Chapter 18 – Madeline
Jaxon set me down gently on the edge of my bed, his movements deliberate, as if he thought I might shatter if he handled me any other way. My legs felt shaky, my chest tight, but I’d composed myself enough to keep the tears at bay.
He knelt in front of me, his large hands resting lightly on my knees, grounding me. His eyes searched mine, soft but full of something that felt too heavy to name — regret, maybe, or worry. I couldn’t look at him for too long without the lump in my throat growing, so I glanced away, staring at the floor instead.
“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough.
“Yeah,” I lied. My voice cracked on the single word, and I hated myself for it.
His hands squeezed my knees gently, his thumbs brushing against the bare skin below the hem of my shorts. “You don’t have to say that if it’s not true. You can be honest.”
Something in the way he said it—the raw, unfiltered honesty of it — broke something inside me.
I let out a shaky breath, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly my knuckles ached. “I’m fine, Jaxon,” I said again, my tone sharper this time.
“You’re not,” he said, his voice steady but soft, unwavering.
My head shot up, and I glared at him, more out of reflex than anything else. “Don’t tell me how I feel. You don’t know. You can’t possibly—”
My voice broke, and the words stopped coming, the weight in my chest suddenly too much to hold back.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “Please.”
The way he said it wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request. It was a plea, raw and full of something I didn’t know how to handle.
And somehow, that made it harder to resist.
My hands loosened their grip on the mattress, and I sat back, my shoulders sagging under the weight I’d been carrying for years.
“You’ve seen struggle, Jax. I know you’ve seen things too terrible to name,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I get it. I know what it’s like to have to bury the parts of yourself that want to scream, to keep going even when everything inside you is screaming to stop. You’ve been through hell... I see that.”
His jaw tightened, a subtle sign of the restraint he was fighting to hold onto, and I could feel the weight of everything he’d never said. I could almost taste the pain that had never truly been allowed to surface.
“But you don’t know,” I continued, my breath shaking as I pressed on, needing him to understand. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything you thought you could trust. To lose your father, your family, your—your sense of stability. And then to spend every damn day trying to make sense of it, when no one else seems to care.”
Jaxon didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to fill the silence. He just knelt there, listening, his eyes never leaving mine.
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “Do you know what it’s like to have a sister who used to be your best friend, only to grow up resenting each other because neither of you knows how to deal with what happened? To feel like you’re constantly chasing after something you’ll never get back?”
My voice cracked again, and the tears started falling before I could stop them. I swiped at them angrily, hating how exposed I felt, how raw.
“Maddie,” Jaxon said softly, his voice breaking. He reached for my hands, his fingers brushing mine, but I pulled them back, wrapping my arms around myself instead.
“I was fifteen when my dad was arrested,” I began, my voice trembling but steady enough to push through. I couldn’t look at him, so I stared at the floor, at the faded scuff marks on the edge of the bed frame, at anything but the weight in his eyes.
“One day, he was my hero, the man who taught me how to fix a flat tire and believed I could do anything I set my mind to. And the next, he was a criminal. A liar. Someone I didn’t even recognize.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, my nails digging into my arms as I forced the words out. “They called it embezzlement, fraud, conspiracy. The media dragged his name through the dirt, turned him into a villain. And for years, I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t know if he was guilty or if we were just caught in someone else’s web.”
Jaxon didn’t say anything, but his presence was steady, solid, grounding me without crowding me.
“My mom?” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “She folded under the pressure. Pretended like none of it was happening. She smiled at the neighbours, kept up appearances, acted like our entire world wasn’t crumbling around us. But behind closed doors, it was like she disappeared. Like she couldn’t handle looking at us because we reminded her of him.”
I swallowed hard, the memories clawing their way to the surface. “Camille — my sister — she handled it by deciding he was guilty. No questions, no doubts. She washed her hands of him, of everything. And me? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I spent years trying to prove he didn’t do it. Digging through old records, reading court transcripts, chasing every thread I could find. But no one wanted to hear it. No one cared .”
I paused and Jaxon leaned in slightly, his voice gentle but firm. “What did you find?”
