Hometown

Chapter Two

After seven years of silence so complete it had almost felt like a lifetime instead of an absence.

Her chest tightened, the pressure blooming slow and suffocating, like something heavy had been set squarely against her ribs. Her throat followed, constricting until even breathing felt like effort. Her eyes burned, vision threatening to blur, while her heart—

God, her heart—pounded so hard it felt violent, erratic, like it didn’t quite remember how to beat properly anymore.

Too fast.

Too much.

Too everything.

She dragged in a breath, but it didn’t help.

It didn’t touch it.

She had promised Bonnie she would be there tomorrow. Promised it like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just had her entire past dropped back into her life without warning. Like it wouldn’t turn into something far bigger than a party.

Because it wouldn’t just be a party.

It would be Axel’s homecoming.

And she didn’t know if she could do it.

Didn’t know if she could stand in the same room as him without everything she had carefully buried clawing its way back to the surface. Without breaking open right there in front of everyone.

Without shattering completely.

Even now, just the thought of him being here—close enough that the distance between them could be crossed in minutes—was enough to unravel her in ways she hadn’t felt in years.

The last twenty-four hours had already been too much.

This?

This was unbearable.

A sharp knock broke through the spiral, sudden enough to make her flinch.

“Harmony?” a voice called through the door, muffled but clear enough. “Dillan is out here asking for you.”

Of course he was.

Because apparently tonight had decided subtlety was overrated.

Harmony let out a slow breath, dragging herself back together piece by piece, even as exhaustion settled deep in her bones. She didn’t move toward the door. Didn’t even consider it. Instead, she crossed the room and dropped onto the overstuffed couch, the cushions sinking beneath her weight as she stared up at the ceiling. “Have Tony throw his ass out,” she called back, her voice steady despite the storm still clawing at her chest.

She was not doing this tonight.

Not him.

Not Axel.

Not any of it.

The couch creaked softly as she shifted, one arm thrown over her eyes like she could block it all out—noise, memories, reality itself.

For a few seconds, she almost convinced herself it might work.

Almost.

But the bass still pulsed through the walls.

Her heart still hadn’t slowed.

And somewhere out there—whether she was ready or not—her past was already closing in.

It had been nearly two hours since the last text came through.

Two hours since Dillan had been thrown out.

Two hours of Harmony pretending the night hadn’t already gone sideways.

By the time she decided to leave, the club was in full swing—packed wall to wall, bodies moving in rhythm, laughter spilling over itself, the music loud enough to drown out almost anything.

Almost.

She didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t stop at the bar.

Didn’t look for Cinnamon or anyone else who might question why she was leaving early on a night like this.

She just slipped out the same way she had moved through the club earlier—quiet, unnoticed, already halfway gone before anyone realized she wasn’t there anymore.

The back door shut behind her with a dull click.

And just like that—the noise dropped away.

Not completely. The bass still pulsed faintly through the walls, a distant, muffled echo of what she was leaving behind. But out here, in the open air, it felt different. Thinner. Manageable.

Cool night air brushed against her skin, and grounding in a way the inside of the club never quite was.

Harmony exhaled slowly as she stepped into the parking lot, her heels clicking softly against the concrete with each measured step. The lot stretched out in front of her, dimly lit by a few overhead lamps that cast long shadows between parked cars.

Too quiet.

But not enough to raise alarms.

Not yet.

She reached into her purse without breaking stride, fingers finding her keys by instinct. The familiar weight settled into her palm, and with a small press of her thumb—her car responded.

A sharp click.

Headlights flashed once. Then twice.

The sound echoed faintly across the lot.

There.

Safe. Predictable. Hers.

She approached her BMW, her steps never faltering, though something in her chest hadn’t quite settled since she stepped outside. A lingering tension. The kind that didn’t come with a clear reason, just a quiet insistence that something wasn’t right.

Her hand came up toward the door handle—and then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Soft.

Scuffing slightly against the pavement behind her.

Not loud.

Not rushed.

But unmistakably there.

Harmony stilled.

Not fully. Not obviously. Just enough that her body shifted, her awareness snapping sharply into place. Her grip tightened around her keys, instinct kicking in before thought could catch up. She adjusted them in her hand, sliding one between her fingers, the metal pressing cold and solid against her skin.

A small, silent weapon.

She turned.

Slowly.

Carefully.

And there he was.

Dillan.

Leaning just enough into the light for his features to sharpen, his emerald green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent something cold down her spine. He didn’t look surprised to see her.

He looked… patient.

Like he had been waiting.

Because he had.

The realization settled heavy in her gut.

He stepped forward, unhurried, his gaze flicking briefly down to her hand—catching the way she held her keys—before lifting back to her face.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is there a reason why you’re ignoring me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, voice calm in a way that didn’t match the tension in his eyes. His attention dipped again, lingering on the key between her fingers. “What are you gonna do with that?” he added, almost amused. “Stab me?”

Harmony didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

Her eyes tracked him instead—every shift of his weight, every inch he closed between them. She knew better than to underestimate him, knew better than to assume he wouldn’t push this further.

