Chapter 12 - The Hardest Thing
1297 Words
Jax barely slept.
The night dragged by in broken stretches of restless exhaustion. Whenever sleep finally found him, it slipped away again before it could offer any real relief. By the time pale morning light crept through the curtains, he had spent more hours staring into the darkness than resting.
Eventually he gave up.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed a hand across his face.
The silence pressing against the walls of the house had become unbearable. Usually, Sierra was already awake. Music drifted up from downstairs while she made coffee. Sometimes she sang along to whatever playlist she had chosen that morning, confidently getting half the lyrics wrong and daring him to correct her.
This morning there was only silence and grief.
The emptiness wrapped itself around him like cling wrap, squeezing tighter each time he remembered she was gone. It followed him from room to room, refusing to loosen its grip.
Jax pushed himself to his feet and headed downstairs.
He wandered through the house without purpose. Twice he reached for his phone before realizing it was already in his hand. The screen remained unchanged every time he checked it.
She hadn't called, she hadn't sent him a message, and the tracker he had on her was disconnected shortly after her car stopped.
His mind kept circling the same concerns.
Had she eaten?
Was she sleeping?
The doctor had spoken about rest before Sierra left the hospital, and Jax couldn't stop wondering whether she was following any of those instructions.
She had driven alone less than a day after losing their baby.
Every thought eventually returned to that reality.
There would be no first birthday.
The tiny Dead Mile cut some of the members had already started joking about would never hang in the clubhouse.
There would be no child with Sierra's smile.
The future he had imagined disappeared before it even had a chance to begin.
Jax closed his eyes briefly.
Grief hit without warning. One moment he could think clearly. The next, it felt like somebody had driven a fist straight through his chest.
His phone remained silent.
The worry only grew louder.
Ten minutes later, his bike rolled through the gates of Dead Mile.
Members moved around the compound carrying equipment and supplies as another day began. Engines rumbled from the garages while prospects hurried from one task to the next.
Normally he would have stopped to deal with something.
Today he headed straight for Stitches. He needed answers, and the club doctor was the closest thing he had to them.
The scent of antiseptic reached him before he found the older man.
Stitches occupied a corner booth inside the clubhouse with a thick book open in front of him. His long black braid rested over one shoulder as he turned a page.
His eyes lifted.
"You look like s**t, Grave."
Jax slid into the booth across from him.
"Morning."
"That was my morning greeting."
The doctor gave him a quick once-over and sighed.
"Oh, here we go."
Jax frowned.
"What?"
"You're worried."
"Of course I'm worried."
Stitches shut the book.
"You're beyond worried. You're pacing-holes-into-the-floor worried. There's a difference."
Jax folded his arms.
"I've got questions."
A groan escaped the doctor.
"God help me."
"Should she have been driving?"
Stitches immediately closed his eyes.
Several seconds passed.
When he finally looked up, his expression suggested he regretted making eye contact.
"As greetings go, that was worse than yours."
"Stitches."
"Grave."
The doctor rubbed a hand through his beard.
"Physically, she could drive."
Jax leaned forward.
"Could."
"Yes."
"Which isn't the same as saying she should."
"You're right. It isn't."
The answer tightened everything inside him.
"Then should she have been driving?"
"Probably not."
Jax exhaled sharply.
"Why?"
"Because she should be resting."
The answer sounded simple.
Life rarely was.
"And if she isn't?"
Stitches leaned back.
"Then recovery becomes more difficult."
Jax dragged a hand across his jaw.
"How much more difficult?"
"There it is."
Jax frowned.
"What?"
"The part where you keep asking the same question from different directions because you're hoping I'll suddenly give you an answer you like better."
Maybe he was.
Every answer seemed to create three more questions.
Stitches studied him for a moment.
"She needs food, water, rest, and people around her."
That caught Jax's attention immediately.
"People?"
The doctor nodded.
"Recovery affects more than the body."
Jax looked away.
Sierra had never been good at leaning on anyone. She carried stress, pain, and worry the same way she carried everything else—quietly, stubbornly, and far longer than she should have.
The image of her sitting alone somewhere twisted through him.
"She's going to be okay, right?"
The question came out quieter than the rest.
For the first time since Jax arrived, Stitches dropped the sarcasm.
The doctor studied him carefully.
"Physically, she should recover."
Jax hated that answer.
The word should left too much room for uncertainty.
Stitches seemed to recognize where his thoughts were heading.
"Grave."
Jax looked up.
"She's young."
The doctor's voice softened.
"She's healthy."
Neither description helped.
Sierra had been healthy before all of this happened too.
A feeling he rarely experienced crept in.
Helplessness.
Club problems had solutions.
Business problems had solutions.
This was different.
Sierra was somewhere beyond his reach, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
"You know where she is?"
Jax shook his head.
The admission irritated him more than he cared to admit.
"I had a pretty good idea."
Stitches raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
Jax rubbed a hand across his jaw.
"And Sierra found the tracker."
The doctor's laugh echoed through the clubhouse.
A genuine laugh.
Jax glared at him.
"Glad you're enjoying yourself."
"Oh, Grave, I absolutely am."
"You're an asshole."
"Possibly."
Stitches grinned.
"But imagining Sierra finding the tracker and disconnecting it herself has improved my entire morning."
Jax muttered something under his breath.
The doctor wisely pretended not to hear it.
His phone vibrated.
Then it vibrated again.
Jax ignored it until a third vibration followed almost immediately.
That got his attention.
He pulled the phone from his pocket.
A message from one of the prospects filled the screen.
Got eyes on her car.
Jax sat up straighter.
Another message appeared.
Grayshollow.
His eyes locked on the word.
Then a third message arrived.
Near TS Investigations.
Relief swept through him.
Tessa.
Of course.
Sierra going to Tessa made perfect sense.
Tessa would keep an eye on her. She would make sure Sierra ate, rested, and didn't try to carry everything by herself.
For the first time since Sierra left, Jax managed to draw a full breath.
Stitches noticed immediately.
"You found her."
Jax nodded.
"Yeah."
The doctor leaned back.
"You heading there?"
The question scraped against every instinct he had.
He wanted to see her.
He wanted proof with his own eyes that she was safe.
He wanted to hear her voice.
Instead, he remembered the motel parking lot, the distance she had placed between them, and the certainty in her eyes.
Showing up in Grayshollow would only push her further away.
Jax slipped the phone back into his pocket.
"I'm staying here."
One eyebrow climbed up Stitches' forehead.
Apparently that answer surprised him.
Jax stood.
He hated the waiting.
He hated the uncertainty.
He hated the distance.
Every protective instinct in his body demanded he get on his bike and ride straight to Grayshollow.
But Sierra needed space.
For once, he intended to give it to her.
"She needs time," he said quietly.
The words sounded strange coming from him.
Stitches looked downright suspicious.
Jax ignored him and headed for the door.
Waiting might be the hardest thing he had ever done.
Right now, it was the only thing Sierra had asked of him.
- Writer
