Chapter 15
15
nothing more than a blur
“I think I made a mistake not getting dessert,” I said as we walked down the dimly lit street, my heels clicking against the pavement in a steady rhythm.
The night air was cool against my skin, but Jax’s arm was warm around my waist, and I tried not to obsess over how addictive it was to be tucked against his side like this.
His thumb traced small circles on my hip, and each one sent little sparks of electricity through my body.
“Next time,” he murmured, but his attention was elsewhere—scanning the streets, watching the shadows.
His eyes darted from one dark corner to another, never resting for more than a moment.
Always vigilant.
Always protecting.
I should’ve found it overstimulating—the way his attention was everywhere all at once, but instead, it just made my heart do that flip thing it seemed to specialize in whenever he was around.
He was so attuned to the world around us, ready to take down anyone who might jump out and say boo.
“You know what would’ve been perfect after that pasta?” I asked, mostly to distract myself from how good he smelled.
Oh, and how freaked out I was that we were actively putting ourselves in the water like a worm on a hook right now.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Their chocolate lava cake. Wednesday brought me some on my birthday last year, and it was basically heaven on a plate. Dang it. We should’ve just ordered dessert before our meal so we could’ve shared a slice. It would’ve been peak romance for you to feed me a bite from your fork.”
His gaze whipped to mine, and I could’ve sworn his hand flexed on my hip of its own free will.
“What? It just would’ve helped sell it.”
He shot me an exasperated look, but there was a hint of fondness in it that made my pulse flutter. “If we don’t wrap this up tonight, we’ll have to try again. So… yeah. Next time.”
“Promise?”
“If it means that much to you.”
Before I had a chance to tell him that it did, Jax’s entire body went rigid, his arm tightening around my waist as he stopped walking. The sudden change in him sent a chill down my spine, and I felt my own body tense in response.
My heart skipped, then started racing. “What is it?”
“Shh,” he breathed, head tilted slightly like he was listening for something I couldn’t hear.
But then I heard it too—footsteps.
Quick and deliberate, and getting much too close for comfort. The sound echoed off the buildings around us, making it impossible for me to tell which direction they were coming from.
Before I could process what was happening, Jax spun me behind him, putting his body between me and whatever was coming.
Or who ever.
A figure emerged from the shadows of a nearby alley, and fear clawed at my insides, scraping my lungs and making it impossible to breathe.
And then I saw the mask.
It was blood red, with exaggerated features that reminded me of creepy vintage Valentine’s Day art—like a cherub that looked more demonic than angelic. But this was also worse because someone had twisted those already unsettling features into something nightmare-worthy.
The eyes were black pits, soulless and empty, and the design of the mouth was stretched into a grotesque grin that revealed rows of too many jagged teeth.
It was all wrong. Too wide. Too sharp.
Too hungry .
“Run,” Jax growled.
But my feet wouldn’t move. They were frozen to the spot, just like the rest of me.
The Valentine Villain tilted his head, studying us with an eerie stillness that made my skin crawl.
But there was also this weird smell in the air now. I sniffed. Was that fear? Was I seriously smelling fear wafting off me? No. That couldn’t be a thing.
I’m spinning out.
Then, without warning, The Villain lunged.
The knife in his hand caught the streetlight, glinting wickedly as it sliced through the air where Jax had been standing a split second before.
This clearly angered the bad guy because he lunged again.
But Jax was faster, dodging and weaving in that inhumanly scary way I’d witnessed before.
Only, as soon as Jax’s opponent decided to lunge for me instead of him, faking him out so he’d be distracted, his speed somehow wasn’t enough. The Villain used my presence to his advantage, and every time he got too close to me, Jax would have to adjust his position, leaving himself open.
But was Jax actually moving slower? Could he actually be getting worn out?
Or was it because, this time, he was trying to protect me?
I kept trying to back away without fully leaving him. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, but I also knew I needed to give Jax the space he needed.
But then, my heel caught on an uneven section of pavement, and I went down.
Hard .
The breath shot out of my lungs in an odd, strangled noise as the cold concrete met the base of my spine.
The Villain’s head snapped toward me at the sound, and Jax used that moment to strike.
But something was wrong.
Jax’s movements weren’t as fluid as usual. Was he holding back, trying to keep himself between me and danger instead of unleashing his full capabilities?
I hated it, and I was about to scream at him to stop messing around and do his thing.
And then it happened.
I cried out in horror as The Villain’s knife slashed across Jax’s side, and something inside of me tore.
Painfully —like I was feeling his wound, too.
“Jax!”
He growled—actually growled—and kicked the Villain right in the chest—a full-on This is Sparta! kind of kick.
The Villain flew backward in a wide arc, and then, wasting zero precious moments to look back, Jax grabbed my hand in an iron grip and tugged.
“We need to get out of here,” he bit out through gritted teeth as he pulled me away. “I’ll find another way to get him when I’m not worried about you getting hurt too.”
And then we were nothing more than a blur as he ran, pressing me into his side with my feet completely off the ground.
Oh, okay, so now he turns up the speed.
When he slowed, lowering me to my feet to let me run at his side—at my pace, not his—and as the world came back into focus, I realized we were approaching my building.
