Chapter Nineteen
Jax
The cabin settles into a quiet rhythm—soft footsteps, the scratch of colored pencils, the steady hum of the heater working overtime.
Outside, the world is all bright snow and long shadows stretching off the pines.
The kind of winter morning Silver Ridge is famous for.
Peaceful on the surface. Watchful underneath.
Ava stands near the window, mug cupped in both hands, sunlight catching the tight line of her shoulders. Violet is curled on the couch behind her, blanket around her legs, drawing with fierce concentration.
A wolf wearing a flower crown.
Of course.
The cabin feels too small. Too full of things I don’t know how to carry.
“The springs are open,” I say, because it’s the only escape I can offer.
Ava glances over her shoulder. “Really?”
I nod. “You both could use a break.”
Something soft flickers across her face—surprise, relief, a warmth she probably doesn’t want me to notice. Violet is already halfway off the couch.
The trail behind the lodge is short, the kind locals forget to call a hike. Steam curls up from the pools carved into the rock, snow dusting the edges like lace. The air smells of pine and wet stone.
And then Ava steps out from behind the boulders.
Her swimsuit is simple. Black. Practical. Nothing meant to draw attention. It nearly knocks the breath from my lungs anyway.
Not because of skin. Because of contrast. Winter light against warmth. Steam softening her shape. Her hair piled into a careless knot that leaves her neck bare.
I’ve known beauty. I’ve lost it.
This feels different. This feels alive.
She shivers as the cold air hits her skin. I look away too late.
Violet splashes into the water with a squeal, steam swallowing her laughter. “Mom! It’s like a magical forest bathtub!”
Ava laughs. “You’re basically eight again.”
“That was the goal.”
I sink onto a submerged ledge, heat easing into muscles that never fully relax anymore. Ava slides into the water across from me, breath catching softly as warmth wraps around her.
The sound lands in my chest like an impact.
She closes her eyes, head tipping back just slightly as she exhales. Unguarded. Real.
This shouldn’t feel like intimacy. It shouldn’t feel like anything at all. But the springs carry sound, carry breath, and hers moves along my skin like heat stronger than the water.
Violet drifts toward the far end, absorbed by icicles and reflections. The space between Ava and me tightens.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
She studies me then—not casually, not politely. Like she’s found a seam in armor I thought was solid.
“Thank you.”
My throat tightens. “Yeah.”
Snow drifts down around the rocks. Steam curls upward. The world feels suspended.
Then her knee brushes mine beneath the water.
Barely a touch. Enough to make my pulse jump hard against my throat.
I brace my hands on the rock, fighting the instinct to close the distance. She doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. Back to my eyes.
When I lean in, it’s only a fraction. A breath. A mistake.
Ava leans too.
Our lips meet—soft, brief, terrifying. A kiss that feels like answering a question we weren’t supposed to ask.
She inhales sharply.
I pull back first. Panic slides cold beneath my ribs. Her eyes stay locked on mine, wide, stunned.
Violet laughs somewhere behind us.
Reality snaps back into place.
“Jax—”
“I know,” I whisper.
The pool hasn’t changed.
We have.
The next morning, I’m nursing a cup of coffee when Ava’s phone rings.
She steps into the hallway, but cabins like this don’t keep secrets well.
“Yes, this is Ava Dawson.”
A pause.
Then her voice tightens. “What failed?”
My grip tightens around the mug.
“The endocrinology?” Her voice sharpens. “No—you can’t suspend services. My daughter depends on those appointments.”
Another pause. Her shoulders sag.
“Repairs? How much?”
I hear the answer in the silence.
“That’s impossible,” she whispers. “Not that fast.”
I’m on my feet before I think.
“What about heating?” Her voice cracks. “It’s below freezing—those kids can’t—”
She stops. Listens. Swallows.
“I understand,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”
She ends the call and stands there, unmoving.
Violet watches from the couch, worry etched too clearly on her face. I kneel beside her, adjust the blanket so she doesn’t see my expression.
Ava returns, voice carefully composed. “The clinic’s roof damage was worse than they thought. One of the main beams failed. Heating’s unreliable. They’re cutting services until repairs can be made.”
She steadies herself. “Violet may need to travel down the mountain for appointments.”
Six hours. In winter.
The guilt hits hard and sudden.
Ava crosses her arms. “We’ll figure it out.”
Violet nods, trusting her without question.
I turn away before I do something reckless.
In my room, I shut the door and pull out the phone I shouldn’t still have. The one tied to a life I buried.
I find the overdue invoice addressed to Ava Dawson.
I pay it.
Anonymous. Immediate.
The confirmation chime is soft.
It doesn’t fix the roof. It doesn’t fix the clinic. It doesn’t fix me.
But maybe it eases her load—just a little.
A knock at the door. “Jax?”
I shut off the phone.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just needed a minute.”
She doesn’t push.
That might be the worst part.
Because the less she pushes, the more I want to pull her closer.
And I can’t.
Not when everything she needs is something I’m still afraid to be.