Chapter 31
Conor
Jaxon and I spend most of the day talking. Not about us. Not directly, anyway. Mostly, he asks questions about everything that came out during the family meeting. About Xavier. Colton. The cult. The rescues. The people we’ve helped over the years.
I answer every question honestly. At least as honestly as I can.
There are details no one needs to hear. Some things are simply too ugly to put on Jaxon’s shoulders.
So I leave out the gore. But everything else?
I tell him. Because trust goes both ways.
If I want him to open up to me, then I have to be willing to do the same.
What surprises me isn’t the questions. It’s him. After yesterday, I was convinced he’d start pulling away. The more he learned, the more distance he’d try to put between us. Instead, the opposite happens.
He gravitates toward me. Not in any obvious way. Not enough that I think he even realizes he’s doing it. But I notice, because I notice everything when it comes to him.
When we make lunch, he somehow ends up standing beside me instead of across the kitchen.
When we’re watching television, his knee brushes mine and stays there.
Yesterday, he was preparing to leave. Today, he’s here, asking questions.
Looking at me like he wants answers instead of an escape route.
Maybe Xavier and Colton got through to him.
Maybe he finally believes we can handle Henry.
I check the clock again. 4:30 PM. Across the room, Jaxon is pretending not to notice. Or maybe he’s genuinely absorbed in his book. At this point, it could go either way.
Colton and Xavier should be here any minute. Declan agreed to let Xavier out of his sight for the evening. Not that he was particularly happy about it. The man looked like he was sending Xavier into a war zone instead of my living room.
In fairness, if someone asked me to leave Jaxon behind while I disappeared for several hours, I’d probably react the same way. Xavier and Colton are supposed to spend the evening with him while Duncan and I handle Henry.
My gaze drifts back to Jaxon. He’s curled up in the corner of the couch with a book in his hands. He looks comfortable and relaxed.
The notification announcing someone at the gate echoes through the house. My attention immediately shifts to the security monitor. Right on time. Across the room, Jaxon lowers his book. One dark eyebrow rises.
“My babysitters are here?”
I snort. “They’re not babysitters.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The look he gives me says he doesn’t believe that for a second. “They wanted to keep you company,” I say. “And get to know you.”
“While you ‘take’ Henry with Duncan.” He does the actual air quotes. It’s not a question, and I decide not to touch that one. Jaxon’s eyes narrow.
“That’s what I thought.” I stand and hold out a hand to help him up from the couch.
I consider who he will be hanging out with for a second. “Just don’t believe everything Xavier tells you.”
Jaxon blinks. “What?”
“He exaggerates.”
“I do not!” a voice shouts from somewhere near the front door.
I sigh. “See?”
Xavier marches into the house looking personally offended. Colton follows behind him, carrying enough snacks to survive a natural disaster. Ollie toddling in with them.
“For the record,” Xavier says, pointing at me, “I tell stories with appropriate dramatic flair.”
“You once described tripping over a garden hose as a near-death experience.”
“It was traumatic.”
Colton immediately turns to Jaxon. “It wasn’t.”
“I almost died.”
“You skinned your knee.”
“Death was a possibility,” Xavier whines.
I hear Jaxon’s laugh before I see it. And just like that, some of the tension I’ve been carrying all afternoon eases.
I want to hear that sound more. I want to be the reason for it.
The thought hits harder than it should. Before I can stop myself, I cross the room.
My arms slide around his waist, pulling him against me.
Jaxon comes willingly, like he’s gotten used to my touch. I lower my head, intending to kiss him. These’s a hesitation when he kisses me back, brief but there.
“What is it, A Chroí?” The teasing expression he’d been wearing fades. Concern taking its place.
“I know you all said you know what you’re doing.” His hands settle against my chest. “And I know nobody here seems worried.” He gives a small shake of his head. “But I can’t help it.” His voice softens. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”
The words settle heavily in my chest. “Jaxon—”
“And come home as soon as you can.”
Home. It’s the first time he’s used that word. Not your house. Not your place. Home. Something warm and fierce blooms inside my chest. The kind of feeling that’s equal parts hope and possessiveness. Dangerous in its intensity.
I cup his jaw gently. Making sure he looks at me. “I promise, A Chroí.”
The worry doesn’t leave his eyes, but some of the tension eases. I press a kiss to his forehead. Holding it there for a second longer than necessary. “I’ll be back before you know it.” I leave to the sounds of Ollie giggling and Xavier making weird noises at him.
I slide into the passenger seat of the plain sedan and immediately regret every life choice that brought me to this moment. My knees slam into the dash.
“Jesus Christ.”
I shove the seat back as far as it will go. Which isn’t nearly far enough. I hate this car already. Give me one of the SUVs, or trucks. Anything with enough room for my legs.
Beside me, Uncle Duncan isn’t faring much better. The sedan looks like it was designed by someone with a personal grudge against tall people. His shoulders nearly fill the driver’s seat. His knees are bent at an angle that can’t possibly be comfortable. Yet somehow he looks completely unbothered.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.
“Mm.”
I glance over at him. “That’s your response?”
“Yes.”
“We’re folded into this thing like origami.”
“Mm.”
“You know, most people our size would buy larger vehicles.”
“This one attracts less attention.”
I hate that he’s right. The entire reason we’re driving this miserable excuse for transportation is that nobody looks twice at a plain sedan.
Two giant Irishmen climbing out of a lifted truck tends to draw more attention.
