Page 12 of Jax
And then there was me. The rope guy. The planner. The one who kept everyone else’s damage labeled, tracked, and tucked neatly into boxes I never opened for myself. I'd spent so much time shining a flashlight into other people’s darkness, I’d forgotten how long mine had gone unlit.
It wasn’t like I didn’t have options. I could always head over to the Dungeon, which all of us were members of, to get a quick fix. But I didn’t want a hit of connection that disappeared with the bruises. I didn’t want someone who needed me just until the adrenaline wore off. I wanted permanence. Someone who looked at the mess inside me and didn’t flinch. Someone who could point to the confusing tangle that was my mind and say, I see it, and I still want in. Someone who wanted to build, not just burn.
But right then? I had a suspension rig at my back, a house full of half-healed wounds, and a to-do list that still included cleaning the garage and restocking the med kit.
I exhaled hard, pressing my palms into my thighs, and focused on the rig in front of me. Niko was easing Maddy down inch by inch, his voice steady and low, like a tether, guiding her back into her body. Her hair clung damp to her cheek, her skin shining with sweat and serenity. The scene was almost over.
Which meant aftercare was about to begin.
The blankets, the water, and the pack of gummy snacks I kept for blood sugar drops were already gathered and waiting for them. Anticipating needs before they were spoken had become second nature. I was good at it. Too good. But I never stuck around for the soft part. Aftercare was for them. I had my own rituals.
I was at the door before the rope hit the floor.
Niko had Maddy wrapped around him on the aftercare blanket, their bodies tangled in that way only people with complete trust ever managed. Her skin still glowed from the scene—red where the jute had kissed too tight, gold in the firelight, eyes half-lidded as she sank into whatever dimension she went to when the world got too loud. Niko held her like a storm in remission. Whispered to her like she was the secret that made sense of every war he’d fought.
“You’re safe now, baby. You were perfect.” Niko said softly as he knelt beside her, one hand pressed to the center of her back. “You feel where you are?”
Maddie nodded, barely. Her voice came out slurred and honey-slow. “I’m floaty.”
“That’s okay,” he murmured, smiling into her hair. “You just stay right there. I’ve got you.”
She whimpered again, and he wrapped both arms around her carefully, lowering her onto the folded blankets I’d laid out earlier. He cradled her like she was made of glass. Her cheek pressed to his shoulder, lips moving in murmured nonsense, something about stars and storms and the way the air buzzed when she let go.
“I love you,” she breathed, so quiet I almost missed it.
“I know,” he whispered back, mouth at her temple. “I love you more.”
I didn’t look back. Some moments aren’t meant to be witnessed.
I padded into the hallway and let the door fall closed behind me. The shift from candlelight to shadow made everything quieter. Heavier. This house carried silence like an old wound; familiar, half-healed, prone to bleeding if you pressed too hard. Tonight, it felt still. A rare kind of still.
My boots didn’t make a sound on the worn carpet runners. My steps were smooth, practiced. Everything I did in this housewas practiced. I’d memorized how to move around the people I loved without interrupting their healing. How to stay just useful enough to be kept around, but never so present I became the problem.
When I passed the side window, I stopped.
The moon was out. And beneath it, the garden.
Rayden’s garden.
Four crooked planters shoved up against the back wall of the garage, a mess of mulch, wild soil, and purple petals that didn’t care about symmetry. It wasn’t much, but it was all Bellamy needed, just somewhere to put the grief that wouldn’t come out in words.
She called ithis corner. But really, it was hers.
We’d built it for her. Three men with too much muscle and too little finesse. It was meant from the heart, even if I found it difficult to express it with words. Watching a civilian go through that level of grief, the kind I’d only shared with brothers-in-arms before, had brought up feelings I hadn’t faced in a long time.
But I couldn’t afford to give those feelings the space they probably deserved. Someone still had to change the air filters, fix the training mats, tighten the bolts on the damn cross in the basement. Someone always needed something. And that someone was never me.
I exhaled and turned toward the kitchen. I didn’t need food; I needed movement. Direction. Something that felt like control.
Instead, I heard a buzz, low, sharp, insistent, from the playroom behind me. Niko’s phone, still crammed into the pocket of his discarded jeans, had come alive, skittering across the floor like it had something urgent to say and no time to say it.
I paused. My pulse didn’t spike, but my focus snapped tight, awareness sharpening like a drawstring. The pattern of buzzeswas one I’d memorized long ago without even really trying too, and Niko only used that pattern for one person. And we didn’t ignore Quinn. Ever.
I turned on instinct. “Hey, Niko,” I said softly, keeping my voice low so Maddy wouldn’t stir.
There was a pause. Then the rustle of blankets. The groggy murmur of Maddy’s voice, half a word, maybe his name. Sleepy. Raw.
“Yeah,” Niko called back. His voice sounded far away, like he was still wrapped in her skin. “Just make sure it’s not Quinn blowing something up.”
