Hometown

Chapter Eight

Harmony barely steadied before she turned, already ready to go back, her chest heaving, eyes still lit with fury. “I swear to God, if she—”

Axel caught her before she could take a step.

Not rough.

But not gentle either.

His hands came to her arms, firm, grounding, holding her in place as his eyes moved over her quickly, scanning—her face, her hands, her shoulders—checking. Searching. “Hold still,” he muttered, his voice low, edged with something tighter than anger.

Harmony blinked, thrown off just enough to hesitate. “I’m fine,” she snapped, trying to pull away, but he didn’t let her.

His grip tightened slightly as he tilted her chin just enough to catch the light, his eyes narrowing as he looked for any mark, any sign she’d taken a hit in the chaos.

There was not one.

Not a scratch.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, something in his shoulders loosening—but not by much. “Damn it, Harmony…” Relief flickered across his face for half a second. Then it was gone.

Replaced by something else entirely.

Frustration.

Anger.

Something deeper that had been building long before tonight.

“You think that was a good idea?” he shot, dropping his hands from her arms only to drag one back through his hair, pacing a step away before turning back to her. “You think jumping her like that fixes anything?”

Harmony’s expression hardened immediately, that fire snapping right back into place. “She put her hands on you,” she fired back, like that alone justified everything. “What did you expect me to do? Stand there?”

“Yes!” Axel snapped, the word coming out sharper than he intended. He shook his head, exhaling again, trying to rein it in—but failing. “Or at least not turn it into a damn brawl in the middle of—”

“She called me a w***e,” Harmony cut in, her voice dropping now, quieter—but no less intense.

The words hung there.

Different this time.

Not thrown.

Felt.

Axel stilled.

For a second, the anger in his expression faltered, something else breaking through—something that looked a lot like understanding.

That caught him.

More than the fight.

More than the slap.

“That doesn’t make it okay,” he said, quieter now.

Harmony let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “It doesn’t have to be okay, Axel. It just is.”

Silence stretched between them, heavier now, the edge of the fight giving way to something more complicated.

More dangerous.

He stepped closer again, slower this time, his voice dropping as his gaze locked onto hers. “You don’t get to act like that doesn’t matter,” he said. “Like you don’t matter.”

That hit.

Harmony’s jaw tightened, her eyes flickering—not with anger this time, but something else. Something she didn’t want him to see. “You don’t get to come back after seven years and decide what matters to me,” she shot back, but there was less bite in it now. Less certainty.

Axel didn’t back off.

Didn’t look away.

“Maybe not,” he said, his voice steady. “But I do get to say you don’t deserve that. From her. From anyone.”

The space between them felt smaller again.

Not heated like before.

Heavier.

Charged differently.

Harmony swallowed, her gaze dropping for just a second before lifting back to his, that same flicker of something softer breaking through the cracks again. “You didn’t say that seven years ago,” she said quietly.

And there it was.

Not the fight.

Not Peyton.

The real wound.

Axel went still.

Completely.

Because that?

That was the hit he didn’t see coming.

Axel stepped closer, each movement deliberate, measured, as if closing the distance could somehow erase seven years of absence. Harmony didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, but she didn’t lean in either. She simply stayed, her body coiled tight, her eyes locked onto his, the firelight catching the gold in her honey gaze, making it almost impossible to look away.

For a long moment, they just breathed—him and her, chest rising and falling in near-perfect rhythm. The sounds of the creek, the distant laughter from the fire, the whisper of the wind through the trees—all of it faded into something distant, like the world had been reduced to just the space between them.

Axel’s hand lifted slowly, brushing against her cheek first, tentative, almost as if he were testing a memory. Harmony’s breath caught at the contact, sharp, involuntary. He didn’t grab, didn’t anchor her. He just held the possibility of connection there, hovering, waiting for her to respond.

Her fingers twitched, brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just seeking, needing the proof that he was real and standing right in front of her, not some ghost of the past she’d carried in her chest for years.

He leaned in gradually, forehead meeting hers first. The heat of him, the nearness, the undeniable tension pressed into her, coiled her stomach tight. She wanted to pull away, wanted to resist—but she couldn’t. Not yet. Not when every heartbeat seemed to echo a truth she had spent so long burying.

