What a fool I am.

God, I don’t know who I’m more disgusted with—him or myself.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Pharo’s face. The way he looked at me when he knocked on my door, like he was holding his heart in his hands. The way he touched me, like he couldn’t get enough. I’ve been blind, thinking that maybe—just maybe—there was something real between us. Something that wouldn’t end like this.

I need to forget. I need to forget the way he made me feel, like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him. And now? He’s gone. And I’m still here, mourning the loss of something that was never mine to begin with.

Another shot to drown out the ache in my chest.

“Maybe I’ll just keep this up all night,” I mutter to no one in particular. It feels like I’m speaking through molasses. “Who needs clarity, anyway?”

The bartender raises an eyebrow but keeps his mouth shut, probably used to the ramblings of a man who’s had one too many.

But it doesn’t matter. I keep drinking. One shot after another, until the world around me feels like a distant blur, and the only thing that’s real is the bitter taste in my mouth and the numbing silence inside. I don’t care. I just need the hurt to stop.

The jukebox starts playing in the background, a sad, old tune that seems to seep right into my soul. Perfect. Just what I need. I lean back against the bar, closing my eyes and letting the music carry me somewhere far away, somewhere where Pharo and his damn job offer don’t exist, where I’m not left here alone with nothing but the mess he left behind.

* * *

Sitting in this circle is the last place I feel like being today. And I’d have avoided it like the plague except that my phone’s been buzzing off the hook all day with messages from the Bitches making sure I’d show up today. They even resorted to threats.

I can only guess that Pharo gave someone a heads-up that I was going through something. Fucking fucker.

He doesn’t have the right to look out for me after the shit he pulled. After all, he’s the one constantly hurting me! If not for him, I’d be fine. Mostly.

West and Brandt file in, laughing and joking together, and their easy camaraderie lights the spark of anger simmering inside me all day. I’m hungover from yesterday’s whiskey marathon and slept for shit last night.

West makes the mistake of getting up in my face. “Whatever it is, Jax, a hug will make it better. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

My scowl is a warning, and his laugh is the last straw. I kick his leg, his good one, sending him stumbling backward into Brandt’s arms. Great, now they’re both pissed at me.

I could’ve just stayed the fuck home!

“I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge whatever dramatic crisis you’re imagining today,” West bitches.

Thankfully, most of the guys keep their distance, giving me enough space to stew in my pissed-off mood. I can feel the hostility crawling up my spine, making it impossible to sit still. The last thing I want right now is to be surrounded by these people.

Riggs starts the meeting, his voice pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I hear him, but it doesn’t reach me—just sound, empty and distant.

Rhett kicks off the sharing, but I barely register it. I can see his mouth moving, but none of it hits me. Whatever he’s bitching about? I couldn’t care less.

Instead, I’m stuck replaying our first kiss. The nauseous fluttering in my stomach was so new, so different, from anything I’ve ever felt before with anyone else. How could he show up the other night acting like we had the rest of our lives ahead of us to build a future together, like he wasn’t breaking something between us when he made the decision to accept that job?

I drag my fingers through my hair, feeling the frustration tighten in my chest, but I know better than to let it show. This is the kind of stuff you keep buried.

The room feels suffocating. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to listen to all this pointless crap. I just want to throw back another drink and forget about everything for a while longer.

I catch Riggs’ eyes. He’s got that look—like he knows I’m not really here. Like he can see through my bullshit. I give him a tight, forced smile, but it’s clear he’s not buying it.

Rhett’s voice keeps droning on, but it’s all lost on me, a blur of noise I can’t focus on. All I can think about is how much I hate Pharo right now. How I hate him for making me feel like a fucking fool.

Someone else speaks up, and I’m barely aware of it, too deep in my head to care. It’s like I’m trapped in my own mind, circling the same damn thoughts over and over. Pharo. His decision. The way everything between us seemed like it was finally coming together—until it wasn’t.

My fingers drum furiously on my thigh, my way of grounding myself, but it’s not working. I can feel the anger, the hurt, the frustration rising like a tidal wave, and it feels like it’s swallowing me whole.

“Jax?”

I snap back to reality, realizing everyone’s eyes are on me. Riggs is staring at me, concern etched into his face. He knows something’s up.

“Yeah?” I mumble, trying to sound like I’m here, even though I’m not.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low, but there’s an edge to it.

“Sure,” I reply quickly, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine.”

Riggs doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push it either. He just nods, but I can tell he’s not buying my act.

