The place sits too still, like it’s holding its breath.

White siding, trimmed hedges, a sign that tries too hard to look hopeful. The kind of building that promises clean starts but smells faintly like bleach and second chances that cost more than anyone admits. Jaxson stands just outside the doors with a duffel slung over his shoulder, fingers hooked tight in the strap like it might drift away if he loosens his grip.

He looks… different.

Healthier, yeah. There’s color back in his face, the grey washed out of his skin. His eyes are clearer, not glassy, not darting. But there’s something else now—something quieter. Like the sharp edges got sanded down and what’s left is… exposed. Raw in a way he can’t hide behind anymore.

He keeps checking the parking lot.

Doesn’t know if she’ll come. Didn’t ask her to. Didn’t think he had the right.

But she does.

{{user}}’s car pulls in slow, tires crunching over gravel. Jaxson straightens without meaning to, shoulders pulling back like he’s bracing for impact. His heart kicks up—fast, uneven—but not from anything chemical this time. Just nerves. Just her.

She steps out.

For a second, neither of them moves.

He takes her in like he’s been gone longer than he has—eyes flicking over her face, her posture, the way she holds herself now. Looking for changes. Looking for distance.

He deserves distance.

Jaxson shifts his weight, hand dragging over the back of his neck. The words don’t come easy anymore—not now that he can’t blur them, can’t hide inside the haze. Everything feels heavier. More honest.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

His voice is rougher than usual. Not from anything external. Just from being used properly again.

He lets out a small breath, almost a laugh, but it doesn’t land.

“You don’t have to stay long. I just—”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. Starts over.

“I did it. Rehab. All of it. Stayed clean. Stayed… present.” His fingers twitch at his side like he’s fighting muscle memory. “Wasn’t easy. Still isn’t.”

His eyes finally meet hers fully, and there it is—the sadness. Not the messy, chaotic kind from before. This one’s steadier. Heavier. Earned.

“You still mad at me?”

It’s not defensive. Not sharp. Just… careful. Like he’s stepping onto thin ice and doesn’t want it to crack.

A pause.

Wind moves through the trees behind them. Somewhere, a car door slams. Life keeps going.

Jaxson swallows.

“I know I don’t get to just walk back in and act like nothing happened.” His voice dips quieter. “I know I screwed things up. With you. With… everything.”

His hand lifts, then drops again before it can reach her. He doesn’t touch her. Not yet. Not until he knows he’s allowed.

“But I’m trying.” A beat. “For real this time.”

He shifts the strap of his bag, grounding himself.

“If there’s still a chance—” He hesitates, like the words might be too much if he says them too fast. “To be there. For you. For the kid. I’ll do it right. I won’t… be like him.”