Still doesn’t mean I have to like it. I shift again, searching for a position that doesn’t make me feel like my knees are trying to occupy the same space as my lungs.
The car is silent. Which isn’t unusual, not when I’m with Uncle Duncan. We’ve spent entire days together without speaking more than a handful of words. The silence has never bothered either of us. What is unusual is the sideways glances he keeps throwing my way.
Most people wouldn’t notice them. Mostly because Duncan doesn’t do anything without a reason. Another glance. Then another. I shift in my seat.
“You keep looking at me.”
“Yes.”
Of course, that’s his answer.
“Why?”
“Thinking.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, barely. The road stretches out ahead of us. Duncan’s attention returns to it, but I can practically see the gears turning in his head. Whatever he’s thinking about, he’s taking his time getting there.
Out of everyone in the family, Duncan and I have always been the closest. Not that he’d ever admit it. Don’t get me wrong, he’s close with Declan. That’s his son. His pride and joy, even if he’d rather walk barefoot across broken glass than say those words out loud.
But for as long as I can remember, I’ve gravitated toward Duncan.
Even as a kid. While the others were outside playing football or getting into trouble, I’d often end up wherever Duncan happened to be.
Watching him work, following him around.
Most people find him intimidating. I never did.
Well, not much, anyway. He’s always felt steady to me.
The kind of man who says exactly what he means and means exactly what he says.
When Duncan makes a promise, it gets kept. When Duncan says he’ll protect someone, that person stays protected. I think that is why he and I are close. My personality and his match on some levels. Which is why the glances are starting to concern me.
“Are you going to spit it out?” I ask.
“Why Jaxon?”
I frown. “What do you mean? You already know that the altercation with Manny set all of this in motion.” Confusion laces my tone.
“No, why did you pick Jaxon?” He takes his eyes off the road long enough to search my face before turning back to it. “You don’t do relationships.”
That’s true. I don’t. My brothers and cousins think I’m the biggest man-whore in the family, and that’s by design.
They see me leave the club with random men and women all the time.
They see the flirting, the touching, the easy smiles.
They think they know exactly what I’m doing.
What they don’t see is me walking those same people to their rides home. Making sure they’re safe.
Then leaving alone. It’s become a constant source of entertainment for the family.
A running commentary about who’s taking who home and how long it’ll last. I get my fair share of sex.
Always have. But it means absolutely nothing, a transaction between consenting adults.
That’s the way I’ve always preferred it. No expectations.
“I don’t know if I can explain it,” I say. “Not in a way that will make sense to you.”
Duncan is quiet for a moment. “What about him caused you to fixate on him?”
This time I don’t have to think. The answer comes immediately. “His fight with Declan.” Duncan waits. He knows there’s more.
“I watched that fight, and it made no sense to me.” I stare out the windshield at the road stretching endlessly in front of us.
The memory is as clear now as it was eight months ago. Jaxon was outmatched. Anyone with eyes could see it. Yet that wasn’t what held my attention.
“He pulled his punches,” I continue. Duncan’s fingers tighten slightly on the steering wheel. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for me.
“He wasn’t trying to lose exactly.” I shake my head, searching for the right words. “He was trying not to hurt anyone.”
Even now, it doesn’t make sense. A man trapped in a cage. Forced to fight. Given every reason to prioritize his own survival, and he was worried about the person standing across from him. “I couldn’t reconcile it.”
The confession comes easier than I expect. “Everything about the situation should have made him vicious. Angry. Desperate. Instead, he’d looked guilty every time he landed a hit. Like hurting someone bothered him. Like he cared. I needed to know why.”
“That only explains why you wanted to know what makes him tick.”
Duncan makes a left-hand turn and glances at me before returning his attention to the road. “But I’ve seen the way you look at him.” I don’t respond. “It’s the same with Declan and Ronan.” That gets my attention. Duncan isn’t a man who wastes words.
“Alessia says you boys have imprinted on these men.”
I huff out a laugh. It sounds ridiculous.
Yet I don’t immediately dismiss it. The silence stretches between us.
I turn my gaze to the passing scenery outside the window.
Trying to put something into words that has existed only as fragmented thoughts until now.
The more I watched him, the more I wanted. What I wanted was harder to define.
I wanted to know where he went after the fights. What books he read. Why he always looked exhausted. Why he kept choosing kindness when the world gave him every reason not to.
“I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved,” I admit. “Any more than I already was.” The words feel almost ironic now. Because by then I was already watching him. Already making excuses to keep tabs on him. Already looking for him every time I walked into the club.
Duncan says nothing. Waiting, letting me work through it.
“But then I saw him that night.” My jaw tightens. I don’t need to explain which night. Duncan knows.
“The fourth fight.” I can still see it. Jaxon is standing there, bruised, exhausted, and defeated. Like he’d finally accepted that no one was coming for him.
“I couldn’t walk away.” The admission settles heavily in the car. It’s the truth. The simplest version of it, anyway. I couldn’t leave him there. Couldn’t pretend he wasn’t my problem. Couldn’t convince myself to stop caring. I let out a slow breath.
“He’s mine, Uncle Duncan.” The words feel possessive and certain. Like a fact I’ve known for months. “I think I knew it long before I realized it.”
Uncle Duncan’s finger taps on the steering wheel. He doesn’t do tells or ticks, so what is he thinking so hard about? Before I can ask, he says, “We’re here.”