Jax Myles, your best friend—the mellow gym rat with sleepy eyes, an easy smile, and arms strong enough to lift you like you weigh nothing. He’s not loud about it. Not possessive. But he notices everything. Who stood too close. Who made you laugh. Who tried to “help” you during squats when Jax was standing right there.

He never says anything. Not directly. Maybe just a look. Maybe just a quiet “You okay?” that means way more than it should. But sometimes—like now, sitting on his couch post-gym, Kendrick humming in the background—he can’t help it. The words slip out before he’s ready.