Chapter 20
Jaxon
I break. It’s not in controlled cracks that I can hide or push down later. I break all at once.
Every fracture that’s been buried deep inside me, every fault line I’ve ignored, every splinter I’ve learned to live around instead of pulling out. They all split wide open at the same time, and there’s no stopping it, no holding it back, no pretending I’m still in control.
It spills out of me. Everything I have been holding onto, the grief, the anger, and the exhaustion.
I can’t even catch my breath between it, my chest heaving, ribs screaming in protest, but I don’t care, because it’s finally out, finally tearing free in a way I haven’t let it in so long I almost forgot what it felt like. I haven’t cried like this in years.
Not since Trent. Not since everything he did, everything he said, everything he carved into me and then walked away from like it didn’t matter, like I didn’t matter.
All of that comes rushing back. His cruelty and rejection, and the way he made me feel like I was too much and not enough all at the same time.
Like I was something to be used and then discarded.
It burns through me all over again, fresh and raw, as if no time has passed at all. And I can’t stop it. I don’t even try.
Conor’s hold tightens around me, and for the first time in longer than I can track, something in me settles into it, into the solid certainty of his arms and the unfamiliar, almost disorienting sense of safety that comes with it.
I don’t know what he’s thinking. I don’t know what this looks like from his side, but I don’t have it in me to pull away. Not when I’m already turning into him, pressing my face into his chest like it’s the only place I can breathe.
My fingers curl into his shirt, holding on without thinking, and the tears come harder for it, breaking past whatever control I thought I still had.
I should be ashamed of this, of how easily it happens, of how quickly I fold into something softer than I’ve ever allowed myself to be, but fuck, it feels too good to be held again.
As the sobs ease, I let my battered body sink against Conor’s firm chest, exhaustion pulling at me almost as heavily as the steady weight of his arms wrapped around me.
The last thing I remember is the feel of his fingers moving through my hair, his blunt nails dragging lightly against my scalp in a slow, absent rhythm that loosens something deep inside me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when I finally wake, but I’m still curled against him, still held securely in Conor’s strong arms. His warmth soaks so deeply into me that for a few disoriented seconds, I forget what it feels like to be cold.
I try to push myself upright. But Conor holds tight.
“Sorry about crying and falling asleep on you.”
I try to sit up again. This time, Conor lets me move, but his arms don’t fall away. They stay loosely wrapped around me, like he hasn’t quite decided to let go.
“Don’t apologize,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mind. But you need more rest.”
He leans in as he speaks, close enough that I feel it before I fully register it.
His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching the dampness there in a slow, careful stroke that has my eyes slipping closed before I can stop them.
It would be so easy to slip into his touch.
So easy to let myself just be for a minute.
“Let me get you something to eat so you can take your pain meds. Then you can get some real sleep.” Conor shifts, easing himself away from me as he starts to stand.
The loss of his warmth hits immediately. I almost call him back, almost tell him to come sit down and hold me again, but the words never make it past my throat. I can’t let myself lean into it. Can’t let myself want it this much, no matter how starved I am for something as simple as being touched.
My hands tighten together in my lap, fingers curling into each other instead of reaching for him, even as the urge lingers to grab hold of his shirt and not let go.
To just lose myself in him for a little while, without having to think, without having to worry about how completely fucked my life is.
Instead of any of that, I watch Conor walk away.
I let my head fall back against the couch and close my eyes.
I’d planned on leaving, on forcing myself back to my apartment before I got too comfortable here, too used to the feeling of someone taking care of me, but after falling asleep against Conor, the thought of getting up suddenly feels impossible.
Was it so bad to want to stay in this bubble for just a little while longer?
“Hope you don’t mind sandwiches. I guess I should’ve asked that before I made them.”
I open my eyes at the sound of Conor’s voice, and the look on his face makes me pause. There’s something different in it, something uncertain that doesn’t fit with the usual confidence he carries like it’s second nature.
“Sandwiches are good,” I say, watching the tension ease out of his shoulders.
It’s an odd thing to see on him. He forced his way into my life without hesitation, overwhelming and impossible to ignore, and now he’s second-guessing lunch.
“You should probably eat something softer, though, with your throat like that. I can order something better for you.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it, quiet but real, catching somewhere between surprise and something else. It’s the contrast between controlling Conor and caretaker Conor.
“It’s fine. I’ve had enough soup and soft food over the past few days to last me a lifetime,” I tell him honestly as I pick up one of the triangles.
