Chapter 44
Conor
It’s been over a month since the night at the warehouse. Life has settled into something resembling normal. At least as normal as life with the Murphy family is ever going to get. I think Jaxon finally understands that he isn’t just part of my life. He’s part of my family.
Not that anyone gave him much choice in the matter. Mom would probably say we imprinted on him. I suspect she’s right. The evidence is difficult to ignore.
He now has standing lunch plans with Colton and Ollie every Tuesday. Finn somehow convinced him to start going to the range twice a month. Declan calls him just to argue over football. And God help us all… He, Colton, and Xavier have formed a club. A group chat.
I have absolutely no idea how it started.
Only that his phone now goes off constantly with messages from that group chat. The group chat is called… The Red Flag Lovers.
I still don’t know whether I’m supposed to be offended or concerned. Judging by the amount of laughing Jaxon does following every message. I’m neither. I’m happy that Jaxon has made friends with them.
I asked Ronan once what they talked about. He looked at me with genuine pity.
“Buddy… you don’t want to know.”
Jaxon smiles every time his phone buzzes.
The quiet, genuine smile that still catches me off guard.
The one that reaches his eyes. The one that reminds me, every single time, that he has people waiting for him now.
People who expect him to answer. People who notice when he doesn’t. A family. Exactly as it should be.
I hear the front door open and shut. No greeting.
No “I’m home.” Just the quiet click of the lock.
Jaxon is never loud, but I’ve learned the sounds of him moving through the house.
The steady rhythm of his boots. The way he always sets his keys in the same spot.
The pause in the entryway while he slips off his shoes. Today, everything is slower.
I close my laptop and listen. Therapy days are always difficult. He never says much afterward. Sometimes he curls up beside me and falls asleep. Sometimes he disappears into the backyard with a book and doesn’t speak for hours.
I let him choose. Today was different. Today, Neil was helping him search for answers. Jaxon never knew why he ended up in foster care. For years, he never wanted to know. He told me once that it didn’t matter. The people who leave rarely have reasons worth hearing.
Then everything changed. He found a family. Found people who wanted him. Now he wants to know. He wants to know why they gave him up. Why they abandoned him. The questions have been sitting between us for weeks.
I hear soft footsteps moving toward my office. A second later, Jaxon appears in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there. The sight twists something deep in my chest. Whatever happened in therapy today, it took more out of him than usual.
I push my chair back and hold out a hand. I don’t ask how it went. If Jaxon has taught me anything, it’s that some wounds need silence before they can find words. For a long moment, he simply looks at me. Then, he crosses the room and takes my hand.
I pull him into my lap and wrap my arms around him. The office chair groans in protest beneath our combined weight. Jaxon shifts until he’s comfortable, his legs draped over one arm of the chair.
“We’re going to break another chair.” His voice is muffled against my shoulder.
“Then I’ll buy another one.” I tighten my hold on him and breathe in his scent. “So worth it.”
A snort escapes him. Then a quiet laugh.
The sound settles something restless inside me.
A month ago, Jaxon would have fought me on this.
Insisted he was too big, too heavy, or too much.
He would have apologized for taking up space.
Now he simply settles deeper against me. Accepting the embrace without question.
His head comes to rest on my shoulder. His breathing gradually slows.
The tension he carried through the front door bleeding away a little at a time.
The chair creaks again. I ignore it. If it breaks, I’ll buy another.
If that one breaks, I’ll buy another. Because the man in my lap is finally learning that he’s allowed to lean on someone else.
And there isn’t a price tag in the world high enough to make me regret that.
“They didn’t abandon me.” The words are barely above a whisper. For a moment, I think I’ve misheard him.
“They didn’t?”
Jaxon shakes his head against my shoulder. “Neil was able to get my file.”
His fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of my shirt.
I hold him a little closer. More than once, I told him Ronan could have the information in minutes.
Probably seconds. The man treated government databases like mildly inconvenient filing cabinets.
Every time I offered, Jaxon refused. He wanted to do it with Neil.
He wanted his therapist there when he read whatever awaited him.
