Page 67

“You slept,” I tell him. My fingers brush his temple gently. “And when the nightmares started bothering you, I handled it.”

Jaxon goes very still at that.

“But that means you didn’t sleep.” His brow furrows. “I’m sorry.”

I immediately hook a finger beneath his chin and lift his face toward mine.

“Don’t apologize.” The words come out firmer than I intend. “I told you I’m here for you.” My thumb brushes his cheek. “Even in your sleep.”

The tension around his eyes softens slightly. I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his forehead. His stomach chooses that exact moment to betray him. The growl is loud enough that neither of us can pretend we didn’t hear it.

I stare at him. He stares back. Another growl follows. This one is somehow louder. A chuckle escapes me.

“Hungry?”

Jaxon opens his mouth. Presumably to deny it. Before he can, his stomach growls again. I laugh. Actually laugh.

“I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

“I…” Jaxon hesitates. Something uncertain flickers across his face. “I can cook.” He pushes himself up onto one elbow so he can face me fully. “I actually like it.”

The faintest shade of pink touches his cheeks. Barely noticeable. Yet impossible for me to miss. With his olive complexion and rugged features, the blush should look out of place. Instead, it makes him even more attractive.

“Are you sure you feel up to it?” I ask. “You’re still healing.”

“I’m good.” His answer comes immediately. “And I want to.” His fingers toy absently with the blanket. “You’ve been doing everything for me.” He glances away briefly before meeting my eyes again. “I’d like to do something for you.”

The blush deepens. Something warm settles inside me.

“Alright,” I say. His entire face brightens. The reaction is immediate. And suddenly breakfast seems like a very good idea.

In the kitchen, I take a seat at the island while Jaxon busies himself gathering ingredients from the refrigerator. For such a large man, he moves with a natural grace that shouldn’t exist. I noticed it in the fights. The fluidity. The control. But this is different. There’s no tension in him now. Just Jaxon in my kitchen, comfortable enough to move around like he belongs here.

The realization is unexpectedly satisfying. I watch him crack eggs into a mixing bowl. His movements efficient and practiced. A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth as he works. My gaze lingers on him longer than necessary. This would be a good time to bring up therapy. Rationally, I know that. He’s calm and rested. More relaxed than I’ve seen him since bringing him home.

Yet the words refuse to come. Because for the first time in days, he looks content. I don’t want to be the one who takes that away. So instead, I ask the first question that comes to mind.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

Jaxon glances over his shoulder. “The last group home I was in before I aged out and joined the Marines.” He returns his attention to the bowl. “One of the staff members ran cooking classes a few nights a week.”

The smile returns briefly. Softer this time. More nostalgic.

“Mostly because teaching a bunch of teenage boys to cook was easier than doing the cooking every night.”

A huff of laughter escapes me. “Practical.”

“Very.”

He starts whisking the eggs. “I figured out pretty quickly that if I learned how to cook, I got first crack at eating it.”

I can picture it. Teenage Jaxon standing in a crowded kitchen. Watching everything and everyone around him. Pretending his motivation was food. Pretending it was about getting an extra taste before dinner. But I don’t think that’s what it was really about. Not entirely.

Jaxon has spent most of his life surviving. Moving from one foster home to another, one group home to the next. Never knowing how long he’d stay. Never knowing who would leave next. Cooking wasn’t just a skill. It was independence. One more thing nobody could take away from him. He was learning how to take care of himself. How to be self-sufficient in a world where he’d never had anyone he could truly rely on. The thought leaves an unpleasant weight in my chest.

Jaxon places a plate in front of me. The omelet takes up most of it. Loaded with vegetables, cheese, and something that smells incredible. He takes the seat beside me with his own plate and immediately starts eating. I take a bite. Then another.

“Jesus.”