Chapter 28 #2
Before I can figure out what to say, he starts toward me. Not alone. A much smaller man walks beside him, his hand brushing Declan’s forearm as they approach. The affection between them is obvious.
“Hello.” The smaller man smiles warmly. “I’m Xavier. Declan’s husband.”
The pride in his voice when he says husband makes me blink. Like he’s introducing the most important thing about himself first. He extends his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” I shake it carefully.
“Jaxon.”
“We know.” Xavier’s smile widens. “You’ve become quite the topic of conversation around here.”
Heat immediately crawls up my neck. Wonderful. Before I can die from embarrassment, Declan steps forward. He offers me his hand.
“No hard feelings?” His expression is surprisingly earnest. “I didn’t know you were being forced into any of that.”
For a second, I just stare at his outstretched hand. Eight months ago, we were trying to beat each other unconscious. Now he’s apologizing to me in Conor’s living room. Life is weird. Slowly, I take his hand and shake it.
“No hard feelings.” And surprisingly… I mean it.
Once everyone finds a seat, the room settles into a comfortable sort of chaos.
Declan immediately pulls Xavier into his lap as though the man has never heard of chairs.
Xavier doesn’t even blink. Clearly, this is normal behavior.
The sight makes something warm twist in my chest. The Murphys are an oddly affectionate bunch.
Conor takes my hand before I can retreat to the corner of the room and gently leads me toward an armchair. Not one across the room. One right beside his.
“You’ve met some of them already,” Conor says as everyone gets settled. I glance around the room. There are so many people. “Liam and Finn are my other brothers.”
Both men lift a hand in greeting. “Hey.”
“Nice to finally meet you.”
I nod back, hoping I don’t look as overwhelmed as I feel.
“This is my dad, Kieran.” The older man smiles warmly.
“Good to meet you, son.” The casual endearment catches me off guard. Before I can react, Conor continues.
“And that’s Duncan.” The man seated beside Kieran gives me a nod. The resemblance between him and Declan is impossible to miss. “Duncan is Declan’s dad.” Apparently, giant men run in the family.
“Jaxon, how are you feeling, dear?” Alessia asks once the introductions are finished. The question is simple. Ordinary. It still nearly destroys me.
I have to swallow around the lump that immediately forms in my throat before I can answer.
She’s asked me the same question dozens of times over the last week.
Every single time, she sounds like she genuinely cares about the answer.
Every single time, it catches me off guard. Because she doesn’t have to care.
I’m not her son. I’m not even family. Yet she looks at me with the same warmth she gives her children. The same warmth she gives Ollie. And every time she calls me dear, something inside me melts. Something I’ve spent years convincing myself I didn’t need.
My mind drifts somewhere dangerous. To a life I never had.
I imagine being eight years old and coming home from school to a mom who sounds just like Alessia.
Someone who asks about my day because she wants to know.
Someone who notices when I’m upset. Someone who remembers my favorite foods and makes them when I’ve had a rough week.
The image shifts. I’m sick. Curled up on a couch beneath a blanket.
And Alessia is there brushing my hair back from my forehead while checking for a fever.
The thought hits so hard I almost have to look away.
Because I don’t just want that. I always have.
I just stopped believing it was something people like me got to have.
“I’m doing okay,” I manage quietly. It’s the truth. At least physically. Emotionally is a different story entirely. She eyes me suspiciously, as if she’s trying to decide if she believes me or not.
“So, why did you call a family meeting?” Finn asks, leaning back in his chair.
Just like that, the room shifts. The easy laughter fades. Everyone’s attention settles on Conor. The reason we’re all here hanging heavily in the air.
Beside me, Conor moves. His hand finds mine before I can think about it. The touch is warm and steady. My breath catches. For a moment, I just stare at our joined hands.
It’s the first time he’s reached for me since Henry’s text messages. The first time since I pulled away from him in the office. Guilt twists in my chest. I didn’t realize how much I’d been missing it until now. Or how much I’ve already started to depend on it. The realization is unsettling.
For most of my life, grounding came from routines. From work. From books. From keeping my head down and surviving one day at a time. Now it seems to come from a large, stubborn Irishman who refuses to leave my side.
The worst part is how quickly my body responds. The tension that’s been wound tight inside me all evening eases just a little. Just enough that I can finally take a full breath.
Conor’s thumb brushes once across my knuckles. A silent reassurance. Then he looks up at the rest of his family.
“Because Henry finally made contact.” The room goes completely silent.
I don’t even blink when Conor tells them about Henry. At this point, it would be strange if they didn’t know. I’ve already talked to Ronan, Colton, and Alessia. Half this family has probably been discussing my problems for days.
It makes sense that the others know too. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. Not because I’m embarrassed. But because every time someone learns the details, I’m reminded of exactly what I’m bringing into their lives. Trouble, violence, and threats.
The kind of mess decent people shouldn’t have to deal with. My gaze drifts across the room. It lands on Ollie.
He’s sitting happily in Ronan’s lap, completely oblivious to the conversation happening around him. One chubby hand is clutching a toy while he babbles something that only he understands. Every so often, Ronan murmurs a response like they’re having a serious discussion.
The sight twists something painful in my chest. Because Ollie doesn’t belong anywhere near people like Henry. None of them do. And yet here they are. Because of me.
The thought hits so hard that I instinctively pull on my hand. Wanting to distance them from me. Wanting anything other than the warmth of Conor’s grip, reminding me how much I stand to lose.
But unlike earlier, he doesn’t let go. His fingers tighten around mine. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to stop me from pulling away. The message is clear. I’m not going anywhere. And judging by the stubborn set of his jaw, neither is he.