His lips followed, hovering for the briefest moment, as if offering her one last chance to step back, to retreat into herself. She didn’t. And when he finally closed the gap, it wasn’t a kiss of fury or desire—it was deliberate, grounding, tethering them to this moment, to each other, after all these years.

Harmony softened just slightly, leaning into him, not surrendering, not fully. Her hand rose, pressing against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric, just enough to anchor herself. His hand moved from her jaw to the back of her neck, holding her gently, not forcing, simply keeping her close, steady.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unsaid, everything left over from seven years apart. Axel’s lips left hers, but he didn’t pull away. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the quiet night.

Finally, he spoke.

Not to explain. Not to apologize. Not to justify.

He could read the tremor of her fingers, the flicker of her eyes, the way her gaze couldn’t leave his. Seven years had passed, but the signs—every subtle, telling sign of love and longing—had not changed a bit. “I… still love you, Harmony,” he whispered, almost to himself, almost a reassurance. Almost a confession.

Harmony froze. Her throat tightened. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. And the truth, the raw, aching truth, was that she loves him still. She had never stopped. But she was not ready to speak it aloud, not yet.

Her eyes met his again, this time shimmering with hurt, pain, and a secret she had buried so deeply it had shaped her entire life. A secret that, if revealed, might make him hate her forever. But for now, she stayed silent, letting the weight of the moment press down between them, letting the truth linger unspoken, unclaimed, and impossibly alive.

Tears fell suddenly from Harmony’s eyes, warm and unbidden, tracing slick paths down her cheeks. Axel’s chest tightened the instant he saw them, an instinctive, almost painful lurch in his stomach. He leaned toward her, careful but unrelenting, as if closing the space between them could somehow shelter her—or perhaps him—from the storm that had been building for seven long years.

“Hey…” he whispered, voice low, almost panicked. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

But even as he spoke, the apology only made her sob harder. Sharp, ragged hiccups rattled through her chest, and she twisted away instinctively, trying to shield herself from him, from the weight of her confession, from the raw, fragile thread of her heart she had held all this time tightly.

Axel’s hand shot out, catching hers, grounding her without force. His grip was gentle, steady, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t let her fall—or leave—without him noticing. He held her hand and held her gaze, unwavering, magnetic. “Harmony… before anything else is said between us,” he murmured, voice low but firm, “if there’s something I need to hear from you—something you’ve been holding back—don’t hide it from me now.”

Her lips trembled, shoulders rising and falling with ragged, uneven breaths. She shook her head slightly, eyes fixed on the ground. “Axel… don’t say that—not yet…”

He said nothing, waiting. Patient, silent, giving her the time to gather herself, to wrestle with the truth she had buried so deep.

“I… want you to hear this from me,” she choked out, her voice breaking in the middle, “and not from anyone else.” Her hands fidgeted, twisting together, her nails digging into her palms as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I… I slept with Hunter… three months after you left. I—I was with him for six months…”

The words landed like a punch to the chest. Axel froze, the air between them cracking under the weight of her confession. His chest tightened violently, breath catching in his throat. The world seemed to contract, every sound fading into the background, leaving only the taut, jagged space between them.

“My… cousin?” His voice was barely a whisper, disbelief etched into every syllable, as he took a small step back. It was a protective motion, not out of fear of her, but in an attempt to steady the storm roaring in his chest.

Harmony’s gaze dropped entirely. Shame twisted her features, tight and raw. She nodded slowly, almost apologetically, her voice barely audible. “Yes… I’m so sorry, Axel. I never wanted you to find out like this. I…” Her words faltered, swallowed by another wave of tears. She swallowed again, chest rising and falling unevenly, before she finally forced herself to lift her eyes and meet his. Vulnerable. Raw. Trembling. Yet unflinching.

Axel’s eyes burned into hers, a maelstrom of heartbreak, disbelief, fury—and beneath it all, something softer, something tethered stubbornly to her. Despite the betrayal, despite the revelation, he could not—and would not—look away.

The night stretched on, thick and heavy with the weight of their shared past, every unspoken memory pressing down, every fragile, lingering connection humming in the space between them.

