Chapter 1
All the Ways He Watches
Chapter one
There were exactly seven cracks in locker 318. Jas had counted them every morning for the past three years—two chipped lines near the top hinge, one long scar running down the middle like a vein, and four spiderwebbed fractures around the dent where Logan Hayes once slammed it shut… right in her face.
Not literally. He’d never hit her. Not on purpose, anyway.
But his words? Those landed hard. Sharp, smug, surgical. Always loud enough for others to hear. Always aimed at the softest parts she worked the hardest to hide.
Her reflection in the locker wasn’t doing her any favors either—frizzy bun, hoodie stretched across her chest, yesterday’s eyeliner faded into a vague raccoon haze. Whatever. She didn’t come to school to impress anyone. Least of all him.
She shifted her bag over her shoulder, trying not to wince as the strap pressed into her collarbone. Her back was already sore from closing the diner last night, and the double shift on Friday was already looming. She hadn’t responded to her manager’s 2:11 a.m. text begging for coverage. She was still deciding whether the overtime was worth the extra shift—and the migraine.
“Yo! Monroe!”
Her name, loud and laughing, cut through the hallway din.
Jas exhaled slowly through her nose.
Logan fucking Hayes.
She didn’t turn. Not right away. But the weight of his voice dragged her gaze back like gravity. He was leaning against his locker with that same shit-eating grin he wore like a badge, surrounded by his pack—Jax, Micah, and Drew. The golden boys of Jefferson High.
They looked like a goddamn sports drink commercial. She looked like she hadn’t slept in two days. Which was accurate.
“Did the hallway shrink,” Logan called, “or is it just you, Biggie J?”
A few people laughed. Jas turned, slow and deliberate, and locked eyes with him.
“You know,” she said, voice razor-sharp, “I actually read somewhere that people who joke about others’ weight are usually compensating for having a small—”
“Personality?” Logan offered, smirking. “Because you’ve got one of those, too.”
“Wow,” she said flatly. “Did your mommy teach you that one, or did it come free with your sixth concussion?”
Jax barked a laugh. Micah wheezed.
Logan didn’t flinch. He never did. But his eyes held hers for a beat longer than they should have. That look again. Not cruel. Not kind. Something else. Something Jas refused to name.
The bell rang before she could lob another comeback. She shouldered past him without flinching, her voice tight as she muttered, “Try harder next time, Hayes.”
Behind her, his voice trailed with teasing amusement. “See you in fifth, Monroe.”
Fifth period was always the worst.
It wasn’t the subject—she was good at trig, even when the numbers blurred from lack of sleep. It wasn’t even the teacher, who smelled like bitter coffee and wore cardigans with elbow patches like he was stuck in a movie from the nineties.
It was Logan Hayes.
Because for the third year in a row, by some twisted cosmic joke or maybe an act of pure administrative sadism, Logan was seated directly behind her.
Every damn day.
Jas slid into her desk and kept her eyes on the board, ignoring the thud of Logan dropping into his chair behind her. She barely had her mechanical pencil ready before the toe of his boot gently kicked her chair leg. Not hard—just enough to say I’m here. I see you.
She exhaled. Said nothing.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The eraser of his pencil bounced against her shoulder.
“Your bra strap’s showing,” he whispered low. “Not that I mind.”
Jas didn’t turn around.
“Is that your version of a compliment, or are you just sexually repressed?”
He chuckled. “I mean, if you’re offering therapy, I’m open to it.”
She spun around this time—just for a second, just long enough to glare. “I’m offering duct tape. For your mouth.”
“Mm. Kinky.”
“Hayes, I swear to God—”
“Miss Monro,” Mr. Dorsey called from the front. “Is there a problem?”
“No, sir,” Jas said, straightening. “Just dealing with an invasive species.”
Laughter rippled through the classroom. Logan leaned back in his seat like he hadn’t just baited her into another detention-worthy exchange.
But Jas didn’t get caught. Not anymore. Not like last year, when she let him push her buttons until she snapped and got sent to the office with a pink slip and a pounding headache.
Now, she played smarter. She let the heat bubble just beneath the surface—never enough to boil over.
Except sometimes… it did.
