Heather looked up as the room door opened. Harold stuck his head through and scanned the room. Her two sons sat on the bed in an embrace. Jaxon, unnerved seeing Matt McGregor’s photo, had broken down as soon as the sheriff and FBI agent left the room. Connor had him wrapped in a bear hug, doing his best to console his younger brother.
Harold said, “Maybe I should come back later?”
“We’re just trying to give him some family time, so you might as well come in.”
He looked down the hall as if hoping to find an excuse before slinking into the room and settling into a chair. He crossed his legs and shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable. He reached out to pat Jaxon’s leg, hesitated, then withdrew his hand. He dropped his eyes and uncrossed his legs again as he waited. Heather would have felt sorry for him if she didn’t have bigger issues.
Jaxon’s sobs slowed, and he grew quieter. With a big sniff, he broke from the embrace and leaned back on his pillow. He wiped his eyes with his good hand. His voice came out choked and strained. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying so much.”
Heather leaned over him and smoothed his hair. “It’s okay. You’ve earned the right to cry.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not supposed to cry. It’s weak.”
Harold’s voice boomed in the room. “Bullshit.”
Shocked, Heather turned to look at him. “What?”
“You heard me. That’s the kind of macho bullshit I always thought—the kind of bullshit that got me into the mess I was in.”
He stood and walked to the side of the bed. He rested his hand on the boy’s bony shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Listen to me, Jax. Whatever that guy taught you about weak…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The strongest thing you can do is deal with how you feel. It’s taken me too damn long to figure that out, so understand that with your family, you can cry anytime you need to. We’ll never think that’s weak. You got it?”
Jaxon blinked his eyes. “Family?”
“Yeah, family. In front of your brother or mother… or me. It don’t matter. Family’ll never think less of you for crying. We’re gonna help you get through this.”
Heather straightened and looked at Harold’s determined face. She hadn’t heard a speech like that from him in a long time, maybe never. But he was right, and it helped her make a decision that had already been tickling the back of her mind. Jaxon needed to get out of the hospital.
He didn’t need the constant interruptions of doctors and nurses taking his blood pressure, listening to his heart, or asking him how he was every few minutes. They were doing their jobs and doing them well, but she could change his dressings and make sure he took his medications. And he certainly didn’t need cops arriving unannounced, asking questions and upsetting him. He needed to be safe with his family so they could protect him and help him heal.
She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “We’re going to get you discharged and go home.”
Jaxon sat stock-still and stared at her. Harold’s face filled with surprise. Connor’s head snapped around, and he raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Home? Today?”
“Today. Tomorrow. As fast as we can. All three of us.” She cocked her head at Trigger wagging his tail from his perch on the bed. “Fine. All four of us.” She caught Harold’s eye. “And we expect you to come by every day too.”
She had expected the boy to be excited, but instead, Jaxon’s face was clouded with doubt. “Will they let me go?”
“I don’t see why not. They’ve already said your injuries aren’t that serious, that what you need are good meals, lots of rest, and time to heal. The IV is coming out today, anyway. We can make sure you get your antibiotics. They aren’t doing anything else for you except monitoring. The sooner you’re sleeping in your own bed, the faster you can get better.”
“Will the doctors come there?”
She chuckled at the vision of doctors doing house calls. “We’ll come in for any appointments. Dr. Sorenson, the psychiatrist, will want to keep seeing you and help you work through things, but we live close, so that won’t be hard.”
With the softest mumble, he said, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Connor leaned against the bed, lowering his head so he could look Jaxon in the face. “I think it’s a great idea. Mom and I work different shifts, so we’re trying to get things done at the house and then come down here to spend time with you. This way, we can all be home together. One of us is always at the house.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
Connor scratched the dog’s ears. “In the way? Are you kidding? You’ll keep Trigger company while I’m at work. He gets lonely and would be in your bed the whole time. And he won’t have to pretend to be a service dog anymore.”
Jaxon ran his hand across the dog’s fur as Trigger’s tail thumped against the mattress. He turned his eyes up toward them. “I don’t know if”—he sniffled—“if I belong there.”
Connor wrapped his fingers around Jaxon’s, cocooning his brother’s smaller hands in his own. “Well, I know you belong. You belong in my room.” He paused and corrected himself. “In our room. I want to come home from work and find you there, keeping our dog company. I want to wake up every morning and see you there.”
Heather fought the tightening in her chest. She needed to be strong and try not to cry again. But she was so proud. Connor was playing the role he should have always been able to play—protective big brother.
And Jax. Her Jax. He was so different, but he was home. Finally. “We want you there.”
Jaxon’s eyes flicked from face to face, and his mouth opened, but words didn’t come out. As tired as he had to have been of crying, the tears flowed again. He buried his face in the dog’s neck, muffling his cries. Heather’s vision of him blurred as her own tears flowed, but she pulled him close, her heart filling as Connor said, “Welcome home, little bro.”