Chapter 3
Jax
Helen showed me the spare room in her two bed terrace house that looked way nicer than my hotel, with sage walls, a cream queen-sized bed, and a blackout blind, so the sun wouldn’t wake me.
“If you want a shower, I think I’ve got some of the boys’ things in the dresser if you want to see if anything fits. The bathroom is just across the hall. Please, make yourself at home. Get some rest and I’m sure everything will feel different in the morning.”
She offered me a soft smile before she left me alone. I found some grey sweats and a white vest top. Carrying them to the bathroom, I stripped off, stepped into the shower, and let out a long groan as the hot water hit my exhausted body.
I walked downstairs to find Helen wiping the counters in the kitchen while humming out a tune like she didn’t have a care in the world. Dressed in a pair of purple oversized pyjamas covered in avocados, she’d tied her hair up into a ponytail that moved asshe did. She looked much younger than the age she kept telling me was too old. I didn’t move, wanting to see more of this relaxed version of her, so I leaned against the doorframe, a smile pulling at my lips.
I wasn’t sure how long I watched before she turned towards me, her eyes landing on mine, widening as she noticed me there.
“Jacks—Jax. I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“The shower woke me up. I thought I’d see if you were still awake and if you wanted to finish the wine.”
She looked down at herself, tugging on the hem of her button up top. “I—”
“If you’re about to apologise for something ridiculous, please don’t.” I could see her thoughts reflected in her expression, the apology on the tip of her tongue. “Fine. Say it and then I can tell you it’s ridiculous.”
She looked relieved. “If I’d known you were staying up, I wouldn’t have put these on.” She pointed down at herself.
“Why?”
“I’m in my pyjamas.”
“Well, you’re relaxed at home… it’s late. Why wouldn’t you wear them?”
She stared at me, before puffing out her cheeks and releasing a long breath. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
I stepped closer. “I don’t. Do you overthink things this much normally?”
She shrugged, dropping the cloth she’d been holding and drying her hands on the towel hooked over the handle of the oven. “I think since my divorce, everything feels a bit… raw. I’m so unsure about who I am now…”
Deciding to do what she’d told me to do earlier, I made myself at home, uncorking the half-empty bottle of wine we’d been drinking and pouring us two large glasses. I handed her one and pointed to the sofa in the living area of her open-plan home.
Helen sat, curling her legs up as if she was trying to shrink herself.
“Who do you want to be?”
She looked confused and then must remember her last words to me. “I have no idea. I love my job, my friends, my boys, but beyond that… I don’t just want to be a mum or that reliable friend. There has to be more to me, right?”
“If you want there to be, then it’s there for the taking.”
There was silence for a while before Helen changed the subject and started to ask me questions about my life since moving from our little town. I answered as best I could, avoiding the elephant in any room when I talked about my past—why we moved.
The wine flowed, and at some point, we opened and finished another bottle. Helen’s cheeks flushed, and she giggled more, making me wonder if she'd had a glass or two before she’d found me on the bench by the beach. I couldn’t help testing how tipsy she might be, but as I talked, I realised I might be more drunk than I thought.
“So, dating, eh?”
“I tried. He stood me up and ghosted me, so I won’t be doing that again.”
“They won’t all be like that.”
She stared down at her now empty glass. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
“Dating.”