“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.”
Panic kicked in.
“Are you insane? We need to call 911!” I said. “Now, Jax!”
“I already did,” he said. “They’re on their way.”
He pulled the baby closer, wrapping his leather jacket around them both. Underneath he had just a T-shirt.
He was shaking, but he didn’t seem to care.
His lips had a blue tinge.
“I’m keeping him warm till they get here. If I don’t, he could die out here.”
Flat. Simple. No drama.
I stepped closer and really looked.
The baby’s skin was blotchy and pale. His lips had a blue tinge. His tiny fists were clenched so tight they looked painful.
He let out a thin, tired cry.
“You’re okay. We got you.”
I yanked off my scarf and wrapped it around them both, tucking it over the baby’s head and around Jax’s shoulders.
“Hey, little man,” Jax murmured. “You’re okay. We got you. Hang in there. Stay with me, yeah?”
He rubbed slow circles on the baby’s back with his thumb.
My eyes burned.
“How long have you been here?”
“Like five minutes? Maybe,” he said. “It felt longer.”
Rage and sadness hit at once.
“Did you see anyone?” I scanned the dark edges of the park.
“No. Just him. On the bench. Wrapped in that sheet.”
Rage and sadness hit at once.
Someone left this baby out here. On a night like this.
Sirens cut through the quiet air.
One EMT knelt, eyes already scanning the baby.
An ambulance and a patrol car rolled up, lights bouncing off the snow.
Two EMTs jumped out, grabbing bags and a big thermal blanket. A police officer followed, coat half-zipped.
“Over here!” I yelled, waving.
They rushed over.
One EMT knelt, eyes already scanning the baby.
They were working on him before the wheels even moved.
“Temp’s low,” he muttered, lifting him from Jax’s arms. “Let’s get him inside.”
The baby let out a weak wail as he was lifted.
Jax’s arms dropped, suddenly empty.
They wrapped the baby in a real blanket and hustled him into the ambulance. Doors slammed. They were working on him before the wheels even moved.
“He gave the baby his jacket.”
The officer turned to us.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I was walking through the park,” Jax said. “He was on the bench, wrapped in that.” He nodded toward the crumpled blanket. “I called 911 and tried to keep him warm.”
The officer’s eyes swept over him—pink hair, piercings, black clothes, no jacket in the freezing air.
“I just didn’t want him to die.”
I saw the flash of judgment. Then the shift as it clicked.
He looked at me.
“That’s what happened,” I said, steady. “He gave the baby his jacket.”
The officer nodded slowly.
“You probably saved that baby’s life.”
“You okay?”
Jax stared at the ground.
“I just didn’t want him to die,” he muttered.
They took our information, asked a few more questions, then left. Red tail lights disappeared into the dark.
Back inside, my hands didn’t stop shaking until I wrapped them around a mug of tea.
Jax sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his hot chocolate.
“I keep hearing him.”
“You okay?” I asked.
He shrugged.
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