Layla’s POV
The kitchen smelled warm and rich. Butter. Gravy. Fried steak. I stood at the counter looking at the plates I had made. Two full plates. Mashed potatoes piled high, thick brown gravy running over the sides. Jax’s favorite. The food was getting cold. I checked the clock on the wall again.
“Where is he…” I murmured.
The front door of the clubhouse had slammed earlier. Engines had roared outside. Men shouting. Boots on wood floors. But Jax had already left. Grizz came through the kitchen earlier and scratched the back of his head.
“Boss had to ride,” he told me.
“He didn’t eat,” I said.
“Yeah… sorry about that.”
Then he left.
So the food sat there.
I sighed and picked up the plates. I wrapped one and slid it into the fridge. The other I left on the counter. Maybe he woul
