Page 22 of Shadows of Obsession

"Just me and Jaxon," Connor replied, gesturing toward the open window where the distant clinking of dishes drifted in from outside. "We're getting things ready. Wanted to remind you that you're not obligated to join us if you don't want to."

I appreciated his kindness. The way he respected my space without pushing, but I knew I couldn't hide forever. The world wasn't made for isolation, and the sooner I faced the noise, the sooner I might begin to find my place within it.

Pushing the feeling aside, I rose from my seat, setting my book down on the cushion. "I'll come help you," I said, following Connor out of the room.

As I descended the stairs, a flicker of uncertainty tugged at me. A momentary longing for the quiet safety of my room. But I pushed forward, determined to face whatever lay ahead, even if it meant stepping out of my comfort zone.

When we entered the kitchen, Connor headed outside, leaving me to take in the impressive spread laid out before me. Trays of marinated meat lined the counter, waiting to be taken to the grill, while an array of colorful salads, savory sides, crisp chips, and condiments covered every available inch of the rustic wooden table.

And there, standing at the counter with his back to me, was Jaxon. His broad shoulders were slightly hunched as his hands moved with surprising skill, spreading a rich, tangy barbecue sauce onto a tray ofplump chicken breasts. It was a rare glimpse behind the gruff, stoic exterior he usually presented to the world, a quiet moment of vulnerability that caught me off guard.

For a long moment, I simply stood there, watching him work. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way he moved. His strong, calloused hands applying the sauce with a gentle precision that seemed at odds with his rough-hewn image. The sight of him engaged in such a domestic task stirred something deep within me, a warmth that spread through my chest and left me suddenly breathless.

Lost in my observations, my heart beating a little faster than usual, I didn't realize I was staring until Jaxon suddenly looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking with mine across the kitchen.

Time seemed to slow as we gazed at each other in silence, the air between us growing thick with tension, electric and undeniable.

Jaxon's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise and something else, something harder to define, dancing in their depths. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but then he caught himself, his jaw clenching as he quickly looked away, a faint flush coloring his tanned cheeks.

I felt my own face warm, embarrassed to have been caught staring but also strangely thrilled by the brief connection we'd shared, the unspoken understanding that passed between us.

Clearing my throat, I stepped further into the kitchen, my footsteps whispering against the cool tile floor. Straightening my shoulders, I tried to sound composed. "What can I do to help?" I asked, my voice sounding overly loud in the stillness of the room.

Jaxon glanced up at me, his expression carefully guarded, his blue eyes shuttered and unreadable once more. "I think Connor's got everything under control," he said, his tone neutral, almost dismissive. "You don't have to trouble yourself."

Irritation flashed through me. My eyes narrowed as I met his gaze head-on.It was just like Jaxon to brush me off, to act as if my presence was nothing more than an inconvenience.I opened my mouth to retort, to tell him exactly what I thought of his attitude, but before I could utter a word, Connor appeared in the doorway, his arms laden with heavy bags of ice.

"Anna!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Could you grab the coolers from the barn and start filling them up with the ice? We're going to need a lot of cold drinks for tonight."

Grateful for the distraction, for the chance to escape the suffocating tension that had settled over the kitchen, I nodded. I shot Jaxon a quick, defiant glance before turning on my heel and heading for the barn. As I walked away, I could feel the weight of his gaze lingering on my back.

As I busied myself filling the coolers with ice, the distant rumble of an approaching car snagged my attention. I straightened, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, the heat of the day still holding firm even as the sun lowered. My gaze flicked toward the front of the house, a spark of hope igniting within me. Maybe it was one of the ranch hands I already knew, someone who could help ease the tension of mingling with strangers.

To my dismay, the figure rounding the corner was nothing I expected. A striking blonde woman—tall, poised, and composed—emerged into view like a mirage shimmering in the heat. Her blonde hair, cut just above the shoulders, was styled to perfection, each strand meticulously placed. The woman's coordinated attire exuded an elegance that clashed with the rustic backdrop. Her outfit, a tailored blue blouse and perfectly creased trousers, was clearly the work of a high-end designer, a stark reminder that some people came from money and weren't shy about displaying it.

Shielded by large dark sunglasses, she moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her steps sure and purposeful as if she owned the very ground beneath her feet. Even in this rural setting, she carried herself as though she belonged in a grand estate.

Connor stepped out from the side door, his expression brightening at the sight of the newcomer. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he descended the porch steps and met her halfway. They exchanged a private conversation that escaped my ears, their voices low and intimate, their heads bent close together as if sharing a secret.

The woman's gaze drifted toward me, an inscrutable expression crossing her face as she took in the sight of me, a stranger in her midst.

As Connor guided the woman toward me, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back, I pretended to focus on the cooler, my hands busy with the ice. But my eyes kept drifting toward them. The sight of them together, the way she leaned into his touch, the soft murmur of their voices, felt oddly out of place. Was this a girlfriend? A friend from out of town? Connor had never mentioned a woman in his life, at least not in a way that hinted at romantic ties. Yet here she was, at ease in Connor's world, her familiarity with him speaking of something deeper.

"Anna, this is my friend Morgan," Connor introduced, his smile wavering somewhere between hopeful and hesitant. "Morgan, this is Anna."

Friend?I was Connor’s friend and certainly didn’t act like that with him.

I extended my hand, masking my confusion at Connor's choice of words. The term felt inadequate, a half-truth that concealed more than it revealed. Morgan shook my hand with a firm, confident grip. Her murmured greeting was polite but distant, her expression assessing, as though she were sizing me up and finding me lacking.

As Connor ushered Morgan inside, Jaxon emerged from the house, arms laden with cases of beer. His glare toward Morgan was sharp, laced with tension that couldn't be ignored. Setting the cases down near me, he began filling one of the coolers with an air of agitation.

"Don't trust her," Jaxon muttered, barely loud enough for me to catch.

I leaned in, intrigued by his guarded tone. "Why? What's going on?"

Jaxon's lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes darted toward the house. "Connor's been obsessed with her since last year. He thinks she's the one, thinks he's in love with her. But she doesn't feel the same way. She's playing him, keeping him around, but she's got no intention of committing."

I frowned, my mind spinning. The Connor I knew was straightforward—a man of his word. "Then why does he keep seeing her if it's that one-sided? Maybe there's more to their relationship than you realize."