Just disappears from the kitchen.
Trevor and Carter glance at each other, worried he’s slipping again—back into that place where no one can reach him.
But then, Jaxon reappears in the hallway. Head up. Shoulders back. Some fire returning to his eyes.
“We need food,” he says. “And a hell of a lot more beer.”
He smiles.
And for a second—just a second—you can almost believe he’ll be okay.
Even if the hollow’s still there.
Even if she never comes back.
He’s still standing.
And that’s a start.
48
Bottom and Back
Whentheguysgetback from their supply run, arms full of groceries and cases of beer, they spot a figure leaning against Jaxon’s truck. Familiar posture. Baseball cap. Tattooed forearms holding a coffee like he owns the damn morning.
“Chase?” Jaxon says, his voice caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
Chase pushes off the truck, grinning. “You really thought I wasn’t coming? Drove in from Wrightsville soon as Trev called. Let’s make this weekend count, yeah?”
Jaxon nods, lips twitching in a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. Appreciate it, man.”
As the crew starts unloading, Carter and Trevor carefully avoid mentioning Claire. Not her name. Not her flight. Not even the beach she used to walk. This weekend isn’t about grief or closure—it’s about breathing again. Even if it’s ragged. Even if it hurts.
“Everyone will start pulling up around 5:30,” Carter says as he stocks the fridge.
“Alright,” Jaxon replies, quiet. “Y’all staying the whole weekend?”
Trevor cracks a beer and hands it over. That’s his answer.
They sit at the outside dining table, the sun dipping lower behind the trees. Then the first car pulls up.
Beth hops out with a bottle of whiskey and a don’t-you-dare-pity-me smile. “If I’m here, who’s at the grill?” Jaxon asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t worry, Mike’s right behind me,” she says. “And you’re overdue for a weekend where you’re the one being taken care of.”
One by one, cars fill the drive. Locals, tourists, friends from Wilmington and Wrightsville. People Jaxon hasn’t seen in months. Some he barely knows. But they all heard.
He’s hurting. So they showed up.
“Apparently my house is the new party spot?” he mutters.
“Only for the weekend,” Mike calls back.
But something shifts in Jaxon that night. Something subtle. Dangerous.
Like a man who realizes that if you lean into the numbness just enough, it’ll carry you away.
And so it begins.
