Page 25 of Shadows of Obsession

Jaxon grunted, running a hand through his tousled dark hair in frustration. It had already grown longer than when I first arrived, falling over his ears in a way that softened him.

"Anna, you've got to stop doing this," he said gruffly, meeting my eyes again.

His blunt words hit like a slap. Did he think I was reacting like this on purpose? Like it was some kind of manipulative game?

"Excuse me?" I shot back, my voice dripping with sarcasm as my defenses rose. "Do you seriously think I'm doing this on purpose?" I scoffed in disbelief, stepping away from the door to put more distance between us. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in.

"No, but you're not going to get over your past if you keep retreating into it every time something scares you," Jaxon said matter-of-factly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. The muscles in his forearms flexed with the movement, his shirt stretching around them, a reminder of the physical power he'd just used to restrain me.

My body tensed at his presumptuous words. "Wow, thanks for the advice, mister therapist," I shot back, my tone seething with biting irony. "I had no idea you had such helpful tips on trauma recovery."

Jaxon glared at me, his silence heavy and tense as the air thickened between us. A muscle ticked in his jaw, something I'd noticed he did when he was angry but trying to control it. With his jaw clenched tightly, he turned and headed out the sliding door into the backyard. I flinched instinctively, moving to the opposite side of the kitchen. My attempt to create physical and emotional space painfully obvious.

At the top of the steps, he picked up the fallen cooler, collecting the scattered drinks that had spilled onto the cobblestone with a series of metallic clanks. I watched him from behind the safety of the kitchen table, my fingers gripping the back of a chair so tightly that my knuckles turned white. He was wearing faded jeans that had seen better days, worn through at the knees, and his work boots were caked with dried mud.

His muscles were visibly taut, especially across his broad shoulders where the navy T-shirt pulled tight, and his expression remained dark and stormy as he worked.

"What are you doing?" I asked cautiously, my voice just loud enough to carry outside.

Jaxon paused, turning his head slightly to glance at me over his shoulder. The morning sun caught the side of his face, highlighting the stubble along his jaw that he hadn't bothered to shave. "I'm finishing what I came here to do," he replied, his tone sharp as a whip crack. He turned back to his task, his movements stiff and jerky with barely contained anger.

I exhaled softly. It was best to leave him alone for now and let the dust settle. I moved back inside, away from the palpable tension.

In the den, I surveyed the aftermath of the night before. A few things were out of place, coasters scattered across the coffee table, half-empty glasses left forgotten on the end tables. I started collecting the stray dishes, cradling them carefully in my arms, then headed back toward the kitchen.

As I entered, I saw Jaxon climbing the porch stairs and approaching the door, his face still set in a hard, unreadable expression. The tension in his shoulders hadn't eased at all. I placed the collected glasses in the sink just as he walked in, setting the heavy cooler on the counter near the fridge and methodically unloading the drinks back into it.

Jaxon glanced at me briefly, his gaze lingering for just a moment before looking away. Up close, I could see the dark circles under his eyes. He probably hadn't slept well. Then he muttered gruffly, "I'm leaving."

The words were as much a warning as they were a truce. He was letting me know I wouldn't have to worry about him lurking around and unsettling me further. With that, he slid the glass door shut firmly behind him, leaving me alone in the tense silence of the kitchen.

I slumped against the counter, letting out a long, shuddering sigh as I released the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

He wasn't entirely wrong. Some part of me knew I needed to get my shit together and stop letting my past dictate my present. It wasn't fair to put everyone else on edge because of my trauma. But how was I supposed to just get over everything that monster had done to me? It seemed impossible to forget all that pain and violation, even as I desperately hoped to build something new and safe here.

Maybe I should look into therapy.

Chester bounded in through the open back door, his tail wagging wildly as he happily led Connor into the kitchen. Connor's eyes lit up at the sight of his dog's enthusiasm, and he chuckled as he watched Chester interact affectionately with me. He was dressed for work—a burgundy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans, and his usual work boots. His light brown hair was still damp from a recent shower, and he smelled faintly of his usual cologne, something clean and slightly spicy.

He took in the noticeably cleaner state of the kitchen and turned his warm gaze toward me. "Looks like you've been busy. Did you clean all this up?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

I nodded, keeping my focus on Chester as I gently stroked his soft fur. "Yes, Jaxon came and helped." I averted my gaze, avoiding direct eye contact with Connor. The last thing I wanted was to talk about the tense altercation that had happened, the panic attack, the physical restraint, and everything else that came with my traumatic reaction.

Connor quirked an inquisitive brow, then shook his head with an amused smirk. "Well, that explains why he was pouting and storming off to his Jeep when I saw him. I swear, I don't get why you two can't seem to get along for more than five minutes."

He opened the fridge and took out a cold drink, glancing over at me curiously. I reluctantly looked back at him, our eyes meeting for a brief, loaded moment before I quickly shifted my gaze back down to Chester, running my fingers through his thick fur nervously.

The bickering and tension between Jaxon and me were clearly putting a strain on Connor, and I could sense the concern radiating off him in waves. I never intended to cause him any stress, and I didn't want to make things worse by telling him about the intense incident.

"I don't either," I said quietly, my voice small. "I'll try to make things better, Connor. I really don't want to cause you any trouble."

Connor's expression softened as he leaned back against the counter, popping open his drink can with a crisp hiss. "Anna, it's not trouble at all," he said honestly, his tone reassuring.

"I'm still sorry about it, either way," I reiterated, finally looking up at Connor again, my eyes sincere. Glancing at the kitchen clock and realizing it was still relatively early, I raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, curious why he wasn't at work.

Connor gave a small nod, acknowledging my apology, then explained, "I actually saw something I thought you might like to see, so I took a photo of it. I went to send it to you but then realized you don't have a phone anymore." He paused, letting that sink in. "It's been two weeks since you've been here now. I think it's time to get you set up with a phone. Just in case you need to reach me or anyone else while you're out on the property."

My body tensed instinctively, my mind racing with suspicion and fear that getting a phone might somehow lead Daniel right to me again. Connor seemed to sense my hesitation and raised a placating hand—a gesture so characteristic of him, always trying to smooth things over.