Speaking of crashing down, what were friends for if they weren't destined to suffer together, even from entirely different realms?
Jackson Taylor felt like he was developing an allergy to responsibility.
He was pacing. Actively. Not the normal back-and-forth kind, but the stressed, twitchy, looking-for-an-exit kind. Except there wasn't an exit. Not anymore. Just questions.
Endless, suffocating, soul-eating questions.
And he hated questions.
Why? Because people only ever asked questions when something had already gone terribly wrong.
Questions like, "Where is my brother?"
Or worse—"Where is my son?"
Jax wanted to cry.
This, right here, was why he now swore never to leave first. Because once you do, you may become the unfortunate redhead left behind to deal with the fallout. The lone survivor.
And he had never wanted to be the last man standing! They were all supposed to follow right after. So, how come he was stuck here dealing with this?
