Chapter 174

She hadn't wanted me to drive. Not after everything.

But I’d insisted. Told her I was fine, swore it, quiet and steady, and she’d looked at me like she didn’t believe it but wanted to. So she agreed to let me.

Now, we’re halfway home. The road’s half lit, half lost in the soft wash of streetlamps, and I can feel her gaze cutting into me like wind against bare skin. She’s not saying anything. Just watching. Like she’s trying to memorize me before I disappear again.

Something changed tonight. I can’t name it, but I feel it in my chest like smoke curling against the inside of my ribs.

She shifts beside me. “What are they for?” she asks suddenly. Her voice is small, careful. “The pills. What do they help with?”

I glance at her....briefly. Her face is open. There’s no accusation in it. Just that quiet kind of concern she doesn’t quite know how to hide anymore.

I return my eyes to the road. Grip the wheel tighter. My knuckles pale.

“They help when I’m feeling…” I hesitate, chewing on the word. “Too much.”

She doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“A few years back,” I start slowly, “I got diagnosed with depression. And anxiety.” Saying it aloud feels foreign, like I’m speaking someone else’s truth. “The pills... they help me stay here. In my skin. ”

“Oh,” she says. And that’s all. But the word is full.

She goes quiet again, and for a moment I think that’s it. Then, softly, she asks, “Do you ever feel like that when you’re with me?” There’s a tremble beneath the question. One she tries to hide but can’t.

I think about lying. Or dodging. But I know better now, that won’t help either of us.

“There are times,” I admit, voice low, “when I feel empty. Not unhappy, just… like there’s a space inside me no one can reach. Like I’m here but I’m not really here.”

She’s still watching me. I can feel it.

“But with you,” I continue, “it’s different. You don’t fix it, exactly. But you make it quieter. Easier to carry. Like I’m not completely unraveling. You make me feel like I belong somewhere. Like I’m human.”

The silence that follows is thick, but it doesn’t hurt. It breathes.

“My good days,” I add, “they significantly outweigh the bad ones now. And with you? The bad ones... they’re not even that bad anymore.”

She exhales, and it sounds like release. Like understanding.

Then she says, “I told Mrs. Roberts my dad died.”

I glance over.

“I didn’t tell her how. Just that he was gone.” She folds her hands in her lap, staring out at the street ahead. “She asked me what I felt when I found out. I said I was shocked. And I was. But there was something else, too.”

I wait. Let her take her time.

She swallows. “Relief.”

That lands between us like a stone. Not heavy, just honest.

“There was this… strange sense of closure. Like something finally ended.”

I nod once. I understand that feeling better than I should. Then she turns to me again. “I want to be that for you.”

I blink. “What?”

“Not that I could ever do something so grand. But I want you to be able to turn to me. When it’s bad. When it’s loud in your head or quiet in your chest. I want you to let me in. No more secrets. Truly, completely.”

Her voice shakes at the end, and I want to pull over just to hold her. But I keep driving, heart burning steady.

“I promise,” I say, meaning every syllable.

When we finally get home, something in me loosens. This place....it calms me. Not because of the walls or the furniture, but because it holds her. It smells like her and the warmth of us. It’s soft where the world is sharp.

She kicks off her shoes and calls in an order for pizza, because apparently the mood is “cheesy and greasy.” I laugh, and it’s not forced. It rumbles out of me, surprising us both.

We curl up on the couch, plates balanced on laps, legs tangled beneath a throw blanket. The TV is on, something light, something that doesn’t ask too much from us. She’s quoting lines, mocking accents. Her foot brushes mine. It feels like peace.

And then, out of nowhere...I say, “I want to try it.”

She turns to me, brows raised. “Try what?”

“Therapy,” I say.

She goes still, pauses the show. “You’re serious?”

I nod. “Yeah. I mean, only if you’ll do it with me. Otherwise.... I can't.”

Her eyes widen. “ With you...couples therapy?”

I shrug a little. “You joked about it once. But I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s not such a bad idea. And there are things I think we could say better, or things we keep buried that shouldn’t be. I don’t want those things eating away at us.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just stares.

“And selfishly,” I add with a faint smirk, “I’d get to spend even more time with you. I’m not opposed to that.”

That gets a breath of a laugh out of her.

“You’re serious,” she says again.

“Only if you want to.”

She doesn’t even pause. “I do. I want to.”

I reach for her hand, thread our fingers together. I feel like I’m surfacing with her, always with her.

I pull into my usual spot in the underground lot, the engine echoing off concrete pillars as I kill it. The place is dim, but not dark. And then I see Jax’s bike parked next to my space.

He's leaning against it, one boot kicked out, black hoodie tugged over his head, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. In his hand, that silver flask. No way it's the pretend stuff today. I know that look.

I get out, shut the door behind me, walk over.

He doesn’t move.

I stop a few steps from him, eyeing the flask. “What happened to staying sober?”

He twists the cap off with a flick of his thumb, eyes me with that half-lidded stare of his. “I am.” He lifts it slightly. “Just... in between drinks.”

I shake my head, exhale through my nose.

He lets a silence stretch between us before digging into the pocket of his hoodie and pulling something out. My phone.

“Figured you didn’t have the balls to go get it yourself.”

I take it from him, my hand brushing his. Cold bruised fingers. “Thanks.”

He nods, casual. I expect him to ride off, but he stays. Leans back against the bike again.

“Was it really that bad?” he asks, voice low.

I glance at him, then away. “Not exactly cracking the top ten list of experiences I’d like to relive.”

He lets out a huff. “Maybe it was a dick move. Forcing you to go.”

I raise a brow. “Did you just apologize?”