Chapter Ninety-Six: The Passenger Side
434 Words
-----Helen’s POV-----
She shouldn’t have come.
She knew it the moment she pulled up to the curb, the second her hands stilled on the steering wheel and her eyes landed on the porch she had once walked across like it belonged to her.
Like she belonged.
She didn’t.
Not anymore.
She hadn’t even told him about the doctor’s appointment. About the ultrasound. About anything.
She hadn’t called.
And he hadn’t reached out.
Which, in some twisted, infuriating way, made her madder.
Mad that he’d listened.
Mad that he’d given her the space she’d begged for.
Mad that she still wanted him.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter, fighting the wave of emotion threatening to drown her in silence.
Then she saw the door open.
And there he was.
Axton.
Tall. Still. Unapologetically him.
He stepped onto the porch slowly, not like a man ready to fight—but like a man ready to surrender.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move toward her.
He just... waited.
Her throat tightened.
God, he looked tired.
Not in the physical way. But in the soul-deep, worn-thin way.
And he looked good.
That part pissed her off the most.
He looked so damn good it hurt.
The passenger door opened.
She didn’t flinch.
He slid in, careful, quiet. The scent of him wrapped around her like a noose and a blanket all at once.
He didn’t say anything right away.
And she didn’t look at him.
She stared forward.
Tense. Unyielding.
Until—
“I know I don’t deserve to be here.”
His voice was soft. Rough. Like he’d been holding it back for days.
“I know I pushed too far. Controlled too much. Took what wasn’t mine.”
Silence.
“I didn’t want to ruin you, Helen. I just... I didn’t know how to stay away.”
Still, she didn’t speak.
Her jaw was tight. Her eyes stung.
“But I want to learn. If you let me.”
The words hovered in the air like fog.
She blinked hard, finally turning to look at him.
His eyes met hers.
And she saw it—raw, unshielded emotion. Regret. Longing. Fear.
Real.
So painfully real.
She didn’t know what to say.
Didn’t know what to feel.
But she didn’t stop him when he reached out—slowly—and placed his hand over hers.
He swallowed.
“You don’t have to come in. But I’d like to talk. Inside. Where it’s warm.”
His thumb brushed hers.
“Just talk.”
Helen stared at their hands.
Her pulse thundered.
She didn’t speak.
But she didn’t pull away.
- Writer
