Chapter 14
As You Wish
? Scared to Love - Thunderstorm Artis
Jaxon
I startle awake at the fading memory of my screams echoing in my mind. It’s like someone has their hands wrapped around my throat. I can’t catch my breath. Cold sweat covers my body, soaking through the sheets. It’s the same nightmare that’s tormented me for years.
His eyes. Blank. Lifeless.
The watch, as broken as his body, suspended in time.
After all this time, I still can’t shake the terror of that night.
I slide out of bed and strip the sheets, haphazardly tossing them into the corner of the room. I throw on a hoodie, trail through the house, and stop in the kitchen to grab a beer.
As I step outside, the cool bite of winter air seeps through my clothing, chilling me to the bone. It’s cold enough to see my breath drifting on the breeze. I use my teeth to pop the top of my beer and settle on the top step with my elbows draped over my knees.
I look out over the ranch, trying to summon memories of a happier time, before Ryan died and took my love for this place with him. He was so full of life, with big dreams. As for me, I’ve always been a bit aimless, despite knowing my place would always be here at the ranch.
I’ve explored every inch of this land, could map it all from memory, but lately, it feels like a prison. Every day is like a replay of the last with no end in sight. I crave something, anything that will bring me out of this endless monotony.
I take a long pull of the amber liquid and glance up at the night sky. Wilder often talks to Jess like this, but I’m not convinced there’s anything out there beyond this life. Even if there is, why would I need to believe in hell if I’m already living in one?
The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel grows closer. When I dare to look up, I lock eyes with Callie. She’s got my jacket wrapped tightly around her body, and her nose is bright red against her pale skin.
She’s breathtaking.
“Hey. What are you doing out here?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought a walk might help clear my head.”
Could this have something to do with our conversation on Pleasure Peak? I've been replaying it on a loop in my head for days. She hasn’t come back to the app, and I'm beginning to worry that she’s ghosting me again.
Why do I care so goddamn much? I should move on from that part of my life and explore our connection in the real world, to hell with the past. But I can’t bring myself to lie like that. She deserves to know the truth.
She shivers, and whatever questions I had evaporate. “Jesus, Callie. It’s freezing. Come inside. I’ll light the fire and make us some tea."
For a moment, I think she might turn me down, but she nods and trudges up the steps like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.
I hold open the front door, ushering her inside. Her arm brushes mine as she passes, and that simple touch sends an electric current sparking through me.
This. This is why I care. This innate pull that draws me to her.
It’s been months since I’ve been with a woman. Having Callie in my space is a test of my fortitude, that’s for damn sure. I take care of myself just fine. I don’t need anybody else to help satisfy my needs, but if Callie offered, I’d get down on my knees right then and there.
I pull down my tea organizer and set it on the counter. When my grief got really bad, Mama used to come over and sit with me. We’d have tea, and neither of us would speak, but having her with me was enough to quiet the noise.
“Pick your poison.”
“You know, I read somewhere that someone’s choice of tea can say a lot about a person,” she says. “What’s your favorite?”
“English breakfast.”
“Classic. Decisive. You know what you want and how you want it.”
I want you, Callie. Every which way.
I lean my elbows across the island, putting us almost nose to nose. “And what do you like?”
She searches through my collection, plucking out a small pink packet. Hibiscus.
I take it from her hand and set it in her mug, pouring steaming water over it. A sweet, floral scent wafts from the mug, not unlike Callie’s perfume. “What does that say about you?”
She wraps her hands around the porcelain, peering blankly inside. “I like pretty colors.”
It seems she’s still not ready to open up to me, and it stings knowing she unknowingly gave a piece of herself to a different version of me without reservation. For the briefest moment, I consider telling her, but something stops me. Uncertainty or worse—insecurity.
“I'll get a real answer out of you someday.” I take the mug from her hands and carry it into the den along with my own, setting them on the coffee table.
She curls up in the corner of the camel-colored sectional, her legs tucked under her and the cup of tea resting on her thigh, as if that spot were made specifically for her.
I get the fire going and join her, positioning myself a few feet away on the opposite end of the sofa. For a while, we sip our tea in companionable silence as the fire crackles in the stone fireplace.
“So, Jaxon Hayes,” she says. “What keeps you up at night?”
