CHAPTER 5 #2
"It's fine," Jaxon grunted at last, the words as rough and unrefined as the man himself. His expression remained impassive, though a muscle ticked in his jaw. "Now you know to stay away next time."
Before I could draw my next breath, he'd already plucked up the remote and begun cycling through Netflix, desperate for any distraction that could draw his focus away from me.
A soft, disbelieving scoff escaped before I could bite it back. I had approached him in good faith. Offered an olive branch, an apology for any unintentional boundary violation, only to be met with the same curt dismissal. Still, I refused to let the sting of his words chase me off.
Setting my jaw, I turned my attention to the flickering screen, curious despite myself to see what could possibly capture the interest of a man like him.
As if perfectly timed to capitalize on the strained truce, Connor appeared in the entryway shouldering a tray laden with steaming pizza and perspiring beer bottles.
"Hope you two have been getting along and working up a real appetite," he said with a roguish grin, somehow managing to convey with one look that he saw straight through our act of forced civility. "Because I've brought enough pizza to feed a small army!"
Without waiting for a reply, he strode into the room and deposited his cargo onto the coffee table with a decisive thunk. Straightening, he was met with blank, pointed stares. Mine a defiant challenge and Jaxon's a deadpan wall of indifference despite the tension sparking between us.
A muscle twitched in Connor's jaw as he debated whether to poke the bear or let it go. Evidently deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he raised his palms in surrender and dropped onto the sectional, eyes glinting impishly.
The look I shot him was equal parts fond exasperation and silent warning, though I knew the battle was already lost. Jaxon merely snorted and reclaimed his stretch of sofa, his movements deliberate, radiating cool disinterest.
For several long seconds that stretched into minutes, silence reclaimed the room, broken only by the soft crackle of melting cheese as Connor popped the lids from the beers. The scent of freshly baked pizza filled the air.
Reaching for a slice with one nonchalant hand, Connor finally broke the tension.
"So... you two best pals for life yet, or am I off base?" He paused just long enough to take an indecently large bite, his gaze flicking between us with mock innocence.
Jaxon
A couple of hours later, Connor bid us goodnight and headed off to bed. The atmosphere in the living room shifted immediately. The earlier levity, however forced, gave way to a heavy, uncomfortable silence.
I felt Anna's presence like a live wire, every nerve ending aware of exactly where she was, even as I kept my eyes fixed on the television. She sat on the opposite end of the sectional, her slender frame curled into the corner like she was trying to make herself smaller. Disappear.
In the dim light from the TV, I could see her profile.
Delicate features that might've been soft once but now carried an edge, like she'd been worn down by something.
Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders, still slightly damp from her shower, catching the flickering light.
But it was the way she held herself that caught my attention.
Tense. Guarded. Like she was ready to bolt at any second.
When she finally excused herself and headed to the kitchen, I told myself I wasn't paying attention to the soft pad of her feet or the way she moved with that cautious grace I'd noticed earlier.
The sound of running water and the gentle clink of dishes drifted from the kitchen. I knew I should leave, go back to my cabin where things made sense and the only person I had to deal with was myself.
But I didn't.
Instead, I found myself standing, my body on autopilot as I made my way to the kitchen doorway. She stood at the sink, her back to me, hands moving methodically through the dishes. Even from here, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigid line of her spine.
Something about her didn't add up. Connor had mentioned she was here "to escape," but escape from what? And why had she flinched earlier when I'd moved too quickly? That reaction—that instinctive recoil—spoke of something darker than just a bad day or a difficult situation.
I needed to know. Connor was like a brother to me, and if this woman was going to bring trouble to his doorstep…
"Why did you come here?"
The question came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't soften it.
She tensed immediately, shoulders stiffening. When she spoke, her voice was steady but edged with ice. "Why does it matter to you?"
Fair question. But not good enough.
"Connor's my best friend," I said, keeping my tone even. "He's like family. I want to make sure you're not going to cause trouble for him."
That did it.
She spun around, and I was struck again by the fire in those blue eyes holding the same defiance I'd seen outside my house. She stalked toward me, jaw set, color high in her cheeks, and that's when I really saw her for the first time.
Up close, the details I'd missed before became impossible to ignore.
She was thin—too thin. Not in a healthy, athletic way, but in a way that spoke of missed meals and stress that had eaten away at her from the inside out.
Her cheekbones were too prominent, casting shadows on her face even in the kitchen's warm light.
Dark circles lingered beneath her eyes, faint but unmistakable, like she hadn't slept properly in weeks. Maybe months.
She jabbed a finger into my chest with enough force to make her point. "You have no right to interrogate me," she said, her voice sharp as a blade. "If you're so concerned, tell Connor and see what he does."
She moved to brush past me, and I reacted without thinking. My arm shot out, hand gripping the doorframe to block her path.
She flinched.
Not just pulled back—she full-body flinched. Her breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut for just a fraction of a second before that defiant mask snapped back into place.
Shit.
The reaction hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew that kind of flinch. I'd seen it in the eyes of soldiers who'd been through hell, in the faces of people who'd learned the hard way that sudden movements meant pain.
Someone had hurt her. Badly.
A surge of something—anger on her behalf, guilt for triggering it, maybe both—rushed through me. I immediately lowered my arm, giving her space even though I didn't step aside.
"I already told him that," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface. "He didn't seem too worried and just said you were here to escape."
"Well, there's your answer then, isn't it?" she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. "And if Connor didn't deem you special enough to know more than he told you, maybe you should mind your own business."
I raised my eyebrows, watching her. The remark stung more than I wanted to admit, but she wasn't wrong. If Connor trusted her enough to bring her here, to give her refuge, then maybe I needed to back off.
She stepped forward, brushing past me, her shoulder grazing my arm as she made her way toward the stairs.
I watched her go, my mind churning over everything I'd just seen. That flinch. The walls she'd thrown up so quickly. The way she'd stood her ground even when she was clearly uncomfortable.
She was hiding something. Running from something. Someone.
And whatever it was, it had left marks. The kind that didn't show on the surface but ran deep nonetheless.
As she climbed the steps, I stood there in the doorway, questions piling up faster than I could process them. Connor obviously knew her story, trusted her enough to offer her sanctuary. That should've been enough for me.
Should've been. But I couldn't shake the image of that flinch, couldn't stop wondering what kind of hell she'd escaped to end up here. And why, despite my better judgment and every instinct telling me to keep my distance, I felt this pull to understand.
Let it go, Mercer. Not your problem. But even as I told myself that, even as I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, I knew I was lying to myself.
Anna was broken, that much was clear from the carefully constructed walls and the shadows in her eyes.
The question was: who had broken her?
And why did the thought of it make my hands curl into fists?