Chapter Ninety-Five: Driveway Ghosts
485 Words
-----Axton’s POV-----
He sat in the nursery, rocking slowly, the silence pressing in from every corner of the house.
He could feel them—not physically—but like echoes in the walls. The girls’ laughter. Helen’s soft hum when she cooked. The weight of what could’ve been.
And what still might be.
The burner phone buzzed once.
Axton straightened.
Price.
He answered without hesitation. “Yeah?”
“She went to the doctor.”
His grip tightened on the phone. “Alone?”
“Yep.”
His jaw clenched. “And the girls?”
“With a friend. Some woman named Sarah. Seems legit.”
Axton stared at the crib. “She didn’t even tell me.”
“You told her to take space.”
“Not to cut me out of this.”
Price paused. “You want me to follow her?”
“No,” Axton said, then instantly regretted it. “Yes. I mean... just watch the girls. Make sure they’re good. Where is Helen now?”
The pause was short.
“She’s in your driveway.”
His heart stopped.
“What?”
“She’s been parked out there for about ten minutes. Just sitting.”
Axton stood, hand braced against the crib.
“She came here.”
“Yes.”
And for a long moment, he didn’t breathe.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t exist.
Then: “Price?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep watching the girls.”
“You going out?”
“I can’t let her leave again.”
“Be gentle.”
Axton ended the call without a word.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t sprint to the door or throw it open.
He stood for a minute in the middle of the living room, staring at the faint trail of tiny footprints he’d never had the chance to see made.
Then he walked to the door.
His hand rested on the knob.
He could see her now.
Through the slit in the blinds.
Sitting behind the wheel.
Alone.
Tired.
Beautiful.
His.
He wanted to pull her out of that car.
He wanted to bend her over the hood, rip that pretty little dress in half, and f**k her until she remembered who she belonged to.
Until not including him in this pregnancy wasn’t even a thought in her damn head.
But that wouldn’t bring her closer.
It would send her running.
So he swallowed the fire.
He smothered the need.
And he opened the door.
One step.
Two.
The cold night kissed his skin. He didn’t care.
The porch creaked under his weight.
He stepped into the light.
And waited.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t look up.
But he knew she saw him.
He’d never seen anything more fragile—or more powerful—than the woman sitting in that car.
And tonight, he wasn’t going to chase her.
He was going to invite her.
Please, he thought.
Just talk to me.
- Writer