I blow out an exaggerated breath. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She stares down into her mug, her gaze unfocused. I watch her, transfixed, as she takes a sip of her tea, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. Does she know how goddamn beautiful she is?
“I'm not sure we have time to unpack all of my baggage.”
Fuck. Who hurt you, Callie baby?
“Your family is great,” she says, swiftly changing the subject. “Are they always so…”
“Intrusive?”
She laughs. “Yeah.”
“For as long as I can remember, but it’s always out of love. You can tell them if they're making you uncomfortable.”
I follow her line of sight to the photo on the mantle. It’s the newest one of our entire family at Emmy’s birthday party last year.
“It's not that,” she says. “I’m just not used to people taking an interest in me or my life, I guess.”
“What about your family?”
“I've been on my own for a long time,” she murmurs. “It's for the best.”
She doesn’t say more than that, and I know better than to ask unwanted questions. Callie is a closed book, and she’s not ready for me to know her story.
“Want to watch a movie?” I ask, hoping, beyond reason, to prolong the evening.
That small smile blooms across her face, and some of the tension dissipates. “That depends on the movie. I have a few deal breakers, you know.”
I toss her the remote. “You pick. I wouldn’t want to throw up red flags this early in our friendship.”
She casually scrolls through the catalogue for several minutes. “Princess Bride?”
“As you wish.”
Halfway through the epic duel, I glance over to find Callie fast asleep with her hands tucked beneath her chin. Her long lashes flutter against her cheeks, and her mouth pulls into a slight frown.
“What are you dreaming about, Bluebird?”
I want to reach out and smooth the hair away from her face, press a kiss to her forehead, and pull her into my arms while she sleeps. I want to be the man who eases her worries, awake and in dreams. Maybe someday I'll have the privilege.
For now, I tuck the blanket around her, turn off the television, and reluctantly head down the hallway to my empty bed, where I lie awake for hours until my body is too tired to fight the inevitable.
Callie
I wake up alone on the couch with a soft blanket draped over me. Bringing the fabric to my nose, I take a long inhale. It smells like him. I can almost imagine what it would be like to wake up in his arms.
The sun peeks in through a crack in the curtains as I stretch my aching limbs. I linger for a moment, listening for any sign of movement.
All is quiet.
With the blanket wrapped around my shoulders, I tiptoe through the house, glancing into each room in search of Atticus.
He’s nowhere to be found. I open Jaxon’s door just a crack, and the cat slips through, his bell jingling as he stretches at my feet.
He ignores me and saunters past into the kitchen, mewling for breakfast.
“Grumpy kitty. I suppose you’re waiting for breakfast, huh?”
I fill his dish with dry food, and he mewls again, more forcefully this time. I throw my head back and groan, but he knows he has me. Metal scrapes against metal as I peel open the can of salmon mousse. His bell jingles again as he hops onto the counter, his fluffy tail flicking dramatically.
He bumps against my hand that’s still holding the lid, and a loud purr rumbles out of him. I add the salmon to the top of the dry kibble, and it’s like I cease to exist. He only has eyes for his food. I set the dish on the floor and head to the bedroom to prepare for work.
An hour later, as I'm hopping into my shoe, I hear the distinct rumble of a truck’s engine. I give Atticus a scratch behind the ears and set off down the driveway.
Jaxon’s head pokes out of his truck window. “Morning, sleepyhead.”
As I slide into the passenger seat, he holds out a to-go cup. “Coffee?”
“Oh my god. I could kiss you.”
He gives me a crooked grin and offers me his cheek.
I respond with a cutting glance and bring the hot liquid to my lips. “I didn’t mean that literally.”
“Your loss.”
He puts the truck in drive and navigates the familiar path to Willow Valley. His fingers drum along to the radio against the steering wheel, drawing my attention to his hands. They’re large and calloused, with pronounced veins charting a path like a roadmap across his skin.
He wears a ring on the first and fourth fingers of his right hand, and the first, third, and fifth fingers of his left hand. I briefly imagine what it’d be like to have those hands on me, the cool metal scraping across my naked flesh. The things I’d let him do to me.
I’m no better than a man.
The song changes to an older country tune, and the drumming abruptly stops. He switches off the radio and stares straight ahead, his eyes open and unseeing. It’s the haunted look of someone stuck in the past.
I know that look. I wear it often.
The turnoff for Willow Valley blurs past. “Jax?”
“Hmm?”