Because he already had.

And he would again.

He dragged a hand through his dirty blonde hair, a quiet laugh slipping out of him like, he found the whole thing entertaining.

Like this was a game.

Then he moved closer.

Too close.

Before she could step back, before she could react—his hand shot out.

His fingers wrapped around her upper arm, grip tight, unyielding, and he shoved her back hard enough that her spine met the side of her BMW with a dull, jarring impact.

Pain flared instantly.

Sharp.

Immediate.

Harmony grimaced, her free hand bracing against the car as her grip tightened instinctively around the keys, the metal biting into her palm.

Still, she didn’t give him the reaction he wanted.

Didn’t flinch away.

Didn’t break eye contact.

Dillan leaned in slightly, close enough now that she could smell him—faint cologne, something bitter underneath it. “This isn’t over, Harmony,” he said, his voice dropping, losing that edge of amusement. “I’ll give you your space. For now.” His grip tightened just enough to make his point. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Before she could turn her head—before she could shove him off—his mouth was on hers.

Forced.

Rough.

All claim and no permission.

For a split second, everything in her went still—not from shock, but from restraint.

Then he pulled back just as abruptly as he’d leaned in.

And shoved her.

The force sent her stumbling a step to the side, her shoulder catching the car again as he turned away like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just crossed every line that existed between them.

Like he had not just made it clear this wasn’t finished.

Harmony didn’t watch him leave.

Didn’t give him that satisfaction.

The second he put distance between them, she moved.

Fast.

Her hands fumbled only slightly as she yanked open her car door, sliding inside and slamming it shut behind her. The locks clicked down immediately, the sound louder than it should have been in the enclosed space.

Her breath came quicker now.

Sharper.

Her hands shook—just barely—as she jammed the key into the ignition.

She didn’t look for him.

Didn’t check where he went.

Didn’t hesitate.

The engine roared to life, and within seconds, she was peeling out of the parking lot, tires catching hard against the pavement as she sped off into the night.

Away from the club.

Away from Dillan.

Away from everything that had been waiting for her there.

But even as the distance grew—the weight of it all stayed right where it was.

The road home is one she could drive blindfolded, every bend and dip etched into muscle memory from years of repetition. The hum of her engine fills the quiet, low and steady, a dull companion to the ringing silence that always seems to follow her after a night at the club. The music still lingers faintly in her ears, a ghost of bass and laughter, but it fades more with every mile she puts between herself and it.

She doesn’t realize she has missed her turn at first.

Her fingers are loose on the wheel, her mind somewhere far behind her, tangled in half-thoughts and things she refuses to fully unpack. It isn’t until the road narrows, the trees growing thicker, more familiar in a way that pulls at something deep in her chest, that she blinks and actually looks.

And by then—

It is too late.

Or maybe it isn’t.

Her grip tightens just slightly as she slows, the tires whispering against pavement as recognition settles in. Axel’s road. Of course it is. Like some invisible thread had tugged her here without asking permission. “Of course,” she murmurs to herself, though the word carries no real weight. No surprise.

She doesn’t turn around.

Instead, she drives on.

Slower now.

Careful.

Like she is approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. Or both.

The houses are scattered one by one along the long stretch of road, darkened windows and sleeping silhouettes, until finally—

There.

Her breath catches before she can stop it.

Every light is off.

Every single one.

Except—

The soft, familiar glow of the lamp near the old oak tree.

Her chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts.

That tree.

God.

She hasn’t thought about it like this in years, not in a way that felt so present. The thick, sprawling branches stretch wide and steady, exactly as they always have, like time had the decency to leave at least one thing untouched. She can almost see it—her younger self, bare feet finding grooves in the bark, fingers gripping, climbing higher, heart pounding with adrenaline and anticipation.

Sneaking in.

Laughing too loud.

Axel waiting.

Always waiting.

The memory hits sharper than she expects.

She pulls off to the side of the road before she can talk herself out of it, the car rolling to a quiet stop. Her headlights cut out, plunging everything into a softer darkness, one shaped only by moonlight and that single, stubborn lamp.

For a moment, she just sits there.

Hands still on the wheel.

Breathing.

Looking.

Her eyes drift upward, drawn—inevitably—to the window.

His window.

He is awake.

Still.

No movement. No shifting shadows. No sign of life behind the glass.

She swallows.

Her teeth finds her nail before she even realizes it, teeth pressing down in a nervous habit she never quite broke. The taste of it grounds her, keeps her from doing something stupid. Like getting out of the car. Like walking up to that tree. Like pretending she still has any right to climb it. “Don’t,” she whispers, though it’s unclear whether she’s warning herself or daring herself.

Seconds stretch.

Too long.

Not long enough.

Her chest rises, falls. Once. Twice.

Then she exhales sharply, like she is forcing something out of her system, and shifts the car back into drive.

She doesn’t linger.

She can’t.

The tires roll forward, slow at first, then faster as she leaves the house behind, the glow of that single light shrinking in her rear view mirror until it disappears completely.

But it doesn’t feel gone.

Not even close.