Like when he leaned forward just a little too close and whispered things she couldn’t unhear. Like when his cologne stuck to her clothes longer than it should’ve, or when she caught herself wondering what it would be like if he meant any of it.
God, she hated that most of all.
The moment the bell rang, Jas was on her feet. She didn’t bother checking her phone—no one was texting her. No one ever did, unless it was her boss, her mom asking about dinner, or Madie and Bree sending memes in their group chat to check on her after another Logan encounter.
Today, she had no time for any of it. She needed to get to the bus stop or she’d miss the only route that got her to work before four.
The parking lot was already a zoo—people yelling across windshields, music blasting from someone’s trunk, and football players tossing a ball over cars like the laws of physics didn’t apply to them.
Jas walked fast, head down, hoodie pulled up. She hated the walk—hated the way her thighs chafed in the heat, hated the uneven slap of her soles on pavement, hated the ache in her shoulders from the weight of her bag. But most of all, she hated that she had to work tonight.
She was halfway across the lot when the voice came again.
“Yo, Monroe!”
She didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch.
“I’m not a damn dog,” she muttered.
But of course, Logan wasn’t done. She heard his footsteps jog up behind her, too light to belong to someone with that much swagger.
“Where you headed?”
“None of your business.”
“You always this cheerful after math class?”
“Only when I sit in front of human garbage.”
He laughed, like she’d told him a joke. “You need a ride?”
She finally stopped and turned. “Why would I get in a car with you?”
“Because I’m charming, and your boots are talking back to me.”
Jas glanced down at her scuffed boots, the sole peeling slightly at the front. Her cheeks flamed before she forced herself to snort. “Wow. A rich boy making fun of someone’s shoes. How original.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say it to be mean. I just don’t like watching you limp your way across the county.”
“Then don’t watch me,” she snapped. “Problem solved.”
But even as she turned away, she felt it—that weight behind her, his gaze like heat on the back of her neck. It wasn’t cruel. Not in that moment.
It was… curious.
And that made her stomach flip in a way she absolutely hated.
The bus ride was slow and crowded. Jas stood most of the way, one hand on the rail, the other gripping her phone like it owed her money. She stared blankly at the lock screen. No texts. No calls. Nothing new.
The last time she’d gone out for fun was… God, how long had it been? Before summer? Before Logan made her into a punchline in the cafeteria with that god-awful joke about “plus-sized personality”?
She rolled her eyes at the memory and shoved the phone in her back pocket.
At least work was predictable.
That thought died the moment she walked through the diner’s double doors and saw him.
Logan Hayes.
In her booth.
With Jax and Drew.
She blinked like maybe she was hallucinating. But no. That was his messy dark hair, his Jefferson letterman jacket tossed over the back of the booth like it owned the place, and that infuriating grin he always wore when she was near.
Tammy, her manager, barely looked up from the hostess stand.
“You’re late.”
“It’s 3:57.”
Tammy raised one eyebrow. “And your shift starts at four. Go say hi to your boyfriends.”
Jas bit the inside of her cheek so hard it stung. She tied her apron tight and stomped over to the table.
“Didn’t know royalty made this their regular spot .”
Logan looked up from the menu like her voice was the soundtrack he’d been waiting for. “Didn’t know you’d be our waitress. Lucky us.”
“Unfortunately.”
“You always greet your guests with that much warmth?” Jax asked, grinning.
“Only the ones who look like they tip in Monopoly money.”
“Ouch,” Logan said. “You wound me.”
“I wish.”
She didn’t take their order so much as threaten them into giving it, then spun back to the kitchen, heart thudding harder than she wanted to admit. Why was he here? This wasn’t a hangout for the elite. It was a pit stop with cracked vinyl booths and sticky floors. Logan belonged in leather seats and rooftop parties. Not in her world.
Especially not today. Not after everything.
She watched him from the kitchen window as she waited for the food to be plated. He leaned into the booth like he belonged to it, tossing fries into his mouth like nothing in the world could touch him. And yet…
Every once in a while, his eyes flicked up.
To the kitchen.
To her.
Twenty minutes later, she brought their food out, balancing the tray like a pro—three greasy burgers, fries dripping in oil, and chocolate milkshakes so thick they could choke a spoon.