Even in the shock, there was a quiet recognition. Hurtful, yes. Painful, certainly. But not entirely surprising. Axel had always known Harmony and Hunter were close. Too close. So close that Axel often felt the sting of jealousy, the quiet warning that Hunter had always been willing to step in if Axel ever faltered. Hunter openly loved her, had even dared Axel not to lose her—or he would claim her himself.

Still… to hear it now, from her lips… it tore him in two.

He leaned in slightly, voice low, tight, trembling with barely contained emotion. “Do you… still love me?”

Harmony froze, the words hitting her like a blade. She blinked, as though his question were utterly impossible, yet painfully inevitable. “Axel…” she whispered, breath ragged.

He drew closer, careful, deliberate, and took her hand in his again, holding it like he might lose her if he didn’t. “Do you?” he pressed, eyes searching hers with an intensity that stole the air from the night.

Her lips parted, the confession clawing its way out despite the tears, the guilt, the fear. “I… I never stopped…”

Axel didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He simply pulled her close again, careful, but with certainty, letting the distance vanish. His forehead rested lightly against hers, a tether and a reassurance, his hand sliding along her back, holding her in the space where nothing else mattered. “I do not care what you did for the past seven years,” he murmured, voice low, rough with emotion. “All I care about… is if you love me. Because I never stopped loving you either.”

Harmony’s tears continued to fall, but now they were mingled with relief, heartbreak, and the quiet ache of recognition. For seven years, they had been apart—but in this moment, the distance dissolved, leaving only the raw, unspoken truth that neither of them had ever truly let go.

By the time they reached the clearing, Sammy was already in rare form—mid-transformation into whatever unhinged version of himself only ever showed up under the influence of bonfires, cheap liquor, and catastrophically bad decisions. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet like the ground itself couldn’t hold him, hollering at the top of his lungs, fingers already hooked in the hem of his shirt like he was seconds away from tearing it off and declaring himself the evening’s main event.

“Y’ALL SEE THAT RIGHT HOOK?!” he shouted to absolutely no one and everyone all at once, spinning in a slow, uncoordinated circle like he required a full audience to properly relive the moment. “I SWEAR TO GOD I FELT THAT FROM OVER HERE! GIRL GOT KNOCKED INTO NEXT WEEK!”

“Sammy—” Jake started, already dragging a hand down his face, as he could physically feel the migraine forming behind his eyes.

“She dropped her!” Sammy barreled on, undeterred, bouncing higher now, arms flailing like he was conducting his own personal orchestra of chaos. “Dropped her like a bad habit! I ain’t seen something that beautiful since senior year when we beat Greenville by twenty—”

“Sammy,” Axel hissed sharply from behind him, one arm still looped around Harmony like he hadn’t quite let himself forget she was there.

From across the clearing, near the second fire, Peyton’s voice cut through the noise like a blade through fabric—clean, sharp, and impossible to ignore. “f**k you, Sammy! You f*****g bastard!” She stood rigid, one heel dug into the dirt like she was anchoring herself in place, arm raised high, middle finger locked and loaded with deadly intent.

Sammy didn’t miss a beat. If anything, he thrived on it. He turned, spotted her, and lit up like a man who had just been handed a microphone and a stage. “Oh, she’s alive!” he hollered, clutching his chest in exaggerated relief. “Praise the Lord, it’s a miracle!” Then he shot her a double middle finger with absolute enthusiasm, wiggling them like he was trying to cast a spell.

Peyton looked like she might actually combust on the spot. “Little d**k son of a b***h!”

Sammy, meanwhile, took that as encouragement. His hand dropped immediately to his crotch, grabbing himself with zero hesitation and even less shame.

A couple of people nearby choked on their drinks.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake muttered under his breath.

One of Peyton’s friends stepped in quick, catching her by the arm and steering her back toward the fire before she could charge across the clearing and make good on whatever violent thought had just flashed across her face.

Jake moved just as fast on his end—lunging forward, grabbing a fistful of Sammy’s shirt, and yanking him back hard enough to snap his teeth together. “Sammy,” He snapped, voice dropping low, sharp enough to cut. He leaned in close, eyes locked. “You better calm your ass down before somebody calls the damn law, and they come out here and catch you acting like a complete dumb ass.”

