Raegan glanced over at him as the car pulled away from the curb, the dim streetlights flickering through the window and brushing his face in fractured light. He was quiet again. Not the sort of quiet that meant he was content or lost in thought — no, this was that hollow, unreachable kind of quiet. The kind that made her feel like she was sitting next to someone slowly slipping under water, and she couldn’t tell if they were going to resurface. She wanted to ask him, flat out, what was wrong with him. What exactly was making him sick. Why he wouldn’t survive. Why he was dying as they spoke. The words were right there, sharp and ready. But she held them back, fingers tightening slightly in her lap. He’d only just come back into her life, and she wasn’t about to scare him off by pressing too hard, too soon. If he wanted to talk, she’d be here. If he didn’t, she’d still be here.

She tried to keep her eyes forward, to give him space, but she caught his reflection in the dark glass — the faint crease between his brows, the way his gaze wasn’t really on anything. It hit her in a way she wasn’t ready for, like a crack opening in her chest. He wasn’t just tired. He was… somewhere else. Somewhere far away from her. And she couldn’t follow him there, not yet.

His voice broke the silence when he offered to pay her back for the ride, and she almost snorted. Almost. “You’re not paying me back,” she said softly, but firmly. It wasn’t about money. This was about getting him home, having something to look forwards to... a nice dinner or something that he didn’t have to worry about. “It’s a treat. Please don’t worry about it,” she sighed. She could have argued — could have told him how ridiculous it was to even bring it up — but she didn’t. She could feel the walls around him right now, fragile but high, and she wasn’t going to shake them just to make a point.

Then came the card game. The way he said it — quiet, almost hesitant — made her throat tighten. That wasn’t about cards. That was about him not wanting to be alone. She swallowed down the sting in her eyes before it could get too obvious. “Yeah,” she murmured, offering him the smallest smile she could manage without breaking. “We’ll play.” She wanted to tell him she’d stay as long as it took for the shadows in his eyes to ease, but she didn’t. Instead, she let her tone carry the promise. If he wanted to play cards for however long he had left... so be it.

The rest of the ride was filled with quiet, but it wasn’t heavy. She made a passing comment about the driver’s impressive skill at dodging potholes, just to see if she could get that faint flicker of amusement from herself again.

When the car turned down his street, she found herself leaning slightly forward, eyes flicking to the occasional house that seemed to be bigger than she could even begin to fathom. And then they stopped in front of his. For a second, she just stared. She’d known he had money — you couldn’t know Axl and not know that — but the place still caught her off guard. It wasn’t just big; it was… warm. Inviting, in a way that made her chest ache. She could almost smell the pine and faint burn of the fireplace through the glass. It wasn’t the kind of home that looked lived in by accident. She hadn’t been here before, but it wasn’t exactly hard to find out where he lived, not by a long shot.

She didn’t comment right away. She didn’t want him to think she was impressed by the size or the wealth. But she did let herself say, as they stepped out, “It’s… really you.” Because it was. Every detail she could see through the windows looked like him — quiet, sharp, and yet, unexpectedly warm. She had the sudden, irrational thought that if she could just keep him here, surrounded by the things that felt like him, maybe he’d be... she didn’t even know.

As they walked toward the door, she kept her pace even with his, resisting the urge to reach for his arm. She was here to make sure he stayed grounded, to make sure he stayed him, but she also wanted to make sure he wouldn’t just disappear. If felt like he would. And if that meant playing cards until the sun came up, she would. Because losing him — even just to his own mind — wasn’t something she could handle. Not again

Raegan followed Axl up the walkway, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel path, eyes sweeping over the house in front of them. She’d imagined his place a hundred different ways since they’d reconnected — sleek penthouse downtown with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the skyline, maybe. Something cold and modern, all chrome and glass, because that’s how she’d pictured his life after all these years. But this… this wasn’t that at all. It was warm, inviting, almost rustic in the way the brick framed the front door and the dark pillars stood like sentinels on either side. It felt lived in, not curated. And for a moment, she struggled to picture him here. Not because it didn’t suit him — if anything, it suited him too well — but because the man she knew as a teenager, the one who used to laugh so loudly he’d get them both in trouble, didn’t seem like the type to retreat into somewhere so quietly domestic.

