Chapter 5: Coffee and Riddles

The Brownhardt Apartments looked like something out of another era. Twelve stories of fading brick and narrow windows sat weathered on the corner of Armour and Charlotte, a building too proud to collapse but too tired to shine.

But inside Apartment 706, it was another world.

Jaxson Lee’s home was sleek and modern, a careful blend of glass, steel, and soft neutral tones. The open floor plan gleamed with quiet luxury: polished counters, clean lines, art that didn’t call attention to itself. Everything was orderly, minimal — as if chaos had never been allowed to live there.

Derek Castleberry took a seat at the small dining table near the window while Jaxson set a kettle on the stove. “You could’ve made things easier on yourself,” Derek said. “All you had to do was tell them you were at the party.”

Jaxson didn’t look back. “Lower your voice, Derek. Scott’s sleeping. He got home late from his shift at Chubby’s Diner.”

Derek exhaled, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat. “Kid still working nights, huh?”

Jaxson nodded, his tone soft. “He likes the job. Says the regulars treat him better than most people ever did.”

Derek gave a half-smile. “You’ve got a soft spot for strays.”

Jaxson turned, one brow raised. “I have a soft spot for people trying to start over.”

He moved around the kitchen with a measured rhythm, the soft sounds of clinking dishes and running water filling the quiet. “Coffee?”

“Coffee,” Derek said. “And some honesty while you’re at it.”

Jaxson poured water into the French press. “You already have that. You just don’t like the flavor.”

Derek leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You told me two weeks ago I’d be hearing from powerful people. You said when things started happening, I shouldn’t panic, shouldn’t answer questions, and that you’d need me soon. And now, here we are. So tell me, Jaxson — what’s going on?”

Jaxson turned off the burner, his voice smooth as silk. “Preparation, Derek. That’s all it ever is.”

The sound of a door opening down the hallway broke the stillness.

Scott Ramsey appeared, bleary-eyed and rumpled, wearing plaid pajama pants and a T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. His hair was a mess, his face still soft with sleep.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“Morning,” Jaxson said warmly. “You’re up early.”

Scott shrugged, rubbing his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep. Carla was talking in the hallway again.”

“Carla worries too much,” Jaxson said with a faint smile. “She means well.”

Scott gave a sleepy grin and took a seat beside him at the table.

Derek watched the two of them — Jaxson’s quiet composure beside Scott’s unguarded youth. It was almost domestic, almost peaceful. A man who thrived in secrets, and a kid who didn’t know how to keep any.

“How’s school?” Derek asked suddenly.

Scott perked up a bit. “Good. Taking a couple night classes at Penn Valley. Trying to finish my general eds before next semester.”

“That’s good,” Derek said, surprised.

Scott grinned. “Jaxson makes sure I keep my head straight. I wouldn’t be doing any of it without him.”

Jaxson gave a small nod. “Discipline is a habit, not a gift.”

Scott stood and wandered toward the kitchen. “You want anything? I’m making cereal.”

Derek made a face. “Cereal?”

“Yeah,” Scott called back. “Cereal and Coke.”

“That’s not breakfast,” Derek muttered.

“Why not?” Scott said with a grin, returning with his bowl and can, unbothered.

Jaxson chuckled softly, sipping his coffee.

Derek turned to him. “You know, for a man who always says he’s not hiding anything, you’ve built your life like a fortress.”

Jaxson’s expression didn’t change. “When you’ve been through enough storms, you learn to build high walls.”

“I’d call that isolation.”

“I’d call it survival.”

Derek set his cup down. “You trust me, right?”

“Implicitly.”

“Then trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

Jaxson looked him square in the eye. “You already have the truth. You’re just waiting for it to make sense.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The sound of Scott crunching cereal filled the silence.

Finally, Derek stood. “You know what, Jaxson? I do trust you. I just don’t know if that’s smart or suicidal.”

Jaxson smiled faintly. “Maybe both.”

Scott lifted his Coke can. “To both.”

Derek gave a quiet laugh despite himself and moved toward the door. “Call me before anything changes. And please, for once, don’t make me clean up after whatever’s coming.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Jaxson said.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Scott looked over at Jaxson. “He worries about you.”

“He’s supposed to,” Jaxson said.

Scott smiled. “And you worry about everyone else.”

Jaxson’s eyes softened as he looked at him. “Someone has to.”

© 2025 James William Jackson III. All rights reserved. “Jaxson Lee” and all related content are original fictional works created by James William Jackson III. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locations is purely coincidental.