“The Academy?”
I nod.
His face changes but I can’t stay to hear what he has to say. I’m already walking past him, fleeing before I have to explain my tears.
I shouldn’t be crying. I should be screaming in excitement.I got what I wanted. What I always wanted.The one thing I’ve ever wanted.Now that is here, it doesn’t feel like winning. It feels like the settled knife in my chest just inched deeper as I got handed the keys to my gilded freedom.
Twenty-One
NOW | JAX
Ishove my face into the pillow like that might knock me out. It doesn’t.She’s asleep. Fed. Medicated. Healing.I remind myself of that over and over. But in twenty-eight days, the clock resets, the moon will come back and I have no fucking idea what will happen then.
I stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn. I should’ve stayed downstairs, should’ve stayed busy. Work keeps my hands occupied, keeps my head from spiraling. But until I get her crutches, I can’t leave her alone up here. One wrong step, one slip?—
“Fuck,” I grunt, sitting up hard and swinging my legs over the side of the couch. I drag a hand through my hair and head for the kitchen. The tar inside me isn’t loud tonight. It’s patient, watching, like it knows I’ll crack eventually.
I open the fridge and grab a bottle, twisting the cap off as I lean back against the counter and take a long pull. My eyes close in the cool relief—until a soft thump breaks the silence, followed by another, forcing them open as I turn toward the sound.
She’s in the doorway, balancing on one foot with her hands braced against the frame. Her hair’s loose, her eyes tired andbright, which means she hasn’t slept at all. She hops once more and freezes when she sees me.
“Pitfire,” I snap, already moving. “What the fuck are you doing out of bed?”
“I can’t sleep,” she says, like that’s an excuse. “And you’re not supposed to be up.”
I close the distance and guide her down onto the couch before she can argue. “Sit.”
Her gaze flicks to the bottle in my hand. “Can I have one?”
I actually laugh. “Hell no.”
She raises a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You’re on pain meds,” I say. “You don’t mix those with alcohol.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” she says coolly. “Dr. St. Clair.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
She blinks, like she hadn’t meant it that way. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately. “That was—I didn’t mean?—”
I shake my head once. “It’s fine.”It’s not.I turn back to the counter and take another drink, longer this time.
“I’m thirsty,” she says, already shifting like she’s about to get up again.
I sigh and set the bottle down hard. “Stop.”
She ignores me.
I cross the space in two strides and catch her before she can hop anywhere, one arm steady around her waist. “For fuck’s sake, will you just listen for once in your life?”
“I’m fine,” she says.
“You’re not.”
I grab a glass, fill it with water, and press it into her hands. “Drink.”
She takes a small sip. “Happy?”