Jaxon: Heroes at Heart

by Maryann Jordan

  “Thank you,” she said, her smile growing wider.

  Introduced to Cael next, she tilted her head way back to meet his eyes. He was at least three inches taller than the others and his reddish-blonde hair had him standing out in a way that made her think of a Viking on the bow of a ship.

  “My Regina will not miss the opportunity to meet you also,” he said. “Maybe all three can come over sometime to get to know you.”

  The last to meet was a tall, quiet man, whose eyes held warmth. “Asher,” he said, as he took her hand. “Sorry for what you’ve gone through.”

  While he was quieter, she felt the care exuding from him. Offering a smile, she stepped back, and said, “Well, I’ll grab a piece of pizza and leave you to your game.”

  “Do you need to lie down?” Jaxon asked, moving to stand in front of her, holding her gaze.

  Shaking her head, she answered, “No, but I can entertain myself—”

  “Then, you’ll stay with us,” he declared, taking her hand and leading her over to the counter.

  She soon found herself surrounded as everyone began filling their plates. Nervous at first, she quickly realized they gave her left arm a wide berth, no one coming close to jostling her. As large as they all were, she wondered how they managed to accomplish that feat.

  Jaxon soon settled her on the sofa, next to him, with her left arm resting on the cushions as the game resumed after half-time. She ate the pizza and watched the game, not worried about calories, carbs, or a lazy day, and had a good time with Jaxon’s friends. Resting her head on his shoulder, she relaxed and enjoyed herself, watching the football game and getting to know Jaxon’s brothers.

  Wishing she had that kind of camaraderie in her life, she looked forward to when their women might come to visit.

  Jaxon looked over at Morgan, curled up on the sofa, the guys long gone and the evening sky sending shadows across the room. Her arm was propped up on a pillow and her eyes were droopy. He had fed her a dinner of store-bought lasagna, declaring that he could cook simple meals, but for anything too complicated, he just bought ready-made. He had toasted garlic bread and put together a salad to go with the lasagna.

  He knew she was exhausted, but both of them wanted her to try to stay awake until nighttime so that she would be on a normal schedule. She had an appointment with a physical therapist the next morning and with his afternoon shift, he would be able to take her.

  “I like your brothers,” she said, her gaze lifting to his.

  He smiled as he twisted on the sofa to face her, sitting closely. “I’m glad, sweetheart.”

  He watched as her eyes drifted to the photograph on the wall, the one in which they were little boys, Miss Ethel standing behind them, arms spread wide to accommodate them all. Seeing the questions, as well as the hesitation, in her eyes, he said, “You can ask me anything.”

  Her head turned, her eyes jumping to his. Sucking in her lips, she said, “I just wondered about your brothers. Were you adopted?”

  “Not exactly,” he explained, leaning his head into his hand, elbow propped on the back of the sofa. “Jayden and I were in foster care.”

  Hearing her soft, rapid intake of air, he shook his head and said, “Don’t feel sorry for us. We came from rough but landed soft.”

  She opened her mouth, but shut it quickly, allowing him to continue.

  “Our mom was a teenager and an addict. She died giving birth to us, so we don’t remember her, but from all accounts she was neglectful during her pregnancy and we were lucky to have been born without any problems.”

  He looked down as her right hand darted out to take his, squeezing his fingers while tears filled her eyes. “That was the rough, babe, but we were young. Our grandma took us in for two years, but then she passed, so our aunt took us in and raised us for the next four years after that.”

  “You lost your grandma too? I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks, babe,” he said softly, feeling her compassion for him. “To be honest, we don’t really remember her either. Our aunt is really the only relative we have significant memories about.”

  “Was she good to you?”

  “Yeah…in her own way. She was overwhelmed with two little boys, but we were warm, dry, fed, and clothed. She was dating a man who was not a fan of his woman having two little boys around. Plus, and I don’t think she wanted us to know this but kids hear more than adults think, he didn’t want the kids of a drug addict hanging around. So, one day, she packed us up and took us to a house. We were greeted by a woman and two other little boys, Zander and Rafe. Best place in the world, Miss Ethel’s house.”

  Morgan smiled, her gaze straying from his face to the photograph on the wall. Filled with the desire to know all about him, she pleaded, “Tell me about her.”

  “She had a big house in a nice, older neighborhood. She was a widow and had never had children. So, she began taking in foster boys. Zander was first, then Rafe. Jayden and I came next. Cael came after us and then Asher. Another brother, Zeke, came after that. There were others, but we were the original gang.”

  “How did she manage with all those boys?” she asked, eyes wide in astonishment.

  “She was fair, calm, steady. Things some of us lacked before arriving at her doorstep. She worked hard to make sure we considered each other to be brothers. We all stayed until we graduated from high school and then we each joined the military.”

  “I had no idea you were in the military!”

  “Army. I drove ambulances…Afghanistan.”

  Shaking her head, she breathed, “What a life you’ve lived.”

  “Never knew any different. Gotta tell you though, since I’ve been an adult, I’ve come to learn that a lot of people had shit childhoods. Mine may have started rough but, like I said, I landed in a soft place. No better mother in the world than Miss Ethel. She took a rag-tag group of boys and, with love and perseverance, turned us into a family. She understood each of us, encouraged us to become whatever we wanted.”

