Chapter 156: Jaxon

Chapter 156: Jaxon
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary as I pull up the dirt road to the house. It still feels weird—driving something so small, so...yellow. The thing barely has any power, and every bump in the road makes it rattle like it might fall apart. It’s a far cry from the cars I used to drive—blacked-out, top-of-the-line machines that could outrun almost anything. This? This is the kind of car someone normal would own.

I try to remind myself that’s exactly the point.

I’m not Jaxon Steele, the Black Viper weapon anymore. Not their enforcer. Not their monster. I’m just Jaxon now. Jaxon, who lives in Portugal. Jaxon, who runs errands in a too-small, too-yellow car. Jaxon, who has a girl waiting for him at home.

Home.

I roll the word around in my mind as I turn off the ignition, staring at the house for a second. It still doesn’t feel real. Nothing about this does. The quiet. The clean air. The way people at the store weren’t constantly looking over their shoulders or carrying weapons they thought no one could see. I was still a little on edge—watching, scanning, ready—but it was different here. The beauty of the place, the warmth, the way life seemed slower… it was hard not to feel something close to peace.

Maybe this is what happiness feels like.

I don’t know. I’ve never really felt it before. But if it is, I have a feeling that living life with Paige is going to teach me how to recognize it.

I grab the grocery bags and step out of the car, making my way up to the house. When I get inside, she isn’t in the kitchen or the living room, so I move toward the balcony doors, pushing them open quietly.

She’s there.

Standing by the railing, staring out at the ocean, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding something inside.

Something breaks in me at the sight of her.

She looks so small compared to the endless stretch of blue in front of her, but she belongs here. With the sun kissing her skin, the wind playing with her hair, the sea stretching beyond her like it was made for her to look at.

And then I see the tears in her eyes.

My stomach tightens, my body moving before I even think about it. I step behind her, close enough that my presence wraps around her like a shield. “Paige?”

My voice is lower than I mean for it to be, rough with concern. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t turn to face me. She keeps looking at the water, blinking fast, like she’s trying to keep the tears from falling.

“Nothing,” she whispers. Then, after a shaky breath, “That’s the point.”

I exhale slowly, something heavy lifting off my chest.

She’s not upset. She’s overwhelmed.

She’s happy.

And for some reason, that realization makes my throat feel tight.

I move closer, letting my hands slide gently around her waist, pulling her back against me. I rest my chin lightly on top of her head, letting her breathe, letting her take this in. I can feel the tension in her shoulders start to melt, like she’s finally allowing herself to believe this is real. That she’s safe. That we made it.

And then, because I want to see that smile of hers, because I want to make this moment even better, I lean down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Let me make it even better,” I murmur. “I’ll cook you something.”

She pulls back slightly, tilting her head up at me with raised brows. “You? Cooking?”

I smirk. “I told you I could.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

I roll my eyes, nudging her toward the door. “Come on, princess. Sit your pretty ass down and let me prove you wrong.”

She follows me inside, her laughter soft, like she’s still in awe that this is our life now. She perches herself on the kitchen counter, her legs swinging slightly as she watches me start pulling out ingredients.

I glance at her as I set a pack of chicken down. “Chicken Parmesan.”

Her eyes light up. “Fancy.”

I smirk. “Only the best for you.”

I grab the apron hanging near the counter, shaking it out before tying it around my waist. Paige snickers from her spot on the kitchen island, watching me with amusement, her green eyes dancing.

"You look adorable," she teases, resting her chin in her palm.

I give her a deadpan look. "Say that again, and I’m making you instant noodles instead."

She presses her lips together, like she's trying to contain a laugh, but I can still see the shake of her shoulders.

I turn away before she can make me smirk and get to work. The kitchen is small but perfect—white-washed walls, tiled counters with earthy terracotta tones, and shelves lined with ceramic dishes and glass jars filled with spices. The window above the sink is cracked open, letting in the warm, salty air from outside.

First, I grab the chicken breasts from the bag and unwrap them, reaching for a cutting board and a sharp knife. Paige watches, her legs swinging lightly.

"Are you about to prove you're a secret five-star chef?" she asks.

I smirk, flattening the chicken with the palm of my hand before slicing through it. "I wouldn’t go that far."

She hums like she doesn’t believe me.

I move efficiently, seasoning the chicken with salt, pepper, and some oregano before setting up the breading station—flour, eggs, and a plate of golden breadcrumbs mixed with grated parmesan. Paige watches as I dip each piece in flour, then egg, then coat it in the crispy mixture.

"You’re really not messing around," she murmurs, stealing a piece of cheese from the block next to me.

I shoot her a look, but she just grins.

Once the chicken is ready, I heat up a pan with olive oil, the scent filling the air almost instantly. The moment the first piece of chicken hits the pan, it sizzles loud, the golden crust forming as I press it down with the back of the spatula.

Paige leans forward, inhaling deeply. "Okay, I have to admit, this smells incredible."

I glance over at her. "Told you."

She sticks her tongue out at me.

I shake my head, turning back to flip the chicken. The crust is perfectly golden brown. Satisfied, I move on to the sauce—crushed tomatoes, fresh garlic, a bit of basil, and a touch of red pepper flakes for heat. The smell intensifies as it simmers, rich and mouthwatering.

Paige is watching me so intently now, eyes darting between my hands and the pan like she’s studying me. Or maybe just waiting for her food.

"You’re really into this," she notes, her voice softer now.

I pause for a second, thinking about that.

I guess I am. There’s something calming about it. About the process. About making something from nothing. About the fact that I get to feed her. Take care of her in this way.

Instead of answering, I smirk and lift the spoon to her lips. "Taste."

She leans forward without hesitation, her mouth closing over the spoon as she hums in satisfaction. Her eyes flutter shut, and she groans dramatically.

"Jaxon."

I raise an eyebrow. "That good?"

She swallows and grips the counter like she needs to steady herself. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again."

I chuckle, shaking my head as I ladle the sauce over the crispy chicken and top it with thick slices of mozzarella before sliding it into the oven.

While it bakes, I cook some pasta on the side, then plate everything when it’s ready. When I finally set the plate in front of her, she doesn't even hesitate before digging in, cutting a piece of chicken, swirling it in the sauce, and taking a bite.

The second she does, her eyes go wide, and she lets out another groan.

"Jaxon."

I smirk, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. "Yeah?"

She points her fork at me, eyes blazing with something close to betrayal. "This is insane. You’ve been hiding this from me?"

I chuckle. "Didn’t exactly have a kitchen in the places we’ve been."

She ignores me, taking another bite, then another, practically devouring the food.

I watch her, my chest tightening, my stomach feeling...light. She looks so happy, eating something I made for her, letting herself enjoy it without worry.

Maybe this is what normal feels like.

And maybe, just maybe, I could get used to it.