Layla’s POV
The laundry room behind the clubhouse was small, warm, and loud. The washing machine shook the floor a little every time it spun. The smell of soap mixed with old leather and motor oil from the garage nearby.
I stood there folding a pile of black T-shirts. Most of them belonged to the guys. Club shirts. Grease stains never fully came out, but I still washed them anyway.
Normal things helped calm my mind. Or at least they used to. Today my hands moved slow. My thoughts were somewhere else. I kept thinking about Jax. About how he looked at me lately. Like he was trying to read my face. Like he knew something was wrong. And he wasn’t wrong. I sighed and dropped another shirt into the basket.
“Get it together, Layla,” I muttered under my breath.
Outside the laundry room windo
