Without a word, he crawled into the bed and sat beside me. The disc played, and a logo appeared, followed by a flurry of black bird wings. Text popped onto the screen:

The Birds

Another Hitchcock movie? It seemed like Jax watched them a lot, maybe he saw them as the film equivalent of comfort food. I felt suddenly hopeful. If Jax wanted to watch something comforting, maybe he’d be willing to talk afterward.

After a few minutes, I had snuggled in against Jax. A woman in the movie was riding on a boat toward a harbor, when out of nowhere, a seagull swooped down and attacked her, making her head bleed. I winced at the gull’s bite—not just because it looked painful, but because the aggression coming out of nowhere reminded me of Jax shoving Kev into the water.

I looked at Jax who was staring at the screen, but his stony face gave away nothing. What was going on in his head? I couldn’t figure it out, and it was driving me a little crazy. Nothing had happened that was out of the ordinary, but he’d snapped at Kev as if Kev had actually meant to knock over his ice cream and then blew it way out of proportion.

My eyes flitted back to the screen nervously. My general feeling of anxiety intensified with every sharp swell of music and every seemingly ordinary dialogue line. Even a scene with a children’s birthday party seemed ominous—and then it happened. Like a flash, a flock of seagulls descended on the children, and the party guests all ran screaming into the house.

I jumped at the sudden attack and quickly felt embarrassed. If this was how I was feeling as the movie started, how was I going to sit through the whole thing?

"Hey, Jax?" I said quietly.

"What?" He sounded annoyed.

"Can we stop the movie for a minute?"

Without a word, he flicked a button on the remote control. Two actresses were suddenly paused on screen, gazing into the sky apprehensively. Jax kept looking straight ahead at the still frame.

I hesitated. He was clearly still in a bad mood, but I didn’t know how to stop it without finding out what was wrong.

"What happened out there?" I asked, trying to stay as neutral as possible.

A smile slid across his face, charming, wide and completely fake. "So I overreacted," he said, his voice a breezy brush-off. "He’ll do something to get me back later. Don’t worry about it."

He reached toward the remote again.

"When I was a kid," I said, fast enough to stop him from pressing the button, "My family had this cat, Gonzo."

He looked at me, puzzled.

"He was my best friend when I was little." I closed my eyes, remembering. "He’d sleep on my bed every day. But then, one day, I laid down in my bed and he bit me. Hard."

Jax tilted his head. "I don’t understand . . ."

"Gonzo kept doing it, more and more. My parents were furious. They yelled at him, tried shutting him away when he bit. Nothing worked. So they decided to put him to sleep."

"Oh." He averted his eyes and his mouth turned down. "I’m sorry."

"When we went to the vet, I was sobbing," I continued. "But the vet said Gonzo wasn’t biting because he’d turned mean. He had an infection, and we were hurting him whenever we tried to pet him."

Jax looked back to the movie screen and his glance fell to the remote. "Okay. So what happened?"

"We gave him some antibiotics, and he was as good as new."

He squinted at me and picked the remote back up. "I’m . . . glad the story had a happy ending?" he offered.

"I’m glad, too," I said, my voice stronger now. "When Gonzo bit me, we shouldn’t have asked why he was being mean. We should have asked what was wrong. It would have saved us all a lot of pain."

Jax stiffened, and his head turned toward me slowly. Looking straight into my eyes, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

I met his gaze. He’d helped me talk about Connor—now it was my turn to help Jax. "Because you weren’t acting like yourself earlier. And because I don’t want to wait for it to boil over again for us to talk about it."

"Don’t worry about it," he said. "It’s just something I need to deal with."

"What is?"

"It’s . . . not about the band, and it’s not about you."

"Then what is it about?"

His glance went back to his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap. I’d never seen him looking so nervous. "I’ve never talked to anyone about it," he said. "And I’m not starting today."

I couldn’t take that as an answer—if I pretended to let it go, I knew it would just gnaw at me the way Connor’s secrets had. "Jax, if we’re going to be together, I can’t deal with you hiding your feelings any time the going gets tough," I said, keeping my voice as gentle as I could. "I—I told you about Connor. I told you what that relationship did to me."

His body tensed. "And you think I’m just like him."

"No, I know you’re not," I said softly, reaching out a reassuring hand. "But you’re keeping secrets from me, and that hurts. Maybe if I’d never met Connor, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But I can’t help how I feel now."

"And I can’t help being the person I am," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

My vision blurred with tears, but I didn’t let them spill over. "Please, Jax?" I asked. "I just . . . I don’t want to have to go back to therapy. I don’t want my life to be all about secrets and lies."

"I’m not keeping secrets," he said brusquely. "I just don’t tell my whole life story to people I’ve only just met."

I recoiled, and felt one of the tears I’d been trying to hold back roll down my face. "Fine," I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. "I guess that’s how it is."

"Shit," he said, looking suddenly ashamed. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that."

"You’re right. You shouldn’t have." I wiped the tear away with my sleeve.

"I just—I never do this kind of thing."

"What?"

He sighed and shrugged, shaking his head. "Talk about myself."

I clasped my hand around his and looked into his dark eyes. "Jax, tell me straight up. Do I mean anything to you? Or am I just a novel alternative to your regularly scheduled groupie programming?"

He closed his eyes. "You shouldn’t have to ask that. You mean a lot to me, Riley. More than you know."

Frustrated and confused, I blurted, "Then why can’t you talk about it? Don’t you trust me?"

"I trust you more than," he paused, then squeezed my hand, "more than anyone. And more than I should. It’s not that."

I felt myself crumpling inward. "What changed between us, Jax? I feel like you were open with me before and now you’re not."

His voice rose aggressively. "It’s got nothing to do with you! Why don’t you get that?"

"Then what’s it all about?" I asked, practically pleading. "Help me understand."

A tortured half-smile twisted his mouth. "Help you understand?" he asked, his words punctuated by a sad, staccato laugh. "Riley, you’re never going to be able to understand."