CHAPTER 9 #3
Through the windshield, I watched Jaxon dial Connor's number.
His free hand rubbed the back of his neck, a sign he was truly wound up.
His eyes swept the street with the same restless energy I'd seen all day, like he expected trouble to step out of the shadows at any moment.
I couldn't hear his voice through the closed door, but the hard set of his mouth and the rigidity in his posture told me enough.
When he ended the call and slid into the driver's seat, he gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. The cab seemed to shrink with his presence. His cedar scent thicker now, mixing with the leather interior and something sharper beneath it: sweat, adrenaline, unease.
I couldn't hold my tongue any longer.
"Why are you acting like we're in imminent danger? It's broad daylight, and we're in the middle of town," I snapped, the heat of my own anxiety mingling with his, sparking into something volatile.
Jaxon didn't flinch. His gaze shifted toward me, those intense blue eyes steady and unreadable.
"You, of all people, should know that danger can lurk anywhere, at any time," he said, his voice low and unyielding. "After what you went through with your ex, you should be more vigilant."
His words hit like a slap.
The mention of Daniel sent a chill down my spine and made me flinch. A familiar wave of helplessness surged through me, one I had been fighting hard to keep buried. I didn't want to be defined by fear anymore. But here it was again, pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe.
"I can't spend my life looking over my shoulder," I murmured, barely louder than a whisper. "I refuse to let him control me, even if he's not around."
My hands trembled in my lap, subtle, but undeniable. The physical toll of my emotions always gave me away, no matter how hard I tried to hold it together.
Jaxon's expression softened. He looked away for a moment, then back at me.
His hand hovered between us for a second, uncertain, before gently resting on my shoulder.
I noticed the roughness of his palm, the calluses, the slight tremble in his fingers.
The warmth of his touch seeped through the fabric of my shirt, grounding me.
"I get it," he said quietly, his voice gentler now, edged with something almost tender. "But it's okay to be cautious. After everything you've been through, it's natural to be a little jumpy."
His words reminded me I wasn't alone. That someone saw the scars I carried, even if they weren't visible.
I opened my mouth to respond, but my words caught in my throat as movement outside the truck caught my attention. My head turned sharply toward the sidewalk.
Connor and Morgan were approaching, deep in conversation, their body language relaxed and casual, a stark contrast to the thick tension hanging in the truck.
Morgan was dressed impeccably, as always, in a cream-colored designer sundress.
Gold jewelry glittered at her ears and wrists, pieces that probably cost more than my entire truck.
Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place despite the gentle breeze. She looked effortless. Untouched.
I envied them. Envied the ease in their steps, the way they moved through the world without the weight of past trauma trailing behind them like a shadow.
Connor's expression shifted as he neared.
His easy stride slowed, concern sharpening his features as he took in the stiff line of Jaxon's shoulders and whatever he saw lingering in my eyes.
His white button-down was slightly rumpled now, one sleeve pushed up higher than the other.
He stepped up to the driver's side window, his tone tinged with concern.
"Everything okay?" he asked, his honey-colored eyes flicking between the two of us. "I got your call, sounded like something was up."
His brow furrowed as he studied Jaxon, clearly trying to read him. Then his gaze shifted to me. I met it with a practiced smile—polished, convincing. A mask I'd worn countless times since escaping Daniel. It seemed to satisfy him, though the furrow in his brow didn't completely disappear.
Jaxon didn't break eye contact with Connor. His voice was steady but flat.
"It's fine," he said, downplaying the tension. "Just checking how much longer you'd be."
But there was a strain under the words that couldn't be ignored. It was in the tight line of his jaw, the way he kept glancing at the rearview mirror, at the street behind us.
Connor hesitated, clearly not convinced, but nodded. "Alright," he said slowly. "I'm ready to head back anyway. How about you?"
There was an effort in his voice, a lightness, a casual tone meant to smooth over the rough edges in the air. It almost worked.
I could still feel the tension vibrating off Jaxon.
The way his hands flexed on the steering wheel, the muscle ticking in his cheek, the occasional glance into the side mirror.
He was far from relaxed, and though Connor and Morgan appeared untouched by whatever haunted Jaxon and me, that sense of unease still lingered, clinging like smoke.
Choosing not to dwell on it, I opened the truck door and stepped out, plastering on a smile that felt too tight.
"Yeah, we're all done," I said with a cheerful tone that didn't quite reach my eyes. My voice sounded too bright, too practiced. "How was lunch?"
Connor brightened, clearly eager to move past the moment. He launched into a summary of their meal—describing the dishes, the atmosphere of the restaurant, even a funny moment with the waiter. I smiled, nodded, and chimed in with laughter at the right moments.
But underneath it all, a quiet unease still tugged at the edges of my mind. A soft whisper that the shadows weren't gone. They were just waiting.