Page 90 of My Fixation

“You didn’t…” The words catch in my throat. I clear it and try again. “You didn’t have to make everyone leave.”

“Yes, I did, Jaxon.” Mrs. Murphy’s voice is gentle. “I have something to say.” Her gaze shifts to Conor. “To both of you.”

She gives my arm one last reassuring pat before motioning toward the sofa.

“Sit.”

Conor and I obey without argument. The same man who would challenge a mob boss without blinking sits down because his mother tells him to. I lower myself onto the opposite end of the sofa. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us looks at the other.

Only when I settle back do I notice the space between us. A few inches. Nothing more, but it might as well be an ocean. For the last two weeks, we’ve existed within each other’s orbit. Sleeping wrapped around one another. Sharing meals. Passing in hallways with a hand brushing my back or fingers finding mine without thought. Conor has always found a reason to touch me. Now he doesn’t.

The absence is immediate, painfully so. I keep my hands folded together to stop myself from closing the distance. Because I’m still angry. And judging by the rigid set of Conor’s shoulders, so is he. The realization settles heavily in my chest. Somehow, the few inches between us feel colder than every night I spent alone.

“Jaxon.”

Mrs. Murphy settles onto the edge of the coffee table directly in front of us. Close enough that neither of us can avoid looking at her. “First, thank you for protecting my son.”

The words steal the air from my lungs. Certain, I must have heard her wrong. Beside me, Conor stiffens.

“Mom.” The single word is full of disbelief. She doesn’t even look at him.

“Hush, Conor.” The reprimand is quiet. “That is something you should have already told him.”

I glance at Conor. His jaw is tight. His shoulders rigid. He looks as shocked as I feel. No one has ever thanked me for doing my job. For protecting the people beside me. It was simply expected.

Mrs. Murphy reaches forward and places her hand over mine. Her touch is warm and steady on my skin.

“You made sure my son came home tonight.” Her fingers squeeze gently. “As a mother, there are no words to express what that means to me.”

The knot I’ve carried in my chest since leaving the warehouse shifts. Just slightly. For the first time all evening, I don’t know what to say. And for a man who has spent his life believing he was alone, that silence feels strangely overwhelming.

“But…” She pauses. Of course, there is a but. There always is. For every good thing that’s ever happened to me, there’s always been a condition attached. Always a price to pay or a catch waiting around the corner.

“I want to ask you a question.” She folds her hands in her lap. “When you made Conor look at everyone in this room, what did you see?”

“Conor’s family.” The answer leaves my mouth without hesitation. It’s obvious.

She smiles softly. “Is that all you saw?”

The question catches me off guard. I replay the moment in my mind. The people in the room were people who have loved Conor his entire life. The people waiting for him to come home. The people I was trying to protect. I don’t understand what answer she’s looking for.

My silence stretches. Mrs. Murphy doesn’t rush to fill it. She simply waits. Patient. Certain I’ll find it eventually. I lower my eyes to my hands.

“Look up, Jaxon.” Mrs. Murphy gives my hand another gentle squeeze. “I want you to hold your head high when I tell you this.”

My instinct is to keep looking at the floor. To make myself smaller. To become invisible. But something in her voice won’t let me. Slowly, I lift my head. She smiles.

“I want you to know who was in this room.” Her gaze sweeps over the now-empty living room before returning to me. “This room was filled with family.”

She lets the words settle.

“Not just Conor’s.” A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. “Not anymore.”

I shake my head automatically. As though denying it will somehow make it less dangerous to believe.

“Every person who sat in this room tonight walked into that warehouse willingly.” Her thumb brushes across the back of my hand. “They didn’t go because they were ordered to. They didn’t go because they were paid to. They went because of you.”

My throat tightens. I try to swallow, but I can’t. The weight of her words presses against every wall I’ve spent a lifetime building.