Chapter 9 Jax
JAX
I’m in so much trouble.
Not the kind of trouble I’m trained for like mountainous terrain, fighting fires, medical emergencies, or cats stranded in trees.
This is the kind of trouble that has me watching Sloane curl up on the couch in my flannel shirt, her hair still messy from our earlier sex episode, and I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling.
This was supposed to be simple. Fun. A way to help her get over her dickhead ex while we waited out the storm.
But watching her text her best friend, seeing that smile spread across her face, hearing her laugh, it’s doing things to my chest that have nothing to do with physical attraction.
“Popcorn’s ready,” I announce, carrying the bowl over to the couch.
She’s already queued up another Christmas movie, something about a baker and a widowed dad, and she’s looking at me with those dark eyes that seem to see right through all my bullshit.
I settle onto the couch, and she immediately tucks herself into my side, fitting against me like she was made for it.
We fall into comfortable silence as the movie starts, but I’m barely paying attention to the screen.
I’m too focused on the woman pressed against my side.
The way she occasionally makes little comments about the plot.
The way her breathing evens out as she relaxes.
The way her hand rests on my chest, right over my heart.
I should be panicking. Should be reminding myself that this is temporary.
That in a day or two, the roads will clear, and she’ll go back to her life, and I’ll go back to mine.
That this is just a blizzard bubble, not reality.
But instead, I’m thinking about how I could get used to this.
Coming home to her. Watching Christmas movies.
Making her laugh. Making her come. Making her feel wanted, valued, and cherished.
Fuck.
“Jax?” she murmurs, tilting her head up to look at me.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For wanting to spend time with me ...” She trails off, her cheeks pinking.
My chest tightens. I hate that her ex made her doubt that. Hate that she needed someone else to show her what she should have always known.
“I’m no one special.” The words come out rougher than I intend, weighted with more feeling than I should be showing.
She stares at me for a long moment, those brows pulled together, something shifting in her expression.
“I think you're special, Jax.” Then she leans up and kisses me, soft and sweet and tender in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with connection.
My heart aches. When she pulls back, she settles against my chest again, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her close.
“This movie is terrible,” she says after a few minutes, but there’s affection in her voice.
“The worst,” I agree. “Want to turn it off?”
“No. I want to see if the baker ends up with the dad or the hunky contractor.”
I chuckle. “My money’s on the dad.”
“Obviously, the dad. Single parents always win. But my vote would be the contractor.” She giggles.
We watch in comfortable silence, and slowly, gradually, I feel her body go heavier against mine.
Her breathing evens out. Her hand on my chest goes still.
She’s fallen asleep. I look down at her, curled against me like a cat, and something in my chest cracks wide open.
She looks peaceful. Soft. The stress and hurt that’s been etched into her features since I found her has smoothed away.
Did I do that? Maybe not all of it, but some of it.
I made her feel safe enough to let her guard down.
To trust me. To sleep. And I’m absolutely, completely, irrevocably fucked.
Because this isn’t just fun anymore. This isn’t just helping someone get over their ex.
This is something deeper, something real, something that’s going to hurt like hell when it ends.
I should wake her up. Should take her to bed properly, let her sleep in comfort instead of being cramped up on the couch.
But I don’t want to move. Don’t want to disturb this moment.
Don’t want to risk her pulling away. So, I just sit here, holding her, watching the terrible movie, and trying not to think about what happens when the snow stops falling.
I must doze off, too, because I wake to the sound of something crashing outside. Not just wind … something heavy, metallic, violent. Sloane stirs against me, mumbling something incoherent.
“Shh,” I murmur, carefully extracting myself from under her. “Go back to sleep.” She makes a small sound of protest but settles back into the couch cushions, already half-asleep again.
Another crash, louder this time.
Fuck.
I move to the window and peer out into the darkness.
The storm has intensified, snow coming down in sheets, but I can just make out movement near the side of the cabin.
Something’s wrong with the generator shed.
I watch for another moment and see the shed door has blown open, banging violently in the wind.
If it keeps up, the hinges will tear off completely, and then snow will bury the generator.
Without that, we’ll lose power and access to water from the pump, and we’d be in serious trouble. I need to secure it. Now.
I grab my heavy coat, boots, and gloves as quietly as I can.
Sloane’s still passed out on the couch, exhausted from our day.
Part of me wants to wake her, let her know where I’m going, but she needs the rest. I’ll be quick.
Five minutes, tops. Secure the door, check the generator, and get back inside.
I slip out into the storm and immediately get hit with the full force of it.
The wind is brutal, cutting through my coat like it’s nothing.
Snow stings my face, limiting visibility to maybe ten feet.
But I’m trained for this. I’ve worked in worse conditions.
I make my way around to the generator shed, fighting against the wind with each step.
The door is hanging by one hinge, banging against the frame with each gust. Inside, I can see the generator is still running, but snow is already starting to accumulate on the floor.
I grab the door, fighting to hold it against the wind, and examine the damage.
The top hinge has completely torn away from the frame.
The bottom one is barely hanging on. This will take more than five minutes.
I look back at the cabin, warm light glowing from the windows, and think about Sloane sleeping peacefully inside.
Then I look at the generator. No choice. I get to work.
The wind is relentless, fighting me for every screw I try to tighten, every adjustment I try to make.
My fingers are going numb despite the gloves.
My face is completely numb. But I keep working.
I manage to jury-rig the hinge with some wire and a spare piece of metal from my truck.
It’s not pretty, but it’ll hold. I secure the door as best I can, making sure it’s latched properly this time.
