He set the bowl down. Turned to her. Pulled her into his arms.
They cried then—quiet, shared grief. Holding each other while memories of Nan filled the room: her terrible bridge stories, her insistence on fairy lights all year round, the way she’d call him “Jaxon” when she was proud and “love” when he needed it most.
They spent the day like that—on the couch, wrapped in blankets, trading stories. Laughing through tears. Crying through laughter.
Late afternoon, Jax picked up his phone.
“I need to plan the funeral,” he said quietly. “Before Christmas. She’d hate it hanging over the holidays.”
Aria nodded. “What can I do?”
He looked at her—eyes red, but clearer than they’d been in weeks.
“Just be here.”
She squeezed his hand. “I am.”
He made the calls. Chose the day—December 22nd. Simple service. No flowers—Nan had hated waste. Donations to the local cancer ward instead.
When the last call ended, he set the phone down like it might burn him.
Aria watched the way his shoulders stayed hunched. “Do you want me to call Mia? Or text her, at least? So you don’t have to keep saying it out loud.”
Jax rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Please.”
She dialled. Mia picked up fast.
“Aria?” Already gentle, already braced.
“Nan passed this morning.”
A soft, pained inhale. “God. I’m so sorry.”
“Jax is… he’s right here. Funeral’s the 22nd, 11 a.m. at Paddington chapel. He’ll send the details, but I thought you should know now.”
“Okay. I’ve got it.” Mia’s voice softened further. “How’s he holding up? ”
Aria glanced at him—blanket bunched in his lap, staring at nothing. “He’s… doing ok. Just quiet.”
“That’s good,” Mia said, relief clear. “That’s really good. Tell him Lucas and I will be there, and I’ll let the team know. They’ll all want to come. We’ve got him, okay? We’ve got you both.”
Aria’s eyes stung. “Thanks, Mia. I'll let him know. ”
“Love you both. See you soon.”
Aria set the phone down. Jax hadn’t moved.
“She’s telling the team,” she said quietly. “She and Lucas will be there. Everyone will.”
He gave a small nod, then reached for her hand again. His fingers slid between hers, loose but steady.
They stayed like that as the afternoon light turned amber, the room quiet except for breathing and the occasional rustle of blankets.
No more words needed.
Just presence.
Jax
