Page 117 of Big Dill

Brody

After two very long weeks of sleeping on the couch, Jaxon isn’t the only one in need of physiotherapy. Unfortunately, I’m the only physiotherapist in town, and working on yourself is a special kind of torture. A contortionist, I am not.

I haven’t seen much of Jami beyond our daily practices. She’s been running herself ragged—yoga at dawn, sewing late into the night. We even built her a rack at the front of the store to sell her merch. Add childcare to the list, and as of last night, the news that her apartment is finally ready. She can move out today.

As I roll off the couch, groaning while I shove myself upright, the conversation from the night Jaxon came home from Lab City loops through my mind.

Jesus, I wanted to ask her to stay.

Not just stay—move here for good. Live with me. Hell, Jaxon can find his own place.

But I didn’t say it. I couldn’t. I won’t ask her to stay only to regret it later. I’ve personally seen what regret does to people in this town. It makes them leave. And if she stayed because I nudged, persuaded, or boxed her in…that ends the same way.

The decision has to be hers.

“Morning,” Jaxon says as he comes down the stairs. “Bet you’re happy this is your last night on the couch.”

“You got that right.” Though when I get back to my bed, I know exactly who I’ll wish was in it with me. Not something I can say to Jaxon.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“Strong.”

He nods toward the stairs. “Go shower. I’ll make breakfast.”

With my muscles protesting every step, I lumber upstairs and push open my bedroom door. Jami’s things are boxed. She must’ve packed up and left the house early, like she has every morning this week. I dimly remember hearing the door close.

Tonight’s my birthday, Ma’s got a celebration planned, and at the very least I’ll get to spend some time with Jami. I can’t touch her, but later…she might need help settling into her new apartment.

I shower fast, pull on pants and a button-down, and head back downstairs feeling marginally less ancient. In the kitchen, Jaxon butters toast and slides a generous heap of scrambled eggs onto a plate before setting it in front of me.

“Thanks.” He turns back to grab his own plate. “You’re wielding those crutches like a pro,” I tell him.

“I’ll be glad to be off them.”

“Soon.” His physio and strength classes are going well, though he’s pushing harder than I’d like. But this is Jaxon. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably be doing the same damn thing.

He sits across from me, stares into his coffee for a long moment, then says, “I think Jami’s been working too hard.”

My hand stills, fork hovering inches from my mouth. “I think she’s just trying to find herself. Find her purpose so she can get back on her feet.”

“What does back on her feet look like?” he asks, his brow furrowing. Before I can answer, he continues, “She’s gone before I wake up and doesn’t come home until after I’m asleep. She seems…scattered. Pulled in too many directions.” He hesitates. “I worry she’s running from something. Again.”

My stomach coils as I drop my gaze.

Running from something.

Again.

Could it be me?

Is she running from whatever it is we’ve been quietly building? Ending it before it can ask anything of her? Because…she doesn’t want to make a life here?

When I look up, Jaxon is watching me carefully. “She doesn’t always make the best decisions when she’s scattered,” he tells me, voice serious, eyes full of concern, and something else…something I can’t quite read.

My mind retreats to the night I met her at the pub. She’d been scattered that night too, running from her ex’s betrayal.

And what did she do?