I feel like I’m suffocating in this room, surrounded by people who don’t get it. Who doesn’t get me . I wish I could just leave, wish I could disappear into something that would numb all of this. All the confusion, the hurt, the anger I’m holding inside.

And then that lying motherfucker walks in and things go from bad to worse.

“Sorry I’m late,” Pharo apologizes. “I got held up.”

Yeah, packing up and making plans to leave town. For good. I’m surprised he’s even still here.

Oh, fuck no. There’re two empty seats left, and this asshole is gonna pick the one next to me.

“Hey,” he whispers, nudging me to get my attention. “I messaged you, but you didn’t respond. You still playing hard to get?”

It’s like he’s oblivious to the time bomb ticking inside me.

“I don’t mind,” he continues, unaware that his life is in jeopardy. “I’m starting to enjoy your little games, Jaxy.”

I swear to Christ, if he doesn’t shut the fuck up.

“What’s your problem?” he hisses, appearing confused. Pharo has no idea I know about his betrayal. Maybe he thinks if he continues to play the adoring beau, I’ll give up my ass once more before he skips town.

“Let’s play the fuck off game. You go first,” I snap, glaring sideways at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? We’re back to this shit again? Fuck you, Jax.”

“You can’t unfuck what has been fucked.”

He chuffs, like it’s funny, but it’s not. “The human body has seven trillion nerves,” Pharo explains, “and some people manage to get on every fucking one of them.”

He glares at me, and the old familiar rivalry is in full swing.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms with a deliberate nonchalance, even though I can feel the heat of his glare burning into me. “Guess I must be a master then,” I say with a smirk, playing it off like I’m unbothered. “You’ve definitely been working overtime trying to get under my skin.”

Pharo’s eyes narrow, the sharpness in his gaze becoming more intense. “Oh, you think so?” His voice drops, low and steady, like he’s not only trying to get under my skin but trying to peel it back, layer by layer.

I don't back down, letting the silence stretch between us. “Why are you even here? Thought you’d be halfway to Egypt by now.”

“What? Why would I…”

We’ve drawn the attention of Riggs and the rest of the group, who are now wholly focused on our escalating discussion. “Excuse me, gentlemen. Is there something you’d like to share with the group?”

Pharo shoots up, bristling with anger. “Yeah. Jax seems to think I’m guilty of something I’m almost positive I didn’t do. I’d like to know what the fuck his problem is.”

“How is this new?” Stiles complains.

“Well?” Pharo snaps, pushing me to react.

“Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.” I’m not doing this here with him.

“Jax,” Riggs prods. “Do you need to share?”

I’ve absolutely fucking have had it with this shit! “No, what I need is to get the fuck out of here.”

Grabbing my jacket, I shoot to my feet, but Pharo blocks me. He makes the unforgivable mistake of putting his hands on my chest to push me back.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what I did.”

I freeze for a second, his hands on my chest like an electric shock, my heart pounding a little too loud in my ears. I want to shove him off, but something about the way he stares at me—eyes searching, determined—stops me.

I take a step back, pushing his hands away with a force that surprises both of us. My jaw clenches as I meet his gaze, trying to hold my ground, but the anger inside me is rising too fast to keep it contained.

“Don't ever lay a hand on me again,” I growl, my voice low and sharp, warning him without leaving room for argument.

Pharo doesn’t back off. “You’re not leaving until you explain why you’re acting like this. What the hell’s going on with you, Jax? I thought we were... better than this.”

Better than this? I’ll fucking kill him. My fists ball at my sides, the anger mixing with something else—a kind of vulnerability I’m not used to feeling, not when it comes to him.

“What did you think, huh?” I snap, voice tight. “That you could apologize, buy me a burger, cry your fucking eyes out on my couch, and take advantage of me, and then just turn around and walk the fuck out? Was I not supposed to care? Maybe you should’ve considered that before you shoved your dick in my mouth.”

The Bitches gasp, chatter running rampant. Too bad they didn’t bring popcorn for the free show they’re getting today.

“Walk out?” Pharo seems confused. “I asked you if you wanted me to stay, but you told me to leave. I’m not going anywhere, Jax. I’m right here.”

“Yeah, well, I’m out.” As I take a step forward, Pharo grabs my arm, pulling me back, and the rubber band that’s been binding my anger snaps. I curl my hand into a fist, pull it back, and strike out, nailing him square in his stupid, perfectly cut jaw. His head snaps back with the crunch, and the sound is the most satisfying thing I’ve heard all day.

“Fuck,” McCormick grumbles, “they broke the group rule of no fighting.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Nash points out.

Nobody tries to stop me as I storm out.