Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Angel
Idon’t sleep. I lie in our bed and stare at the ceiling until the dark starts to feel heavy, like it might cave in if I blink too long. The fan hums above me. The house creaks in places it never did before. Every little sound feels louder when there’s no one beside you.
Her side’s cold. Empty. The pillow still smells like her shampoo and hospital soap, and it damn near takes me out every time I breathe in. I roll onto my side at some point, arm reaching automatically. There’s nothing there. Just space.
I replay everything. Every word I shouldn’t have said. Every moment, I stayed quiet when I should’ve spoken up. Every time I told myself she was strong enough to handle it, because that was easier than admitting I didn’t know how to help her.
That’s the thing no one tells you about loving someone through grief. You don’t just watch them hurt. You watch yourself fail them in a hundred tiny ways. By dawn, I’ve had enough of sitting still.
I shower fast, with cold water at first just to wake my ass up, then hot because my shoulders are tight as steel cables.
I stare at myself in the mirror afterward.
Dark circles under my eyes. Jaw clenched so hard it aches.
I’ve stared down men who wanted you dead, buried brothers, and led rides into chaos without blinking.
And this is the fight that’s got you shaking.
I pull on clean jeans, boots, and a hoodie. Leave the vest hanging by the door. This ain’t club business. This is mine. I grab my keys and head out before my head can talk me out of it.
The road’s quiet this early. Pale Texas sun just starting to bleed across the sky, pink and gold stretching wide over Pine Ridge. Fields still misty. Air cool against my face. Normally, this ride would calm me. Center me and clear my head.
Today, it just gives my thoughts room to run wild. What if she doesn’t want to see me? Did I push too hard, or didn't I push enough? What if she’s already halfway out the door in her mind? Carrie’s words echo in my skull.
Lovin’ her means sittin’ in the mess.
So that’s what I’m gonna do. No speeches, ultimatums, or fix-it bullshit. Just me.
Her sister’s place looks the same as it always has.
Small. Neat. Flowers planted along the front like someone’s trying to make the world behave.
I cut the engine and sit there for a second, hands resting on the tank, breathing through the knot in my chest. I don’t bring flowers or apologies rehearsed in my head. I bring myself.
I knock once. The door opens almost immediately. Her sister studies me, eyes taking in the tension in my shoulders and the exhaustion I ain’t hiding well.
“She’s in the kitchen,” she says quietly. “She didn’t sleep much.”
“Neither did I.”
She holds my gaze for a long second.
“Be gentle,” she says.
That one stings. Like I wouldn’t be, and I haven’t been trying. But I nod anyway.
“Always.”
She steps aside. Stevie’s standing at the counter, back to me. She is wearing leggings and an old sweater that used to be mine, sleeves pulled over her hands. Hair twisted up in a messy knot. Her shoulders are hunched like she’s trying to fold herself smaller. She doesn’t turn when she hears me.
“I’m not here to fight,” I say softly.
Silence. The kitchen smells like coffee and toast and something steady.
“I’m not here to fix anything either.”
That gets her. She turns slowly. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Skin pale. Exhaustion was etched into every line of her face. She looks wrung out. Like she cried until there was nothing left and then found more.
“Then why are you here?” she asks.
I swallow. “Because you shouldn’t be alone in this.”
She crosses her arms. Defensive, but tired.
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t stop you?”
I shake my head. “Not when it matters.”
Her jaw tightens. She looks away, staring at the sink like it’s safer than looking at me.
“I don’t need a lecture.”
“You’re not gettin’ one.”
“Or pity.”
“Not that either.”
She finally looks at me then. Really looks.
“What are you offering?” she asks, voice rough.
I step closer, slow, and careful, like I’m approaching something fragile.
“Me,” I say. “Just me.”
She laughs once, sharp and broken.
“That’s not enough, Angel.”
“That’s all I’ve got,” I reply quietly. “And I’m done pretendin’ it isn’t.”
