He’d swallowed hard. Nodded.
“I promise.”
She’d smiled then—small, tired, but real.
“I’m proud of you, love. So proud.”
Now, lying behind Aria in the quiet dark, he felt the truth of it settle into his bones.
He loved her.
Not in the big, dramatic way songs were written about. In the small, steady way that made him want to stay awake just to watch her breathe. In the way that made him want to be better—not for the cameras, not for the team, but for her. For them.
He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“I love you,” he whispered—so soft it barely disturbed the air.
She stirred faintly—murmured something unintelligible, shifted closer into his chest—but didn’t wake.
Jax exhaled—long, slow, releasing something he’d been holding for months.
He wrapped his arm more securely around her waist, tucked his face into her hair, and closed his eyes.
For the first time in weeks, sleep came easily.
He drifted off knowing exactly what he wanted.
Her.
Always her.
???
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aria
The phone buzzed on the nightstand—sharp, insistent, cutting through the pre-dawn quiet like a knife.
Jax stirred first, arm tightening around her waist instinctively before he registered the sound. He reached over her, fumbled for the device, answered without looking at the screen.
“Yeah?” His voice was thick with sleep.
A pause. Then his whole body went rigid.
Aria felt the change instantly—the way his breath stopped, the way his fingers dug into the sheet. She sat up, heart already hammering.
“When?” Jax asked, voice flat, mechanical. Another pause. “We’re coming. Now.”
He ended the call. Sat up slowly, staring at the wall like it had just spoken to him.
“They said she slipped into a coma an hour ago,” he whispered. “Hours left. Maybe less. Come now.”
Aria was already moving—throwing back the covers, pulling on yesterday’s jeans, grabbing a hoodie from the chair. Jax dressed in silence—same clothes from yesterday, no time for anything else. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. They just moved.
The drive to the respite centre was a blur of streetlights and empty roads. Jax’s hands were white on the wheel. Aria kept one hand on his thigh—steady pressure, a reminder he wasn’t alone.
They arrived just as the sky began to lighten at the edges—grey, cold, indifferent.
