Jaxson didn't look back again once he climbed into his truck.
He didn't need to.
That single glance had been enough to tell him what he already knew, Brinley wasn't chasing, wasn't retreating, wasn't performing anything for him at all. She was simply standing where she belonged, steady in a way that made his chest tighten.
It was worse than distance.
It was control.
Inside Fast Track the next morning, Brinley slipped into her routine with practiced ease. Clipboard in hand, headset settled just right, she moved between studios and scheduling boards like she'd always been meant to be there. Wedding timelines, rehearsal blocks, artist walk-throughs, everything overlapped now, life folding into work without warning.
She didn't mind it.
If anything, it grounded her.
Nitika leaned against the counter beside her as Brinley reviewed a seating layout. "You're good at this," she said casually.
Brinley glanced up. "At managing chaos?"
"At not letting it manage you," Nitika corrected.
Across the room, Jaxson pretended to be absorbed in a gear case that didn't need adjusting. He heard every word anyway.
Professional. Calm. Untouchable.
And still, people noticed her.
A groom's brother lingered a second too long during a question about sound cues. One of the venue coordinators laughed a little too easily when Brinley cracked a dry joke. None of it crossed a line. None of it needed correcting.
That was the problem.
Jaxson felt the jealousy settle in quietly, the way regret always did, with no heat, no explosion. Just weight. He'd forfeited the right to react, and he knew it.
So he didn't.
He kept his distance. He answered when spoken to. He stepped in only when work required it and stepped back the moment it didn't. Every instinct in him wanted to watch her more closely, but he forced himself to look away.
Restraint wasn't punishment.
It was penance.
Later, in the parking lot, Brandon caught up with Brinley as she locked her car. "You okay?" he asked, low.
She nodded. "Yeah. I actually am."
He studied her a moment, then smirked. "You're doing exactly what you said you would."
"I'm not chasing," she said quietly. "And I'm not hiding."
"That's harder," Brandon admitted.
She glanced across the lot without meaning to. Jaxson stood by his truck again, shoulders tense, gaze deliberately elsewhere. Not pretending indifference—choosing it.
That mattered.
Wedding talk followed her home that evening. Notes scribbled on the counter. A playlist half-finished. Her life felt full in a way that didn't revolve around waiting for someone to choose her.
And still,
She thought about the way Jaxson hadn't stepped in, hadn't reacted, hadn't tried to reclaim ground that wasn't his to take.
Trust didn't return in grand moments.
It returned in the absence of pressure.
The next day at Fast Track, their paths crossed briefly near Studio B. He paused just long enough to hold the door.
"Thanks," she said.
"Anytime," he replied.
Nothing else.
No question. No expectation.
Brinley walked through without looking back this time, her pulse steady, her resolve intact.
Behind her, Jaxson exhaled slowly.
He was learning the hardest lesson of all—
that loving her now meant letting her lead, even if it meant standing still while everything in him wanted to move.