At the time, I didn’t understand. If I’m honest, I didn’t like it. The thought of another man being the one Jaxon leaned on stirred something ugly inside me. Something possessive. I wanted to be the person he turned to. The person he trusted first.
Mom corrected that thinking before it had a chance to grow. She told me loving someone doesn’t mean being everything they need. It means making sure they have everything they need. Even when it comes from someone else. So I said nothing. I press a kiss to the top of his head.
“Tell me.”
“My parents were in their forties when they had me.” Jaxon’s voice is quiet, like he’s reading someone else’s story instead of his own. “I don’t know if they were trying to have a kid or if I was an accident.”
I don’t interrupt. He needs to get the words out.
“They were both only children, and both sets of grandparents were already gone by then.” He draws in a slow, shaky breath. The kind he takes when he’s trying to hold himself together. “They died in a car accident when I was two.”
The words hit me square in the chest.
“I was in the car, Conor.” His fingers curl into my shirt. “The scar on my thigh…”
He looks down as if he can see it through his jeans.
“The one that’s always been there, that’s where it came from.”
For a long moment, I can’t speak. Every story Jaxon has ever told me. Every foster home. Every time he said no one wanted him. Every time, he wondered why he wasn’t enough. Built on a lie. One his mind created to fill a void no child should ever have to fill.
He didn’t spend years believing his parents died.
He spent almost thirty years believing they left.
The difference is devastating. I tighten my arms around him.
Not because I have the right words. I don’t.
Because some grief deserves silence. So I simply hold him.
The way I’ve learned he needs. The way he once held me beneath a hail of bullets.
“Conor…” His voice is barely more than a whisper. “They’re buried here.” I feel him swallow against my shoulder. “In Philly. Neil gave me the information.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. The weight of those words settles over the room.
He takes another steadying breath. “Would you go with me?”
The question undoes me. Not because of where he’s asking me to go.
Because he’s asking at all. A month ago, Jaxon would have carried this alone.
Driven there alone. Stood there alone. Grieved alone.
Because that’s all he’d ever known. Now he’s asking me to stand beside him. I tighten my arms around him.
“A Chroí…” I kiss the top of his head. “I wouldn’t let you go alone.”
His shoulders finally sag against me, as though he’s been holding himself together since he walked through the front door. I rest my cheek against his hair.
“We’ll take flowers. We’ll sit there as long as you need. And when you’re ready to leave,” I squeeze him gently. “We’ll come home.”
“Thank you.” Jaxon’s voice is small, fragile. “I know you have work, but…” He hesitates. “Do you think we could go now?” His fingers tighten around mine. “I don’t want to lose my nerve.”
I don’t even consider the question. I motion for him to stand, then I do the same.
“Let’s go.” Relief washes across his face.
It doesn’t take long to reach the cemetery. Fifteen minutes at most. Seems strange for something that has haunted Jaxon his entire life, it was practically in our backyard. Almost directly between our house and Mom and Dad’s.
The drive passes in comfortable silence. Jaxon spends most of it staring out the window. His hand never leaves mine.
Before pulling into the cemetery, I pick up my phone and send one message to the family group chat.
Me: Taking Jaxon to visit his parents. Don’t call.
A month ago, I would have kept this to myself. Believed it was my responsibility to carry Jaxon through whatever came next. Mom helped me understand that loving someone isn’t about standing between them and everyone else. It’s about making sure they never have to stand alone.
I pull into a parking space and shut off the engine. The silence returns. Jaxon looks at the rows of headstones stretching into the distance. Then over at me. I reach across the center console and squeeze his hand once.
“Whenever you’re ready, A Chroí.”
It takes only a few minutes to find them. The cemetery is quiet. The only sounds are birds somewhere overhead and the soft crunch of gravel beneath our shoes. Jaxon slows, then stops. I stop with him. Side by side, we stare at the shared headstone.
Thomas Kane.
Catherine Kane.
Their names are carved into the gray granite. Beneath them are the dates of their births, and the date they died. Nothing else. Just proof that they existed. The marker is plain. Almost forgotten among the polished monuments and elaborate engravings surrounding it.
For some reason, that doesn’t sit right with me. Jaxon doesn’t move. His eyes trace each letter slowly. As if committing them to memory.
