Page 89 of Shadows of Obsession

Just in case of what?

Before I could ask, he kissed me. Brief but steady, a gesture that said more than words ever could. Then he stepped back and moved toward the door.

I nodded, unable to speak, my heart sinking at the thought of being left alone. My fingers tightened around the pistol's grip until my knuckles turned white as I watched him walk out.

Through the window, I saw him use hand signals to communicate with the officers, directing them to follow him in his Jeep. He was professional. Efficient. Military.

As they drove away, his Jeep followed closely by the cruiser, I locked the door with trembling hands and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes.

The sigh that escaped me was heavy, a release of tension and helplessness I was all too familiar with. Just when things had started to feel like they were turning for the better, something had to come along and upend everything.This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.

I heard Chester's nails clicking against the hardwood floor as he padded down the hallway. He brushed against my leg, gazing up at me with those soulful eyes that seemed to sense every flicker of unease.

I knelt down, scratching behind his ears. The soft fur beneath my fingers, the warmth of his body, the gentle thump of his wagging tail, all of it grounded me in the smallest semblance of normalcy on a day that felt anything but.

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 aroundmyself, 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, therewas 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.