She caught herself wondering what it would look like if he weren’t here. If the windows were dark and the air inside was stale, if strangers moved in and stripped it of its small touches — the way the front steps were swept clean, the faint glow from the lamp by the window. The thought made something twist sharply in her chest, an ache she swallowed down before it could rise too far. She was here now. He was here now. And she wasn’t about to let her mind go spiraling into that kind of what-if.

When he unlocked the door the old-fashioned way and stepped inside, she followed, letting the scent of pine and faint burnt wood wrap around her like a blanket. It was the kind of smell that made you want to breathe deeper, to linger. She stood there a moment, toes just past the threshold, taking it in while he moved with quiet purpose toward the fireplace. She watched him kneel, the light from the kindling flickering against his face, and she thought about how strange it was that she’d never seen him like this — not behind walls, not in his own space, not stripped of the outside world’s eyes. He looked… softer here. Almost at peace, though the shadow in his gaze was still there, buried under the motions of building a fire.

The house opened up around her as she stepped forward. High ceilings, couches arranged in a welcoming circle, a kitchen that looked like it had seen actual cooking rather than just takeout boxes. It felt… steady. Safe. And that scared her a little, because it made her realize just how much she wanted him to stay in it. The idea of someone else living here — some faceless stranger putting their feet up on his coffee table, stacking unfamiliar mugs in his kitchen — was wrong in a way she didn’t want to think about too long.

He disappeared for a moment, and she heard the quiet click of a cabinet before he returned with a deck of cards, moving toward the living room. His voice broke the soft crackle of the fireplace: "Pick your poison... which card game would you like to play?"

She managed a small smile, but her eyes stayed on his face, reading the faint tension at the edges despite his lighter tone. “Hmm…” she murmured, settling into one of the couches. “Blackjack. Let’s keep it simple. I’m not ready to let you win just yet.” The joke came out softer than she intended, not because she didn’t mean it, but because her chest still felt tight. She wanted to keep him talking, keep him anchored here with her in this room, instead of drifting off into whatever shadows had been clinging to him since they’d gotten in the car.

As he shuffled, she leaned back, letting her gaze wander again over the space. The more she looked, the more she could see the parts of him tucked into it — the quiet order, the way everything had a place, the understated comfort of it. It wasn’t a house that screamed for attention. It was a house that let you breathe. And she hated that she could imagine walking through it one day and finding nothing of him left.

Her throat tightened, and she looked back at him quickly before the feeling could take root too deeply. She’d spent her entire career delivering bad news, holding herself steady while the world fell apart for someone else. She’d been the one to keep her voice level when she told a family their loved one wasn’t going to make it. But this — this was different. This was him. And if the worst happened, she didn’t know how she’d hold it together.

She forced the thought away, reaching for the cards he dealt her and setting them neatly in her hands. “Your deal better be fair,” she said lightly, though her eyes softened when they met his again. She wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Not until she was sure he was okay. With that thought in mind, she made sure to order... something for dinner. She'd decided on getting some indian, and ordering a whole feast of stuff to be delivered in a few hours. That should be fun for him, right? She didn't know.

As he started to shuffle, she let her gaze drift again across the living room. It wasn’t at all what she’d imagined for him back when they were teenagers. She’d pictured sleek lines, glass, the kind of place you bought just to prove you could. Not this. Not brick around the door and pine in the air. Not a fireplace glowing like it had been waiting for him to come home. And God, she hated herself for it, but she couldn’t stop picturing the house without him. The lamp by the window dark. Dust settling in the corners. Some stranger dropping their keys in a bowl by the door, not knowing — or caring — who used to live here. She forced the thought away. He was here now. That had to be enough.

Raegan leaned back into the couch cushions, feeling the gentle give beneath her as the scent of pine and woodsmoke wrapped around her like a well-worn blanket. There was a steadiness to this place that made it feel like it could hold its ground against the chaos of the outside world, and maybe that’s why she kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. The warmth here seemed like it should keep everything bad at bay. But even as she shuffled the thought around in her mind, a flicker of unease ran through her. She’d walked in ready to keep things light — to smile, to poke fun, to pull him into something easy and familiar. She’d spent too many years in rooms where her role was to speak softly while telling people the very worst news of their lives. That was the part she could do on autopilot. This? Sitting across from someone she cared about and feeling that quiet dread claw at the edges of her chest? That wasn’t in her training manual.

