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Jaxon parts his lips like he’s about to say something, but before he can, the sharp sound of the doorbell cuts through the room.

A second later, my mother’s voice carries through the entryway.

Chapter 22

Jaxon

The sound of Mrs. Murphy’s voice hits me like ice water dumped straight over my head, cold enough to jolt me out of whatever dangerous fantasy Conor had started pulling me into.

I met her while I was in the hospital. She was kind, and I didn’t understand why she was there, why she was looking at me the way she did. The way her hand moved through my hair, gentle and unhurried, the way her eyes softened when she looked at me… it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something I didn’t recognize. Compassion, maybe?

It felt foreign enough that I didn’t know what to do with it, how to respond, how to be the kind of person someone looks at like that. I’ve spent my whole life without knowing what a parent is supposed to be. And I know enough to understand it was never anything like the foster homes or group homes I was passed through.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Conor pulls the covers up around me, tucking me in with a care I’m still not used to. My eyes sting the second his lips brush my forehead again, the warmth of it settling deeper than it should. At this rate, I’m never going to stop crying if he keeps doing that.

I let my head sink back against the soft pillows, breathing in the scent of Conor lingering in the sheets around me.

It’s everywhere now, wrapping around me so completely that it’s hard to think about anything else. And maybe that’s the problem. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. Letting Conor get close feels dangerous in a way I’m not prepared for, because if I let him pull himself deeper into my life, then I’m dragging him straight into the mess of it with me.

But if I push him away, if I refuse the help he’s offering, this strange, impossible kindness, then I don’t think I’ll ever really get free of any of it. Not while I’m still alive.

I don’t know why I haven’t given up yet. Lately, the thought comes more often than it should. How easy it would be to just stop fighting, to let everything go quiet. Hell… who would even notice? The question sits there longer than I want it to.

Maybe I’ve been waiting. Waiting for something—someone—to pull me out before I sink too far under. Maybe… Maybe that someone is Conor. And if that’s true… Then I’d be an idiot to push him away.

God, I need therapy. Not that it ever did much good before. Because if I’m even considering putting my life—my trust—in the hands of someone I barely know, then something has to be wrong with me. I have to be losing it.

Except that doesn’t feel right either. He saved me. More than once. He stayed with me at the hospital. Brought me here. Hasn’t asked for anything in return. And he keeps saying he doesn’t want anything from me.

Voices in the hallway pull me out of my thoughts. The bedroom door opens, and Alessia Murphy steps inside. She’s beautiful. Long auburn hair falls in soft waves around her face, framing features that are far too young-looking for someone with grown kids. If I’d passed her on the street, I never would’ve believed she was Conor’s mother, let alone that she had three more besides him. Her smile lights up the room as she turns toward me.

“Hello, Jaxon. It’s so good to see you awake and out of the hospital.”

She moves to the side of the bed and sits near my hip, close enough that I can feel the warmth of her beside me. Then she takes one of my hands in both of hers. They’re small, so much smaller than mine. And I can’t stop staring at the way they wrap around it like they’re trying to hold something too big for them.

“Mrs. Murphy,” I manage, dipping my head slightly.

“None of that, dear. Please, call me Alessia.” She pats the back of my hand, her thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I brought food. Conor called earlier to ask what would be best for you while you’re healing.”

Conor steps closer, and I catch the way his gaze drops immediately to where our hands are still joined. I can’t quite read his expression, but there’s a slight pull between his brows, something tight. Does he not like this? The thought settles uneasily in my chest. Maybe he doesn’t like sharing his mother.

“I’d rather bring it in here,” Conor says, glancing at me before shooting his mom a look, “but she thinks it’ll be good for you to move around a little.”

The look he gives her is almost comical. The big guy’s actually a little intimidated by his mom. A quiet laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.

“I think getting up is probably a good idea,” I say. “The doctor said light activity would help.”

Alessia smirks like she’s just won something. “See? I told you.” She rises to her feet. “We’ll meet you in the dining room.”

She disappears out the door before I can respond.

“We?” I ask, glancing up at Conor.

“Yeah. My brother and his partner are here. He’s helping look into things, and he’s got a few questions.”