The truck moved slow at first, like Jaxson was giving her time to change her mind.
Brinley noticed.
She noticed everything now, the way his hands stayed steady on the wheel, the way he didn't glance over too often, the way the cab felt full of things neither of them were saying. The road stretched ahead of them, gray and quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful so much as careful.
"You don't have to take me all the way," she said eventually, breaking the silence before it swallowed her whole.
"I know," he replied. No hesitation. No argument. Just truth.
That almost hurt more.
She watched the passing trees blur together and wondered how something could feel so fragile and so heavy at the same time. She'd expected him to push, to say something big, something dramatic, something that promised too much too fast.
But he didn't.
And somehow, that mattered more than if he had.
At a stoplight, he finally looked at her. Not long. Not intense. Just enough to make sure she was still there. Still choosing to sit beside him.
"I meant what I said this morning," he told her quietly. "I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not trying to fix it with words."
She swallowed. Her chest tightened.
"Then what are you doing?" she asked.
His jaw flexed, like he was choosing honesty over comfort. "Showing up. Staying. Doing the part that doesn't come with guarantees."
The light turned green. He drove on.
Brinley let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. This was different than before, different than all the almosts and maybes and moments where she'd been the one standing in the open while he stayed half-hidden behind fear.
This wasn't a confession.
This was resolve.
They pulled into her driveway sooner than she wanted. The truck idled, neither of them moving to open a door. The space between them felt charged now, like a line neither dared cross, not because they didn't want to, but because crossing it too soon might break everything.
"I'm not ready," she said softly, finally turning to face him. "I won't pretend I am."
"I know," he said. "And I'm not asking you to be."
That was when she realized the dangerous truth.
She already cared again.
Maybe she never stopped.
Jaxson reached for the door handle, then paused. "I'll see you when you're ready to see me. Not when I want to be seen."
Her heart stuttered.
As she stepped out of the truck, she felt it, the shift. Not closure. Not forgiveness.
But the beginning of something steadier than promises.
She closed the door and stood there as he drove away, the sound of his truck fading into the distance. Brinley pressed a hand to her chest, grounding herself in the ache and the hope tangled together inside her.
She didn't chase him.
And for the first time, he didn't disappear.
And that scared her…
because it made her believe him.