Chapter 39
Jaxon
I wake to morning sunlight spilling across the bedroom. Conor’s bedroom. His arm is draped over my waist, his warm body pressed against my back. I’m the little spoon. The realization sends a strange warmth through me. I love it.
For once, I don’t wake up alone. I don’t wake up reaching for someone who isn’t there. I don’t wake up to an empty room. I wake up wrapped in safety. Wrapped in him.
My eyes drift closed again as memories of last night surface.
What stays with me are the moments afterward.
The things no romance novel ever truly prepared me for.
The care. The attention. The fact that when everything was over, Conor’s focus never shifted away from me.
He didn’t pull away. Didn’t turn over. Didn’t act like the vulnerable parts of me had suddenly become inconvenient.
Instead, he took care of me. The memory makes my chest ache.
Because nobody has ever done that before. Not once.
Then there was the small jar he pulled from his nightstand. I hadn’t recognized it at first. Not until I noticed the seal. It was unbroken, unused. Bought specifically for me. He’d planned for my comfort. Anticipated my needs before I’d even voiced them.
He applied the soothing oil to my thoroughly used hole; the gesture was so simple, so practical. Yet it felt impossibly intimate.
My throat tightens at the memory, not because of what he did, but because of what it meant. Conor had thought about me. Not as a problem to solve, not as someone he was responsible for, but as someone worth caring for. And somehow, that means more than I know how to put into words.
Movement behind me pulls me from my memories.
Conor’s arm tightens around my waist, and I smile, a real smile.
Not the polite ones I learned to fake. Not the sarcastic ones I use to deflect.
A genuine smile. It feels strange on my face.
I want to stay here forever, safe and warm, cocooned in his arms. For once, the future doesn’t seem quite so terrifying.
I feel his lips brush my shoulder, then my neck. A moment later, he takes in a deep breath.
“Are you sniffing me?” I ask with a giggle, scrunching my shoulder.
“Smell is one of the things that attracts people to others,” he says matter-of-factly.
I roll my eyes.
“Of course, you would make it sound like a scientific study.”
“It is a scientific study. And your smell is intoxicating.”
The blunt honesty catches me off guard. Conor doesn’t flirt the way most people do. He doesn’t use pretty words or grand declarations. He simply states things as facts, as though there’s no point pretending otherwise. Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“That’s a very strange thing to say before coffee.”
His arm tightens again. Possessively. Comfortingly. “It’s also true.”
I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Incorrect.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I am statistically accurate.”
The laugh that escapes me is loud enough to echo through the room. For a moment, neither of us says anything. We simply lie there. The morning sunlight creeping across the sheets. His heartbeat steady against my back.
I never realized how much I wanted this. Never realized how much I want to wake up beside someone who wants me to stay. That thought is further cemented when Conor rolls me over and braces himself over me. His brilliant green eyes roam over my face.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice still rough with sleep.
“I feel great.” The smile comes easily, effortlessly. I don’t even try to hide it.
In reality, great doesn’t come close to describing it. How do you explain finally finding something you didn’t realize you were missing? How do you explain feeling safe? Wanted. Chosen. The feeling is too big for words.
So instead, I wrap my arms around Conor’s neck and pull him down to me. His lips meet mine immediately. I pour everything I can’t say into the kiss. Every thank you. Every fear. Every impossible hope. For once, words seem inadequate.
The kiss deepens quickly. Neither of us is particularly interested in restraint. By the time we pull apart, we’re both breathing harder. I immediately chase his lips again. Not ready to leave this moment.
Then my stomach growls. Loudly. The sound cuts through the mood like a gunshot.
I freeze.
Conor freezes.
For exactly one second, then he starts laughing. Actually laughing. The deep sound vibrates through his chest.
“Traitor,” I mutter to my stomach.
Conor kisses my forehead.
“Breakfast first.”
I sigh dramatically. “You’re making terrible decisions this morning.”
“Objectively incorrect.” His hand slides down my side. “Your body requires calories.”
“There he is,” I groan.
“Who?”
“The man who somehow manages to turn everything into a scientific report.”
Conor looks entirely unapologetic. “It’s an important skill.”
Despite myself, I laugh. And as I do, I realize something. This. This right here. The teasing. The laughter. The ease of it. I’ve never had this before. Not once in my life.
“Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.”
Conor pulls back even further. Before I can think better of it, I tighten my grip around his neck.
“Or I can eat something before we get out of bed.”
The words leave my mouth, then my brain catches up.
Oh.
Oh, God.
Did I really just say that? I stare at him, waiting for my own embarrassment to swallow me whole. I’ve never been one to flirt. Hell, I’m not entirely convinced I know how.
Trent always teased that my idea of flirting was discussing power tools and asking if someone had eaten. Yet somehow, in less than a week, Conor has me saying things that would have made the old me crawl under a rock and die.
A grin slowly spreads across his face. The expression is dangerous. Predatory. Entirely too pleased with himself.
“Well.” His voice has dropped lower. “That’s certainly an option.”
Heat rushes into my face. “Forget I said anything.”
