Page 13

CHAPTER 13

JAX

I feel strange stepping into the formally decorated lobby of the nursing home. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and polished wood, with a mix of something floral that feels a little too artificial. The soft hum of background music fills the space, but it's quiet—unnervingly quiet. Every step I take echoes too loudly in this sterile environment.

The walls are lined with old photographs—black-and-white portraits of smiling families, some faded with age. The floral-patterned chairs look like they belong in a waiting room for a doctor’s office. It's all so neat, so orderly, but it doesn’t feel warm. It doesn’t feel like home.

I can already tell this place is designed to make people feel comfortable, to reassure them, but for some reason, it has the opposite effect on me. It feels like a place where people come to wait. To wait for time to run out.

The receptionist gleams at me, a smile that’s too practiced to be genuine. Her voice is kind but distant when she speaks. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m here to see Mrs. Kendrix.”

“Your name, please?”

“Jax. Uh, Jaxon James.”

The receptionist checks her screen, typing something with quick, efficient movements. Her eyes flicker up to me for a moment before she nods. “Ah, yes. Mr. Kendrix recently added you as a guest.” She gestures toward a hallway to the left. “Room 212. Just down the hall.”

I incline my head and murmur a quick thanks before turning to make my way down the corridor. The hallway is even quieter than the lobby, the only sound being the soft shuffle of my boots against the carpet. It smells faintly of piss, and the pungent aroma makes my nose twitch.

I reach room 212 and pause, steadying myself before I knock softly on the door. There's no response at first, and I wonder if I’ve come at the wrong time, if she’s not even awake, or if maybe I shouldn’t have come at all. But then I hear a soft voice, faint but clear.

“Come in.”

I push the door open slowly, stepping into the room. Mrs. Kendrix is sitting in her wheelchair, dressed in a long tunic dress over matching pants made of the brightest fuchsia linen and decorated with rhinestones of every color. Her long braid falls over her shoulder.

I stop for a moment, just taking her in. Mrs. Kendrix has a presence, much like her son, something that commands attention even in a place like this, even with the soft glow of aging that tints her features. The fuchsia outfit, the rhinestones—everything about her screams vibrancy, personality. It’s like she refuses to blend in with the sterile environment of the nursing home.

Her eyes, slightly darker than Pharo’s striking gold color, twinkle when she sees me. “You certainly took your sweet time getting here. Did you bring my new slippers?”

The door to her closet is open, several pairs of shoes and bags are strewn onto the floor.

“Slippers?” What slippers? Pharo didn’t mention I was supposed to bring her anything.

“My Ramesses said he would bring me slippers. He also said he was traveling for work and that a good friend was stopping by to visit with me. Are you the good friend?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am.” Good friend? That’s a stretch.

“So, did you bring the slippers?”

I try to keep the grin off my face, but it’s hard not to. The contrast between her sparkle and the dull, drab room is striking. She’s like a burst of color in a sea of gray. I can’t help but smile, feeling a little more at ease with her energy. It’s strange—how easily she makes me forget about the awkwardness of why I’m here.

“I didn’t, but next time I visit, I promise I won’t forget.”

“Well,” she sighs dramatically, shutting the closet door. “I guess that’ll do.”

I take a seat in the chair beside her bed. She called him Ramesses. The word is foreign to me, but I type it into the search bar on my phone.

Ramesses- ancient pharaoh of Egypt. Born of Ra, Son of the sun.

Must be a nickname or endearment.

“What’s your name?”

“Jax. Pharo and I go way back to his Army days.”

A cloud passes over her pretty features. “Those were dark days. The sun never shone upon my pharaoh in the desert.”

That’s all it did was shine! Until we were dehydrated from it. But Mrs. Kendrix is referring to something else. She noticed the change in her son, even from the other side of the world.

“Pharo's always been strong,” I say, trying to offer some reassurance. “He doesn't show it much, but he's been through a lot, and he's come out on top every time.”

Mrs. Kendrix looks at me, her gaze piercing, and for a moment, I’m not sure if she’s seeing my face or something deeper. “Strength doesn’t always shine through on the outside, Jax,” she says softly, almost to herself. “Sometimes, the sun burns too hot, and it takes the light away.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth.

The silence between us stretches as I absorb her wisdom. There’s something about the way she speaks that hits close to home. Pharo has always been guarded, always pushed through the pain without showing it. But the cracks are there, and I think Mrs. Kendrix knows that better than anyone.

“I think... I think that's why he trusts you,” she continues, her voice steady. “You don’t just see the surface. You see him . Even if he doesn’t let you in fully. You’re the only one who’s managed to get past that wall.”

I swallow heavily. I’m not sure why she thinks that, but I know there’s some truth to it. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’re the only friend of his I’ve ever met.” She closes her eyes, like she’s concentrating hard. “Unless I’m forgetting someone.”

I’ve always known Pharo was tough, but I’ve never really thought about what it costs him to be that way. And now, being here, it feels like I’m seeing him in a new light.

“I’ll do my best,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “I promised him I’d keep an eye on you while he’s gone. Make sure you’re alright.”

Her lips curve, the sparkle returning to her eyes. “I know you will. But take care of my pharaoh, too, Jax. He might not admit it, but he needs someone to care.”

I’ve always said I don’t care.

Sworn it with my life.

Acted cold and indifferent toward him.

But the truth is… I do care. More than I want to.

“I’ll look out for him,” I say, more certain this time. “I’ve got his back.”

Mrs. Kendrix studies me for a moment, as if searching for something. Then, with a slight nod, she leans back in her chair.

“Good,” she says simply. “He deserves that. You deserve that too.”

I don’t know what to say to that. But the way she gazes at me now, with that mix of pride and understanding, makes me feel like I’ve just been handed a responsibility I’m not sure I can fully bear.

“Now, take me down the hall for some ice cream and I’ll tell you all about the time he got in trouble for slipping a lizard into his teacher’s desk drawer.”

I chuckle at the sudden shift in mood. “Ice cream, huh? I can do that.”

Her eyes light up like I just promised her the world, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter in her presence. I’ve never really been the type to sit and listen to stories, but something about her, about the way she talks about her son, makes me want to hear every single one.

“Come on, then,” she says, giving me a playful nudge with her elbow. “I’ll tell you the good stuff if you hurry up.”

I laugh, more relaxed than I’ve been all day. “Yes, ma’am.”

Pharo’s always been the villain of my story, but through his mother’s eyes and words, she paints a different picture. A picture of a man I feel as if I’m seeing for the very first time.