Jax comes strutting into the kitchen, “which one of you assholes broke the coffee table in the basement?” His eyes rock back and forth between Slate and me. “Wasn’t me.” Slate sits down at the table next to me. “I haven’t gone down there since Rayna locked me up in that place.” “Bad memories?” I smirk at Slate. “Fucked up ones, yeah.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. It’s good to see him eating real food again. “You’re welcome,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Fuck you,” he says, just before tilting back his bottled water for a swig. “You needed it, dickhead. You needed her. Jax and I couldn’t get through to you,” I say in a more serious tone. “Whatever.” He sets the water down. He’s sober but remains hard and won’t talk about it. I’m hoping with time that’ll change.“Well, if it wasn’t you,” Jax breaks in, “then it had to be you, fucker.” He nudges me. “Yeah,” I stand up and walk over to the garbage can. Not hungry, I toss out my half-eaten grilled cheese that Slate made me.