I let out a hollow laugh, the sound bitter and empty. “He wasn’t guilty. That everything he was accused of was orchestrated by people higher up, people he trusted. But by the time the right people who could have helped do something figured that out, it didn’t matter. He’d already died in prison.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, and I felt my chest tighten as the weight of them settled over me again.
“He died thinking I’d stopped fighting for him,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Thinking I believed he was guilty, just like everyone else. And I’ve been carrying that guilt ever since. Every day, I wake up wondering if I could’ve done more, if I could’ve saved him somehow.”
I finally glanced up at Jaxon, my eyes brimming with tears. “And Camille? She still thinks I’m crazy for holding on to it.
She says I’m stuck in the past, that I need to move on. But how do I move on from something like that? How do I just… let it go?”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing where they rested on my thighs, but his voice was calm, steady. “You don’t have to let it go. Not until you’re ready. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore, either.”
Jaxon shifted in front of me, rising slightly before sitting next to me on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and I felt the warmth of him close, steadying me even without a word.
For a moment, he didn’t touch me. He just sat there, giving me space, letting me breathe. But then, slowly, I felt his hand brush against mine, tentative and careful.
When I didn’t pull away, he reached for me, wrapping one strong arm around my back. His movements were slow, almost hesitant, like he was afraid I might break. I let out a shaky breath, my body stiff at first, unsure if I could let myself lean into him.
“Come here,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but full of something so gentle it unravelled me further.
His arm tightened, coaxing me, and before I could overthink it, I let him pull me closer. I felt his other arm slide under my legs, lifting me effortlessly as he shifted me into his lap.
It felt so natural that I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.
My legs curled against him as I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt. His arms locked around me, strong and steady, holding me like he could shield me from the weight of it all. His chin rested lightly against the top of my head, and I felt his breath, warm and even, against my hair.
For a moment, I let myself stay there, cocooned in his warmth, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing calm me. The silence between us was heavy but not suffocating — it felt like a safe space, like I could finally let the words I’d been holding in slip free.
“I didn’t want to admit it,” I murmured into his chest, my voice muffled but steady enough. “But when you said I had daddy issues… you weren’t wrong.”
I felt his body tense under me, his arms tightening slightly, and he tilted his head just enough to look down at me. “Madeline, I—”
I shook my head against him, cutting him off gently. “I know you feel terrible,” I said quietly. “It hurt, yeah. A lot. But only because it hit something real.”
He didn’t speak, just held me, his hands brushing slow, soothing circles against my back.
“My dad was everything to me,” I continued, my voice breaking slightly. “He was my rock. My safe place. And when he was gone, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. I kept chasing after this… this idea of him. This perfect version of who he was. And I guess I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove something to him. Or to myself. Or maybe to everyone else who thought he was guilty.”
I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, my tear-streaked face meeting his steady gaze. “So yeah, maybe I do have daddy issues. Maybe I’ve spent too much time trying to fix what can’t be fixed.”
Jaxon didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to argue or brush it off. Instead, his gaze softened, the lines of tension in his jaw easing. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to say anything at all.
Then, slowly, he reached for something around his neck, pulling a thin chain from beneath his shirt. My eyes followed the movement, landing on the dog tags that swung free, catching the light.
“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “I don’t talk about this much — hell, I don’t talk about it at all — but since you chose to trust me, it’s only right that I do the same.”
He held the tags in his hand, the metal clinking softly as his thumb brushed over them. “I wore these every day for years. They’ve seen things I still can’t bring myself to talk about. Places I’d give anything to forget. And for a long time, they were the only thing that made me feel like I had any control over my life.”
I blinked up at him, my breath catching slightly. I’d known he’d served, of course — he never shied away from that fact — but this was different. This was raw, unguarded.
