As she walks past, she glances down at the towel around his waist and smirks. “Good to know you still answer the door like that.”
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me put some clothes on.”
She nods, wandering toward the kitchen. The silence stretches.
When Jaxon returns, dressed and barefoot, he finds her standing by the window. Hands wrapped around a mug he forgot he even owned. She's not here for coffee.
“It’s good to see you, Sara,” he says cautiously. “But what’s this about? Is Claire with you?”
“No,” she says quickly. Too quickly.
“Where is she? Did she not want to come?”
Sara doesn’t answer. Her eyes flick toward the floor.
“Sara.”
She shakes her head. “No one else is here. My family’s at the beach house. I came alone. I needed to talk to you.”
His chest tightens. “About what?”
“It’s about Claire.”
“No.” His voice hardens. “No, I’m not doing this again.”
“You should know—”
“I said no.”
Her voice cracks as she cuts him off. “Damnit, Jaxon—Claire is gone. My sister is dead.”
Silence.
It lands like a bomb. No echo. Just devastation.
Jaxon doesn’t speak. Can’t. He just stares, as the room tilts around him. The only sound is the soft, rhythmic drip of Sara’s tears hitting the hardwood floor.
He swallows hard, throat tight. “What? When?”
“Three months ago,” Sara whispers. “She was sick.”
“Sick?” His voice fractures. “What do you mean—sick?”
Sara nods, fighting for composure. “About a year ago, she was in a car accident. She blacked out. The hospital ran tests. They found a tumor. It was inoperable.”
Jaxon leans against the wall. “Jesus.”
“She tried everything. She didn’t want to believe it. None of us did. But every doctor said the same thing—no cure. Just time.”
He’s numb. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“She wrote you a letter, Jax.”
The letter.
That damn envelope. No name. No return address. Just his name scrawled in handwriting he tried for years to forget.
“She said you probably wouldn’t read it.”
