Afterlight (Fanfiction) ✓

chapter fifty-one

Jay

    "HOW was the hookup?" Nick asked, his tone light but edged with something sharper, like he was poking at a bruise to see how bad it really was.

His gaze flicked toward me as I sped down the highway, eyes barely amused. He knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. I didn't answer.

My fingers tightened on the wheel, knuckles bone-white. Whatever Nick thought he knew—whatever he heard—wasn't something I felt like unpacking. Once, sure, we shared everything. But that was before Chloe. Before I realized some things weren't mine to throw around anymore. And honestly? She wouldn't appreciate me talking about it.

Hopefully, she still gave a damn.

Nick muttered under his breath. "Fine. Just trying to lighten the mood." I pushed the gas harder. Jesus, Jay, do you want us dead?"

"No," I said coldly. "Just want my girlfriend back."

There was a pause. "And then?"

I looked straight ahead. "Then I'm going to rip Raven's fucking head off." My voice was like rusted metal.

"Jay—"

"Don't." I cut him off with a low groan. The last thing I needed was one of his self-righteous speeches. I already knew what he'd say: Keep it clean, don't escalate, be the bigger man. That shit worked in theory. But where I was headed? Theory didn't survive long. "I'm not in the mood."

Nick sighed. "I get that," he said, more serious now. "But going in fists-first? You'll blow everything up. She's not in a place to handle it. You fight now, you lose her. Simple as that."

"I don't care who's there." My voice dropped, lethal and steady. "He laid a hand on her. Getting him is called justice."

The silence stretched tight between us, like a wire waiting to snap.

"You're not here to fight," Nick continued, more grounded now. "You're here to talk to her."

That word grated.

"Yeah, sure. Talking," I muttered.

"And if she doesn't want to?" he added. "You back off. You don't cause a scene."

My jaw clenched. I hated that he had a point. Chloe didn't owe me a damn thing. But I owed her—at least not turning her life into a warzone. Again.

"I'll talk to her," I said. "That's all."

Nick looked satisfied for once. "If you light a match near that place, everything goes up."

I nodded once. A promise. Maybe a lie.

I looked out at the road, the lines blurring beneath us. I remembered Stratford, a chilly town that looked nothing like her sunny city. How easily she walked away. How fast silence became normal between us. It was like I never existed.

There were nights I foolishly wished I never met her.

But those memories—God, those good ones—always brought me back. The curve of her smile. The way she'd lean into me when she was tired. The kind of moments no one tells you will haunt you after she's gone.

We pulled up to the house—or more like their base, though it looked like a damn Airbnb compared to Damien's and Dean's warzones. No graffiti. No busted windows. Not even boarded doors. Just... a big house.

There was a doorbell. What kind of gang has a goddamn doorbell?

I didn't hesitate. I rang it.

The door whipped open. And there he was—Raven. Ice pack pressed to his face like the fragile little prince he was. I hid the satisfaction that flared in my chest. He looked me up and down, his lip curled in disdain.