She didn’t speak as she lowered the plates. Logan, of course, did.
“Didn’t even ask what we wanted,” he said, lips quirking.
“You order the same thing every time,” she replied without looking at him. “Like your jokes—predictable and outdated.”
Jax cackled. Drew shook his head, smirking into his fries.
Logan just stared at her.
When she turned to walk away, his voice followed. “Your apron’s crooked.”
She stopped. “What?”
He gestured lazily. “The knot. It’s hanging off your hip.”
She reached back to adjust it without thinking.
Which was exactly when he reached forward and flicked the dangling tie—just a little tug, a stupid teasing thing.
But it threw her off balance.
The tray slipped in her hand. A full glass of soda teetered on the edge, tipped… and flew.
Straight onto the back of a woman seated at the next table.
She shrieked. The glass hit the floor and shattered. Jas froze.
“Oh my god—” she started, reaching for napkins, fumbling.
The woman—probably in her sixties, wearing a pale pink blouse that was now soaked in brown sugar fizz—shot to her feet.
Her husband stood too, all puffed-up protectiveness and immediate rage.
Tammy came out of the kitchen like a bullet. “What happened?”
Jas turned, panic flushing her throat. “It was him—Logan. He pulled—he—”
“I saw her,” Drew said quickly. “She tripped or something.”
“She dropped it,” Jax added. “Too many tables. She lost balance.”
Jas’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me—he touched—”
Logan said nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Tammy crossed her arms. “Jasmine. In the back. Now.”
Jas stood in the narrow back hallway behind the kitchen, hands clenched into fists so tight her nails left crescents in her palms.
Tammy came in a moment later, arms crossed like she’d been waiting years for an excuse.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Jas said before Tammy could speak.
Tammy arched a brow. “That woman’s blouse cost more than your rent. And you dumped soda all over it.”
“It was an accident. He—Logan—he pulled on my apron. Ask him. Ask anyone.”
“I don’t need to ask. I heard what his friends said.”
Jas took a step forward. “So you’re taking their word over mine?”
Tammy didn’t blink. “I’m taking the customers’ word. And the floor manager’s.”
“I’ve worked here for over a year.”
“And in that time,” Tammy said coldly, “you’ve had more complaints than anyone else on staff. You’re always late. You’ve got an attitude. You glare at people.”
“Because people treat me like shit.”
Tammy didn’t flinch. “I need someone who smiles. Who doesn’t throw drinks. Who doesn’t pick fights with customers, even if they’re jackasses.”
“So that’s it?” Jas asked, breath catching in her throat. “You’re firing me?”
Tammy’s eyes softened just a little—but not enough. “I’m sorry, Jas. But yeah. Turn in your apron.”
It took everything Jas had not to slam the damn thing down. She untied it, folded it slowly, and handed it over.
She walked out without another word.
Outside, the evening air bit colder than it should’ve in early fall. Jas didn’t care. She didn’t wait for the bus. She walked. Her hands shoved in her hoodie, head down, teeth grinding.
She didn’t cry.
Not yet.
She waited until she hit the corner of Maple and 12th, far from anyone she knew, where the streetlights flickered and the sidewalk cracked. Then she sank onto the curb, stared at the empty road, and let the tears fall.
No job. No paycheck. No way to help her mom. No chance of buying a new pair of shoes before winter.
And it was his fault.
Logan fucking Hayes.
Across the street, Logan sat behind the wheel of his car, engine idling low, music playing soft through the speakers. He’d meant to leave twenty minutes ago. Jax had already texted:
u ghosting? but he hadn’t replied.
He wasn’t sure what he was still doing there.
Through the diner window, he’d watched Jas take off her apron. She didn’t slam it down like he half-expected. She just folded it. Calm. Controlled. That quiet kind of pissed-off that made your stomach twist because it meant you’d gone too far.
He hadn’t meant for her to get fired.
He hadn’t meant anything by it, really. Just teasing. Just the usual back-and-forth. It’s what they did. It had always been what they did.
But something about the way she’d walked out—back straight, jaw clenched, eyes blank—sat wrong in his chest.
He saw her again ten minutes later, sitting on the curb with her head down. Shoulders tight. Hands knotted in her hoodie.
