Not All Sunshine and Rainbows - Bouncing Back, Book III

34

Standing at the entrance to the orphanage, Jaxon nervously fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. He ran a hand through his dark hair, pushing his bangs to the side, absently noting that he needed a trim. All around him, the spring thaw had left the ground damp and the puddles deep. Mud caked places that were usually clear of debris, and water dripped from the rooftops onto unsuspecting passers-by.

He sighed, taking in the slate grey building that reminded him so much of Markus's eyes. Wincing, he shook his head to clear his mind of thoughts of his boyfriend. Yes, they'd fought, but he didn't hate Mark. He actually adored the protective behaviors of the other man. Still, there was a fine line between protective and downright controlling.

Now that he was physically and mentally stronger, he found the spiritual strength to drag himself out of the towers on his own. Lukas knew he needed to do this, to go back to before he was taken in by the mafia. Not once since he was adopted had he returned to the place where everything originated.

Reaching back, he fingered the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, hidden beneath his duster jacket. He tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing, that coming back to where it all started was good for him. He was trying to convince himself that it would help him move on from his past.

Did he believe it? No, not really, but even his sister thought it was a good idea.

"Take it from me, little brother," she’d told him when he went to get her opinion on the idea. "If you can find the strength to face it down, then you'll realize you're stronger than what haunts you."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, but she’d had a worse life than he did before their father got her. Sighing, Jaxon continued to stare at the building.

Sirens blasted through the air along with idle chatter and the road-rage-fueled honks of passing vehicles. It wasn’t unusual for the city, but it was still annoying enough that he shoved his earbuds in and turned his music on blast.

His eyes slid to a bench between two wooden plant pots saturated to the point that the mulch was floating. He cleared the distance, crossing his legs as he sat down to flick through his phone. Stopping when he got to Markus’s number, he licked his lips. He was uncertain as he fingered the ring he was wearing, twisting it slowly as he tried to ground himself.

It had already been three weeks since he'd last spoken to his boyfriend. He knew that Markus loved him, but he needed to learn that Jaxon was more than capable of taking care of himself.

Engrossed in his music, he didn't notice the officer approaching him.

The woman stopped, a curious frown on her face as she took in the appearance of the young man on the bench. Her eyes widened as a memory from the past crossed her mind.

No, he couldn't be. After all this time, was the child she helped save really sitting in front of her? Yet, the longer she looked, the more she realized that he looked identical to the man she once called a friend.

"Excuse me, young man," she called, making sure to keep her distance just in case she was wrong. Seeing that he didn’t respond, she reached out to touch his arm gently.

He looked up, and his dark brown, almost onyx-coloured eyes pegged her with a lazy stare. His gaze landed on her patches as he skimming over the uniform she was wearing, offering her a small smile. Pulling his earbuds all the way out, he said, "Is there something I can help you with, Constable?"

"You remind me of someone I once knew roughly twenty years ago. A very dear and close friend. I know you’re not nearly old enough to be him, but…" she replied. Her voice trailed off as he barked a laugh that seemed strained.

Jaxon’s smile faded. "You might have known my father, Yi Han-Gyeol."

It was all the confirmation she needed. To know that this was the same little boy who had clung to her as she removed him from the wreck gave her some peace. She remembered his eyes, so dark and full of fear as he shook while calling for his eomma and his abeoji. Not really knowing what the words meant, she'd asked a colleague who knew a few different languages. Lee had told her that the boy was speaking in Korean, and was calling for his mother and father.

That alone should have broken her bleeding heart, but it was the risks of the career she'd chosen. She couldn't afford to worry over every little child she helped over the last twenty years of being in her line of work. It would only eat away at her sanity and pull her from her sworn duty to serve and protect the people of the city in which they all lived.

"My God. You’re Ji-Hoon! It’s been nearly sixteen years since I last saw you. You see, I knew your parents personally. Han and Ann were good friends of mine," she said, taking a step closer to him. There was a deadly aura around him as if he'd been raised around dangerous people.

Confused, the young man raised a brow. "Ann?"

"Your mother preferred to be called Ann because it was easier for the locals here to say. I went to school with her until we graduated and went our separate ways. Her family was from Barrie. Her mother, if I recall correctly, died in childbirth when Ann was twelve along with her only sibling, and her father worked at a bank," the woman explained.

Sitting straighter, he motioned toward the empty portion of the bench. Now interested in what the woman knew, he licked his lips in anticipation. "Would you like to sit down?"

Taking the offering, she said, "It’s nice to see you all grown up. By the way, just out of curiosity, do you remember the accident at all?"

He nodded slowly, not really wanting to talk about it. Knowing that she knew his parents, he would entertain her question for now. "The car had a blowout, and my father lost control of the vehicle. I was sitting in the back seat when I heard the bang. How did you know about it?"

"I was one of the First Responders to the scene. The Chief at the time gave me the job of placing you with family. However, your father didn't have anyone here in Canada, and your grandfather on your mother's side passed a year before. We had no choice but to put you in Government care," she answered.

"It was for the best. I was adopted by a single dad who already had an older daughter."

She raised a brow in surprise. "Oh? Were you adopted by an Asian family?"

"What does ethnicity matter? He adopted me and raised me as his own. I was treated well and never abused," Jaxon told her. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, but the woman didn't seem to hear it. He hated it when people assumed he'd been adopted by what they called his 'own kind.' “David Marks adopted me after his daughter picked me out of a crowd.”

"Well, in any case, it's nice to know that you're doing well. Your father’s Last Will and Testament is in a safety deposit box at the Main Street bank, too. I would suggest getting it sooner rather than later," she said as she rose to her feet. He watched her walk away without another word, letting her disappear around the corner before he allowed himself to relax.

Jaxon rose to his feet and walked over to the entrance to the orphanage for the second time that day. Pulling on the handle, he walked into the reception area. His gaze traveled over the location as he looked around.

Children were playing everywhere around him. Some were painting, others were crafting, and a few were over by the sand-filled tub in the far corner. A few teens were walking around, chatting or helping the adults with the younger kids. Some things were different, but he smiled at the nostalgia of it all.

"Welcome to Holy Cross Orphanage. How can I help you?" a modestly-dressed black man asked, taking in the young man's appearance.

Turning, Jaxon forced a smile to his face. "Actually, I used to live here. I was adopted twelve years ago, but I can still recall sleeping in a room on the second floor."

"I'm Brother Emmanuel. Is there anyone in particular that you knew before you left?" the man inquired, shaking his head.

"I was close with Sister Margaret," Jaxon replied.

"Unfortunately, Sister Margaret was called home by our Heavenly Father," the man explained as he sat down and leafed through some papers.

Jaxon smiled sadly before remembering another woman who took care of him. He could remember the smell of her coconut hand cream, the softness of her skin when she would rock him to sleep. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, and he was trying hard to retrieve it. "What about Sister Sarah? Can I talk to her? I just have some questions about my past before I was adopted."

Biting his lip, Brother Emmanuel eyed him questioningly. The younger man seemed to know the women there personally, but he was still suspicious about an adoptee suddenly showing up to simply chat. "You wait here while I go get her. We have special security measures in place, so I can't go letting you run amok."

"By all means, do what you need to. I mean, you do have a building full of kids to protect," Jaxon agreed.