The sound of our footsteps echoed as we sprinted down the street. Jax’s hand never left mine, pulling me along like he’d rather die than let go.
Which was an all-too-real possibility, considering his other hand was wrapped around his torso, pressed against a bloody knife wound to staunch the flow.
As we approached Wilde Brew, I instinctively angled toward my building, but Jax tugged me in the opposite direction.
“Not there,” he snapped, guiding me across the street. “If he’s watching, I don’t want him knowing where you live.”
“Where are we going?”
“Trust me.”
I snorted.
Yep, I actually managed to snort in my current state, because trust him?
How could I not?
“Wait...” I panted as we reached the steps leading to the building’s entrance. “Shouldn’t we get you help? Or do you know someone who lives here who can?—”
“I live here.”
I shook my head. “You live here? Across from me? This whole time?”
He didn’t answer, too focused on getting us into the elevator.
He mashed the button for his floor the second we stepped in, and when he’d leaned over to do it? He’d given me a clearer view of his side. His suit was all black—jacket, shirt, pants—but under the harsh elevator lights, the blood shone wet and thick against the fabric.
I held back a gasp, and the elevator ride was tense after that, filled only with the sound of our breathing and the ding of passing floors.
Jax kept his hand pressed to his side, but his other arm was a bar across my front. An unwavering shield, like he still wasn’t convinced we were safe.
We reached his floor, and he poked his head out first, still blocking me with his arm until he determined it was clear.
And then, we walked down the hallway in silence. Jax, scanning for any signs of danger, and me, trying to keep up with his impossibly long strides.
When we finally made it to his apartment and he ushered me inside, I wasn’t at all surprised by what I found. Which was comforting, to say the least.
The industrial-designed space was exactly what I’d expect from him—minimalist to the extreme.
No clutter, no unnecessary decorations.
Just clean lines and functional furniture in neutral colors, with exposed beams and metal, strong and stoic in design. Just like him.
The complete opposite of my cozy chaos across the street.
How apropos.
But as stark as it was, there were also little touches that caught my eye. Made me wonder.
A well-worn paperback on the coffee table, its pages dog-eared and spine creased from countless reading.
Was it from the walls of my shop?
There was a collection of throwing knives displayed on the wall like art, each one sparkling like new, ready for use in the name of vigilante justice.
Did he sit around polishing them like other people polished expensive silver?
But it was the high-end coffee maker—one that probably cost more than my entire setup at Wilde Brew—that sent my eyebrows flying sky-high.
“Um, what is that? ”
He shrugged from the center of the room, where he’d been watching me take in his space. “A coffee machine.”
“Why would you spend so much time at my shop if you have such a fancy coffee machine? And seriously, do you make bank as a vigilante? Am I totally in the wrong business?”
He turned away, completely ignoring my questions.
Bold strategy, Cotton. Let’s see if it pays off.
But then he swayed—just slightly, but enough to make me lunge like a game show contestant buzzing in for the final round. His balance wavered, but I was right there, grabbing his arm. “You should sit. Let me look at that wound.”
“I’m fine,” he grunted, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed the pain he was trying to hide.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.” He squinted, looking me up and down as if checking for injuries. “Are you okay?”
“Me? Seriously? Not a scratch.” I gestured over my body, and then I crossed my arms. “Jax, you’re the one I’m worried about. Unless you have another superpower that you neglected to tell me about? Like rapid, magical healing, maybe?”
He pursed his lips, staying quiet.
I took that as a no.
“Jax.”
He sighed, gesturing weakly toward the bathroom as he leaned against his kitchen table. “First aid kit under the sink.”
I rushed to get the supplies.
Proud of myself for not lingering to snoop in his bathroom—or check my reflection in the mirror—I returned to the main room. But on my way back over to him, I stopped short, my stomach bottoming out.
The view out his window. It was…
Jax didn’t simply live in the building next to mine.
His apartment faced my apartment.
Dead-on.
Clutching the first aid kit to my chest, I walked slowly to the window. Sure enough, I could see right into my living room. The lights were dim since I wasn’t home, but I knew that room. I saw it every day.
“That’s my apartment,” I said quietly, not turning around. “Did you know? That it’s, like… right there?”
The silence stretched for so long that I thought he might not answer.
Then, finally, “Yeah. I knew.”
I turned to face him then, and the vulnerability in his expression nearly knocked me over.
He was so unguarded, so much more raw than I’d ever seen him before.
“But not in a creepy way,” he added, holding up a hand as if he knew I was reeling. “And I lived here before I even knew you. I never... I didn’t spy on you. But once I figured out that was where you lived... I just… kept an eye out. Made sure you got home safe after closing up.”
My heart squeezed at the admission, a warm and fluttery feeling spreading through my chest.
The thought of him watching over me, even from afar? To say it made me feel safe would be the understatement of the century.
This was more like feeling… cherished .
I stepped closer, drawn to him like a magnet.
And then, reality returned. “Shoot, Jax, you’re still bleeding.”
He didn’t move, just kept those intense eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in his world worth paying any mind to.
And in that moment, standing in his apartment with the weight of everything pressing down on us, I realized something terrifying.
This was never pretend for me, and we all knew that.
But the bombshell?
Maybe it was never pretend for him, either.