Jax’s POV
The door clicks shut behind me with a soft finality, but in my mind, it slams. The weight of what I’ve done—what they all think of me—feels like a noose tightening around my neck. I glance back at the cottage, the glow of the early morning sun creeping over the edges of the roof. For a moment, I hesitate, my hand twitching at my side.
Go back. Explain yourself.
But I can’t.
I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and start walking, each step pulling me farther away from the suffocating weight of their judgment. The cold bites at my face, the sharp morning air a stark contrast to the suffocating tension I left behind. I didn’t grab much—a jacket, my boots, my phone, though I’d turned it off before stepping out the door. They’ll try to call. I can’t face that right now.
The me
