Page 24 of Shadows of Obsession
With a soft clearing of his throat, Jaxon broke the silence. "I should probably head back downstairs. The party's winding down, and I want to help Connor clean up. Will you be coming back down?"
I hesitated, the thought of returning to the party suddenly overwhelming. "I think I'll stay up here."
Jaxon nodded, his expression softening as he stood. "Of course. I'll let Connor know you're okay, that you just needed some space."
With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. I was alone once more, the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation drifting up from downstairs.
Slowly, I stood from the reading nook and moved to the bed, sinking down onto the soft mattress with a weary sigh. My mind replayed the events of the night. The strained dynamics between Connor and Morgan, the undercurrents of tension, the thoughtful warning from Harper.
It was a lot to process. But even amidst the chaos of my thoughts, one thing stood out with startling clarity. The steady, reassuring presence of Jaxon, and the way he seemed to understand me in a way no one else quite could.
CHAPTER 8
Anna
The morning after the cookout, I decided to clean the kitchen for Connor. Jaxon had made good on his promise to help him tidy up after everyone left, but there was still plenty to do. I let Chester outside through the back door, leaving it open so he could come back in when he was ready, then opened windows throughout the house, letting the cool summer air and a light breeze freshen the stuffy rooms.
The guys had tackled about half the dishes before calling it a night, so I started by emptying the dishwasher and refilling it with the grimy plates and glasses scattered around the kitchen. I handwashed whatever wouldn't fit, sleeves rolled up as I scrubbed away caked-on food. Outside by the fire pit, I dumped the coolers of melted ice water and pulled out the unused drinks, stacking them into another cooler to bring inside and dry off later.
As I headed back toward the kitchen with the heavy cooler in hand, Chester, gleefully sprinting around the yard, suddenly darted toward me, tail wagging wildly. My attention was fixed on him, so I didn't notice the tall figure stepping through the sliding door.
Before I knew it, I collided headfirst with Jaxon's broad chest.
The cooler crashed to the ground with a loud thud, cans rolling everywhere. Fear gripped me as Jaxon's strong hands shot out, grabbing my upper arms to steady me before I could stumble backward down the steps. But his touch sent alarm bells blaring in my mind, triggering an instinctive fight-or-flight response.
No. Not again.
My heart raced. My palms slicked with sweat. Panic overrode reason, and I struggled, my knee connecting hard with Jaxon's thigh.
He grunted in pain, reflexes kicking in as he pulled me into the kitchen and pressed my back against the door, using his weight to contain my flailing. I registered the worn fabric of his navy T-shirt, the solid heat of his body, the way his chest rose and fell with exertion—but none of it mattered.
Because I wasn't there anymore.
The harsh buzz of fluorescent lights filled the air as Daniel's fingers clamped around my upper arms. His grip was vise-like, crushing, sending pain radiating down to my wrists. The harder I tried to wriggle free, the more he pinned me against the rough living room wall—the wood cool against my back but searing against my mind.
"Where do you think you're going?" he growled, hot breath hitting my face in harsh bursts. The words were familiar, a rhetorical accusation demanding obedience, not an answer. Daniel's eyes, once warm and inviting, now bore into mine with a darkness that seemed endless.
My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the TV. The stench of whiskey clung to his breath, mingling with sweat—a scent I'd come to associate with danger, with his sudden shifts from charm to fury.
He squeezed tighter, bruising my arms, my knees beginning to buckle. "Don't even think about leaving," he snarled, voice low and threatening. "You know what happens when you try."
But I hadn't tried to leave, just reached for something in my purse. In his mind, any movement away from him was defiance, betrayal—and he wouldn't tolerate that. He pressed harder, chest to chest, the weight of his anger holding me captive.
The pain was sharp, like needles, his fingers digging into my skin. It was the kind of pain that demanded submission, and I knew from experience that resistance only made things worse.
"Anna, stop!"
The deep voice cut through my panic like a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink. The scent hit me first—clean soap, woodsy cedar, and faint coffee. Not sweat and whiskey. I blinked, disoriented, as the fluorescent lights faded and the kitchen came back into focus.
Jaxon. Not Daniel.
He loosened his grip, his calloused hands sliding up to cradle my flushed face, forcing me to meet his gaze. Those blue eyes, worry etched in the creases at the corners, locked onto mine with an intensity that was nothing like Daniel's dark stare. He kept close, using his weight to steady me in case I bolted again.
"Look at me," he said, his voice gentler now, coaxing me out of the fog. He held my frantic eyes with his, making sure I saw him—really saw him. Not the ghost from my past.
When realization finally dawned, a soft whimper escaped my lips, and my body sagged as the fight drained from me. Jaxon eased his hold, stepping back carefully to give me space as I leaned against the door, breath shallow and uneven. The navy fabric of his shirt was wrinkled where I'd grabbed it, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his tanned forearms.
"I'm sorry," I sighed, avoiding his gaze by staring up at the ceiling, cheeks flushed with residual adrenaline and embarrassment.