THE ONE WHO NOTICED

TWELVE

I notice after a few minutes that we're not going the right way.

"This isn't the way to my place."

"I know."

I turn to look at him. "Jayden—"

"We're going to mine. We need to talk, and I don't want you running away from me."

"You can't just—"

"I can, and I am." His voice is firm, but when I look at him, he doesn't look confident.

He looks nervous. Panicked, even.

His hands are gripping the steering wheel too tight, his jaw clenched. He keeps glancing over at me like he's scared I'm going to jump out of the moving car.

I should be pissed. I should be screaming at him.

But I just... can't.

I'm too tired. Too numb. Too drunk.

So I just turn back to the window and let him drive.

The whole ride is in silence. He knows I don't wanna talk or hear it right now, and he's giving me what I want. At least for now.

The ride feels like it goes on forever, but I think that's just cause I'm drunk. Everything's moving too slow and too fast at the same time.

We finally pull up to a small brick house. Nice looking. Neat. I'm drowsy, my head heavy, and before I can even reach for the door handle, he's walking around the Jeep.

He opens my door and picks me up.

"I can walk, Jayden."

"Just let me carry you in."

I'm too tired to argue right now.

He carries me inside and sets me down on the couch. I keep my eyes closed for a moment, trying to steady the spinning in my head.

When I open them, he's standing a few feet away. He looks wrecked. His hair is a mess—like he's been running his hands through it over and over. His shirt is wrinkled, untucked on one side. His jaw is tight, clenched so hard I can see the muscle working. His eyes are red-rimmed, desperate.

He looks upset. Really upset.

Our eyes meet. He doesn't move. Doesn't try to come closer.

He stands there for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice cracks slightly. "Kasin... I don't wanna lose you over what you think you saw."

I don't move. I close my eyes, but my breathing changes. Just slightly.

He starts pacing. I can hear his footsteps, the restless movement. His hands are probably running through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. I know that nervous tell.

"If I lose you," he says, and there's something raw in his voice, "I want it to be because you know the real me. Not because of some assumption."

A beat of silence. Then, almost pleading: "Have I lied to you? At all?" He swallows hard. "I've withheld s**t, yeah. I know I have. But only because..." he struggles, voice breaking, "when you know who I really am, you might not want me anymore."

I'm facing away. Eyes closed. But my hand - the one closest to him - twitches. Just barely. Listening.

"I wanna talk to you about it," he continues. "But not when you're half-coherent and pissed off."

Then softer. Almost sad. "I know you got fire in you, Kasin. Even if you don't see it yet." A pause. "I wanna tell you everything. Just give me the chance."

I turn to look at him. "I just wanna take a shower right now and be left alone, Jayden."

He wants to say something but doesn't. "Towels are in the hall closet. I'll get you something to change into. You can sleep on the bed. I'll take the couch.

He disappears down the hall and comes back with a t-shirt and some sweatpants. Sets them on the arm of the couch without looking at me.

"Bathroom's the first door on the right."

I grab the clothes and walk down the hall. My legs feel heavy. Everything feels heavy.

The bathroom is clean. Too clean for a guy living alone. There's no clutter, no mess. Just... normal. Like he actually gives a s**t about his space.

I turn on the shower and let it run while I peel off my clothes. The room starts to steam up, and I step under the water.

It's hot. Almost too hot. But I don't adjust it.

I just stand there, letting it pour over me.

My thoughts are scattered. Spinning. I can't grab onto one before another one crashes in.

That girl. Her hand on his chest. His face when he saw me. The way he looked at me in the car. The way he's looking at me now—like he's terrified.

I press my palms against the tile and close my eyes.

Before Jayden, I didn't feel like this.

I didn't feel... anything.

I'd wake up. Go to the store. Come home. Sleep. Repeat.

Days blurred together. Weeks. Months, maybe. I stopped counting.

I stopped caring.

It wasn't even sadness anymore. It was just... nothing. A flatline. Easier that way. Safer.

Then he walked into my store.

And he kept coming back.

And he kept *seeing* me. Not the version I show everyone else. Not the "I'm fine" version. He saw through all that s**t, and he didn't run.

He made me laugh. Made me feel something other than numb.

Made me feel *alive* again.

And now...

Now I'm standing in his shower, drunk and pissed off and confused, and I don't even know what I saw tonight. Not really.

I don't know what's real.

The water keeps running. My head starts to clear, just a little. The alcohol's still there, but it's fading. Enough that I can think straighter.

I replay it in my mind. The club. The girl. Her hand on him.

But... was he touching her back?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember.

No. He wasn't.

He was just standing there. Talking. And when he saw me, he looked... panicked. Not guilty. Panicked.

Like he knew exactly what it looked like.

I let out a shaky breath.

What if I'm wrong?

What if I just ran because that's what I do? Because feeling something—really feeling something—is f*****g terrifying, and it's easier to shut down than to risk getting hurt again?

I've been doing that for so long. Shutting down. Shutting people out.

It's safer that way.

But Jayden... he didn't let me shut him out.

And maybe that's what scares me the most.

Not that he might hurt me.

But that he might not.

That this could be real.

That I could actually have something good, and I don't know how to handle that.

I don't know how to be the person who gets to be happy.

The water's starting to run cooler now. I turn it off and just stand there for a second, dripping, staring at the tile.

I'm not fixed. I'm not suddenly okay.

But maybe... maybe I don't have to have it all figured out right now.

Maybe I just need to listen. To give him the chance he's asking for.

I dry off and pull on his clothes. The t-shirt's huge on me, hanging past my hips. The sweatpants are too long, and I have to roll them at the waist.

I catch my reflection in the mirror. Hair wet, face bare, drowning in his clothes.