So, she anchored herself to the small, ordinary details. The way the cards felt in her hands. The way the faint firelight made the wood in the room glow richer, warmer. The way the air seemed heavier with that forest scent, as if every breath she took here could make her forget the hospital’s sterile smell for just a while. She chose Blackjack without hesitation. It was simple. Familiar. Safe. A game she could use as a distraction, a way to fill the space between them with something other than the questions pressing at her tongue. She’d tease him if she lost, gloat if she won. It didn’t matter which way it went — only that the game kept going.

As the first cards landed in her hand, she glanced at him again, trying to read what was left unsaid. She could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders, the kind that didn’t come from a bad hand of cards. Her chest tightened, but she forced her mouth into an easy smile.

Keep it light, Rae.

She tapped her fingers against the table and leaned forward, sliding one card closer to herself. She wasn’t going to ask about the shadow in his eyes, not yet. Instead, she decided to circle around it. Give him something harmless to latch onto. Something that didn’t demand an answer he might not want to give. “The horse show,” she thought suddenly. The one they’d talked about. He hadn’t sent her the schedule like he’d promised, and she’d made a mental note to remind him — gently, teasingly, like it was no big deal. She could make it sound like a joke, but underneath, it would be an invitation. A tether.

She pictured the event as she imagined him explaining it to her — a sprawling arena buzzing with activity, the air heavy with the scent of hay and leather, and people leaning casually over the railings wearing wide-brimmed hats she didn’t quite know how to describe. She wasn’t sure what exactly made a Friesian different from a Thoroughbred — or if those were even the right names — but she’d joke that he’d have to be her guide, since she was a total novice here.

She could see herself teasing him, daring him to guess what kind of horse they were looking at, knowing she’d probably get it all wrong. Maybe she’d pretend she knew something just to keep him on his toes, or that she’d need constant hints, and if he was lucky, she’d make him buy her one of those ridiculous oversized hats just for putting up with her clueless commentary.

She imagined the food stalls lining the edges of the arena, and how she’d warn him about the overpriced turkey legs she was certain he’d cave in to anyway — the way he always did when food was involved. It was a good thing. She’d be there with him, if he even wanted to go now. He had to, right? He couldn’t wallow in self pity for the next year... he had to at least try and live life to the fullest, right?

Her cards shifted in her hand, the faint whisper of paper on paper grounding her for a second. She glanced down at them, then back at him. He was still here. Still across from her. And yet, that thought she’d been avoiding earlier — the one about the house without him — pressed back in, harder this time.

She’d seen too many endings. She knew exactly how fast a home could become nothing more than walls and empty air. She’d pictured walking into this one and finding it cold, dark, stripped bare of everything that made it his — the soft glow from the lamp gone, the air smelling of nothing but dust. She could see strangers here, replacing the furniture with things that didn’t fit, painting over the warmth. Erasing him.

The ache in her chest sharpened, and she looked down at her cards again before her expression could betray her. She was not going to let herself unravel in the middle of a card game. Not when he needed her to be the steady one.

She adjusted in her seat, curling her fingers around her hand as if the simple weight of the cards could keep her grounded. She’d stay light. She’d keep talking about the horse show, about ridiculous hats, about carnival food. Anything that kept him here with her, in this moment, instead of wherever his mind might want to wander.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his briefly, and she offered the smallest smile she could manage without it looking forced. It wasn’t the full grin she’d walked in with, but it was enough. It had to be.

She’d keep the game going for as long as it took.

Because losing him — really losing him — wasn’t something she could let herself imagine for long. Not without breaking. And if that meant talking about horse shows and turkey legs until the sun came up, she’d do it. If it meant playing Blackjack hand after hand until he forgot whatever weight he was carrying tonight, she’d do that too.

Raegan’s fingers hovered briefly over the cards, the soft weight of the deck grounding her as her mind wrestled with the game’s familiar uncertainty. She inhaled slowly, drawing in the warmth of the room and the quiet crackle from the fire as a steady rhythm beneath her nerves. The flickering light danced across the smooth backs of the cards, inviting her to decide, but her gaze flicked up to the table, eyes catching the two cards face-up before her — a modest hand, not quite promising, not yet desperate. The room seemed to narrow, the edges of everything blurring except for the simple truth of the moment: she had to act. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she reached out, selecting a card with careful deliberation. Her fingers closed around it, firm but tentative, before she laid it down softly onto the table, the faintest whisper of movement against the wood echoing in the stillness. She glanced up, teasing, “Don’t get too comfortable—I’m just getting started. I’m going to ruin you in Syle, Jager!” She chirped, trying to bring her own excitement up.

