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I always do.

“I’m sure you can,” Conor says softly. “But I want you in here.” The words settle somewhere deep inside me before he adds, “Are you uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed with me?”

I glance toward the bed instead of answering right away. It’s enormous—one of those ridiculously oversized beds that barely looks real. An Alaskan king, maybe. Big enough that we could sleep on opposite sides and never touch. Somehow, the thought disappoints me.

“I don’t mind,” I say quietly, “but I might wake you up.”

Conor doesn’t answer. He just keeps guiding me toward the bed like he’s already decided where I belong. He pulls the comforter back, waits until I’m sitting, then places the pills in my hand. I stare at them for a long second. They were necessary in the hospital. Necessary doesn’t mean harmless. Something tightens in my chest as old memories try to push their way forward. I close my fingers around the pills before shaking my head.

“I’m not hurting enough to take them.” I drop them back into the bottle he’s holding.

“Since it says as needed, I won’t argue with you.”

He puts the bottle back on the nightstand, and before I can process what he’s doing, he bends down and slides a hand beneath my knees, easing me farther into the bed.

The care behind such a simple movement nearly undoes me. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to keep doing this—that I’m not helpless, that I can manage on my own. But some selfish part of me stays quiet. Because I don’t want him to stop.

He turns on the bedside lamp, and warm light washes over him, softening the room while somehow making him look even larger. The shadows sharpen the rough edges of his features, drawing my attention to the hard line of his jaw and the strength built into every part of him. He has the kind of presence that steals the air from my lungs without even trying.

I watch him cross to the dresser and pull out clothes before casually stripping out of his shirt like he has no idea what the sight of him does to me. My breathing stutters as more of his skin is exposed, my gaze locked on him before I can even think to look away.

My gaze drifts up his torso, lingering over the hard lines of muscle and the scars scattered across his skin before I finally reach his face. He’s already watching me. A slow smirk curves across his lips when he realizes I’ve been caught staring. My pulse stutters.

Wearing nothing but boxer briefs, he turns toward me fully, completely unbothered by my attention.

“You can look at me, Jaxon.” The words settle heavy in my chest. He opens his arms slightly, confident and solid beneath the warm glow of the bedside lamp. “I want you to look at me.”

“You do?” The words leave me before I can think better of them. I instantly regret asking.

Conor looks like temptation carved into a man’s body. Of course, he wants to be looked at.

“Yeah,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting again, “I want you to like what you see.”

Something warm twists low in my stomach. He stalks toward the bed with slow confidence, the sleep pants abandoned on the dresser like he never really intended to wear them. Then he slides beneath the comforter beside me, bringing all that heat and solid muscle dangerously close.

He pulls me close without hesitation, one large arm sliding beneath my head until I’m tucked securely against his chest. The bed is enormous, but with the way he holds me, it feels impossibly small. Like there’s no space left between us at all.

And instead of resisting it, I lean closer. My body sinks into the heat and strength of him before I can stop myself. I breathe in deeply, surrounding myself with the scent of Conor Murphy. Somehow, he already smells familiar, safe.

He switches off the light and pulls me into his arms again. The darkness settles around us, warm and quiet, while I press closer without thinking. Could this really be mine? The question hurts more than it should. Because nothing this good has ever stayed.

My thoughts drift back to Trent. To everything that came after him. I survived having my heart broken once. Barely. And deep down… I already know I wouldn’t survive it happening again.

Thinking about Trent while lying here with Conor feels wrong somehow. Because none of this is anything like what I had with him. With Trent, everything revolved around secrecy and convenience. Around what worked for him. I took whatever scraps of attention he offered and convinced myself it was love.

But Conor… Conor hasn’t asked me for a single thing since the moment he met me. He just keeps giving. Care. Patience. Comfort. Things I didn’t realize I’d been starving for. And now I can’t stop wondering if what I felt for Trent was ever really love at all… or if I just loved being wanted by someone for the first time.

I let myself sink into the steady rise and fall of his chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe enough to let go. Sleep pulls at me slowly. And the last thought I have before it takes me is one I’ll never say out loud.

Please keep me.

Chapter 25

Conor

I stay awake long after Jaxon falls asleep, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing and the occasional soft exhale against my chest. Having him here feels dangerously right. Natural. Like I’ve been waiting for him without even realizing it. And now that I have him in my arms, I don’t want to let him go.

Mom’s words from earlier keep replaying in my head.