Jax's P.O.V.
The house was eerily quiet. At 10 p.m., everyone had retreated to their rooms, leaving me alone in the living room. The soft hum of the fridge was the only sound accompanying me as I sat there, waiting. I didn’t even bother pretending this time. No forgotten charger, no misplaced earphones—just me and the ticking clock.
Over the past few days, I’d made it a habit to wait up whenever Sam was out, telling myself it was about making sure she got home safe. But the truth? I just wanted to see her. To talk to her. To be the first thing she saw when she walked through the door.
Tonight, though, I was tired of excuses. I’d sent her the text hours ago, deciding to just say it: I realize that I messed up. We need to talk. But there was no response. Nothing. Just radio silence. So, I