Then I check the generator, clear the snow that’s accumulated, and make sure it’s still running strong.
I check the fuel level and everything looks good.
I’m about to head back when I notice something else, a tree branch, massive and heavy, has fallen against the propane tank.
It’s not leaking, but if that branch shifts in the wind, it could rupture the connection.
Fuck.
Could this night get any worse? I can’t leave it.
If the propane goes, we’re done. I grab the branch and start dragging it away from the tank, my muscles straining against the weight and the wind.
Snow is coming down so hard I can barely see the cabin anymore.
My entire body screams at me to get inside, get warm, but I keep working.
Finally, finally, I clear the branch and secure the propane connection.
I take one last look around, making sure everything is secure, and then start making my way back to the cabin.
The wind has picked up even more, if that’s possible.
I’m trudging through snow that’s now mid-thigh deep in places. Each step is a battle.
But all I can think about is getting back to Sloane.
Making sure she’s okay. Making sure she’s warm.
Making sure she knows I didn’t just abandon her.
By the time I get the door open and stumble inside, I’m covered head to toe in snow and ice.
My fingers won’t bend. My face is completely numb.
I can’t feel my toes. But the cabin is warm.
The lights are still on. The generator held.
I manage to get my boots off with shaking hands, then my coat.
I’m standing there in the entryway, dripping melted snow onto the floor, when I hear a sound from the couch.
“Jax?” Sloane’s sitting up, rubbing her eyes, looking confused and sleepy and so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” I manage through chattering teeth.
She takes one look at me and shoots to her feet. “Oh my god, what happened? Where were you?”
“Generator shed. Door came loose. Had to fix it.” My words are clipped, my jaw so tight from the cold I can barely speak.
“You went out in that?” She gestures to the window where the storm is still raging. “By yourself?”
“Had to. Otherwise, we’d lose power.”
“Jax, you’re frozen.” She’s in front of me now, her hands hovering like she wants to touch but isn’t sure where. “Come on. We need to get you warm.”
“I’m fine. Just cold.”
“You’re not fine. You’re hypothermic.” Her voice has an edge of panic.
“Come on. Now.” She takes my arm and leads me toward the bathroom.
My body is starting to shake violently now, the adrenaline wearing off, and the cold setting in.
“We need to get these wet clothes off,” she says, already pulling at my shirt. “Can you do it, or do you need help?”
“I can do it,” I say, but my hands won’t cooperate.
“Jax.” Her voice is firm now. “Let me help.”
So, I do. I let her strip off my wet thermal, my undershirt, my jeans. Let her wrap me in towels and guide me into the shower, turning the water on lukewarm, not hot, which could cause more damage. It’s good to know she knows some survival skills.
“Get in,” she orders. “I’m going to make you something hot to drink.”
I want to argue, want to tell her I’m fine, but I’m shaking too hard to speak.
So, I step into the shower and let the lukewarm water start to thaw me out.
Through the bathroom door, I can hear her moving around the cabin.
The sound of the kettle. Cabinets opening and closing.
And underlying it all, I can hear her voice, soft and worried.
She’s worried about me. When’s the last time someone worried about me?
My family, sure, but they’re used to me handling things.
Used to me being the strong one, the reliable one, the one who doesn’t need help.
But Sloane is worried. And somehow, that means everything.
The water gradually gets warmer as my body adjusts. The violent shaking subsides to occasional tremors. Feeling starts to return to my fingers and toes, a painful, prickling feeling that makes me wince. But I’m okay. I’m going to be okay.
There’s a knock on the door. “Jax? Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
The door opens and Sloane slips inside, she’s holding a mug of something steaming. “I made you tea,” she says. “With lots of honey. And I laid out dry clothes on the bed.”
“Thank you.”
She finally looks at me, and there’s something fierce in her expression. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Go out in a storm like that without telling me. Without waking me up. I could have helped.”
“Sloane …”
“No.” She cuts me off. “I know you’re used to handling everything yourself. I know you’re the hero who saves everyone else. But right now, you’re not on duty. You’re not working. You’re just a guy stuck in a cabin with a girl who cares about whether you freeze to death.”
The words hang in the air between us. Cares about whether you freeze to death.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I say quietly. “You were sleeping so peacefully.”
“I don’t care. Next time, wake me.” Her voice softens. “Please.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Next time, I’ll wake you.”
She nods, satisfied, and turns to leave. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Sloane?”
She pauses, looking back.
“Thank you. For taking care of me.”
Something shifts in her expression. Softens. “That’s what emergency friends do, right?”
I smile despite the cold still lingering in my bones. “Right.”
She leaves, closing the door behind her, and I stand under the warm water, thinking about how this woman I’ve known for barely two days, and she is upset that I scared her going out in the snow. And I hate how much I liked it.
I’m dressed in dry clothes and sitting on the couch with Sloane curled up next to me, a thick blanket wrapped around both of us. She’s holding the mug of tea, making sure I drink it, and her free hand is on my chest, like she needs to feel my heartbeat to confirm I’m really okay.
“The storm’s getting worse,” she observes, looking at the window.
“Yeah. We’re probably going to be stuck here at least another day, maybe two.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Is that okay with you?”
I look down at her, at this woman who just took care of me with the same fierce protectiveness I’ve been showing her. At this woman who’s been hurt and betrayed but still has room in her heart to worry about someone else.
“Yeah,” I say honestly. “It’s more than okay.” She snuggles closer, and I wrap my arm around her, holding her tight.
Outside, the storm rages on. But in here, we’re warm and safe and together. And for now, that’s enough.