Page 129 of Don't Think

He sits beside me on the bed, and I can’t take my eyes off his phone. Slowly, he hands it over to me, and I run my thumb across it, feeling the tiny shards of metal catch on my skin.

I try to find his eyes, but they’re hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. All I can see are the faint lines of his face.

“What happened?” I ask softly.

I don’t want to pry, but it’s clearsomethinghappened.

“Nothing I wouldn’t do again,” he replies, planting a soft kiss on my temple. “Are you ready to go?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah,” I murmur.

Pushing off the mattress, I’m surprised by how much easier it is to stand. The pain’s still there, but it’s more bearable than it was this morning. I turn to him, hand outstretched. He takes it gently, then shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he stands.

He steps behind the wheelchair, resting his hands on the handles, and gives me a nod to slide in.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he says, dipping into an exaggerated bow.

Usually, I would giggle at his attempt to be silly, but right now, all I feel isworry. The hood. The shattered phone. The way he keeps shifting his weight like he’s trying not to favor one side.

“Are you sureyoudon’t need one of these?” I half joke, lowering myself into the seat.

“I’ll be just fine,” he replies, unlocking the wheels before carefully pushing me through the door.

When we reach Jax’s SUV, my heart slams against my chest at the thought of getting into a car again. My breath catches, and tears sting my eyes while the fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, begging me to run.

I take a deep breath, refusing to give in.

That was a freak accident, Allie. You’re safe. You can do this.

Jax kneels beside my chair, takes my hand, and squeezes it gently. “You’ve got this, Al. I’m right here with you,” he murmurs. “Take all the time you need.”

His words anchor me, making me feel like I might actually have control over this. I brace myself against the armrests, standing carefully while Jax keeps hold of my hand and uses his other one to open the door. I catch him wincing, his eyes pinching shut, but he doesn’t notice me watching.

He helps me buckle my seatbelt, and for a second, our eyes meet. Instinctively, mine flick to his lips—and I see it.

“Is that a cut on your lip?” I ask, reaching up without thinking, my thumb brushing his bottom lip, making him flinch slightly.

I carefully pull back his hood.

Then I find a bruise blooming just beneath his jawline, right along the edge of his stubble.

“What the hell happened?” I gasp, panic creeping into my voice.

His eyes drop, and I can see the shame in them when he shifts his weight again, still hovering over me.

Tears sting the back of my eyes, and I gently cup his face in my hands.

“Were you in an accident?” I whisper.

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head quickly, placing his warm hand over mine.

“No, Allie,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. It was just a disagreement with the guys.”

“A disagreement ends with you having a black-and-blue jaw and a split lip?” I press, my tone sharper than I mean it to be.

He gives me that crooked smirk, finally meeting my eyes and raising a brow.

“You should see the other guy,” he says, trying to make light of it.