I look like a mess.

But I don't look numb anymore.

I take a breath and open the door.

The hallway's dim. There's a light on in the living room, soft and low.

I walk back out, and there he is.

Sitting on the couch. Beer in one hand, the other covering his face. His shoulders are slumped, head tilted back against the cushions.

He looks... defeated.

Not the confident, cocky guy who walked into my store. Not the guy who always knows what to say.

He looks like he's breaking.

And it's because of me.He hears me before he sees me. His head snaps up, hand dropping from his face.

"Kasin."

He sets the beer down on the coffee table—too fast, almost knocking it over—and stands. Takes a few steps toward me, then stops. Like he's not sure if he's allowed to get closer.

Then he closes the distance anyway.

His hand reaches for mine. Slow. Careful. Like I might bolt.

I don't pull away.

His fingers wrap around mine, and I feel him exhale. It's shaky. Relief, maybe. Or disbelief.

He looks down at our hands, then back up at me. And for just a second, there's something in his eyes that looks almost... hopeful.

"I'm sorry," he says. His voice is rough, raw. "I'm so f*****g sorry, Kasin. For tonight. For making you think—" He stops, swallows hard. "I'm sorry."

I don't say anything. I just look at him.

He takes a breath. "Can I explain? What you saw at the club?" His thumb brushes over my knuckles, nervous. "And... can I tell you who I really am? What I really do?"

I hesitate. My chest feels tight, but not in the same way it did before. Not numb. Just... scared.

"Okay," I say quietly.

His eyes close for a second, like he's steadying himself. When he opens them again, he nods.

"Okay."

He leads me to the couch. We sit, but he doesn't let go of my hand. His grip is firm, like he's afraid if he releases me, I'll disappear.

"I'm vice president of the Iron Syndicate MC," he says. The words come out fast, like ripping off a bandaid. "Acting president right now, actually. Our president—my brother, really—he was in an accident a few weeks back. Some bullshit with another club. He's alive, but..." He shakes his head. "I've been running things since then."

I just stare at him.

Iron Syndicate.

The name hits me like a punch to the chest.

I know that name. Everyone in this town knows that name.

They're... they're not good people. That's what everyone says. Drugs, guns, violence. The kind of people you cross the street to avoid. The kind of people who make the news when someone ends up dead.

And Jayden is...

Oh my god.

Everything clicks into place. All at once. Like puzzle pieces I didn't even know I was holding suddenly forming a picture I don't want to see.

The late nights. The vague answers about "work." The way he'd tense up when his phone rang. The scars I'd noticed on his knuckles, his ribs. The way he always seemed to be looking over his shoulder.

The girl at the club—she wasn't some random hookup. She was probably club business. Something he couldn't tell me about because I didn't know.

Because he was hiding this.

I feel like I can't breathe.

"Kasin." His voice pulls me back. He's watching me, and the panic in his eyes is so raw it almost hurts to look at. "Say something. Please."

I open my mouth. Close it. I don't know what to say.

He runs his free hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. "That's what I've been hiding from you. That's why I've been so f*****g careful. Why I couldn't..." He stops, jaw working. "I didn't want you to know because I knew—I *knew*—you'd look at me different. And I couldn't... I can't lose you, Kasin."

His voice cracks on my name.

"But I can't leave this life either." He looks at me, and there's something desperate and honest in his eyes. "It's all I know. It's my family. My brothers. I can't just walk away from that. I won't."

I'm still staring at him. Stunned. My brain is trying to process, but it's like everything's moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

He squeezes my hand. "I know what people say about us. I know what you've probably heard. And some of it's true. I'm not gonna lie to you." His voice drops, quieter now. "But I'm not a monster. I'm not... I'm still me. The guy who's been showing up for you. The guy who sees you."

He swallows hard. "I just need you to see me too. The real me. Not what you think I am."

I finally find my voice. It comes out small. Shaky. "You're in a gang."

"An MC," he corrects gently. Then he nods. "Yeah. I am."

"And the girl at the club?"

"Club business," he says immediately. "She's the sister of a member from another charter. She was passing information about the club that hit our president. That's it. I swear to god, Kasin, that's all it was."

I want to believe him. I do.

But my head is spinning, and I don't know what to think anymore.

I just look at him. My hand is still in his, but I feel a million miles away.

"I need time," I finally say. My voice sounds hollow. Distant. "To process... all of this."

His grip tightens. Just slightly. Like he's trying to hold on without crushing me.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Okay. Take all the time you need."

But I can hear it in his voice—the fear. The desperation he's trying to hide.

I pull my hand away gently and turn toward the bedroom. My legs feel heavy, like I'm walking through water.

"Kasin."

I stop. Don't turn around.

His voice is raw. Broken. "I don't want to lose you."

I close my eyes. My throat tightens.

But I don't say anything. I can't.

I just keep walking.

---

The bedroom door clicks shut behind her, and Jayden stands there in the middle of his living room, staring at the spot where she was.

His hands are shaking.

He runs them through his hair, grips the back of his neck, tries to breathe.

*Fuck.*

He's faced down rival clubs. Taken hits. Made calls that could get him killed. But this—*this*—is different.

This is worse.

Because he can't fight his way out of it. Can't intimidate it into submission. Can't fix it with his fists or his rank or his reputation.

All he can do is wait.

And hope to god she doesn't walk away.

He sinks down onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

He's never felt powerless before. Not like this.

Not until her.

The thought of losing her—of going back to the way things were before she looked at him like he was more than just the VP, more than just the club—it makes his chest feel like it's caving in.

She brought him back to life too. He just didn't realize it until now.

Until the possibility of losing her became real.

He sits there in the dark, the only sound his own uneven breathing.

And he waits.