  “Is she still living?”

  “We see her all the time. I suspect she’ll be wanting to meet you real soon,” he said with a wink.

  Her mouth fell open and she wanted to ask ‘Why’, but snapped her mouth closed instead. He was watching her closely and she got the feeling he knew what she was thinking.

  “I talked about you…before. I felt something after we first met, Morgan, but knew you and I were in totally different places.” He winced a little at the unspoken meaning in that statement.

  Her face fell and her shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I know.” They sat silent for a moment before she said, “I don’t want to think about what I’ve lost right now, and I didn’t have the kind of childhood that you had. Thank you for sharing that with me. It breaks my heart to think of you and your brother in that situation.” She smiled softly, apologetically. “So,” she straightened her spine a little, “tell me more about Miss Ethel.”

  21

  Jaxon walked out of the bathroom, flipping off the light. Bare-chested and wearing lightweight drawstring pants, he stared at Morgan, leaning back against several pillows, her eyes on him.

  They had spent another hour on the sofa where he shared light-hearted stories from his childhood. She was going through a lot and he could understand the need for levity. He often fell back on smiles and a good laugh when feeling overwhelmed, so he was a pretty much a pro. When he described Miss Ethel always knowing when her boys were up to something she nearly fell over, giggling and holding her stomach.

  Now, with his help, she was in another one of his large t-shirts, teeth brushed, and face washed. He had also taken a brush and tamed her long locks, the deep russet color shining. She smiled as he walked to the bed and slid under the covers.

  “You gonna be okay with me here?” he asked.

  She twisted her head and looked at him. “Yeah,” she said softly. Staring at her lap for a moment, she smoothed the comforter with her right hand. “Jaxon?”

  “Right here,” he
replied, a smile on his lips.

  “Thank you, for everything.”

  “Morgan, you don’t have to—”

  “No, please, let me finish,” she begged, turning her face back to his. “When we first met, I knew what I wanted and where I was going. Or, last least, I thought I did. Then, a week ago, my world was turned upside down and everything I thought was going to happen changed. I was stunned and couldn’t believe that my Olympic dream had been taken away. I…I haven’t really accepted that yet, even though I know it’s true.”

  She blew out a deep breath as he scooted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “I know that I probably should have moved in with my parents, at least until I was able to do more things by myself but, I just couldn’t. My dad…well, he’s driven. I know he loves me, but he’s my coach and expects the best and accepts nothing less.”

  “And right now, that’s not what you can focus on,” he said, his fingers trailing lightly on her shoulders.

  Nodding her head sadly, she agreed. “I have no idea what tomorrow holds…or the next day…or the next week, next year. And I’m not sure Dad is ready for…I don’t know…for whatever comes.”

  “It’s too soon for you to be planning that far in advance, anyway,” he said. “At least that’s my opinion, for whatever it’s worth.”

  “No, no, I agree. I mean, my arm will heal. And I’ll get into PT and begin swimming again. And I’m sure I’ll train again...” her voice trailed off.

  “Listen, right now, all you need to think about is that you need to slide down in bed, get your arm settled and go to sleep. Tomorrow’s another day and we’ll face that day when it comes.”

  She breathed easier and said, “I like that.”

  He leaned over and made sure she was comfortable with her left arm propped on a pillow and her back to him as she lay on her right side. He turned off the nightstand lamp and rolled toward her. He wanted to touch her but did not want her to feel uncomfortable.

  After a moment, she whispered, “Will you hold me?”

  “Oh, yeah, babe,” he said, immediately curving his body into hers, spooning her from behind. With his arm over her waist, he heard her let out a sigh.

  “Go to sleep, Morgan,” he said, his breath washing by her ear.

  Just as she was drifting off, she heard him say, “’When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.’”

  “Who said that?”

  “Another writer. Haruki Murakami.”

  “How do you know so many perfect quotes?” she asked, barely awake.

  He grinned into her soft hair and said, “Miss Ethel. Always Miss Ethel.”

  Sitting in Jaxon’s jeep the next morning, driving to the physical therapist office, Morgan felt her heart pounding, her nerves stretched tight as a bow. He reached across the console and held the fingers of her left hand.

  “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart,” he assured. “They’ll just do a review of your medical condition and a general evaluation.”

  “I know,” she said, trying to calm her nerves as he parked outside. “I’ve spent untold hours in PT, training, injury recovery. Although, that was for things like a pulled muscle or tendonitis. Nothing like this.” She glanced down at her now-common attire of yoga pants, tank top, and a large t-shirt. She loved wearing his t-shirts, feeling comforted when in them. Looking to the side, she noted the way his jeans fit over his thighs and was reminded of waking up with one of his thighs pressing tightly to hers. He was drool-worthy and he was there for her. At that thought, she was unable to keep the smile from her face.

  With a silent nod, she indicated she was ready. Waiting for him to come around, she whispered to herself, “You’ve got this. You can do this.”

  Once inside, he assisted with the paperwork and when the physical therapist called her back, she turned and said, “Please, Jaxon. Come with me.” He readily agreed and, together, they followed the PT into the examining room.

