Cinnamon and Sun

Jax woke up because something heavy landed on his sternum.

"Oof," he grunted, his eyes flying open.

He expected the grey ceiling of his penthouse. He expected the headache. He expected the silence.

Instead, he was blinded by sunlight.

Real, unfiltered sunlight was streaming through an open window, carrying the scent of wet pine needles and... waffles? Cinnamon waffles.

"Daddy! Up! Up! Up!"

Jax blinked, trying to focus. There was a small human bouncing on his chest. A boy, maybe four or five years old, with messy dark hair and pajamas covered in cartoon rockets.

"What..." Jax croaked. His voice sounded different. Deeper. Less ragged.

"Leo, get off your father. You're going to break a rib."

Jax froze. He knew that voice. But it wasn't the flat, professional tone he was used to. It was warm, amused, and laced with affection.

He turned his head.

Maya was standing in the doorway.

But it wasn't *his* Maya. This woman was older, softer. Her hair wasn't in a tight bun; it hung loose around her shoulders in dark waves. She wasn't wearing a grey uniform. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt—*his* vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt—and thick wool socks. She held a spatula in one hand and looked at him with a smile that lit up the room.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, walking over and ruffling the boy’s hair. "Did you forget? You promised to fix the sink today."

Jax sat up, shoving the boy—Leo?—gently aside. He looked around.

This wasn't the penthouse. It was a bedroom with sloping ceilings and floral wallpaper. There were photos on the dresser. A pile of laundry on the chair. A dog barked somewhere downstairs.

"Where am I?" Jax whispered, panic rising in his throat. "Is this... a hospital?"

Maya laughed. It was a rich, musical sound that Jax had never heard before. She sat on the edge of the bed and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Her skin was warm.

"You really hit the tequila hard last night, didn't you?" she teased. "You're in our bedroom, Jax. In Rosewood. You know, the house we’ve lived in for four years?"

Jax stared at her. "Rosewood? As in... Oregon?"

"Yes, Oregon. Where it rains all the time and the coffee is good. Are you okay?"

Jax looked at his hands. No rings. No stage makeup residue. He looked at the bedside table. His phone was there, but it was a newer model than he owned. He tapped the screen.

*Saturday, October 14, 2033.*

Seven years.

He looked at the boy, who was currently trying to put a sock on Jax’s foot. The boy had Jax’s nose. He had Maya’s eyes.

"Daddy, I’m hungry," Leo whined.

Jax looked at Maya. She was looking at him with such open, unguarded love that it felt like a physical blow. In his timeline, she wouldn't look him in the eye. Here, she looked into his soul.

"I..." Jax stammered. "I need a minute. To wake up."

Maya smiled and leaned in. She kissed him. It wasn't a tentative peck. It was a familiar, claiming press of lips against his cheek, lingering near the corner of his mouth.

"Don't take too long," she whispered. "The waffles are getting cold. And if you don't fix that sink, I'm calling a plumber and taking it out of your studio budget."

She scooped Leo up and tickled him, carrying the giggling boy out of the room.

Jax sat in the silence she left behind. But it wasn't the cold silence of the penthouse. It was filled with the sounds of a house breathing—the creak of floorboards, the hum of a refrigerator, the distant laughter from the kitchen.

He stood up and walked to the mirror on the dresser.

He looked older. There were fine lines around his eyes. He looked tired, but not the bone-deep exhaustion of the idol. He looked... settled.

"What did I do?" Jax whispered to his reflection. "How did I get here?"

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