Chapter 35 #2
“I didn’t have to think.” My breathing starts coming faster. The confession pulls old feelings to the surface. “I didn’t have to feel anything.”
I stop talking. The room blurs slightly. Conor runs his hand through my hair, the same way he did during the panic attack. Grounding me. Reminding me that I’m not sitting alone in that apartment anymore. I had to finish it. Get it all out.
“I stopped.” The words barely make it out. “I found myself staring at the pills and the alcohol, thinking about how easy it would be to just slip away from everything.” My throat tightens. “An easy out.”
Conor’s arms immediately tighten around me. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make sure I’m still there. “But something kept stopping me.”
The admission hangs between us, raw and ugly, but honest.
“No one would have missed me.” I force the words out. “Or even noticed I wasn’t showing up.” A bitter laugh escapes me. “I didn’t want to be that coward.”
Conor goes completely still. The kind of stillness that feels dangerous.
Then he pulls back just enough to guide my face toward his.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes. His expression is a complicated mess of emotions.
Worry, anger, and something else I can’t quite identify.
Something fierce. Something that makes my chest ache.
“Don’t.” His voice is low. Rough. “Don’t ever say that again.”
I blink. Confused. “Say what?”
His jaw clenches. “That no one would have missed you.” The words come out like they physically hurt him. “Because it’s not true.” His hand cups the back of my neck, holding me steady.
“Maybe there wasn’t anyone there to tell you that then.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “But there is now.”
My vision blurs. “Conor—”
“No.” His forehead rests against mine. “You don’t get to decide your worth based on how badly other people failed you.”
The tears I’ve been fighting finally spill over. Because no one has ever said anything like that to me before.
The next couple of hours pass with Conor holding me.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask more questions.
Doesn’t demand details I clearly don’t want to give.
Instead, he talks about himself and his brothers.
The ridiculous things Xavier has apparently done.
The stories are enough to keep my mind occupied.
Enough to stop me from disappearing back into my own head.
At some point, I find myself relaxing against him again. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear becoming strangely familiar.
The ringing of the doorbell cuts through one of his stories. Conor pauses mid-sentence.
“Expecting someone?” I ask.
His expression becomes carefully neutral. Which immediately makes me suspicious.
“Maybe.”
“Conor.”
He kisses my forehead before I can question him further. The unfair tactic almost works. Almost. Then he stands and heads for the door. I watch from the couch as he opens it.
A middle-aged man stands on the other side.
He’s dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt.
Professional without being overly formal.
His face is kind, his smile easy. Familiar somehow.
Not because I know him but because I’ve seen that expression before.
On doctors and counselors. On people whose job involves helping others.
A sinking feeling settles in my stomach.
Conor gestures for him to come inside. “Come in.”
The two of them walk toward the living room. Toward me. And suddenly I have a very good idea who this man is.
“This is Dr. Baker. He’s here to see you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jaxon.”
The man offers me an easy smile. “Please call me Neil.” He turns toward Conor. “Is there somewhere we can talk comfortably?”
Conor nods. “Come on.” I follow them down the hallway. Neil falls into step beside me while Conor leads the way. When Conor pushes open the door to his office, understanding settles over me.
“Jaxon likes to sit in the window seat.”
That’s the only explanation he gives. My chest tightens at such a simple statement.
Yet it feels strangely intimate. I want to tell him the real reason I like the window seat.
That it isn’t the view or how comfortable it is.
It’s because being there lets me stay close to him.
Lets me exist in the same space while he works.
Quietly sharing the room without needing anything from each other.
The thought is far too embarrassing to say out loud. So I keep it to myself.
Neil gestures toward the window seat.
“Please.”
I settle into my usual spot. Conor lingers in the doorway. Neil lowers himself into one of the high-backed chairs opposite me. His posture is relaxed. It’s open and nothing about him feels clinical or forced. I hear the sound of the door softly closing.
“I’d like to spend a few minutes with us just getting to know each other,” Neil says. The knot in my stomach immediately tightens. Here it comes. The questions, assessments. Digging through the wreckage of my life. Neil must notice something on my face because he smiles.
“No tests.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “No diagnoses today.” His gaze meets mine. “Just a conversation.”
For the first time since meeting Neil, some of the tension eases from my shoulders.