  Theresa smiled at them and said, “It’s nice to see you again, Morgan. You look good today.”

  Meeting her smile, she agreed, “I’m nervous but I do feel better getting out of the hospital.”

  “Are you at your parents’ house or on your own?”

  “Neither,” she admitted. “Jaxon has me staying with him. He has a much larger place and can help with some things I need until I can do them on my own.”

  Theresa’s smile widened. “Wonderful. I cannot tell you how important it is that you have this kind of support after an injury like this. Jaxon, it’s nice to meet Morgan’s significant other.”

  She opened her mouth to refute the title, but he jumped in. “I just want to be as supportive as I can,” he said, reaching over to hold her hand. Her eyes moved to his and she was unable to keep the smile from her face. She knew in her heart that he was not her significant other, like a boyfriend, but to her, right now, he was her most significant other. She just hoped he did not mind the moniker.

  “Okay, I’ll do an exam first and then we can talk about the exercises you need to do at home and the timeframe in which you can expect to move through the therapy. I know you want to get back into the pool as soon as possible, but we need to allow the bones to reconnect and give the muscles and ligaments a chance to heal as well. I know there was some nerve damage with the severe laceration, so only time will tell exactly when you need to proceed with your training.”

  She nodded, listening to each word, aware that Theresa was not assuring her she would be an Olympic contender again. Swallowing deeply, she jolted when she felt Jaxon’s thumb rubbing circles on her hand.

  He leaned over, asking, “You okay with this?”

  Nodding, she forced a smile. “Yes.” Looking at Theresa, she added, “I don’t have much of a choice right now. I have to take it slow…work at my ability and gain strength.”

  “Absolutely,” Theresa said.

  She opened her mouth to ask the sixty-million-dollar question but closed it quickly, uncertainty clawing up her throat.

  Theresa, observing her closely, leaned forward and placed her hand on her knee. “Morgan, I know you want to know what you’ll be able to do. But, after an open reduction internal fixation surgery, your body has a lot of healing to do. Right now, there’s no one who can give you that answer. But I promise you that our staff has worked with many similar patients and athletes.”

  “My father…”

  “Yes, I know about your father,” Theresa said, “and remember him from the hospital. I know he’s your coach, also. That’s why I gave him the wrong time for your appointment today.”

  Both she and Jaxon looked at each other before turning their attention back to Theresa, surprise written on their faces.

  Theresa grinned. “He called yesterday and wanted to be here. I simply told him it was later than this, so that we would have a chance to speak first. I’m also having you do your work in this smaller, private room instead of our larger PT area. I figured that you would prefer the privacy and this will keep others, including the media, out of your therapy as well.”

  “Oh, thank you,” she gushed. “I love my dad and I know he wants the best for me. It’s just that, right now, I can only handle so much.”

  “Then let’s start on what you can handle.” With that, Theresa began.

  Thirty minutes later, with a sheen of sweat covering her body, Morgan sat on the table, blowing out a long breath. Her arm hurt and she felt disheartened. And that was just from the examination! Theresa gave her simple instructions for the next week and a list of gentle movements she could begin working on. She forced a smile onto her face and slid off the table with Jaxon’s assistance.

  “Where’s Morgan McAlister?”

  She and Jaxon looked at each other just as her father walked into the room, a harried receptionist trailing behind, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

  Before he could begin to bluster, she called out, “Dad, do
n’t start. I’ve just had a good examination and have some exercises I can work on. What I don’t need is you coming in here taking over.”

  Her mother stepped from behind her father, her eyes taking her in, as though to assure herself she was alright, before sliding to Jaxon, widening slightly.

  “I want a report on everything that is happening,” her father said to Theresa.

  Holding up her hand, Theresa said, “That will only be with Morgan’s permission. She is the patient and according to HIPPA—”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” her dad blustered. “I’m her coach and—”

  “That does not matter,” Theresa began.

  Before her dad had a chance to threaten further, she interrupted. “Dad, stop. Right now, I’m doing all I can to hang on to my sanity. Don’t make this worse!”

  Theresa slipped out the door, saying, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

  Her mom placed her hand on her husband’s arm and the slight action seemed to calm him. “Morgan, we can talk at home. I know you didn’t want company yesterday, but I need to see that you’re all right. Your apartment is so small and—”

  “It’s covered, Mom. I’ve moved in with Jaxon.”

  His hand still held hers and he gave a little squeeze, standing closer, his other hand resting lightly on her waist. Her heart skipped a beat at his show of strength and solidarity. For a few seconds she allowed herself to believe they were a couple. A real couple. One that could face adversity and come out stronger. Her breath ragged, she knew he was only being a good friend, but the idea of being with him gave her courage.

  “Jaxon,” her father said, incredulity dripping from his words. His eyes moved from her to the man standing next to her. “You…you’re the paramedic, the one who was at the hospital.” Staring, he bit out, “You save a famous person and now you decide to become part of her world?”

  Not rising to the bait, Jaxon held her father’s gaze, steady and without rancor. “I’m content to let Morgan decide who she wants to be with.”