I glance at Jaxon. His expression is unreadable. Without a word, I reach for his hand. He takes it immediately. His grip tightens around mine. We stand like that for a long time. Neither of us in any hurry.
Eventually, Jaxon’s eyes drift to the bouquet in his hand. The flowers we’d picked up on the way here. He bends, carefully setting them in front of the stone. His fingers linger against the stems for a moment before he straightens.
“I don’t know what to say.”
The words are barely audible. More confession than conversation. I look from him to the names carved into the granite. Then back again.
“Do you have to say anything?”
He doesn’t answer. The breeze stirs around us. I think about all the conversations he’ll never get to have. The birthdays they missed. The graduations. The day he became a Marine. The nights he needed someone to tell him everything would be okay. Years of words that never had a chance to be spoken.
Jaxon takes another step closer to the grave. His shoulders rise with a deep breath. Then slowly fall.
“I spent my whole life thinking you didn’t want me.” His voice trembles. “I was wrong.” A tear slips down his cheek. He doesn’t wipe it away. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”
The sound of footsteps draws my attention. I turn. Jaxon doesn’t. He’s still standing in front of his parents’ grave. His entire world reduced to a single headstone.
Mom and Dad walk toward us first. Duncan is just behind them. Then my brothers and Declan. Xavier. Colton, and, holding tightly to his father’s hand, little Ollie.
No one speaks. No one asks if they’re interrupting.
They simply come one by one. Mom steps forward first. She kneels, placing a small bouquet beside Jaxon’s flowers.
She brushes her fingertips over the granite once before stepping back.
Dad follows. Then Duncan. Each leaving behind a handful of flowers.
A quiet acknowledgment.
A silent promise.
You are not alone.
Finn sets his bouquet down with an awkward nod toward the headstone.
Declan removes his sunglasses before crouching to place his.
Ronan straightens one of the ribbons after setting his flowers in place, because of course he does.
Colton smiles softly before adding his own.
Xavier lingers for a second, looking at the names.
Then gently lays down a bouquet of wildflowers.
Finally, Ollie toddles forward. A single sunflower clutched in both tiny hands. He places it carefully on top of the growing pile. Then pats it twice, satisfied with his work, he turns back toward us.
“Flowers.” His tiny voice echoes through the quiet cemetery.
Jaxon’s eyes move from bouquet to bouquet. Then to the people standing behind him. People who have never met Thomas or Catherine Kane. People who owe them nothing, yet came anyway.
I feel Jaxon’s fingers tighten painfully around mine.
His breathing catches. The tears he’s been fighting finally spill over.
This time, he doesn’t try to hide them. Mom steps quietly to his side.
She slips an arm around his waist, drawing him gently against her.
Jaxon goes without resistance. As though some part of him has finally grown too tired to keep standing alone.
She looks at the headstone, at the names carved into the granite. Then speaks.
“Thomas and Catherine Kane.” Her voice is soft. Respectful, the kind of voice reserved for sacred places. “You have a wonderful son.”
A tear rolls silently down Jaxon’s cheek.
“He’s kind. Loyal. Braver than he gives himself credit for. And he has a heart so big it would rather break itself than let someone else suffer.”
I feel Jaxon shake beside me. Mom only tightens her arm around him.
“You weren’t given the chance to watch him grow. To see the man he became. To tell him how proud you are.” She pauses, her own voice thickening. “So I’ll tell him for you.”
She glances at Jaxon before looking back at the stone.
“You can rest now. He isn’t alone anymore. He has a family. He has brothers, a father, a mother. And a man who loves him beyond reason.”
Her hand squeezes Jaxon’s side. “We will give him all the love you never had the opportunity to give. We will stand beside him when he stumbles. We will celebrate his victories. We will carry him through his losses. And we will make sure he never again doubts that he is wanted.”
The cemetery falls completely silent. Mom’s eyes never leave the headstone.
“That is the promise I make to both of you. And I have never broken a promise.”
For a long moment, no one moves. Then Jaxon does something that steals the breath from my lungs. He turns into Mom’s embrace. Not because he needs saving. But because, for the first time in his life, he finally believes someone is there to catch him.