I wake up with Jax next to me, calm as a fragile sea.
Shifting ever so slightly, I slide the lower half of my body out of the bed and sit on the edge, looking back at him.
How many people see this side of him? The unguarded, unprotected side. When Jax is awake, he’s constantly three steps ahead, unfazed by us mortals.
I relive last night—the unexpected gentleness, even hesitation with me until he was really sure I was okay. That I wanted him, too. Which I did.
Which makes me totally unsure of what to say when he wakes up.
His eyes search mine, like I’m a galaxy that he needs to explore.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
“You okay?”
I nod. “You?”
He nods back. “We don’t have to tell the others.”
My heart sinks a little. Am I so embarrassing that he wants to keep it a secret?
His eyes widen. “Not like that, Valentine. I mean … like, it can be ours.”
Ours. The first thing Jax and I have for just the two of us, without Micah or any of the other Stags.
“Okay,” I say. “Just for us.”
He stands up and gets dressed without another word, and I do the same. The air between us may as well be a hundred-foot wall—how can someone be so close but so far at the same time? We head toward the stairs, and I’m dying for the awkward silence to end when Jax pivots.
“I’d scream to the heavens how much I care about you, if you want. You just tell me when.” Then both his hands are on either side of my face and I’m kissing him back, pulling his fucking gorgeous body closer to mine. We part, breathless, and he goes up the stairs, shutting the door quietly behind him.
When I’m alone again, I fall slowly into routine—pulling off the sheets and throwing them into the washer. I lie back on my bare mattress and stare at the ceiling, reeling. Looking at my phone, I take note of the time.
It’s 6:57 A.M. Ours.
I kill time with a workout in the now even smaller gym space near my bed. Every time I feel like stopping I picture Jax’s face when he saw me, remember the feeling of his hands on my skin … and I blush like crazy, then keep going.
After a shower, I eat a bowl of cereal and watch Jax and Nianna battle it out in Mario Kart. Nianna whoops in victory as she crosses the finish line.
“You’re losing your touch, Jax,” she says. “I never used to win.”
“Shut up,” he replies, smiling. His eyes meet mine for a beat, then he’s back and focused on the TV. “Let’s play again.”
Our leader comes back and routs her the next two rounds, much to her chagrin. Jax yawns, and hands the controller to me. “Your turn, Valentine. Don’t fuck this up for us.”
“Oh, God,” I reply, grimacing as I take it. Did he mean to say us?
Nianna checks her phone as the round starts. I’ve never been amazing at video games, but I used to play this with Lyla and her friends at sleepovers and the like, so I know a trick or two. Nianna and I are well matched and she’s winning until her phone lights up and she glances at the message. Immediately she pauses the game.
“Oh no,” she says.
“What?”
“Have you seen Kate today?”
“No,” I reply, my sense of dread growing. “Why?”
“Mako just texted me. She told him she was out tagging with me, and she told me she was with him and Jaws at 24.”
“What?” I say. “Where would she go?”
“I don’t know,” Nianna replies.
The air in the room seems to transform, and Jax is on his phone in a flash. My heart pounds as he waits for the screen to load—presumably the tracking app for all of our phones.
Sweet, sweet Kate. Whatever her demons are, they’re winning the war for her mind—any one of us knows that as well as we’d know the sun in the sky.
My blood freezes with Jax’s next words: “She’s at the bridge.”
“Oh my god,” I say. Kate. Not Kate. No no no.
“Let’s go!” Jax says, the panic in his eyes betraying his usually enigmatic expressions. For once, I know what Jax is thinking, because I’m thinking the same horrible thing: we won’t make it in time.
We run out the door, not even stopping to tug on jackets. Nianna takes the passenger seat as I slide into the back then slam the door. Jax slams the keys in the ignition and backs the van out, tires squealing. The ride is a desperate whisper of a wish. Please, no.
Jax drives. Nianna stares at her phone.
I count every moment where I must have failed. All the moments that could have led to these hateful, heart-wrenching minutes. Her confession about her mom. Her erratic, lengthy sleeps. Like she was looking to escape something. It’s clear now—she was already on the edge.
Mako. That poor guy. I text him practically every mile. We’re going as fast as we can. We’ll get to her. Keep calling her.
I can hear the thunder of my own fear as we finally, finally reach the Golden Gate Bridge Welcome Center. Jax nearly hits a group of tourists as he parks the van up on the sidewalk, bursting out of it before they have the chance to yell. Nianna and I follow right behind, but Jax is a force of nature sprinting wildly toward the bridge. He shoves people out of the way, howling at cyclists to clear a path, his girl’s about to jump. I give up on muttering apologies and instead scream ahead, begging the people to let Jax through.
“Move! Move!” I yell.
Then I see her—her hair bright against the gray of the fog. She’s on the bridge, safe, hair swept off to one side. Suddenly I realize it isn’t off to the side—it’s cut. Locks of gold surround her boots, and when Jax sweeps her in his arms, the strands flutter like feathers. A pair of scissors lies next to her shoes.
She’s crying. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t.” Jax says something I can’t hear and she nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Jax releases her eventually and Nianna and I both grab her in a hug. Words tumble out of our mouths like a blurry snowfall.
“I’m so happy you’re okay,” I say.
“We love you,” says Nianna.
Kate nods. “I know, I know.”
“Anything you need, we’re here. Any way we can help.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
Looking up, I lock eyes with Jax, who’s just finished sending a text. Mako. Or Micah.
We huddle there for who knows how long, ignoring the looks of the tourists trying to amble by. Finally the cold gets to us, and we take our windswept hair and snotty noses back toward the parking lot. My hands are numb as I hold Kate’s, Jax flanking her other side. We move the car, Jax finessing an excuse to the park ranger who put a ticket on it. They’ll want to call the police, I think, but I guess Jax talks our way out of that, too, because the ranger just takes the ticket off the van. I catch her telling Jax she’s really happy that it turned out okay.
A gut-wrenching scream cuts through the quiet: “Kate!”
Mako runs up, his cheeks red from crying and eyes wide and worried. She runs to him and fresh tears spring from my eyes as the two of them collapse to the ground, so tightly wound together that even an earthquake couldn’t shake them apart.
It starts to rain, and Jax finally nudges the reunited couple into the van with the rest of us.
“Where’s Micah?” Nianna asks me, clicking her seat belt.
I texted him, but he didn’t reply yet. “He probably texted Jax.” Nianna’s frown tells me it’s as stupid of an answer as I thought, but I brush it off. He didn’t have service last night either. Micah would head back to the house once he saw the texts. We’re all together, alive and safe. The past twenty-four hours have been so wild. I feel like a ship caught in a whirlpool, spinning and spiraling endlessly until finally breaking free. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I check the time—6:21 P.M.
I doze on the ride back, mind and body wiped out by the events of the past day. We pile out of the van, and Nianna fiddles for her keys. I’m daydreaming of the steaming bowl of clam chowder I’m going to make myself when we get inside and then—
“Why is the door unlocked?” Nianna says, pushing it open.
Kate screams.
I follow her gaze and my smile dies—possibly forever—at the sight of Micah’s body on the floor.