Sammy blinked at him for a second, like the words had to fight their way through the alcohol. Then—slowly—a grin spread across his face. Wide. Crooked. Entirely too pleased with himself. “Jake,” he said, almost fondly, as he’d just solved something important, “you are the law.”

“Exactly,” Jake shot back without missing a beat. “Which means I don’t feel like doing paperwork tonight because you decided to flash half the county. Dumbass.”

“I ain’t flashed nobody yet,” Sammy argued, already reaching for the button of his jeans like he was seriously weighing that option.

Jake smacked his hand down so fast it echoed. “Don’t you f*****g dare!”

That did it.

The group lost it.

Laughter broke out in waves—loud, unrestrained, the kind that bent people in half and stole their breath. It echoed off the trees, tangled with the crackle of the fire, carried out into the dark like something wild and uncontained.

Harmony couldn’t help it—she laughed too. Not polite, not held back—real laughter. The kind that cracked something open in her chest, that made her shoulders drop, that chased off the last sharp edges of whatever had been sitting heavy on her before they got here.

For a moment, she forgot to be tense. Forgot to be careful.

Axel stood beside her, shaking his head as he disapproved on principle, but there was a softness in his expression now—something quieter, almost nostalgic—as he watched the chaos unfold like it was a scene he’d seen a hundred times and still didn’t mind replaying.

Jake finally let Sammy go with a shove and turned away, dragging a hand through his hair, already walking it off like distance might preserve what little sanity he had left.

“For the record,” he muttered, not looking back, “I hate all of you.”

“For the record,” Sammy called after him, completely unbothered, “you love me.”

Jake didn’t answer. That was enough of an answer.

For a moment, it felt like they had all stepped straight back in time.

Same creek. Same firelight dancing across familiar faces. Same loud, ridiculous, absolutely unfiltered nonsense.

Only now… it carried weight.

History sat in the spaces between them, unspoken but present. In the way they stood, a little closer or a little farther apart. In the glances that lasted just a second too long—or didn’t happen at all.

Sammy recovered first—because of course he did. He snatched up a bottle as it had personally called to him, sloppily pouring shots with the confidence of a man who had no business being trusted with liquid. Half of it hit the glasses. The rest… questionable. “Alright!” he declared, raising his own glass far too high, nearly sloshing it over the edge. “To Harmony—”

“Careful,” Jake muttered from somewhere off to the side. “You’re gonna baptize the fire.”

“—FOR HAVING THE MEANEST RIGHT HOOK IN PICKETT’S CREEK HISTORY!” Sammy finished, loud enough to turn heads—including, briefly, Peyton’s from across the clearing.

He caught it. Of course he did.

Grinned wider.

“And for not killing anybody,” Jake added dryly, lifting his own glass with the kind of resignation that suggested he’d accepted this was his life.

A beat passed—just long enough.

“Yet,” May muttered under her breath.

That did it.

Another round of laughter tore through the group—louder this time, looser, messier. The kind that lingered even after the moment passed, sticking to the air as they tipped their shots back beneath the glow of the fire.

The burn hit fast. Warm. Familiar.

And for just a second—everything felt easy again.

The fire had settled into that low, steady burn that came after chaos—thick logs glowing at the core, embers breathing in slow pulses of orange and red. Smoke curled lazily upward, catching in Harmony’s hair, clinging to her clothes, wrapping around her like the night itself had decided to stay close.

Sammy, of course, had decided the night wasn’t nearly chaotic enough. “I’m just sayin’—” he slurred, already halfway bent over to grab another log, nearly losing his balance in the process, “—I’ve seen bar fights, I’ve seen backyard fights, I once saw a grandma take out a dude with a folding chair—” he straightened up, log clutched in both hands like it personally offended him, “—but Harmony?” He pointed the log vaguely in her direction. “That? That was art.”

“Put the damn log down before you take somebody out with it,” Jake muttered, not even looking up from where he sat.

Axel was already moving, stepping in close, steadying the other end of the log before Sammy could either drop it or swing it like a weapon. “Easy,” he said, low and calm, guiding it into place on the fire. “You’re not auditioning for demolition crew.”

