Chapter 44: Quiet Things
The house is quieter than usual.
Not silent, just settled. Voices carry from downstairs, low and familiar. Jake arguing about something pointless, Mike pushing back, Josh saying something under his breath.
Normal.
I stay upstairs.
My room feels too still, too full, like everything from earlier hasn’t quite settled yet. I move anyway, stepping into the bathroom and flicking on the light.
I don’t look in the mirror.
I don’t need to.
The shower turns on with a soft rush, and I wait a second for the water to heat before stepping in. The warmth hits first, followed by the steady, constant sound of water filling the space.
It’s grounding in a way nothing else has been today.
I stand under it, letting it run over my shoulders, my neck, my back, feeling my muscles loosen slowly. Not all at once, but enough that I notice.
I breathe in, hold, then let it out.
Again.
My fingers press lightly against the tile, cool and solid under my skin. Real.
I close my eyes for a second.
Just a second.
The door opens behind me.
Soft.
I don’t turn. I don’t tense. I already know.
Drew.
His steps are quiet, measured, like he’s giving me time to stop him if I want to.
I don’t.
He doesn’t speak right away. Just moves closer until I feel him behind me, the shift in the air before his hand settles at my waist.
Warm. Steady.
Not pulling. Not asking.
Just there.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low and even.
“I’m fine.”
A beat passes between us, filled with nothing but water and steam.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t question it.
Instead, his other hand reaches past me for the shampoo, and I still, not tense, just aware of him, of how close he is.
“You’re holding too much,” he says quietly.
Not an accusation.
Just fact.
I let out a slow breath. “I know.”
That’s all I give him.
It’s enough.
He steps closer, close enough that his chest brushes my back as his fingers slide into my hair. He takes his time wetting it fully before working in the shampoo, movements slow and deliberate.
No rush.
His thumbs press lightly at my scalp, working through the tension with steady pressure.
I didn’t realize how tight I was until now.
My shoulders drop, just a little.
The water runs over us both, washing the foam down in soft lines, and I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just let him do it.
That’s new.
His hands stay where they are, focused, intentional. There’s nothing else in it. No shift. No expectation.
Just care.
My breathing evens out, slow and deep, the noise in my head fading into something quieter.
Not gone.
Just softer.
He guides me gently under the stream. “Tilt your head back.”
I do, without thinking.
The water runs through my hair, warm and steady, his hand steady at the back of my neck. Supporting.
Not controlling.
Just there.
He reaches for the conditioner, repeating the same rhythm. Same pace. Same care.
I let my eyes close again.
Longer this time.
The weight in my chest shifts. Not heavy anymore, just there. Manageable.
His thumbs press once more at the base of my skull, firm enough to ground me.
I exhale slowly.
“That better?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
My voice is quieter now. Looser.
Real.
He rinses my hair again, making sure there’s nothing left before his hands fall away.
The absence is noticeable.
Not sharp.
Just different.
I open my eyes. Steam fills the space, softening the edges of everything. I turn slightly, just enough to face him.
He’s right there.
Water runs over his shoulders, his chest, his face, and he doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t fill the silence.
Just watches me.
Checking.
Not questioning.
My hand lifts before I think about it, pressing flat against his chest. Warm. Solid.
His heartbeat is steady under my palm.
I keep it there.
Not gripping.
Just feeling it.
“I’m okay,” I say.
He nods once. “I know.”
A quiet beat settles between us.
His hand comes up, brushing wet hair back from my face, slow and careful.
“You don’t have to carry it all alone.”
“I’m not.”
The words come easier than I expect.
Because they’re true.
His gaze holds mine for a second longer, then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
Not rushed.
Not demanding.
Just there.
Grounding.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes again.
“Good.”
That’s it.
No lecture. No pressure. Just acceptance.
I breathe in slowly, letting the last of the tension drain out of my shoulders.
We stand there a second longer, water running, steam curling around us, the quiet settling into something steady.
When we finally step out, he grabs a towel first and wraps it around my shoulders before reaching for his own.
Automatic.
Like it’s always been this way.
I let him.
Back in the bedroom, the noise from downstairs filters in again, faint but steady.
Normal.
I sit on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped tight, watching as Drew moves around the room like he belongs there.
Like he always has.
He hands me another towel. “For your hair.”
“Thanks.”
Our fingers brush, small but intentional.
I dry my hair slowly, my body still settling, still coming down.
Drew doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t fill the space.
He just stays.
Close enough.
Present.
When I finally look up, he’s watching me again.
Not intense.
Not heavy.
Just there.
I don’t overthink it this time.
I lean forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder.
He stills for half a second before his hand comes up, settling lightly against my back.
Warm.
Steady.
I close my eyes.
And this time—
I don’t feel like I’m holding everything together by myself.