CHAPTER 26
Anna
"Are you sure everything's okay with you two?"
Harper's question hung in the air between us, her voice laced with concern as she glanced at me over the rim of her wineglass. We were sitting on the porch of Connor's house after everyone had left the cookout, the silence almost oppressive now that the laughter and chatter had faded.
The remnants of the evening, a few stray paper plates fluttering in the breeze, a forgotten beer bottle catching the dim porch light, were quiet reminders that the party had come and gone, leaving just the two of us.
I took my time before answering, watching the ice cubes clink against the sides of my glass as I swirled my drink.
The sound was oddly hypnotic, a small distraction from the question I didn't want to answer.
Harper's words hit a raw nerve, resonating with the doubt that had been gnawing at me since Jaxon returned from showing the police his cabin a couple of days ago.
A cold certainty settled in my chest: Something was wrong. Something had changed.
It was as if something fundamental had shifted between us.
Something I couldn't quite name but could feel in every silence, every glance that lingered too long or not long enough.
The evening air felt cooler than usual, prompting me to pull my jacket tighter around myself, but the chill seemed to come as much from within as from the night air.
The connection between Jaxon and me had changed. He wasn't cold exactly, but there was a definite distance, like an invisible wall had gone up between us. He was still around me, still followed me to the barn or stayed nearby when I worked with the horses. But it wasn't the same.
He rarely spoke unless I initiated the conversation.
His gaze, once playful and full of warmth, the way he'd look at me like I was something precious, now seemed distant, almost hesitant.
The subtle touches that had once felt as natural as breathing, the soft laughter that had brightened my day, the easy intimacy we'd built, all of it had become rare.
In its place was an uncomfortable silence that sat between us like a third person neither of us acknowledged.
I kept running the same questions through my mind: Had I done something wrong? Had I pushed too hard?
I wondered if it had to do with the break-in, or if something else was weighing on his mind.
When I'd suggested a trail ride yesterday, he'd asked me not to go, citing reasons that sounded more like excuses than real concern.
Something about wanting to stay close to the house, about not knowing if it was safe.
But the way he'd said it, the tension in his shoulders, the way he'd avoided my eyes—it all felt wrong.
The Jaxon I'd come to know, vibrant and attentive, protective in a way that made me feel cherished instead of controlled, seemed to have retreated into himself.
A guardedness had replaced his openness, leaving me feeling both frustrated and uncertain, constantly reaching for something that kept slipping away.
I wished I could talk to Connor about it. But even if we had told him about the break-in—which we hadn't—discussing my relationship with Jaxon over the phone felt too impersonal. Too far removed from the comfort of Connor's steady presence.
The porch, with its creaking wooden boards and the soft breeze carrying the scent of summer grass and distant pine, felt like a sanctuary where I could finally voice my doubts.
But even here, there was a lingering sense of apprehension, a weight pressing on my chest that made it hard to breathe deeply.
"It's... complicated," I finally said, my voice soft and tinged with hesitation I couldn't quite hide. The word 'complicated' felt like the understatement of the century.
"He's been through a lot, and I think he's just trying to process it all." The words felt hollow even as I said them. I was making excuses for him because I didn't want to face the alternative. Perhaps he regretted what had happened between us. "I just wish he would talk to me about it."
Harper nodded, her expression sympathetic as she sipped her wine. The gentle clinking of ice in my glass seemed to punctuate the quiet, a reminder of the silence that had settled between Jaxon and me like frost.
"Maybe he just needs a little time," Harper suggested, her eyes reflecting the dim glow of the porch light. "You know—to figure things out."
"Maybe..." I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair as the wood creaked beneath me.
My jacket, though warm, couldn't quite dispel the chill that lingered in my bones.
Inside, I could hear the faint sounds of Jaxon cleaning up, the water running, the soft clatter of dishes.
He was giving us privacy, ostensibly. But his absence felt intentional, like he was keeping his distance while still staying close enough to hear if we needed him.
Close but not too close. Present but not engaged.
