Chapter 43 Almost
Almost
The ache hits before she even opens her eyes.
It’s there—in her chest, in her throat, coiled behind her ribs like it’s been waiting for this moment to strike.
Claire lies beside Jaxon, their bodies still tangled in sleep, skin warm from the night before. But time doesn’t pause for love—not even the kind that takes you by surprise and rearranges everything you thought you knew.
She blinks at the ceiling.
Only a few hours left.
And she doesn’t know what to do with them.
Does she pull back now, start untethering her heart so goodbye won’t crush her when it comes? Or does she fall harder tonight and let the wreckage come tomorrow?
Next to her, Jaxon is already awake—silent, staring at the ceiling like he’s trying to memorize how it feels to have her there. He turns to her slowly, his voice quiet but certain.
“I want to make the most of tonight.”
She looks at him, startled.
He continues, “It’s not about what we can do. It’s not about the bedroom or any of that. I just want to be with you. No distractions. No pretending like tomorrow’s not coming. Just… us.”
For a second, Claire forgets how to breathe.
Because any other guy would’ve already had his hands on her hips, already pulled her into bed. But not Jaxon.
He wanted more.
Her heart stumbles in her chest as she nods. “That sounds good to me, Jax.”
They don’t leave the couch for hours.
No sex. No rush. Just quiet.
Her head on his chest. His fingers tracing circles into her back. They kiss, here and there, slow and reverent, like they’re trying to write goodbye with their lips and make it not sting so badly.
He studies her like she’s the last photograph he’ll ever see.
And when she closes her eyes, she wonders if she’s ever felt this safe before—if anyone has ever held her like she wasn’t just a body, but a home.
The sun’s hasn’t fully clocked in when the doorbell rings.
Claire groans softly, her arm tightening across Jaxon’s chest like she can keep the day from happening if she just holds on tighter.
But the world keeps moving.
The clock says 8:45. Time's up.
Jaxon presses a kiss to her forehead before slipping out from under her and heading downstairs.
He opens the door to the girls, who are quiet—too quiet.
They know what this morning means. What it costs.
Claire appears a few minutes later, her face freshly washed, hair pulled back, like she’s trying to look composed—but her red, puffy eyes betray her.
Sara glances at her and doesn’t say a word.
They make small talk. Meaningless. Hollow.
Filler to keep the ache from spilling over too soon.
Eventually, Sara starts walking toward the SUV. Taylor and Macie follow.
Jaxon and Claire are the only ones left in the driveway.
And for a second, the silence between them says everything.
Claire stares at the gravel beneath her shoes. Then at him.
“I don’t want to leave.”
His jaw clenches. “I know.”
She looks up at him, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and not see you. I don’t want to go back to a life that doesn’t have this. Doesn’t have you.”
He doesn’t speak. He’s afraid if he does, the words will betray him. That he’ll ask her to stay—and he doesn’t know if that’s fair.
“Thank you,” she says, swallowing hard. “For these last two weeks. I’ve never felt more seen. More real. I didn’t even know I could love someone this fast, but Jaxon—” her voice breaks, “—I do. I love you. I think I have… since the moment I got in your truck at the airport.”
He reaches for her hand.
But she pulls away.
Not because she wants to—but because she has to.
She climbs into the SUV, tears already blurring her vision.
And then she’s gone.
Jaxon stands in the driveway long after the taillights disappear, staring into the emptiness like it might bring her back.
The silence crashes in around him. Deafening.
He wants to run after her. Yell down the road. Tell her to stay.
But he doesn’t.
Because the thing about love—the real kind—is that it doesn’t chain someone to you.
It stands still.
And waits.
Even when it kills you.