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The words hit harder than they should. Because it’s exactly what Mom told me this morning. Exactly what Neil would probably tell me. Exactly what I don’t want to hear. I know they’re right. That’s the irritating part. I hate it. Hate the idea of placing this burden on his shoulders. Hate the possibility that he’ll say yes.

“Fine.” The word comes out clipped. “I’ll talk to him.”

Duncan is quiet for a moment. “Good. I’ll text you the information.” He ends the call without another word.

The office door opens. I immediately stop pacing. Neil steps into the hallway and gently pulls the door closed behind him. For one irrational second, my eyes flick to the door. Looking for Jaxon. Looking for any sign of how he’s doing.

“Is he okay?” The question leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

Neil studies me for a moment. “He will be.”

Relief hits first, immediate and overwhelming. Followed quickly by frustration. Because that answer tells me absolutely nothing.

Neil smiles slightly. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I can’t discuss any particulars with you. That’s up to Jaxon to share.” I glance toward the office again. The closed door suddenly feeling much farther away than it should.

Neil falls into step beside me as I walk him toward the front door. “I would like to arrange to see him twice a week for now.”

The statement catches my attention immediately. Twice a week. Which means Jaxon talked, really talked. The realization leaves me feeling oddly proud. Even though I had nothing to do with it. Neil reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card.

“I can come here or meet him in my office.” He hands it to me. “My personal number is on there. Call me, and we’ll arrange times.”

I take the card. Looking down at it briefly before slipping it into my pocket.

“Thank you.”

The words feel inadequate. Because while I don’t know what was said behind that door, I know how difficult it must have been for Jaxon. How much trust it took.

Neil nods. “He’s stronger than he thinks he is.” The comment catches me off guard. Before I can respond, Neil opens the front door. “Have a good evening, Conor.”

Then he’s gone. The door closes behind him. Leaving me alone in the foyer. My fingers tighten briefly around the edge of the business card in my pocket. Then I head back to him.

Knocking gently on the door, I don’t wait for a response. I push it open and step inside. The office feels strangely quiet after the constant noise in my head for the last three hours. Jaxon is exactly where I expected him to be, in the window seat. His elbows are on his knees, and his head hangs between his hands. For a moment, he doesn’t even seem to notice I’ve entered. He looks exhausted. Like he’s spent hours carrying something heavy and has finally put it down.

The sight makes me want to gather him into my arms and take the weight back. An irrational impulse. One I’m having with alarming frequency lately.

Quietly, I cross the room. Jaxon finally looks up when I stop in front of him. His eyes are tired, red around the edges, but clearer somehow. Like some of the pressure that’s been building inside him finally found somewhere to go.

“Hey.” His voice is rough. I lower myself into a crouch in front of him. Refusing to loom over him.

“Hey.”

For a second, neither of us speaks. I study his face. Looking for signs that the session was too much. Looking for signs that he’s okay. Looking for anything.

“How are you doing, A Chroí?”

Even as I ask, the weight of Duncan’s phone call settles heavily in the back of my mind. Sooner rather than later, I’m going to have to tell him about Manny. But not right now. Right now, I need to figure out what he needs.

I run my hand through his short hair. The strands slide between my fingers. I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead. A gesture I’ve learned he likes. One that almost always pulls some of the tension from his shoulders. This time, though, Jaxon remains silent. His gaze stays fixed on the floor. Lost somewhere inside his own head.

I wait. Giving him the chance to answer my question. When he doesn’t, concern tightens in my chest. Gently, I hook a finger beneath his chin and lift his face toward mine. His eyes meet mine. The vulnerability there hits harder than I expect. Because Jaxon rarely lets anyone see it.

“Tell me what you need, A Chroí.” My thumb brushes his cheek. “And it’s yours.”

His breath catches slightly. I don’t look away. Don’t give him the opportunity to doubt that I mean every word.

“Tell me what I need to do.” The words come easily. “And I’ll do it.”