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I swallow hard. “Because … Because I saw his scars.”
His eyes relentlessly remain on me. “Yeah, but how do you know they’re self-inflicting?”
“I …” I trail off, looking back at the door, unable to look at him anymore. “Because I just do.”
Silence.
So much silence that it’s making me want to run into the bathroom, lock the door, and let the sharp bite of metal pierce the pain right out of me. Then I feel fingers brush across the inside of my wrist, right beneath the band I always wear, the one that conceals the day I tried to dig too deep to get the pain out of me.
I startle, slightly jolting, my attention snapping to him. He’s looking at me with an unreadable expression, but in his eyes, I see that hesees.
Sees too much.
“Stop.” One word, and it’s brutally agonizing to get past my lips.
He pulls back immediately, his lips parting. And I brace myself for questions.
“I’m going to go get something to pick the lock. I’ll be right back.” He strides down the hallway and ducks into one of the other rooms.
I rotate back around to face the door, racking my mind for the right words to say.
“Tell him you just want to make sure he’s okay.” Hunter’s voice drifts from over my shoulder.
When I peer backward, he’s standing in the doorway to the room behind me. He’s changed his clothes and is now wearing a grey T-shirt, black jeans, and Converse sneakers. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a guarded expression on his face.
“Tell him that you’re worried and want to see if he’s okay so you can relax,” he continues. “If he thinks you’re upset enough, he’ll answer.” He steps forward. “He won’t want to make you suffer over worrying about him.”
“Are you okay?” I find myself asking, because he doesn’t seem that okay, either.
He nods, straightening his stance. “Yeah … I think so.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods again, but I think he might be lying.
Still, I need to deal with Jax first, and then I’ll delve into trying to figure out what’s going on with Hunter.
With my lips pressed together, I turn back to Jax’s room and knock.
Again, nothing.
“Jax,” I say tentatively while chewing on my thumbnail. Nervousness is flooding through me. “I just want to make sure you’re okay … I’m really worried about you.”
Again, nothing.
For a second, anyway. Eventually, the door opens.
Jax is standing on the other side. He looks okay, although his hair is a bit disheveled. I try to discreetly glance at his arms, where I know cutters make marks, but he has a long-sleeved shirt on.
“I’m sorry,” he says before I can say anything. Then his gaze strays over my shoulder, at Hunter, I’m guessing. “I’m sorry.”
Why is he apologizing to Hunter?
“You’re fine.” Hunter’s voice sounds strained.
“No, I’m not,” Jax mutters with guilt lacing his tone and his head bowed in shame.
I don’t get it.
