himself. He hadn’t had to make decisions for himself in a long time.
Once I was fully entrenched in my road captain duties, I wouldn’t be around all the time to keep an eye on him. Blade was a fair president, but if Jazz fucked up again, he wouldn’t be so forgiving the second time. Blade believed in second chances. Third and fourth is where things got dicey.
“Yo.” Jazz smacked the roof of the sedan. “What’s taking you so long? I’m already finished.”
“Probably did it wrong, then,” I grumbled, but I didn’t mean it. He’d always been good with engines, quick and thorough. I finished the oil change and slammed the hood closed, and then wiped the grease from my hands.
“What’s next?” Jazz asked. “You actually gonna show me the enforcer perimeter routes or are we gonna stick around and do more odd jobs?”
I scrubbed my hand over the back of my neck. I did have to show him everything—if I wanted him to have a chance to succeed as an enforcer, I needed to show him the ropes the best I could. And God, why did that feel like so much pressure suddenly?
“What?” Jazz said. “You’re looking at that engine like it’s personally wronged you.”
“Maybe it has,” I shot back.
Jazz blinked. “Everything all right?”
I sighed and scrubbed my hand over my head. “Yeah, it’s just” —I glanced at him— “You’re an enforcer now.”
“Yeah.” Jazz furrowed his brow. “I’m aware.”
“I just… I just don’t want the same shit to happen again, like it always does.”
Jazz’s expression darkened. “Same shit?”
“It’s not just bouncing and checking in with the businesses anymore,” I said, giving voice to my concerns the way I could only do with Jazz. “I have a feeling shit’s going to hit the fan with Crave sooner rather than later, and that type of situation can require a lot of independence and quick judgment calls. And I just want to make sure you’re prepared for that.”
“Oh.” Jazz crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t think I can handle the responsibility—you think I’m going to fuck this up the first chance I get.”
I winced. “That’s not what I said.”
Jazz shook his head. “Yeah, it is.” He cut his gaze away hard. “Listen, Mav’s still busy. You can stick around here and help out. I’ll go ask Siren for the rundown.”
“Jazz—”
“It’s fine.” His tone was cold, his face shuttered. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Before I could apologize, or even explain that it wasn’t that I didn’t trust him, I was just worried, Jazz was already halfway to the door.
I sighed and slapped my hand on the hood of the sedan. He could be so fucking bullheaded. When he got like this, it was better to let him cool down a little bit. I’d work out my own frustration on some engines before I tried to talk to him.
If he wanted to talk, that is. A few years ago, he might’ve let this blow over and come to find me a couple hours later, ready to shoot the shit and ignore the words we’d had. But somehow, I doubted he would now.
7
Jazz
I avoided Tex for the rest of the day, opting instead to go over the daily enforcer duties with Siren, and ride her patrol with her. Working with Siren was always a breeze—she was serious, but with a sharp edge of deadpan humor that appeared when you least expected it. She’d treated me like no time had passed at all, showing me the ropes of her duties and leaving space for me to talk—but not prying. If she could tell I was a little distracted, she didn’t press for why.
The next day, I wasn’t in much of a better mood. I woke up early—before Tex, which was clear from the quiet sounds of his steady breathing through the thin clubhouse walls. I ignored the little longing ache that shot through me at the sound. It reminded me of when we were younger, at the ranch, when we shared a bedroom, and sometimes, when things got really lonely, a bed. But Tex didn’t need that from me anymore, hadn’t in a long time.
And if I needed it—closeness, affection, comfort—I’d have to figure out some other way to get it. Because apparently, Tex didn’t even trust me to do my job as an enforcer. And if he couldn’t trust me with that, how was I supposed to believe that he trusted me as a friend?
I got up and headed to the kitchen, where I