But he also said it too quickly to notice the slipup until it was already out there, slithering in the space between us. Or maybe he saw it on my face, in the way I flinched at her name. Because how would he know? The police still haven’t released her name and I haven’t told him.

“That’s what Jax called her,” Paul says. “He told me her name was Sienna, right before he punched me in the face.”

It’s possible he’s telling the truth. But still. The words you don’t say are sometimes just as meaningful, just as deafening, as the ones you do.

“Why do you think Jax will end up dead if you share his whereabouts with Micah?”

“Because Micah will tell Chief Hunt and Chief Hunt will...” Paul shakes his head, and that muscle ticks in his jaw again. “Jax just wants to be left alone, and he doesn’t like feeling caged. If the cops find him, if they point their guns at his head and shout for him to hit the ground, he’s going to get himself killed.”

“That seems a little extreme.”

“There are all sorts of extenuating circumstances here. Things you don’t understand.”

Another flicker sparks in my chest, more at his tone than his actual words, and I push off the wall, moving to the center of the room. Yes, I knew there were circumstances. No, I don’t understand them. But only because Paul likes to shove things into a box and bury them at the back of his brain, never to be thought or spoken of again. And he doesn’t have to say it like that, like my lack of knowledge is because I’m stupid.

“I don’t understand, Paul, because you never talk about it. You’ve told me nothing about your friendship with Jax, about how it ended, about whatever awful thing happened to turn him into Batty Jax. And don’t tell me the awful thing didn’t concern you, because I can see by the look on your face whenever his name comes up that it did.”

“How do I look?”

“Sad. Guilty.”

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. His silence tells me I’m right. He wraps the towel around his waist, tucking in the corner so it hangs low on his hips, and leans into the mirror. “Jesus, I look like Frankenstein’s monster.”

I roll my eyes at the obvious attempt to change the subject. “Chet talked to Wade, and Wade said Sienna was asking about you. Not Jax. You.”

Paul frowns at me in the glass. “Wait—who’s Wade?”

“He works at the B and B.”

“Sienna asked this Wade person about me? What about me?”

“I don’t know. Where to find you, I guess. He didn’t give many details.”