“I joined the military straight out of high school,” he continued, his gaze fixed on the tags in his hand. “Did multiple tours, spent more time in combat zones than I did back home. Made my mom and brother sick with worry every fucking time I signed up for another tour. I thought it would give me purpose. That it would make me… someone.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and I could see the tension creeping back into his shoulders. “But all it gave me was guilt. Guilt for the guys who didn’t make it back. For the ones who trusted me and didn’t live to see the other side. And guilt for the shit I did to survive. Because when you’re out there, it’s not about honour or bravery. It’s about doing whatever it takes to stay alive and get your team home.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “When I came back, I didn’t know how to let it go. The guilt. The fear. The constant feeling that something was going to go wrong, that I had to be ready for it. It’s why I’m like this, Scout. Why I need to feel in control, why I lose my shit when I can’t protect the people I care about.”
He shifted slightly beneath me, his arms tightening around my waist as if he was afraid that I might slip away. His dog tags still hung from his neck, brushing lightly against my arm, and his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.
His voice was low when he finally spoke, roughened by the weight of his emotions. “You tore into my life like a fucking hurricane, Madeline,” he said, his arms pulling me closer. “And I didn’t know how to deal with it. Still don’t, if I’m being honest.”
I froze in his lap, the words washing over me, raw and unfiltered. He wasn’t looking at me now — his stare was fixed on some distant point — but the way his fingers brushed slow circles against my back told me he wasn’t done.
“I’ve spent years keeping myself locked down,” he continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Years telling myself that getting close to someone — letting them in — was a mistake I couldn’t afford. Because the last time I did, it ended in nothing but loss and regret.”
He paused, his chest rising in a slow breath, his thumb brushing gently over my side. “But then you,” he murmured, finally tilting his head to look at me. “You come crashing in, and I can’t stop thinking about you. About how strong you are. About how much you’ve been through and how you still stand taller than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he shook his head slightly, his expression softening. “I’m not done,” he said quietly.
I felt his hand slide up to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling lightly in my hair. “I’ve been so damn scared of what you make me feel,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “Because I’m not supposed to need anyone. I’m not supposed to care about anybody like this. But I do, Scout. I care so fucking much that it tears me apart.”
His arms tightened around me, his eyes locking onto mine with a quiet intensity that left me breathless. “I’m done fighting it. I’m done trying to push you away or pretend like this doesn’t matter. Because it does. You matter.”
“Jax…” I whispered, my voice trembling.
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifted slightly beneath me again, his hands sliding up to gently untangle the chain around his neck. I froze as I watched him pull the dog tags free, the cool metal glinting faintly in the low light.
He held them for a moment, turning them over in his hands like he was gathering his thoughts. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he leaned forward, brushing my hair gently over my shoulder.
I stilled, my breath catching as I watched him raise the chain and loop it around my neck. The cool metal of the dog tags brushed against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine as he clasped it carefully at the back.
“These aren’t just tags,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, each word deliberates. “They’ve been with me through everything. Every mission. Every fight. Every moment I didn’t think I’d make it back. And somehow, they always kept me going.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers instinctively reaching up to touch the tags where they rested just below my collarbone. The weight of them was more than physical — it felt like trust, like something sacred.
“They’re yours now,” he murmured, his eyes searching mine as his hands lingered on my shoulders. “If anyone deserves to feel that kind of strength, it’s you. You’ve been through so much, baby. And you’re still here. Still fighting.”
Tears welled in my eyes, slipping silently down my cheeks as I stared at him. “Jaxon, I—”
He shook his head, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw to catch a tear before it fell. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly. “Just wear them. For you. To remind yourself how much of a badass you are.”
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers curling around the tags, his words settled over me like a balm, soothing the raw ache I’d been carrying for so long.
“You really think that?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“I know it,” Jaxon said firmly, his eyes locking onto mine.
My lips trembled, a mix of tears and a faint, tentative smile breaking through. “You really have a way with words, you know that?”
He smirked slightly, his hands still resting on my shoulders. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not much of a talker. But for you? I’ll figure it out.”
Something inside me cracked and healed all at once, and I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his. The tags hung between us, a reminder of everything he’d shared with me.
As I sat there in his arms, his strength wrapped around me like a shield, I felt something shift. The weight I’d been carrying for so long didn’t disappear, but it felt lighter somehow, like I wasn’t holding it alone anymore.
We were two broken people, piecing ourselves together in a world that had tried to tear us apart. Neither of us whole, but maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to hold each other up.