Chapter 75 Last Wake-Up Call
Last Wake-Up Call
After Jaxon gets out of the shower, he and Sara crawl beneath the sheets, the air between them already warm from routine and something far deeper—something that still hums with wonder.
Sara does the same thing she’s done every night since the day she came back—since the day she chose them.
She rolls onto her side, eyes drifting toward the windows.
The Carolina moon spills across the water, casting soft flickers that dance along the walls like ghosts in motion.
It never gets old. That view. That stillness. That reminder.
Every night, she stares out at it and remembers the day she could’ve left for good. The day she almost did.
She doesn’t wonder anymore if she made the right decision.
Because every night—without fail—Jaxon reaches for her.
Wraps an arm around her waist. Pulls her close enough to feel the rhythm of his heart sync with hers.
He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.
His presence does the talking. The way his hand rests just beneath her ribs like he’s trying to hold the most fragile part of her together.
The way he breathes her in like she’s the peace he didn’t know how to ask for.
And just like that, she sleeps.
By morning, the tide has shifted. The sun seeps in through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the room in a glow that never quite looks the same but always feels like home. Sara doesn’t need an alarm anymore. Not when the sound of gulls and soft waves is enough to rouse her gently.
She blinks, the salt-kissed light crawling across her skin, and for a moment she just watches the water—listens to the breeze press against the house like an old friend. Even the wind sounds softer here. Even the silence feels sacred.
When she finally rolls over, it’s not to her phone. It’s to him.
Jaxon.
Her anchor. Her impossible miracle.
He’s lying there—face peaceful, lips parted slightly, one arm thrown above his head like he owns the world and doesn’t even know it. “God,” she whispers. “You are one beautiful man.”
She reaches out, fingers brushing the scruff along his cheek.
And just like that, his eyes fly open.
Startled. Haunted.
He bolts upright, chest heaving slightly, as if he’s trying to pull himself out of somewhere far, far away.
Sara freezes. “Jaxon…”
He doesn’t speak. Not yet. His eyes are glassy, lost somewhere she can’t reach.
She knows that look.
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You had another dream, didn’t you?”
He nods, silent for a beat. “You could say that.”
“Tell me.”
He exhales like it hurts to speak.
“I was sitting on the dock. Same chair. Same spot. Jaqueline was there, playing with that little girl again. Laughing. Running. It was warm. Everything felt… good. Whole.”
He pauses, and Sara doesn’t move—just watches him as he relives it.
“Then I heard footsteps. Same as last time. But this time, they didn’t stop at the edge. I felt the floating dock shift under the weight… and then I heard her voice.”
Sara’s chest tightens.
“‘Your children are beautiful,’ she said.”
He swallows hard.
“I turned around, and it was Claire. Just standing there. Still. Calm. Like she’d been watching us the whole time.”
“What did she do?” Sara asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“She just looked at it all. At Jaq. At me. At the house. Like she needed to see it for herself. I asked if she wanted to say hi to Jaqueline… and she did. They talked for a second—Jaq didn’t even know who she was. She just smiled and said hi back.”
A tear slips down Sara’s cheek.
“Claire looked so grateful. She said she just needed one last moment with her. That it was time.”
“Time for what?”
Jaxon’s eyes drop to the blanket in his lap.
“She told me she appreciated the invite to stay, but she only came to pop in one last time. That she’d be watching. From now on. And then…”
His voice breaks.
“She said, ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for Jaqueline. Keep being a great dad. And a great husband. Take care of my sister, our daughter… and my niece.’”
Sara loses it.
The dam she’s been holding back since the moment he said Claire finally cracks. The sob that tears from her chest is raw and guttural. She buries her face into his shoulder, and Jaxon wraps his arms around her without a word.
Because what do you say when a ghost gives you permission to move forward?
When love, in its purest form, says I trust you to love her for both of us?
They sit there in silence, soaked in memory and mourning and the wild, tangled beauty of what it means to go on living.