I have to stop myself from tearing up again. Not because of the food, but because he cut them into triangles. Something about that, about the quiet, unnecessary care in it, catches somewhere in my chest before I can shove it down.
We eat in silence, the kind that settles instead of presses, easy enough that neither of us feels the need to break it. I’m starting to appreciate that about Conor, that he doesn’t reach for noise just to fill the space, doesn’t force conversation where it isn’t needed.
I make it through two sandwiches before I have to stop, the ache in my throat catching up with me even though I know I could probably force down more if I tried. I wipe my mouth with the napkin before setting it down on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” I tell Conor.
“It’s nothing. Here.” He shakes two tablets into his palm and holds them out to me. “Doctor said to take two every four hours, or as needed.”
I take them without argument and swallow them down.
I hate medication, always have. As the bitter taste washes over my tongue, my mind goes to the dark place in my memories.
A time when pills like this weren’t meant to help.
Just meant to make everything stop. I quickly push those thoughts out of my mind.
I lived through that time and refused to ever go back there.
Conor stands and holds his hand out to me. I hesitate only a second before taking it. He leads me down the hall and into a bedroom so large it makes my last two apartments combined feel claustrophobic by comparison. This can’t be a guest room.
Conor crosses to one of the dressers, pulls out a bundle of clothes, and hands them to me. The fabric is impossibly soft beneath my fingers, the kind of softness I’m not used to touching, let alone being given.
“Need help changing?”
I shake my head a little too quickly. What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything I usually keep locked down keeps forcing its way to the surface, and it’s taking more effort than it should to shove it all back under before it spills out completely.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he says, nodding toward a door across the room. “Call out if you need anything.”
He pauses for half a second before reaching for me again, his hand settling against the side of my neck, large and warm.
“I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”
Then he presses the briefest kiss to my forehead.
It’s barely a touch, gone almost as soon as it happens, but the sensation still sends a sharp shiver down my spine, my body reacting before my brain can catch up, leaning instinctively into him like I’m already chasing more. He steps back and leaves the room.
Sighing quietly, I force my feet toward the bathroom.
Any other time, I probably would’ve stopped to stare at the marble and chrome filling the massive space, at the kind of luxury that belongs in magazines instead of real life, but all I can think about is the feel of Conor’s lips against my forehead.
The feeling of that touch lingers longer than it should.
As soon as I slide into bed, I know this has to be his room.
I’m surrounded by him. Not just the clean scent of his cologne, but something warmer beneath it.
It’s the distinctly masculine smell that belongs to Conor alone, settling into the sheets and pillows around me until it feels impossible to escape.
I burrow deeper into the softness, exhaustion dragging heavily at my body as I close my eyes and let myself sink into it, into him, willing sleep to finally take me under.
Smoke surrounds me so thick it burns my eyes and clogs my lungs every time I try to breathe.
Pain erupts across my body as shrapnel tears into my skin, sharp and hot, until the burning swallows everything else.
I cry out for help, but my voice disappears beneath the screams of the other men bleeding out around me.
Gunfire cracks through the chaos, bullets slicing through the smoke close enough that I feel them cutting the air beside me.
Then the smoke parts. Not naturally, but slowly, like something unseen is forcing it back.
And Trent walks through it. Nothing about the battlefield touches him.
No panic. He moves toward me calmly while the world burns around us.
“Get down!” I scream at him. “Take cover!”
But he just laughs.
“Look at you,” he says, smiling like he’s enjoying this. “Pathetic. You believed every fantasy I fed you. Ate it up like the needy little thing you are.”
“You said you loved me,” I choke out, shaking my head hard enough to make the world spin. “You said we were going to build something together.”
His laugh cuts deeper than the shrapnel buried in my skin.
“And you actually believed that?” he asks. “I told you who my family is. Where exactly did you think you fit into any of that?”
He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can see the disgust twisting his expression.
“You were convenient. That’s all. Something warm to pass the time until I got bored.”
Every word lands like another wound splitting open.
“I had to tell you what you wanted to hear,” he says softly. “Otherwise you never would’ve spread those legs for me.”
A massive explosion tears through the sky behind him, bright enough to blind me. I throw my arm over my face, eyes squeezing shut against the heat and light. And when I look again, Trent is lying motionless in front of me. His body is twisted wrong, mangled beyond recognition except for his face.
“No!” The scream rips out of me as something crushes tight around my chest, squeezing harder and harder until I can’t breathe.