Chapter 16
Jaxon
What the fuck does he mean he wants to give me everything?
That doesn’t make sense. Nothing in this world is free.
At least not in my life. There’s always a cost, always something expected in return, always a catch that shows up when you least expect it.
I don’t know how to process what he just said because it doesn’t fit into anything I’ve experienced.
I try to ask him. Try to push the words out, but my throat won’t cooperate. The sound catching before it can even form, leaving me stuck with the question burning in my head and nowhere to put it.
“It’s okay, Jaxon,” he says, his voice softer now, like he can see the struggle even without me saying it out loud. “Get some rest.”
His hand moves through my hair, slow and careful, nothing like the roughness I’m used to, nothing that demands or takes.
“The doctor will be in soon to check on you,” he continues. “We can talk when you wake up.” He leans closer to me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Before I can react, before I can make sense of it, he leans down slightly, and I tense instinctively, my body preparing for something I don’t even consciously expect.
It’s light, barely there, a soft press of his lips against my forehead. It’s so unexpected, so out of place, that for a second my brain doesn’t know what to do with it.
I close my eyes, fighting it at first, trying to stay awake, trying to hold onto the questions and the confusion and everything that doesn’t make sense, but my body gives out before my mind can keep up, dragging me back under whether I want it or not.
Sleep takes me fast. And just as quickly as it comes, it’s gone.
I wake to the sensation of hands on me, gentle but insistent, prodding at my arm, my shoulder, trying to rouse me.
I’m instantly awake. Fully alert in a split second, my body reacting before my brain can catch up, adrenaline hitting hard and sharp as I try to bat the hands away, my movements clumsy and weak but driven by instinct.
My heart is racing. My breath catches. Pain flares immediately, shooting through my ribs and making the movement sharper than it should be, but that doesn’t stop the reaction.
I don’t know who’s touching me. I don’t know what they want.
“Calm down, Jaxon.”
Conor’s voice cuts straight through the panic, steady and firm, anchoring me in a way nothing else can right now, and I latch onto it without thinking.
Forcing myself to focus on the sound of him instead of the hands, the movement, the unfamiliar presence too close to me.
I drag in a shallow breath. Then another. Slower this time.
“The doctor is here to check on you,” he continues, his tone softer now, but still grounded, still there.
I feel his hand in my hair again, large and warm, moving slowly, deliberately, like he’s trying to keep me right here, right now, instead of wherever my mind is trying to take me.
I manage to open my eyes, the light dimmer this time, and the first thing I see is him. Those green eyes. Locked on mine.
“I didn’t want them to wake you,” he says, his jaw tightening slightly, “but he said it was necessary.”
He glances over his shoulder, the look he gives the man behind him sharp enough to make it clear he’s not happy about it, even if he allowed it.
“I assure you that it is,” the other man says, his voice calm and clinical, stepping closer into my line of sight. “Mr. Kane’s larynx and windpipe were severely bruised, which can compromise his airway.” His eyes move over me, assessing.
“Breathing difficulties can develop quickly in cases like this, which is why he needs to be monitored and checked several times over the first couple of days.”
The words register slowly, my mind still catching up, still piecing everything together, but one thing sticks immediately. Kane. Jaxon Kane. Hearing him say my full name makes everything feel just a little more real.
Conor steps back from the side of my bed, but not by much, not enough to really give space, so much as reposition himself, and I can still feel him there, still feel his presence like something so tangible just off to my side. His eyes never leave the doctor. Every movement. He’s watching it all.
“Mr. Kane, I’m Dr. Morris,” the man says, stepping closer, his voice calm and practiced in a way that should be reassuring but doesn’t quite land yet. “I need to check your injuries, specifically your neck.”
His gaze flicks briefly toward Conor, like he’s aware of him, like he understands exactly who is standing in the room with us, before returning to me.
“Please let me know if I hurt you, and I will stop immediately.”
I manage the smallest nod, barely there, but he catches it.
He moves carefully, pressing his fingers along my neck in different places, each touch deliberate, each point of contact sending a different kind of discomfort through me, some dull, some sharp, all of it wrong.
I grit through it. He adjusts his position slightly.
“I need you to take a few deep breaths for me,” he says. “First through your nose.”
I try. The inhale is shallow at first, hesitant, my body already anticipating the pain before it fully hits, and when I push a little deeper, it comes. Sharp and immediate. Like shards of glass spreading through my ribs and chest. My body tenses despite myself.
“Good,” he says anyway, like he expected it. “Now through your mouth.”
I hesitate for half a second before trying again, forcing the breath in the way he asked, and it’s worse this time, the pain cutting deeper, stealing the air before I can hold onto it.
A strained sound escapes me before I can stop it.
I clamp my jaw shut, but my body betrays me anyway, tightening under his hands as the pain settles in, sharp and lingering.
Dr. Morris doesn’t comment on the pain, doesn’t react to it beyond what he needs to, just moves on with the exam in that same calm, methodical way, shifting his focus from my neck down to my ribs and arms, his hands firm but controlled as he checks for anything else.
Every touch still hurts. Some spots worse than others, but nothing like before. When he’s finished, he straightens the sheet over me with a small, practiced motion, like resetting things back into place, before taking a measured step back, giving me space again.
“Even though it’s painful right now,” he says, his tone steady and professional, “I don’t believe there’s any permanent damage. We’ll need to wait until the swelling goes down to be certain,” he continues, “but your airway is stable, and your breathing, while painful, is consistent.”
He glances briefly toward Conor again before returning his attention to me.
“You can have clear liquids for now,” he adds. “I’ll have some broth brought in for you, but make sure it’s cooled before you try to drink it. Small amounts at a time.”
He gives a final nod, like everything that needed to be said has been, before stepping back fully, leaving the space quieter.
It’s just the two of us again.
The room feels different without the doctor in it, quieter in a way that settles heavy instead of calm, like everything that was being held at bay is pressing back in now that we’re alone.
Conor has his phone out, his head slightly bent as he types something out, his large hands moving over the small screen in a way that should look awkward but doesn’t, because even something as simple as that looks controlled when he does it.
I watch him without meaning to. Every movement. The way his jaw tightens slightly. The way his focus narrows. Then he slides the phone back into his pocket and looks at me.
“The doctor said the best thing for you right now is rest,” he says, his voice back to that steady, grounded tone. “I have someone bringing you broth,” he continues, and the way he says the word makes it clear he’s not impressed with it. “It’ll be better than anything this place has.”
I don’t respond right away. Instead, my eyes shift. Taking in the room for the first time since I woke up. Really taking it in. This isn’t a normal hospital room. Not even close. It feels too big, too clean, too… comfortable.
There’s an actual couch, not one of those hard plastic things that barely qualifies as a place to sit, but a real one, upholstered and deep enough to actually lie on.
There’s real furniture. Details that don’t belong in a place like this.
My eyes move back to him slowly. What kind of place did he bring me to?
My throat is too sore for this right now, so I close my eyes and drift off. This time, it’s to the image of bright green eyes staring at me.