Jax (Titan #9)(31)

The silent city began to wake as more cars made their way down the streets and more cafés and corner shops opened. Jax decided to take the scenic route back to his hotel, the one where his team was bunking, and he wondered if they had noticed he didn't come home last night. Hell, he wondered if they cared, because he wasn't sure if he would've noticed if one of them didn't come home.

Any of these streets would lead back to where he needed to go, but he kept his slow pace, each step returning him to his normal numb shell. He didn't want to head inside—in so many ways. He wanted to avoid the claustrophobic confines of his hotel room and not crawl into the overpowering, depressing cave that soured his mind.

Jax didn't hate his teammates. He wasn't sure they knew that, but it wasn't his job to hand out explanations. Truthfully, he respected the hell out of them for their service and sacrifice. Each had talents that were unequaled by few other men and women on Earth, and he needed them, just like the teammates on his SEAL team. But his SEAL team had known the before and the after of who he was long ago, when Jax had a future to look forward to versus a shell of a body used to fight with.

He stepped off the curb—honk! He swung toward the car, the screeching tires mixing with the blaring horn as it slid to a stop.

The driver's fist pumped, but Jax was more curious about his lack of fear than concerned. He threw his hand up, waving a non-apologetic apology, and finished crossing the street. The hours he'd spent on the floor with Seven had been vividly alive. Crazy how that feeling didn't last.

He passed a shopkeeper sweeping flower petals before the day started. Carrie would've loved this city with the old buildings, the architecture, and even the crappy stands overflowing with flowers so full they looked fake. Hell, she would've loved them even if they were scarred like him.

It had taken Jax years to realize that he wasn't in love with her ghost. He couldn't love anyone because that would've required feeling anything other than emptiness and anger.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Jax eventually stormed back to his hotel room and slept a few hours before Titan had to make the quick trip to the airport. They were now sitting on a private jet as it taxied down the runway, heading back toward home, and he had every intention of going back to sleep. His eyes were heavy, and his mind was too. Why was last night any different than any other time he had spent with a woman?

Jax took a blanket that was left on his seat and covered his face with it after the captain did his spiel on cruising altitude and how many more hours they had left in the flight. Enough time remained to get a good day's worth of sleep. The blanket was ripped off his face, and he squinted one eye open then two as Jared took a seat in the plush leather chair facing him.

"What'd you think?"

Jax rubbed a hand over his face. "Waste of our time. Sorry I asked."

Boss Man shook his head. "It wasn't a waste of our time. Hawke's the real deal. Solid. Guy's got integrity. That Johnny fucker, though. If he hadn't been there…" Jared shook his head again. "I don't know. I should've seen that play coming with Esmeralda."

Jax's jaw fell slightly, and he tried to play it off. He was shocked. There was never an ounce of second-guessing or doubt when it came to Jared. "One of those life-comes-at-ya-fast situations."

Johnny was susceptible, and Tex had tried to warn everybody, but at the end of the day, pulling the negotiations to regroup had been Hawke's decision, and Titan was just a paid contractor—and not one paid to have an opinion. They were paid no matter what the outcome of the meeting was.

Jared leaned back in his chair, stroking the beard he'd been growing and gazing out the small airplane window. After a moment of uncomfortable, contemplative silence, Jared turned his attention back. "Anyway, everything okay with you?"

His spine straightened, and his jaw tightened. Always defensive at that question for as long as he could remember, Jax consciously reminded himself that it was a perfectly harmless inquiry. "Always."

Jared's eyes narrowed in an assessing way that made Jax possibly want to reconsider his internal mantra that it was a harmless question when people checked on him.

"You know, you get away with being a cocky asshole." Jared ran his fingers into his beard then stroked it back down. "A real dick, if you ask me. But lying to me won't fly, even in dumbass small talk, because I don't ever make small talk without a purpose. Do you read me?"

Jared's outward casual appearance hadn't changed, but the grave seriousness of his tone had, and Jax heard the message. He couldn't bullshit Boss Man. "Yeah. Got it."

Jared stood up, not interested in Jax re-answering the question—and thank fuck because he didn't know how to—then left him to his own thoughts, which might've been worse than having to explain to Boss Man what he thought was wrong.

###

There was nothing like watching Mayhem board an airplane. No matter where they were coming from or heading to, Seven got a kick out of watching the jeans-and boots-clad men—who wore MC gear because it was their life, not for the fun of a trend—take their seats. Their leather cuts with pins and skulls stitched on got more than a few worried looks. But in Seven's mind, it was better that TSA worry about Mayhem than jump all over some innocent person who looked like a terrorist. None of her friends would have their feelings hurt with a few condescending looks.