I take a couple of steps toward the gazebo, thinking I might sit down and rest for a minute, before I realize that it’s already occupied by Lia—and Jaxon.
16
Sometimes Keeping
Your Enemies Close
Is the Only Thing that
Prevents Hypothermia
Damn it.
I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go running like a scared rabbit the next time I saw Jaxon, but this doesn’t exactly seem like the time to hang around. Not when everything about their conversation screams intense. And—more importantly—private.
The way his and Lia’s bodies are angled toward each other but aren’t actually touching.
The rigidness of their shoulders.
How they’re both completely wrapped up in whatever the other one is saying.
There’s a part of me that wishes I were closer, wishes I could hear what they’re talking about even though it is absolutely none of my business. Still, any people who look as grim and angry as these two do obviously have some kind of problem, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to know what it is.
I’m not sure why it matters so much to me, except there’s an intimacy to their fighting that makes my stomach hurt. Which is absurd, considering I barely know Jaxon. And considering that two of the four times we’ve run into each other, he’s blown past me like I don’t even exist.
That in and of itself is a pretty big hint that he wants nothing to do with me.
Except I keep remembering the look on his face when he chased those guys away from me the first night. The way his pupils were all blown out when he touched my face and wiped the drop of blood from my lips.
The way his body brushed against mine and it felt like everything inside me was holding its breath, just waiting for a chance to come alive.
We didn’t feel like strangers then.
Which is probably why I keep watching him and Lia, against my better judgment.
They’re arguing fiercely now, so much so that I can hear their raised voices, even as far away as I am. I’m not close enough to actually make out the words, but I don’t need to know what they’re saying to know just how furious they both are.
And that’s before Lia lashes out at him, her open palm cracking against his scarred cheek hard enough to have Jaxon’s head flying back. He doesn’t hit her in return. In fact, he doesn’t do anything at all until her palm comes flying at his face again.
This time, he catches her wrist in his hand and holds tight as she struggles to pull away. She’s screaming full-out now, harsh sounds of rage and agony that claw their way inside me and bring tears to my eyes.
I know those sounds. I know the agony that causes them and the rage that makes it impossible to contain them. I know how they come from deep inside and how they leave your throat—and your soul—shredded in their wake.
Instinctively, I take a step toward her—toward them—galvanized by Lia’s pain and the barely leashed violence that hangs in the air between them. But the wind picks up as I take that first step, and suddenly they’re both turning and staring at me with flat black eyes that send a chill straight through me. A chill that has nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with Jaxon and Lia and the way they’re looking at me.
Like they’re the predators and I’m the prey they can’t wait to sink their teeth into.
I tell myself that I’m just spooked, but it doesn’t help me shake the weird feeling, even as I give them both a little wave. I thought Lia and I might be becoming friends yesterday—especially when she suggested doing mani-pedis together—but it’s obvious that friendship doesn’t extend to whatever is happening here. Which is fine. The last thing I want to do is get in the middle of a fight between two people who obviously have some kind of history together. But I also don’t want to leave them alone if their fight has deteriorated to her hitting him and him grabbing her in self-defense.
All of which leaves me unsure of what I’m supposed to do now, stuck where I am, an awkward guard staring at both of them in an effort to prevent I-don’t-know-what while they stare right back at me.
But when Jaxon drops Lia’s wrist and takes a couple of steps toward me, the same panic that hit me yesterday at the party slams through me again. As does the same odd fascination I’ve had from the beginning. I don’t know what it is about him, but every time I catch sight of him, I feel something tug at me I can’t identify, something I have no ability to explain.
He advances a few more steps, and my heart kicks up another notch or fifty. Still, I stand my ground—I ran from Jaxon once. I’m not going to do it a second time.