We sit at the kitchen table. No touching. No grand gestures. Just two mugs of coffee going cold between us. Her sister gives us space without disappearing completely. I can hear her moving around in the living room. Present. Not hovering.
“I’m scared,” Stevie says suddenly, staring into her cup.
I nod. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
There’s no bite in it. Just honesty.
“It feels like if I stop trying, I’m admitting defeat,” she continues. “Like I’m saying, my body wins.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I don’t see this as you versus your body.”
She snorts softly. “It feels like that.”
“I get that.”
“No,” she says quickly. “I don’t mean that cruelly. I just…this isn’t about logic. It’s about not wanting my body to be the thing that breaks us.”
That one hits deep. I sit back slowly.
“Your body ain’t breakin’ us.”
“Then what is?” she asks.
“Silence,” I say. “Fear. Us tryin’ to protect each other instead of lettin’ the other one see how bad it hurts.” Her shoulders slump.
“I didn’t want you to look at me like I was broken,” she whispers.
“I don’t.”
“You did,” she says, tears pooling. “After the hospital. You looked at me like you didn’t know how to fix it.” I wince.
“That ain’t because I think you’re broken,” I tell her. “It’s because I hate that I can’t fix it.”
She presses her lips together.
“I feel like if I don’t control this, if I don’t do everything right…then it’s my fault.”
I reach across the table then. Not grabbing. Just offering my hand.
“Stevie… none of this is your fault.”
She hesitates. Then her fingers curl around mine. Tight.
“I don’t know how to stop,” she admits.
I squeeze her hand gently.
“Then don’t. Not all at once. Just… let me in.”
She lets out a shaky breath.
“I don’t even know who I am without trying.”
“You’re my wife,” I say simply. “You’re the woman who dances barefoot in the kitchen. The one who laughs too loudly at stupid jokes. The one who crawls into my lap like she owns the place.”
A tear slips free. “That woman feels far away.”
“Then we’ll find her again.”
Her voice cracks. “What if I can’t be, okay?"
“Then we won’t be okay together,” I say. “But we’ll still be together.”
That breaks her. She stands so fast her chair scrapes across the floor, and then she’s in my arms. No hesitation or space. Just her crashing into me like she’s been holding it in too long.
She cries hard. Face pressed into my chest. Fists clenched in my hoodie like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I wrap my arms around her and hold on.
I don’t speak. I don’t try to solve anything. Just stay. Her tears soak through the fabric. Her breathing comes in ragged pulls.
“I’m so tired,” she sobs. “I’m so fucking tired.”
“I know,” I murmur into her hair. “I know, baby.”
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“What if this never happens?”
I swallow the instinct to promise her something I can’t guarantee.
“Then we’ll figure out what our life looks like anyway,” I say carefully. “But we’ll figure it out together.”
She shakes in my arms. “I don’t want to stop trying.”
“We don’t have to decide that today,” I reply. “One thing at a time.”
Her breathing slowly evens out. We move to the couch. She leans into me like she remembers how. I tuck her in against my side without thinking.
Her sister brings a blanket, drapes it over her shoulders, and gives me a nod that says more than words. After a while, Stevie speaks again.
“I think I need help.”
The words are soft. But they’re seismic. I don’t react big. Don’t jump, nor say I told you so, just nod.
“Okay.”
She looks up at me.
“You’re not… disappointed?”
“Fuck no,” I say. “I’m relieved.”
Something eases in her chest at that.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to stop trying.”
“That’s alright,” I tell her. “Help don’t mean surrender. It means support.”
She nods slowly. “Will you come with me?”
“Every step.”
She rests her head on my shoulder.
“I don’t want to go home yet.”
“That’s alright,” I say. “We’ve got time.”
I mean it. For the first time in weeks, I actually mean it. Because this…. this is what fighting looks like. Not engines and fists and blood, threats and territory and dominance. Just showing up, taking the hit, and staying.
I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. Whatever this road looks like? I’m ridin’ it with her. No more standing back, no more silence. No more watching her burn from a distance. We step into it together. And this time? We don’t let go.