She looked small.
Not weak. Never weak.
Just… not okay.
And that didn’t sit right with him either.
Not because he liked her. He didn’t. He couldn’t. That wasn’t how this worked.
But because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like the guy on top. The one with all the swagger and the smirk and the punchlines.
He felt like the asshole.
And even though he didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even roll down the window… he watched her until she stood up again, wiped her face, and walked off like nothing had happened.
And it hit him:
She wasn’t just surviving him.
She was surviving everything.
The apartment was dark when she got home.
No surprise. Her mom’s second shift ran late, and she wouldn’t be back until nearly two a.m. Jas flipped the hallway light on, toeing off her boots, and walked into the cramped kitchen.
There was a sticky note on the fridge.
Made pasta. Check the bottom shelf. Love you, baby. — Mom
She stared at the note for a second, letting the familiar ache crawl in. Guilt and gratitude. She couldn’t decide which felt heavier.
She opened the fridge, pulled out the container, and stared at it like it might solve her life. It didn’t. She put it back.
She didn’t have the energy to eat.
Her bedroom was small. Bare walls. A mattress on a wooden frame. A desk cluttered with textbooks, a half-finished English essay, and her cracked phone charger. She collapsed onto the bed without bothering to change, curling onto her side with her hoodie still zipped and her fingers clenched in the fabric.
No job meant no money.
No money meant no backup.
And Logan Hayes meant—
Nothing.
He was nothing.
Except he was still in her head. The way he looked at her when she glared. The way he smirked like he knew things he shouldn’t. The way he hadn’t spoken up. Hadn’t done anything.
That part twisted the deepest.
Because if he’d just said something, she might’ve been able to pretend. Pretend he wasn’t cruel. Pretend the flirting wasn’t a game. Pretend she wasn’t always the one left bleeding.
But silence?
That was worse than an insult.
Logan couldn’t sleep.
He’d made it home hours ago, but the night dragged like wet cement. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw her.
Jas on the curb. Jas with her shoulders hunched and fists in her hoodie. Jas walking away without looking back.
He knew how she walked when she was pissed—shoulders tight, jaw locked, middle finger practically twitching. But this had been different. She wasn’t just angry. She was… worn.
And he hated how that felt.
He’d replayed the moment a dozen times. The flick of her apron string. The sound of the glass tipping. The way she turned on him, eyes wide with disbelief.
He hadn’t even said anything.
That was what stuck.
Not the drink. Not the mess.
The silence.
He could’ve told the truth. It wouldn’t have cost him anything.
Instead, he stood there like a goddamn statue, letting her take the hit. Letting her fall harder because he was too much of a coward to open his mouth.
He shoved a hand through his hair and sat up on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head hanging low.
She hated him. He knew that.
But he also knew he hadn’t always hated her.
Not really.
It was easier to push her. To laugh. To keep things loud and cruel and simple.
Jas didn’t go to school the next morning.
She told herself it was because her ankle hurt from walking home. Or because she needed to call around for new jobs before the weekend. Or because she just needed one damn day to breathe.
But the truth was uglier.
She didn’t want to see Logan.
Not today. Not with her chest still tight and her dignity scraped thin. Not with her mom asking if everything was okay while zipping her hoodie and grabbing keys at 6 a.m.
Jas had lied. Said she had a late start. Her mom hadn’t questioned it. She never did.
By noon, Jas was in bed with the curtains drawn, a bowl of cold cereal on her nightstand, and her laptop open to a half-finished resume template. She clicked through jobs on Craigslist—retail, fast food, cleaning. Nothing paid more than minimum wage. Nothing offered flexibility. Nothing would stop Logan Hayes from living in her head.
She hated that he was still there.
But worse, she hated that part of her wanted him to do something. Apologize. Explain. Show up.
She didn’t want to need anything from him.
Not validation. Not attention. Not the echo of that look he gave her when no one else was around.
The one that made her feel seen.
Not mocked. Not pitied.
Seen.
And yet—he said nothing.
And she didn’t chase ghosts.
Because Jas Mon had never been simple. She was fire and sharp words and soft eyes she tried to hide behind sarcasm.
And that scared the hell out of him.
