16. Jaxon #2
I follow her to the foyer, watching her slip into her shoes with practiced efficiency. "Take my car,” I say as I pull the keys out of my pocket and hand them to her. “But Vivienne, wait. About what you asked—"
"It's okay," she interrupts, clearly distracted by the work crisis. "It was unfair to put you on the spot like that. We both know this is for the best."
"Do we?" I challenge, frustration mounting. "Because I'm not convinced either of us knows what we really want."
She pauses, hand on the doorknob. "I wanted you to ask me to stay, Jaxon. Not for Lily, not for convenience, but for you. Because you wanted me in your life."
"I do want you in my life," I admit. "I've just been too scared to say it."
Her expression softens fractionally. "And I've been too scared to hear it." She glances at her watch, conflict evident. "I really do have to go. The entire launch is in jeopardy."
"Can we talk later? After your crisis is handled?"
She hesitates, then nods. "I'll call you. But I don't know how late this will go."
"I'll be up," I promise. "No matter what time."
After she leaves, I stand in the foyer, the familiar sensation of watching her walk away settling like lead in my chest. Only this time, it feels different. This time, I'm not accepting it as inevitable, as safer than the alternative.
This time, I'm finally ready to fight for what I want.
"She's gone?" Lily's small voice comes from the kitchen doorway. She stands there clutching her Neptune, face crestfallen.
"Just for tonight," I tell her, kneeling to her level. "She had a work emergency."
"But she's still going to London," Lily says, disappointment evident. "She's still leaving us."
"Maybe not," I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. "Not if I can help it."
Lily's eyes widen. "You're going to make her stay?"
"I can't make her do anything," I clarify. "That's not how it works with grown-ups. But I can tell her how I feel. I can ask her to stay. I can fight for us... for the family we've been building."
"Family?" Lily repeats, hope flickering across her face.
"Yes," I say firmly. "That's what we've become, haven't we? You, me, and Vivienne. A family."
She nods solemnly. "But you haven't told her that."
"No," I admit. "I've been too scared."
"Because of what happened with Dad and my mom?" she asks with that unnerving perceptiveness. "Because they left?"
I study her, amazed again by her emotional intelligence. "Something like that, yeah. I was afraid if I let myself need Vivienne, she might leave too."
"But she's leaving anyway," Lily points out with impeccable eight-year-old logic. "So being scared didn't help."
A laugh escapes me, unexpected but genuine. "No, it sure didn't."
"So what are you going to do?" she asks, eyes wide with anticipation.
Good question. What am I going to do? The custody hearing is next week. Vivienne leaves the following Sunday. The clock is ticking on both fronts.
"First," I say, decision crystallizing, "I'm going to call Luke and have him reschedule the European tour dates."
"And then?"
"Then I'm going to figure out how to show Vivienne exactly what she means to us. That she's essential."
"Like oxygen," Lily says knowingly. "We learned about essential things in science. Oxygen is essential for life."
"Exactly like oxygen," I agree, the analogy striking me as perfectly apt. These past days without Vivienne have felt like trying to breathe underwater—everything muted, difficult, wrong.
Lily watches as I pull out my phone, resolve hardening. "Are you calling her now?"
"No," I say, scrolling through my contacts. "She needs to focus on her work crisis. But I'm putting some things in motion. Starting with Luke."
Luke answers on the second ring, his "what now?" greeting suggesting I'm interrupting something important.
"I need you to clear my schedule," I tell him without preamble. "Everything not essential through Sunday."
"What? Jax, you have the—"
"Reschedule it all," I interrupt. "This is more important."
"This is about keeping my family together," I tell him. "All of us."
A pause, then understanding dawns in his voice. "Vivienne. You're finally doing something about her leaving."
"Yes."
"Thank god," he says with unexpected fervor. "It's about damn time. What do you need from me?"
I outline my plan quickly, ideas forming as I speak. By the time I hang up, the framework is in place—now I just need to execute it. And hope that it's not too late, that Vivienne is willing to listen, to believe that I've finally figured out what I want.
What I need.
What I can't live without.
"Is it going to work?" Lily asks as I end the call, hope and doubt warring in her expression.
"I don't know," I admit. "But we're going to give it everything we've got."
She nods solemnly, then slips her small hand into mine. "If she says yes, will she be my stepmom? Like officially?"
The question catches me off guard, future possibilities unfolding in my mind—Vivienne in a white dress, a ceremony with just us and Lily, a legal family formed from choice rather than obligation.
"Would you want that?" I ask carefully.
She considers this with remarkable seriousness for a child her age. "Yeah," she says finally. "I would. She makes us better."
The simple truth of it resonates through me. Vivienne does make us better—makes me better. Braver, more honest, more willing to embrace the messiness of real connection instead of the safety of controlled distance.
"Then that's what we'll aim for," I tell Lily, squeezing her hand. "But first, we have to convince her to stay."
As Lily heads upstairs to change out of her costume, I stand in the foyer, staring at the door Vivienne walked through. For the first time in years—maybe ever—I feel clarity about what I want, what I'm willing to risk everything for.
Not fame or fortune or professional recognition. Not even the custody of Lily, though that remains essential.
But this. This chance at real connection, at vulnerability without guarantee. At the kind of love I've spent a lifetime avoiding precisely because it matters so damn much.
My phone buzzes with a text from Luke: Everything's set for tomorrow. Don't screw this up.
I smile despite the gravity of the situation. No pressure there.
Another text follows, this one from Vivienne: Crisis ongoing. Will be at office all night. Talk tomorrow?
I reply immediately: Tomorrow. I'll come to you. There's something I need to say, and it can't wait any longer.
Her response takes longer than expected, and when it comes, it's cautious: Okay. I'll be at the office until noon.
Not exactly enthusiastic, but she's willing to see me. It's a start—a chance to finally say all the things I should have said days, weeks ago. To lay my heart bare and hope she still wants it, damaged and scared as it may be.
Because the alternative—letting her walk away without fighting for us—is no longer an option I can live with.