Chapter Six
966 Words
“Jesus…” she murmurs, more to herself than anything.
Her hand finally moves, lifting the glass the rest of the way. She takes a long sip this time, not tasting it, just letting it settle, letting it warm something inside her that had gone cold.
May doesn’t say anything.
For once.
She lingers nearby, quieter now, watching—not with judgment, not with that sharp edge she carries so well—but with something softer. Something protective.
Harmony notices.
She always notices.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says after a moment, her voice low, a little rough around the edges.
May huffs lightly, crossing her arms again, though there’s no bite behind it this time. “Yeah. I did.”
Harmony lets out a faint, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she leans back into the couch. The cushion gives beneath her, familiar and grounding, but her mind is still catching up, still sorting through everything that just happened.
The calls.
The messages.
His voice—
She cuts the thought off before it can root itself.
“I was going to handle it,” she adds, quieter now. Less certain.
May raises a brow at that, but doesn’t immediately argue. She just tilts her head, studying her again, weighing how much truth is actually in those words.
“Maybe,” she says finally. “Eventually.”
Harmony doesn’t respond to that.
Because they both know what that means.
Eventually could’ve been tomorrow.
Next week.
The next time he showed up in a better mood with softer words and empty promises.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the stem of her glass.
She takes another sip.
This one slower.
More deliberate.
“Thank you,” she says after a beat, the words quiet but real.
May’s expression shifts just enough to catch it. She nods once, like it’s nothing, like she didn’t just verbally dismantle a man without blinking.
“Don’t mention it,” she replies, brushing it off—but she doesn’t move away.
The room settles again.
The television drones on in the background, some late-night rerun neither of them is paying attention to. The lights are warm, low, wrapping the space in something that almost feels safe.
Almost.
Harmony’s gaze drifts.
Not to the phone this time.
Not to the door.
But somewhere else entirely.
Her thumb traces absently along the rim of her glass, her thoughts slipping, unguarded now that the immediate tension has faded.
Back down that road.
That tree.
That light.
And him.
Axel.
The name doesn’t leave her lips right away, but it is there, sitting heavy behind them.
May notices the shift instantly. Her eyes narrow slightly, a knowing look creeping back in, softer than before but no less sharp. “There it is,” she says quietly.
Harmony blinked, pulled from her thoughts, her brows knitting slightly. “What?”
“That look,” May replies, stepping closer again, nodding toward her like she’s calling something out in a mirror. “The one you get when you’re not here anymore.”
Harmony exhales, a faint breath of a laugh slipping out despite herself. “I’m right here.”
“Mm,” May hums, unconvinced. “Your body is. Your mind?” She tilts her head. “Not so much.”
Harmony presses her lips together, fighting it for a second.
Then—
She gives in.
Just a little.
“I drove by his house tonight.”
There it is.
The truth lands softly, but it echoes.
May’s brows lift, interest sharpening immediately. “You what?”
Harmony shrugs, like it’s nothing, like her chest didn’t tighten just thinking about it. “I didn’t mean to. I just… kept driving.”
“Right,” May says, dragging the word out, already knowing better.
Harmony rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “All the lights were off,” she continues, her voice quieter now, more distant, like she’s replaying it instead of describing it. “Except for his.” Something flickers in her expression then. Something softer. Older. “I almost got out of the car.”
May goes still.
Completely still.
Because that—that means something.
Harmony swallows, her gaze dropping to the wine in her glass. “But I didn’t,” she adds quickly, like she needs that part to be clear. “I left.”
A pause settles between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
May studies her for a long second, something calculating behind her eyes now, but not unkind. “And how did that feel?” she asks, quieter this time.
Harmony lets out a slow breath, leaning her head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “Like I was sixteen again,” she admits. Another beat. “Like nothing changed.” Her voice softens on the last word.
And that—
That says everything.
May watches her carefully, the pieces clicking into place one by one.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
Harmony turns her head slightly, looking at her. “Afraid of?”
May meets her gaze, something serious settling in now, cutting through the earlier humor.
“Him,” she says simply. A pause. Then— “Or worse,” she adds, her tone quieter but heavier, “the way you are when it comes to him.”
Harmony doesn’t answer.
Not right away.
Because she doesn’t have one.
Instead, she lifts her glass again, taking another slow sip, her eyes drifting—not to May this time—
But somewhere far beyond the walls of the house.
Like she can still see that light.
Like she never really left it behind.
- Writer
