Chapter 21
Conor
The first scream has me out of my chair before I even register moving, already halfway down the hall as it tears through the house.
I wanted him in my room, not tucked away in the guest room where I couldn’t hear him, couldn’t get to him fast enough.
I hit the doorway and stop just long enough to take it in.
He’s thrashing in the bed, sheets tangled tight around his arms and legs, trapping him as much as they’re holding him down. For a second, I think it’s a flashback. Some kind of nightmare dragging him under, but then I hear it. A name.
“Trent.”
The word is torn out of him, raw and desperate. My jaw tightens as something sharp and unfamiliar twists low in my chest. Who the fuck is Trent?
I move to the side of the bed and grab his shoulders, trying to still him before he hurts himself. Even drugged, his body jerks hard against my grip, every movement sharp enough that I know it’s going to cost him later.
“Jaxon, wake up.”
I keep my voice low, trying for steady, for gentle, but nothing about this is calm.
He doesn’t respond. Just fights harder. His fist comes out of the tangle of sheets, swinging blind, and I don’t have time to think.
I pull him in, wrapping my arms around him to pin him against me before he can hurt either of us.
“Jaxon—it’s Conor. You’re safe. Wake up for me.”
I keep hold of him as he fights it, trying to pull away, but then the sound that comes out of him stops me cold. A broken, wailing cry, cut short by a sob that seems to tear itself out of his chest. I tighten my hold, shifting just enough to bring my mouth close to his ear.
“You’re safe,” I murmur, quieter now, steady even if I don’t feel it. “No one’s touching you. I’ve got you.”
His body jerks once more before the tension starts to crack, not gone, but giving just enough that I can feel it. Trent. The name sticks in my head, sharp and unwelcome. Whoever he is, wherever he is, he’s the reason for this. And if he’s still out there, I’ll kill him myself.
Jaxon’s body suddenly goes slack in my arms, the fight draining out of him all at once as the nightmare finally loosens its grip. I start to ease back, just enough to check him, but his hands tighten on me hard enough to bruise, holding on like letting go isn’t an option.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, steadying my voice as I keep him close. I say my name again, low and deliberate, making sure it’s the only one he hears, the only one that sticks. Not fucking Trent. Me.
I guide us back onto the bed, shifting until I’m on my back with Jaxon curled against me, his head resting over my chest. He lets out a heavy breath, the tension finally leaving him as his breathing steadies into something deeper, more even.
Good. He’s back under. This time, with me holding him, maybe the nightmares will stay away.
I run my fingers slowly through his short hair as he sleeps, the steady rise and fall of his breathing the only sign that the nightmare has finally let him go. Aside from the occasional twitch, he stays calm beneath my hand. At some point, I drift off, the rhythm of him pulling me under.
When I wake, he’s still there, pressed close, clinging to me like he never wants to let go. I glance down and find his eyes already open, those dark brown eyes fixed on me like he’s been watching for a while.
“Why are you here?” he asks softly.
“You were having a nightmare.” I run my hand up and down his back, slow and steady, not giving him much space to pull away.
“Sorry… about that. You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”
“You weren’t,” I say quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.” I glance at my watch before looking back at him. “You’ve only had about four hours. Do you need more meds? Or something to eat?”
I’d already called my mom earlier, told her I’d brought him home, and asked what he should be eating. She said she’d take care of it before dinner. We still have a couple of hours before then, but I’m sure I could find him a snack if he wanted one.
“No. I don’t need anything. Thank you… for everything, Conor.”
There’s something in his voice I can’t quite place.
It’s too heavy to be simple gratitude, too quiet to name outright.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.
Do I leave it alone? Let him have the space he’s clearly trying to take?
Or do I push, risk breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve managed to hold onto?
The questions sit in my throat, hot and insistent, until ignoring them isn’t an option anymore. Right or wrong… I need to know.
“Who’s Trent?”
His body stiffens beside me. I wait for him to pull away, for the walls to slam back into place now that I’ve pushed too far, but instead he lets out a slow breath before starting to speak.
“Guess I was talking in my sleep, huh?”
His fingers move absently against my chest, tracing slow circles through the thin fabric of my shirt, and even that small touch sends heat skittering beneath my skin.
“I met Trent in boot camp. We became friends, best friends.” He goes quiet for a second before continuing. “I’d always known I was gay, but I never told anyone. Especially not in the Marines.”
