“At night? It’s freezing,” I said.
“All the better to vibe with my bad life choices,” he deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes. “Be back by 10.”
I was folding towels on my bed when I heard it.
He saluted with one gloved hand and left.
I went upstairs to tackle laundry.
I was folding towels on my bed when I heard it.
A tiny, broken cry.
I froze.
My heart started pounding.
Silence. Just the heater and distant cars.
Then it came again.
Thin. High. Desperate.
Not a cat. Not the wind.
My heart started pounding.
Under the orange streetlight, on the closest bench, I saw Jax.
I dropped the towel and ran to the window that overlooks the little park across the street.
Under the orange streetlight, on the closest bench, I saw Jax.
He was sitting cross-legged, boots up, jacket open. His pink spikes were bright in the dark.
In his arms was something small, wrapped in a thin, ragged blanket. He was bent over it, trying to shield it with his whole body.
My stomach dropped.
“Jax! What is that?!”
I grabbed the nearest coat, shoved my bare feet into shoes, and tore downstairs.
The cold hit me like a slap as I sprinted across the street.
“What are you doing?! Jax! What is that?!”
He looked up.
His face was calm. Not smug. Not annoyed. Just… steady.
Then I saw.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “someone left this baby here. I couldn’t walk away.”
I stopped so fast I almost slipped.
“Baby?” I squeaked.
Then I saw.
Not trash. Not clothes.
A newborn.
“I heard him crying when I cut through the park.”
Tiny, red-faced, wrapped in a sad, too-thin blanket. No hat. Bare hands. His mouth opened and closed in weak cries.
His whole body shook.
“Goodness. He’s freezing.”
“Yeah,” Jax said. “I heard him crying when I cut through the park. Thought it was a cat. Then I saw… this.”
He jerked his chin at the blanket.
“They’re on their way.”
Leave a Comment