Page 131 of Finding His Redemption

“Every last one.”

“I knew you would.”

Christ, what had he done to deserve this kid’s trust? Nothing. Not a damn thing. But he’d greedily take it all and guard it like it was something precious, because to him, it was the most priceless thing in the world.

“The guys helped.” He nodded to the other trucks filing into the drive. “Bear was particularly good with Toothless.”

Oliver’s eyes went wide. “He wasn’t scared of him? Toothless can be really grumpy in the mornings.”

“Bear’s handled scarier things than grumpy dragons.” Jax knelt down, bringing himself to Oliver’s level. “Trouble gave us—well, trouble. And Niblet was a tough one to find. Jonah had to use three carrots to coax him out.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s Tuesday,” Oliver said with complete seriousness. “He hates Tuesdays.”

“So I hear. X got it all on camera so you could see the rescue.” Jax’s chest felt too tight, watching the boy’s face light up with each word. “But right now, your pets are all pretty scared. We’ll need to set them up in a safe space.”

Oliver nodded, tears streaming freely down his cheeks now. His bottom lip trembled as he peered into each carrier, whispering soft greetings to the terrified cats. When he looked back up, his face was a storm of emotion, and he launched himself forward, skinny arms wrapping around Jax’s neck with surprising strength. The impact nearly knocked Jax off balance, but he steadied himself, his arms coming up automatically to return the embrace.

“I love you,” Oliver whispered against his neck, the words muffled but unmistakable.

Jax’s throat closed up. His chest felt like someone had reached in and squeezed his heart with a fist. He tried to speak, to say something—anything—but no words came. All he could do was hold on tighter, his eyes burning as he buried his face in Oliver’s wild hair.

This kid. This brave, resilient, incredible kid who’d been through hell and still had so much love to give.

How had Jax gotten so lucky?

He didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to be loved by someone so pure, so untainted by the darkness that had followed Jax for years. But here it was anyway—freely given, asking nothing in return.

His vision blurred. He blinked hard, trying to clear it, but the tears came anyway. Hot and fast and completely beyond his control.

Christ. He was crying in front of a seven-year-old. In front of the other guys. But he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t pull himself together enough to be the strong one Oliver needed him to be.

He looked up and saw Nessie standing on the cabin’s porch, her hands clasped in front of her mouth, her eyes wet. She was wearing donated clothes—jeans that were a little too long and a sweater that hung loose on her frame—but she was so damn beautiful. More than that, she looked lighter somehow, like seeing Oliver’s joy had lifted some invisible weight from her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

Late that night, with Oliver finally asleep and the cats tucked into an abandoned chicken coop, which Oliver had dubbed “the best pet hotel ever,” Jax found himself tangled in sheets with Nessie, both of them breathing hard as sweat cooled on their skin. Her hair was a dark fan across the pillow, her eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

He traced a finger along her collarbone, marveling at the softness of her skin, at how she arched into his touch instead of away from it.

She shifted closer, her warm breath tickling his chest as her fingers found the puckered scar on his shoulder. The knife wound from Kandahar. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as she traced its outline.

“What’s this one from?” she asked, continuing their game from earlier. She’d been asking about his scars one by one, and he’d been surprised at how easy it was to tell her.

“Firefight gone wrong. Guy came out of nowhere with a blade. I was lucky he missed the artery by half an inch.”

Her fingers moved to a small, round scar on his bicep. “And this?”

“Shrapnel. IED on the road outside Bagram.”

She continued her exploration, mapping the history of violence written on his body with touches so tender they made his breath catch.

Her fingers found the jagged scar on his forearm. He tensed.

“This?” she whispered.

Jax stared at the ceiling, pulse ticking in his throat. “That one wasn’t from combat.”

Her hand stilled. Waiting.