“Not possible.”
I groan and bury my face against his shoulder.
The laughter that rumbles through his chest only makes it worse.
Or maybe better. I’m honestly not sure anymore.
What surprises me most isn’t that I said it.
It’s that I wanted to. For once, I wasn’t weighing every word before I spoke.
Wasn’t worried about saying the wrong thing.
Wasn’t trying to be who someone expected me to be.
I was just…
Me.
And somehow that feels even more intimate than anything that happened last night.
Conor’s stomach gives a growl, and our combined laughter fills the space around us. Giving me a glimpse at what life could be, it warms me like nothing else ever has.
We make our way to the kitchen, where Conor insists on feeding both of us. I watch him move around the kitchen as he cooks. I enjoy cooking, always have. But watching Conor do something solely because it makes my life easier affects me more than it should.
I let myself enjoy it. The breakfast. The conversation. The easy comfort of simply being together. So painfully normal. It’s the kind of morning I’ve read about in books but never expected to experience myself.
The chime of a phone cuts through the moment. As I glance up, Conor is already reaching for it. Whatever amusement had been lingering on his face disappears as he reads the message. My stomach immediately drops. The happiness I’d been floating in evaporates.
Conor looks up from his phone, and our eyes meet. And just like that, I know.
I’m not going to like whatever comes next.
The fragile little bubble of happiness we’ve been living in shatters around us.
I set down my fork.
“What’s wrong?”
The question comes out quieter than I intended.
Because part of me already knows.
The universe has finally remembered I exist and has come to collect its due.
“Just tell me whatever it is, Conor.” I try to act indifferent, but my voice cracks on his name.
“Duncan has scheduled a meeting with Manny tonight at eight. He’s requesting you be there.” The venom in his voice when he mentions Manny almost makes me smile. “I’m against it. You shouldn’t be anywhere near that asshole.”
“But,” I prompt.
“I’m being told that I should let it be your decision. Manny stated that you being present is the only way he will agree to the meeting.”
“It is my decision, Conor. But I also really appreciate the fact that you’re worried about me.” I give him a small smile. He doesn’t return it.
“I’m not letting anything happen to you. If he so much as breathes in your direction, I will not hesitate.” Conor lays his forehead to mine. “I will kill him or anyone else who tries to hurt you.”
I know he isn’t joking. I haven’t asked for specifics about Henry. Honestly, I don’t want them. Some things are better left unknown. But deep down, I already know the answer. Henry is dead.
I saw it in Duncan and Conor’s faces when they left that night.
It was the kind of certainty that comes from a decision already made.
A task already completed. Part of me should probably be horrified.
Instead, I find myself strangely detached from it.
Henry spent months profiting from my suffering.
Making sure I stayed trapped. Making sure I kept fighting.
If the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have lost a moment of sleep over what happened to me.
That realization doesn’t make his death right. But it does make it difficult to mourn him. I spent years in the military. I’ve seen what people are capable of doing to each other. I’ve watched good men die, and bad men walk away. The world stopped looking black and white a long time ago.
What unsettles me isn’t that Henry is dead. It’s how quickly I’ve accepted it.
I wait for guilt, but it’s not there. Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I’ve simply run out of sympathy for men like Henry. Either way, I already know one thing. When the Murphys say they’re going to do something, they do it.
“I want this over with one way or the other, Conor.” My voice is steady. The same tone I used before missions, before stepping onto helicopters, before entering places where people were actively trying to kill me. Fear serves a purpose. Panic does not.
The truth is, I’m tired. Tired of looking over my shoulder.
Tired of wondering when the next problem is going to appear.
Tired of having my life dictated by decisions other people made.
I thought those days ended when I left the Marines.
I thought I’d already done my time living with the constant possibility of violence. Apparently not.
Life seems determined to prove me wrong. I meet Conor’s gaze. “If Manny wants to see me, then let’s get it over with.”
The words taste bitter. Not because I’m afraid.
Because I know what this means to Conor.
I know how much he doesn’t want me anywhere near this.
How much he’d rather handle it himself. But this isn’t something he can do for me, not this time.
There are some battles that belong to the person standing in the middle of them. This one’s mine.
“I’m going.”
For a moment, I expect an argument or a lecture. Maybe even Conor throwing me over his shoulder and locking me in the bedroom. Instead, he nods. The tension in his jaw is the only indication that he dislikes my decision. Leaning forward, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Everyone is meeting here at five to go over the plan.”
I blink.
“You have a plan?”
The question is out before I can stop it. Of course, they have a plan. These people probably have plans for making coffee. Conor raises an eyebrow.
“Jaxon.”
Right, stupid question. They had a plan when they went after Henry. They had a plan when they got me out of the fighting circuit. Hell, I’m fairly certain they have contingency plans for their contingency plans.
A small smile tugs at my lips. The military would love these people. Or arrest them. Possibly both. Despite the knot forming in my stomach, some of the tension eases.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Murphy family, it’s that they don’t walk into situations unprepared.
Whatever happens tonight, I won’t be facing it alone.