Page 45 of My Fixation

The question punches me right in the chest. Because that’s not it at all, if anything, that’s the problem. He feels too genuine.

“No,” I whisper immediately. His eyes search mine, waiting for more. “I think you’re being genuine.” I swallow hard. “I think that’s what’s scaring me.” Confusion flickers across his face.

“How does that scare you?”

I let out a humorless laugh, “Because people like you don’t just show up in my life, Conor.” The words hurt to admit. “People don’t stay. They don’t take care of me. They don’t look at me the way you do.” My throat tightens again. “I don’t know what to do with any of this.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Jaxon. And neither are you.” His hand tightens slightly against my cheek, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep my attention on him. “I don’t know if I have the right words to make you understand.”

His gaze searches mine, steady and unwavering. “But I want to take care of you. I want you here with me.” Then he leans forward and kisses me softly.

There’s nothing demanding about it, nothing rushed. This gentle kiss does more damage to the walls I’ve spent years building than anything else ever could. When he pulls back, his forehead settles against mine.

“To be honest with you,” he says quietly, “this is new for me too.” A small laugh escapes him, but there’s no humor in it. His thumb brushes my cheek once. “Because I don’t want to screw this up.”

There are things he needs to know. Things that could change everything. The words sit heavy in my chest, pressing against my ribs like they’re trying to claw their way out. I should tell him. I should tell him now, before this gets any deeper. Before he gets more attached. Before I do.

But every time I try, the words refuse to come. Conor says he doesn’t want to screw this up. A bitter laugh echoes through my head because when this falls apart, it won’t be him who does it. It’ll be me.

The weight of that knowledge settles over me, cold and familiar. I should tell him the truth. I know I should. But lying here with his forehead pressed against mine, his hand still cradling my face like I’m something precious… I can’t make myself do it.

Maybe that makes me selfish. Maybe it makes me a coward. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe, wanted, and seen.

Is it really so terrible to want to stay in this little bubble he’s built around me for just a little while longer? To pretend that my past isn’t waiting outside of it? To pretend that I deserve this? Even if it’s just for a little while.

I decide to change the subject before I lose my nerve completely. “What did you call me before?”

Conor’s brow furrows for a second. “A Chroí?”

I nod. “Yeah. What does it mean?”

A small smile tugs at his mouth. “It’s Irish.” His thumb brushes across my cheek again, like he can’t seem to stop touching me. “It’s a term of endearment.”

I wait for him to continue. When he does, his voice is quieter. “It means my heart.”

My breath catches. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

“Your heart?” I repeat.

The smile on his face softens. “Yeah.” His gaze never leaves mine. “My heart.”

Something warm and terrifying unfurls in my chest. No one has ever called me something like that before. No one has ever looked at me like they meant it either.

I search his face for any sign that he’s teasing me. Any hint of a smirk. Any crack in his expression that will tell me this is all a joke, that I’ve misunderstood, that I’ve let myself believe something I shouldn’t have.

But I don’t find it. Not even a little. There’s no amusement in his eyes. No pity. No deception. Just that same unwavering certainty that’s been there since the day he walked up to me at the warehouse.

Like calling me A Chroí is the most natural thing in the world. Like he doesn’t understand why I would question it in the first place. The realization settles heavily in my chest. He means it.

God help me, he actually means it.

Chapter 27

Conor

It’s been four days since I brought Jaxon home from the hospital. A full week since he was thrown into that cage and forced to fight for his life. Physically, he’s healing well.

The doctor says he shouldn’t have any lasting complications. Mentally, it’s a different story. The rest is harder to measure. The nightmares still come. Not every night, but often enough.