Chapter 52 A HOLE IN HIS HEAD"
My eyes fluttered open sluggishly, the heaviness of exhaustion clinging to my lids, dragging them shut again as my body begged for more sleep. I groaned softly but forced my eyes open, refusing to sink back into it.
How long have I been out?
The thought barely formed before panic stirred. I reached around blindly for my phone, patting the bed, the sheets, my pockets—but it wasn’t there. My heart skipped as my gaze swept the room until I spotted it resting neatly on the desk across the room.
That was when it hit me.
Wasn’t I supposed to be resting on that desk?
Confusion crashed into me all at once. My hands slid into my hair as I tried—failed—to remember how I ended up on the bed. His bed. I knew for a fact I hadn’t climbed into it myself.
I shot upright immediately and scrambled out of it, my movements hurried and almost guilty. I straightened the sheets, smoothing the covers and arranging the pillows exactly the way I remembered seeing them earlier, as if that could erase the evidence of my presence.
I just hope they’re done with the interviews so we can leave already.
Grabbing my phone, I checked the time—and froze.
5:10 p.m.
For a moment, I stared at the screen, convinced it was wrong. Maybe my phone was malfunctioning. Maybe the time hadn’t updated.
Because how on earth did I sleep for six fucking hours?
“You seem to have enjoyed your sleep. In my house. On my bed.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I spun around sharply, my heart pounding, to find Jaxon leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded, a slow, knowing smirk plastered across his face. How long had he been standing there? And how did he walk in without making a sound?
“You know,” he continued, clearly amused, “for someone who considers me her enemy, I didn’t expect that.”
My jaw tightened instantly, teeth grinding together as irritation flared. “You were the one who moved me from the desk to the bed, weren’t you?” I snapped, watching his face closely, daring him to deny it.
He pushed himself off the door and started walking toward me.
That was when I really noticed him.
He wasn’t wearing the suit from earlier. Instead, he had on a fitted white compression long-sleeve that clung to every sculpted muscle, paired with loose pants and sneakers. He looked infuriatingly relaxed—like someone about to step into a sports campaign or model effortlessly without trying.
And somehow, that only made my annoyance burn hotter.
I rolled my eyes at him in pure disgust. What a show-off.
“Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?” he asked. The smirk that had been playing on his lips vanished, replaced by something I couldn’t quite name.
“You could have woken me up instead of trying to be generous when nobody asked for it,” I fired back. We stood there, facing each other—my eyes shooting daggers while his remained infuriatingly calm.
I hated it.
I hated how he could ignite something fierce and unsteady inside me and still look completely unfazed by it. The mere thought of him carrying me to that bed made my skin burn with embarrassment, and I knew I was covering it with attitude because I refused to let him see it.
“Oh, I get it. I had no idea why I moved you and tucked you into my bed,” he said, his gaze locking onto mine as he continued. Then his next words hit me like a slap, leaving my eyes wide and my breath caught.
“You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping that I spent hours watching you. And seeing you in my bed brought back a memory I can’t quite describe.”
The way he said it—so casually, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes—made my chest tighten. What was his deal?
Was he deliberately pretending not to know me? Pretending our night never happened? Pretending he didn’t walk out on me the next morning like I meant nothing?
“With that expression on your face,” he added, that same unsettling smile still there, “you almost look like you understand the memory I’m talking about, even without me explaining it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t understand a single thing you just blabbered,” I snapped. “Or are you suddenly searching for your lost memories, Mr. Lennox?” I matched his tone, refusing to back down.
“Well, the doctors say I have a pretty big hole in my head,” he replied lightly, a strange excitement crossing his face as his smile widened. “Apparently, when I get hit hard enough, I forget most of my memories. Isn’t that incredible?”
I stared at him, completely dumbfounded.
What on earth was he talking about?
“That’s why I’m going to ask you again, Miss Nancy Carter,” he said, his voice lowering as he stepped closer, bending slightly to meet my height. The forced smile vanished entirely.
“Have we met before? Was it in Brookleigh? Westcliffe? Highmoor?”
I stared at him, my mind racing. Part of me waited—almost dared him—to say Hollowmere. Maybe then I’d tell him the truth, since he seemed so desperate to know.
But his next words stopped me cold and made me think twice.
“I have never been to Hollowmere,” he said evenly, “except when I was a kid… then two years ago for business, and now.”
I just stared at him.
He doesn’t remember being here five years ago?
“Let me ask you something,” I said slowly. “Have you ever been hit very hard on the head before—hard enough to lose your memories?”
His reaction was immediate. His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as his eyes darkened into something cold and unreadable.
“I’m guessing you have,” I added quietly.
Then, just as suddenly, a smile crossed his face.
“I remembered what was most important,” he said, stepping back to create a reasonable distance between us. “That’s what matters.”
Yeah. Right.
What matters.
So he remembered only the things that mattered and discarded the rest like they were nothing.
In that moment, I couldn’t even begin to describe the storm of emotions tearing through me. He had forgotten the night that brought Renna into this world, and somehow he had convinced himself that those lost memories were unimportant.
My anger boiled.
I never wanted him to know about Renna. I never planned to tell him. But deep down, I knew the truth—one day, Renna would ask about her father. And then what? What was I supposed to tell my child?
Still… maybe it was better this way.
I was almost grateful that someone had done me the favor of knocking those memories out of his head.
He doesn’t deserve to know Renna.
He doesn’t deserve to know she exists—let alone that she is his.
Jaxon’s POV
I stared at her, and even from a distance I could see it—too many emotions clashing in her eyes at once. Anger. Resentment. Pain.
All of it directed at me.
And I hated it.
I hated that this was all I ever saw when she looked at me.
After that memory—the fragmented vision that came crashing into my mind—I couldn’t breathe. It took me a whole fucking hour before I could think straight again. The details were blurry, incomplete, but the feeling… the feeling refused to leave me.
It clung to my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.
Was I losing my mind?
I waited beside her while she slept, hoping—desperate—to trigger that vision again. But it never came. So I thought confronting her would help.
Instead, it only made things worse.
“We have never met before,” she said sharply. “Those cities you mentioned—I’ve never been to them. And what could possibly exist between a cop and a rich, spoiled brat who walks all over people just because he can?”
Her words cut deeper than I expected.
“All I want right now is to find Ravyn Vale so you can get out of my sight,” she continued, her voice shaking with fury. “You and people like you make me sick.”
With that, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard it felt like it echoed through my bones.
“Rich, spoiled brat?” I muttered to myself, staring at the door like it had personally offended me.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration knotting tight in my chest. I didn’t understand why she affected me this much.
Why everything about her set me on edge.
I turned toward my wardrobe, grabbed two hoodies, and threw one on before heading downstairs after her.
If she was going to stay in my space, then she was going to follow my rules.
Whether she liked it or not.