By the time she pulls into her own driveway, the silence has returned in full.

Heavier now.

Colder.

The old 1940’s farmhouse stands exactly as it always has—sturdy, worn, full of history that clings to every inch of its structure. The wood siding, the wide porch, the windows that once glowed warm and golden late into the night—

Now dark.

All of them.

She turns off the engine, and just like that, the world goes still.

Too still.

Her gaze lifts slowly, tracing the outline of the house, pausing on each window as if she expects—just for a second—to see movement. A light flick on. A shadow passing by.

Someone waiting.

But there is nothing.

There hasn’t been for a long time.

A familiar ache settles deep in her chest as she leans back in her seat, staring up at the place that is supposed to feel like home.

It is home.

That’s the problem.

After her parents passed, the house had felt… different. Not empty—not entirely—but quieter in a way that seeped into her bones. She had thought about selling it more times than she could count. Late nights, sitting exactly where she is now, keys still in the ignition, convincing herself it would be easier.

Smaller place.

Less history.

Less… everything.

But she never did.

Couldn’t.

Because this is where they are.

Because this is where she is.

And—

Because some small, stubborn part of her had always believed Axel would come back. Even when she told herself he wouldn’t. Even when she tried to move on.

Her jaw tightens slightly at the thought of Dillan.

A year.

A whole year of trying to make something work that she had known, deep down, was broken from the start.

Not when he drinks.

Not when his apologies come too easily, too often, like rehearsed lines in a script he never intends to change.

Not when the cycle repeats.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her fingers curl slightly against the steering wheel, the memory of it flickering behind her eyes—not sharp enough to relive, but not distant enough to ignore.

She was done.

Before tonight.

Before Axel.

Before any of this.

She exhales slowly, steadying herself, grounding in that truth. “No guilt,” she murmurs under her breath, quieter this time. Firmer.

And for once—it almost sounds like she means it.

She finally opens the car door, the cool night air wrapping around her as she steps out, gaze lingering one last time on the dark windows of the house before she heads inside.

Alone.

But not as uncertain as she had been before.

Not anymore.

Inside, she locks the door behind her with a firm click, the sound echoing faintly through the quiet house. It feels louder than it should. Final in a way she doesn’t quite want to examine.

Her heels are off within seconds, kicked aside without care, landing somewhere near the entryway rug. Relief rolls through her almost instantly as her bare feet meet the cool hardwood, grounding her in a way the rest of the night hadn’t managed to.

For a moment, she just stands there.

Listening.

The house answers with silence.

Always silence.

Her hand drifts to her purse, fingers fishing out her phone more out of habit than intention. The screen lights up, harsh against the dimness around her, and—

She exhales sharply through her nose.

Over twenty messages.

Five missed calls.

All from Dillan.

Her jaw tightens, not in surprise, not even really in anger—just a dull, exhausted recognition. The kind that comes from patterns you’ve seen too many times to pretend they’ll ever change.

Her thumb hovers for half a second.

Long enough to consider.

Not long enough to give in.

She doesn’t open a single message.

Doesn’t read a word.

Instead, she swipes, clears them all in one smooth motion, like wiping dust from a surface she’s finally decided she’s done looking at.

Gone.

Just like that.

“Not tonight,” she mutters under her breath, quieter now, but steadier than before.

The screen shifts, and her expression softens slightly when she sees May’s name.

Fifteen minutes ago.

You home yet? I’m coming over.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, the first genuine one she’s felt all night. There’s something about May—loud, unfiltered, relentless May—that cuts through the heaviness whether Harmony asks for it or not.

Her thumbs move quickly.

I’m home.

She hits send before she can change her mind, the message whooshing off into the night.

And just like that, a flicker of energy sparks in her chest.

Axel.

The name alone is enough to shift something in her posture, in the way she inhales, deeper now, fuller. Her mind drifts—uninvited but not unwelcome—back to him. To the creek. To the way he looked at her.

To the way it felt like no time had passed at all.

Her stomach twists lightly, not unpleasant, just… charged.

“God,” she breathes, shaking her head at herself, though the smile lingers.

She forces herself to move, pushing away from the door and heading upstairs, each step creaking faintly beneath her weight. The familiarity of it wraps around her, the routine of it, even as her thoughts refuse to settle.

Her room greets her the same way it always does—unchanged, steady, a quiet reflection of everything she’s held onto and everything she hasn’t quite let go of.

She shrugs out of her club clothes, trading them for something softer, looser. Fabric that doesn’t cling. Doesn’t demand attention. Doesn’t remind her of where she was or who she was with.

By the time she heads back downstairs, her hair is slightly mussed from pulling it free, her makeup just beginning to fade at the edges. There is something more her about it now. Less armor. More truth.

The kitchen light flicks on, warm and low, as she reaches for a glass.

Wine feels right.

Necessary, even.

The soft glug of it filling the glass breaks the quiet in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive, just… lived in. She leans her hip against the counter as she takes the first sip, letting it settle, letting it take the edge off the thoughts still circling in her head.

Axel.

Dillan.

That damn oak tree.