Chapter 59 Echoes
Echoes
He brushes his teeth, then steps into the shower, hoping the hot water might wash away the fog clinging to his thoughts.
But it doesn’t.
Because that dream… it won’t let go.
Her face.
A child.
Laughter that didn’t belong to him—but shattered him all the same.
Why the hell did I dream about her now?
He rinses the shampoo from his hair, running his hands through it like he could scrub the memories out too.
I haven’t seen or thought of her in almost four years. Not since Atlanta. Not since he stood at that glass door, watched her smile from across the restaurant, and let her walk away again.
And now she shows up in a dream—with a kid?
Nope. No more sleeping pills.
As he reaches for the body wash, the doorbell rings.
Caught off guard, Jaxon grabs the towel from the shower door, quickly drying his face and hair before wrapping it around his waist. He heads down the stairs, passing the mirror in the living room. He pauses—makes sure his towel is secure. No sense in traumatizing the UPS guy.
But when he reaches the door, everything changes.
The glass is textured, warping the figure behind it. All he can see is the outline of a woman, standing with her back to him, long hair curling slightly at the bottom. Something about her stance stops him cold.
He opens the door.
And time bends.
“Well,” she says with a faint smile, “it’s been a few years since I’ve seen you standing in the doorway like that.”
His jaw tightens. Eyes widen.
“Sara?”
“Hey, Jax.”
He blinks. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
There’s no anger in her voice. No gloating. Just something tired. Heavy.
He steps aside. “Come in.”
As she walks past, she glances down at the towel around his waist and smirks. “Good to know you still answer the door like that.”
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me put some clothes on.”
She nods, wandering toward the kitchen. The silence stretches.
When Jaxon returns, dressed and barefoot, he finds her standing by the window. Hands wrapped around a mug he forgot he even owned. She's not here for coffee.
“It’s good to see you, Sara,” he says cautiously. “But what’s this about? Is Claire with you?”
“No,” she says quickly. Too quickly.
“Where is she? Did she not want to come?”
Sara doesn’t answer. Her eyes flick toward the floor.
“Sara.”
She shakes her head. “No one else is here. My family’s at the beach house. I came alone. I needed to talk to you.”
His chest tightens. “About what?”
“It’s about Claire.”
“No.” His voice hardens. “No, I’m not doing this again.”
“You should know—”
“I said no.”
Her voice cracks as she cuts him off. “Damnit, Jaxon—Claire is gone. My sister is dead.”
Silence.
It lands like a bomb. No echo. Just devastation.
Jaxon doesn’t speak. Can’t. He just stares, as the room tilts around him. The only sound is the soft, rhythmic drip of Sara’s tears hitting the hardwood floor.
He swallows hard, throat tight. “What? When?”
“Three months ago,” Sara whispers. “She was sick.”
“Sick?” His voice fractures. “What do you mean—sick?”
Sara nods, fighting for composure. “About a year ago, she was in a car accident. She blacked out. The hospital ran tests. They found a tumor. It was inoperable.”
Jaxon leans against the wall. “Jesus.”
“She tried everything. She didn’t want to believe it. None of us did. But every doctor said the same thing—no cure. Just time.”
He’s numb. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“She wrote you a letter, Jax.”
The letter.
That damn envelope. No name. No return address. Just his name scrawled in handwriting he tried for years to forget.
“She said you probably wouldn’t read it.”
“I didn’t know what it was.” His voice is hollow. “I didn’t even open it.”
“She figured as much. But she wanted to try. She made me promise that when the time came, I’d come see you. That you’d at least know.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t—” He breaks off, blinking up at the ceiling. “If I had just read the damn letter…”
“I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” Sara says. “But I’m glad I came.”
Before he can respond, her phone rings. She steps into the kitchen to take it, and he sits there in the living room, gripping the arm of the chair like it’s the only thing holding him up.
She’s gone.
And he didn’t even know.
No goodbye.
No chance to say anything.
Just silence. And the echo of what-ifs.
When Sara returns, her voice is apologetic. “I have to go.”
“You’re leaving?” He looks up, dazed. “You just dropped a bomb on me, and now you’re walking out?”
“I’m sorry. I have to check on something. But I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Claire… she wanted you to have something.”
He nods slowly. “Okay.”
As she reaches for the door, she pauses. “And Jaxon?”
“Yeah?”
“Try wearing pants next time.”
He forces a smile. It barely sticks.
The door closes.
And he’s alone again.
For the rest of the day, Jaxon doesn’t know what to do with himself. He tries cleaning. Folding laundry. Running errands. Anything to keep from thinking. Anything to outrun the weight sitting in his chest like wet cement.
But it always catches up.
That night, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it finally breaks him.
“I didn’t even know,” he whispers to the darkness.
And that?
That’s what wrecks him the most.