“I am coordinated,” Sammy shot back defensively, immediately proving otherwise by nearly dropping the next log straight onto Axel’s foot.

Axel caught it just in time, jaw tightening, a quiet exhale slipping through his nose. “Yeah. Real graceful.”

Sammy grinned, entirely unbothered. “You love me.”

Axel didn’t answer that. He just shook his head, grabbing another log himself, giving Sammy something to focus on that wasn’t narrating the fight like it was a championship replay.

Their voices drifted slightly as they moved around the fire, leaving a pocket of quiet in their wake.

Harmony sat back in her chair, the heat of the flames licking against her legs, the burn of the last shot still settling in her chest. She tipped the empty glass in her hand, watching the last drop cling to the rim before disappearing.

Jake leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, eyes cutting toward her—not casual, not careless. Intent. “When are you gonna tell him?”

It landed clean. No confusion. No need to ask what he meant.

Harmony didn’t look at him right away. Her gaze stayed on the fire, watching a log shift, sparks lifting into the air like fleeting thoughts. “I already did,” she said finally, voice even, almost too even. “Out by his truck.”

That got both of them.

May’s head turned first, her brows pulling together slightly as her eyes flicked instinctively toward Axel across the fire. Jake followed a beat later, his expression tightening, studying him in a way that wasn’t obvious—but wasn’t subtle either.

Axel didn’t look like a man who had just had his world rearranged.

He was steady. Focused. Calm in a way that felt… off, given the weight of what he now knew.

May looked back at Harmony, slower this time. “Are you sure?” she asked, not accusatory—just careful. Because Axel not reacting was almost more concerning than if he had.

Harmony finally glanced over, catching the look they had both just shared, the unspoken question hanging between them. She nodded once. “I thought the same thing, too.” Her fingers curled around another shot glass, lifting it without hesitation. The liquid burned sharper this time, or maybe she just felt it more. Either way, she welcomed it. Her eyes drifted back toward Axel just as Sammy, in a truly impressive display of bad decision-making, fumbled another log.

“—whoa, whoa—SAM—” The log slipped. Axel moved fast, catching it mid-drop before it could crush his foot, his reflexes sharp even with a drink in him. He shot Sammy a look—flat, unimpressed, bordering on lethal.

Harmony huffed a quiet breath through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself. “See?” she murmured, more to the fire than to Jake or May. “Calm.”

But her gaze lingered on Axel a second too long.

Because calm didn’t mean unaffected.

And she knew him well enough to know that the storm was just taking its time.

Jake studies Harmony’s profile beside him, not in an obvious way, not enough to draw her attention, but in the quiet, assessing way he has always watched people when something doesn’t sit right in his chest. The firelight catches along the curve of her cheek, painting her in gold and shadow, softening the edges of a woman he knows is anything but soft when she needs to be. There is a stillness to her now that doesn’t belong to the moment—too composed for the chaos Sammy had been stirring, too distant for the way the night had been unfolding.

He has already known, for years now, the kind of love Axel carries for her. It isn’t subtle. It never has been. It’s in the way Axel looks at her like he’s memorizing something he’s afraid to lose, in the way his temper sharpens at the slightest hint of someone disrespecting her, in the way he always, always comes back to her orbit no matter how far he drifts. And Harmony… she has always met him there, in her own quieter way. Not loud, not showy, but steady. Certain.

But what she told Axel tonight—Jake’s jaw tightens faintly as the thought circles back, heavier this time.

That isn’t small. That isn’t something you laugh off with a shake of your head and a beer in your hand. That kind of truth… it shifts things. Breaks them. Rebuilds them into something else entirely.

At least it would for him.

Then again… he isn’t Axel.

His gaze flicks toward the tree line where Axel disappeared with Sammy, the darkness swallowing any sign of them beyond the occasional crack of a branch or the low murmur of voices carried on the wind. He tries to picture Axel’s face when Harmony told him—tries to imagine if there had been even a second where Axel reacted as anyone else would.

Shock. Anger. Hurt.

Or if he had just… accepted it.

Jake exhales slowly through his nose, dragging a hand over his jaw as his thoughts shift, uninvited but persistent, toward someone else entirely.