It was becoming a pattern I couldn't ignore.
"Did you guys bang yet?"
I barely processed the question before Harper followed up, "Maybe he just needs a good bang session?" A mischievous smirk lit up her face, as if she'd just suggested something perfectly reasonable instead of completely outrageous.
The question caught me so off guard that I choked on the water I'd been sipping. It went down the wrong pipe, and my eyes widened as I doubled over, coughing violently. Each cough tore through my chest, my face heating with embarrassment and lack of oxygen.
Oh my God, she did not just—
Harper chuckled, patting my back with entirely too much amusement. "Breathe, Anna. Just breathe."
"Everything okay out here?"
Jaxon's voice came from the corner of the porch, low and edged with concern. I looked up through watering eyes to see him standing there, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight as he watched us. My coughing had drawn his attention, and he seemed ready to step in if needed.
His eyes, dark and searching in the dim light, flickered with concern as they moved between Harper and me, trying to assess the situation. Great. Perfect timing.
"Fine," I choked out, forcing a strained smile as I glanced at Jaxon, still trying to catch my breath. My voice came out rough, scratchy.
The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease fractionally as he saw me recover.
He gave me a small nod, just a dip of his chin, before turning back toward the grill area.
His steps were slow and deliberate, almost reluctant, as if he wanted to make sure everything was truly okay before walking away.
I watched him go, wondering if he just wanted an excuse to avoid being near me.
I finally caught my breath, the coughing subsiding as I took a deep inhale to steady myself. The cool air burned slightly as it slid down my throat. I gave Harper a light shove, my eyes wide with disbelief.
"Seriously, Harper?" I hissed, keeping my voice low so Jaxon wouldn't overhear. "You can't just ask things like that!"
Harper shrugged, that mischievous smirk still firmly in place, completely unrepentant. "Hey, just trying to help a friend out. Sometimes a little nudge in the right direction is all it takes." She waggled her eyebrows playfully, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
I shook my head, unable to hide a small grin despite my embarrassment.
Harper had a way of lightening the mood, even if it meant saying something completely inappropriate.
It was one of the reasons I valued her friendship so much.
She could find humor in the most awkward situations and wasn't afraid to push boundaries.
Even boundaries that probably shouldn't be pushed.
But as much as I appreciated her comic relief, I couldn't deny that Harper's outrageous comment held a kernel of truth.
Something had changed between Jaxon and me, a subtle shift in our dynamic that I couldn't quite place.
We'd slept in the same bed that night, wrapped in each other's arms, and it had felt perfect.
Safe. Right. And then he'd gone to show the police his cabin, and when he came back. .. Everything was different.
I sighed, trying to think of a way to articulate my worries without sounding like I was overthinking things, even though I knew I was.
It wasn't just the recent tension with Jaxon.
It was the uncertainty of our relationship, the sense that we were both tiptoeing around something we couldn't ignore much longer.
The fear gnawed at me that maybe I'd misread everything.
That maybe what felt earth-shattering to me had been just temporary to him.
"Maybe I should go home tonight," Harper suggested, her tone shifting to something more serious as she studied my expression. The teasing light in her eyes dimmed, replaced by genuine concern. "I think you should try to talk to him. He won't open up while I'm here."
I shook my head automatically, the response instinctive.
"It's already after nine, Harper. It'll take you over an hour to get home.
I don't want you driving that late." My voice was laced with concern, but it wasn't just about safety.
Harper's presence was a steadying force, a buffer between me and the conversation I was terrified to have.
As long as she was here, I could avoid confronting whatever was happening between Jaxon and me. A part of me knew I was being a coward.
Harper was undeterred. She leaned forward, placing her hand over mine where it rested on the arm of my chair. Her touch was warm, grounding. "I'm willing to do it if it helps you figure things out," she said softly, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
Her eyes were gentle, filled with the kind of compassion only a close friend could offer. "You look stressed, Anna. And I don't want to be in the way if you need to have a serious talk with him."