Page 67 of Searching for Valor

“Low blow,” Rylan muttered, his voice rough.

Shane released a sigh full of weary resignation. “Maybe. But it needed to be said. We’ve all got our demons, Ry. Jax’s just got the better of him for a while, but he’s fighting his, and, by all accounts, he’s winning. I think you need to see that. We both do.”

They pulled up to a checkpoint, and Shane rolled down his window to hand over their IDs. The guard scrutinized them before waving them through. As they drove deeper into the prison complex, Rylan’s anxiety ratcheted up. The low, gray buildings of the correctional facility squatted under the heavy sky, their stark lines broken only by the occasional guard tower.

Shane pulled into the visitor’s lot and killed the engine. For a moment, the only sound was the faint ticking of the cooling truck. Rylan stared at the building ahead, his chest tight. It felt like the air had thinned, every breath harder to draw.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, shoving open the door before Shane could lob more verbal grenades into his lap.

Inside, the fluorescent lights washed everything in a sterile, almost clinical glow. The guards at the desk barely glanced at them as Shane presented their IDs again. After a series of buzzesand clangs, they were led through a maze of corridors, the walls thick with peeling paint and stale air.

“You look like you’re going to the electric chair,” Shane said quietly as they approached another set of heavy metal doors.

Rylan shot him a glare. “That would almost be preferable.”

“Hey, I’m the one who should be pissed at the guy, not you.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m trying not to be.”

The guard opened the door, and they stepped into a modest visitor’s room. It was as bleak as the rest of the prison, with scuffed linoleum floors and bolted-down tables. A few inmates sat at scattered tables with their visitors, but Rylan’s attention zeroed in on the man seated at the far corner.

Jax.

He was leaning over a dog, murmuring something to the sleek black-and-tan shepherd mix as he scratched behind its ears. His dark blond hair was shorter than Rylan remembered, but his face was no longer gaunt. His arms and shoulders looked like he made plenty of use of the prison’s exercise facilities.

Jax looked up as they approached, his sharp blue eyes locking on Shane first, then sliding to Rylan. His expression shifted, something flickering across his face too quick to name before he stood.

“Shane. Rylan.” His voice was quieter than Rylan expected, the sharp edges of his usual bravado dulled. He rested a hand on the dog’s head as if grounding himself. “Didn’t expect you two ever to visit.”

Shane offered a curt nod. “It was time.”

Rylan’s arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was to contain his nerves or his simmering resentment. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Jax huffed a humorless laugh. “He dragged you here, huh?”

Jax’s eyes flickered between them, a hint of his old smirk tugging at his lips. “Some things never change. Echo One’s still calling the shots, and you’re still following orders.”

Rylan bristled, but before he could snap back, Shane cut in. “Let’s sit down.”

They settled around the table, the dog curling up at Jax’s feet. An awkward silence stretched between them.

Rylan crossed his arms over his chest and stayed standing, unsure of what Shane expected from his visit.

“Sit,” Shane said.

The dog obediently sat and Jax grinned down at him, praising him effusively in a high-pitched voice that made the pup’s tail wag like mad. “Good boy, Scout. What a good sit that was! What a good boy!”

And, suddenly, every bitter word he’d ever wanted to hurl at Jax withered on his tongue because this wasn’t the Jax he remembered—the one who’d been all swagger and sharp-edged bravado. It was jarring to see the man who’d once been a deadly sniper with nerves of steel cooing at a dog like a doting parent.

This wasn’t even the Jax he’d seen at trial— the too-skinny, withered husk of a man who was wasting away on drugs and anger, who had barely been able to meet their eyes as he pleaded guilty to a host of crimes—most of which, it turned out, he hadn’t actually committed.

This was an entirely different man.

This Jax seemed… calmer. More grounded.

Rylan reluctantly lowered himself into the chair. “You’re in Puppies Behind Bars?”

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