His voice stays steady, but there’s something strained underneath it now, something held together too tightly.
“We ended up stationed together during our first deployment. I kept my crush on him to myself, figured that was where it would stay.” His hand stills briefly against my chest.
“Then one day, my patrol got hit. Trent wasn’t with us.”
The room feels quieter somehow as he speaks, like even the air is listening.
“It took twelve hours to get back to base. By the time I found him, he was a wreck. He didn’t know if I was dead or one of the guys who got dragged out in pieces.” His fingers curl hard into my shirt before slowly releasing it again.
“I only had superficial injuries, but some of the others…” His voice catches slightly. “They weren’t as lucky.” He swallows before going on with his story.
“Trent told me he loved me right there.” There’s no warmth in his voice when he says it now, only exhaustion. “Said he knew I felt the same way. And for a while…” His fingers start moving against my chest again, slower this time. “…I really thought he was going to be my forever.”
I have to grit my teeth to keep the growl building in my chest from slipping out.
Jaxon is mine, and the idea of someone else having him, touching him, claiming him sends a sharp, unwelcome heat through me.
“But about two weeks before we were supposed to come home… everything changed.”
He takes a shaky breath, and I run my fingers through his hair, slower this time, careful, hoping it’s enough to steady him. “We’d talked about getting a place together, but we never made real plans. We still had time, or at least I thought we did.”
His voice tightens just slightly. “We were two weeks out, and I started pushing for details. He kept dodging me at first—said he had it handled.” His fingers curl into my shirt again, gripping hard before easing off.
“Then one night…” He swallows. “He told me none of it was real.” The words hang there for a second before he forces the rest out. “Said it was all just a fantasy. That I was just something to pass the time.”
“Where is he now?” I ask when Jaxon falls quiet again.
“Dead.” The word lands flat and heavy against my chest. “His patrol got ambushed about a week later.”
He shifts slightly against me, settling his head more firmly over my heart before continuing. “I spent four years loving someone who never actually loved me back… and then I had to mourn him like he was just another soldier we lost.”
There’s no anger in his voice when he says it. That almost makes it worse.
“The worst part?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Before he died, he’d already started telling some of the guys that I’d gotten fixated on him.”
My hand stills in his hair.
“I never heard the full story he fed them. Just enough to know he made it sound like I was the one chasing after him, making him uncomfortable.” His fingers tighten briefly against my side before loosening again. “Guess he forgot to mention the part where he was fucking me every chance he got.”
This time, I don’t stop the growl that slips out of me. Jaxon’s been fighting a ghost, one that tore his world apart and left nothing behind to fight back against. No way for him to win. Not on his own.
I roll us over, shifting until I’m above him, braced on one elbow while letting just enough of my weight settle over him. I want him to feel it. To know I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere.
“You never should’ve had to go through that,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Trent was a piece of shit. He didn’t deserve you then, and he sure as hell doesn’t now.”
I lower my face toward his slowly, giving him more than enough time to pull away if he wants to.
He never breaks eye contact. Neither do I.
When our lips finally meet, the kiss is soft, careful in a way I’m not used to being with anyone.
I brace myself for rejection, for him to tense or shove me back, but instead, a quiet whimper slips from him as his lips move against mine.
The sound nearly undoes me. Still, I don’t push for more.
I pull back after a few slow kisses and press one more against his forehead instead, lingering there for a second longer than I should.
“You deserve everything good in this world, Jaxon.”
A rough scoff leaves him. “And you’re gonna give me that?” he asks quietly. “You don’t even know me, Conor.”
“I know enough,” I say, steady. My thumb brushes lightly along his jaw, keeping him right where he is.
“I know that you look rough and tough, but inside you’re sweet and caring.
You’ve been thrown into a violent world that you don’t belong in.
You deserve to have someone fighting for you so you don’t have to.
So yeah, Jaxon, I plan on giving you that and more. ”
I kiss him again, brief and soft, even though every part of me wants to deepen it, to really taste him and see if he makes that quiet sound again. But now isn’t the time for that. He needs care more than he needs hunger from me, and I know the difference.
Jaxon parts his lips like he’s about to say something, but before he can, the sharp sound of the doorbell cuts through the room.
A second later, my mother’s voice carries through the entryway.