I heard the faint clack of keys and knew he was already getting started. “Appreciate it.”
There was a pause, and when Jax spoke again, the teasing note was back, lighter now. “You interrupting my day because of club business, or is this personal?”
“Fuck off,” I growled, unable to stop the faint twitch of my lips.
His chuckle was low and amused. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
When he started humming “Another One Bites the Dust,” I hung up without responding. I know full well that if Jax found something, he’d tell me immediately. For now, though, I had to wait. And nothing about that sat well with me, not when every instinct in my gut told me I needed to keep Hadley close to protect her. Now I just needed to find out from what.
The next number I pulled up was for one of the doctors patched into the Hounds of Hellfire MC, a club we trusted almost as much as our own brothers. Flint was trained in most areas of medicine, but he specialized in reconstructive and cosmetic work. Although he mostly used those skills only when needed to help people vanish into new identities. That was the Hounds’ business—the kind that went a few steps farther and dug deeper than anything the feds could offer. Reconstructivesurgery was always a last resort, but Flint was the man you wanted holding the scalpel when it became necessary. If something was off about that scar, Flint would be the one who knew exactly what he was looking at.
I knew Hadley would be done shortly, so rather than call, I sent Flint a quick text.
Me
Need your eyes on a surgical scar. Call you later tonight?
Flint’s response came within seconds.
Flint
Anytime.
I exhaled slowly, relief washing through me, grateful I had someone reliable to back me up if my suspicions were right. Before I could process any further, the CT room door opened, pulling my gaze upward.
Hadley appeared in her wheelchair, pushed by Gidget. I was glad to see that her face was clearer and more alert than when she’d entered. Her green eyes immediately found mine, holding my gaze as the nurse wheeled her closer. My pulse kicked harder than it had a right to, sending heat through my veins.
She looked fucking beautiful even under the sterile fluorescent lights, her hair slightly tousled and eyes bright as they locked onto mine. That stubborn chin lifted subtly as if reminding me she wasn’t fragile. A small smirk teased the corner of her mouth, an expression that lit a fire low in my gut.
By the time we returned to Hadley’s room, the results were ready. I pulled them up on the computer, pulling my attention back into professional focus.
I reviewed the scans quickly but thoroughly. Each clean slice of the imaging data confirmed my initial impression. Nothing needed surgical intervention. Relief settled in my chest, a low hum of reassurance that steadied the protective instincts surging beneath my carefully maintained calm.
I met Hadley’s eyes again, allowing my expression to soften slightly, voice steady but gentler. “You’re clear—no bleed or fracture. Could have a concussion, though.”
She nodded, her shoulders releasing a subtle tension that had been lingering there since we arrived. Her gaze stayed on mine, quiet trust and something deeper passing between us, unspoken but unmistakably present.
The silence seemed to unnerve her because she straightened abruptly, her eyes darting away. Her hands brushed self-consciously down the front of her jeans, smoothing invisible wrinkles, and when her gaze flicked back to mine, a forced smile curved her lips, bright enough to fool someone who didn’t know better.
“Guess this means no heavy lifting for a few days?” she joked lightly. Her attempt at humor was an obvious shield, trying to deflect the intensity that hung in the air between us.
I let her have the attempt at levity, but gently redirected the conversation. “How’re you feeling now? Headache?”
Her lips parted to respond quickly, but she caught herself, clearly reconsidering before answering more honestly. “A little. But nothing too bad.”
I studied her closer, taking in every tiny nuance of her body language. There’d been several indications that she was practiced at hiding things, but somehow I’d seen through her tells right from the start. She was good, but the truth was in her body language—forced ease in her posture despite the faint tightness around her mouth that told me the headache was probably worse than “nothing too bad.”
It was clear she was used to masking discomfort and putting on a front. Like someone who’d learned how to hold herself together out of necessity, not choice.
The thought made something inside me twist hard. My gut clenched with a protective instinct that burned hotter than I could justify. I didn’t understand why that scar on her temple had set my alarms ringing so loudly. Didn’t know why every instinct I had was screaming that she was in danger.
But my instincts had saved my life—and many others—countless times. I wasn’t about to start doubting them now.
Hadley glanced toward the door, then offered another overly bright smile. “So, does this mean I’m good to go home?”
My mind and body rejected the idea of letting her go. “You’re not going home tonight, baby.”
Her brows dipped, and she blinked. “I have to stay at the hospital?”