Raegan drew in a deep breath after a little while. Okay, shrug it off, deep breath, nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing to see here. Except the giant neon sign in her brain flashing he’s dying every time she looked at him. She needed him to know she cared, that if he needed her she’d be there, but… god, it was exhausting pretending she wasn’t falling apart inside. And Axl—he looked worse for wear. Paler, a little frayed at the edges, like an old sweater someone had been picking at. What was going on in that stubborn head? Was he making grand plans? Plotting some secret genius move? Or was his plan just to sit alone in his office and… well, brood himself into an early grave.

She glanced at him again, chewing the inside of her cheek, mentally rifling through a list of things he could be doing instead of whatever destructive spiral he was in. He had his company now, sure, but the last year of his life shouldn’t be about balance sheets and corporate fires.

Then she remembered something—something Konig-related. Her brows drew together as the memory clicked into place. Oh right. That. The I’m going to take his company down comment. He’d promised not to, but Raegan’s gut was telling her that promise had all the weight of a soggy Post-it note. Not since he’d decided the cure was out of reach. Granted, it was more than a little Bond-villain-level evil of Konig to dangle that cure in front of him and then yank it away, but still—Axl didn’t need another vendetta on his plate. “Axl?” she said finally, her voice dropping a notch. “You… weren’t being serious about taking his company down, were you?” She tried to make it sound light, like she was joking, but her eyes were busy scanning his face for the truth.

Because seriously—if he didn’t have long left, there were better ways to spend it. Like turning the company into something good for once. Or going on ridiculous road trips. Or literally anything that didn’t end with Axl Jager: the man who nuked his father’s empire in every headline. And god, if the world found out about his illness… She half expected to see it trending already—Konig had basically bellowed it in the hallways, and if the doctor had told him, who else knew? Her chest tightened. She pulled out her phone and checked the news, half-bracing for disaster. Nothing yet. She exhaled, but she’d keep watching.

Not now, though. Right now, he didn’t need to see the cogs turning in her brain like some rusty, panic-fueled machine. He just needed a friend. She wasn’t even sure how long he wanted her here, but until he said “Get lost,” she was staying. Still, the thought crept in—did he have anyone else to lean on? Because if she was it… well, no pressure or anything.

She knew the second she got home, she’d turn into a sobbing mess. For now, she kept it together. He had time, sure—but time suddenly had an expiration date, and she hated that she knew it. His family didn’t seem to care—well, Konig didn’t. And the idea that she might be the only one who’d actually miss him made her stomach twist. He wouldn’t just be forgotten, would he? Of course, maybe she was being dramatic. People didn’t just fall in love in a year… though, with Axl, maybe. If he actually left his office and met people. His person could be out there somewhere—though the odds of them wanting to bleed for him for a cure that might not even work were… slim.

Whatever. She wasn’t going to spiral. Not when Axl was in the middle of happily rambling about this show they were going to. His voice had that faint spark again, and she was determined to fan it into a flame. She made a mental note for 4 p.m., two days from now. Then, her head tilted. “What on earth does ‘Very Pretty Penguin’ stand for?” she asked, one eyebrow raised, fighting a grin.

She rolled her eyes at his grin, but hers snuck in anyway. This was closer to the Axl she liked—the one who could make her laugh even when the world was ending. “Can’t wait to meet her,” she added. If this kid had earned Axl’s sponsorship, they had to be talented and decent. And sure, he’d said he was sponsoring the horse, but he wouldn’t back a horse owned by a brat. She mentally ticked off the list—sweets, hat, country music, loud cheering. Got it. “I think a buckle might be overkill,” she teased, “unless you want me blinding people in the bleachers. And obviously we’re staying for fireworks. That’s non-negotiable.”

She reached to pull a card, but the doorbell rang and she—completely forgetting the game—launched herself out of the chair. Her cards exploded across the table like confetti. She didn’t care. The door opened to reveal a delivery driver holding three bulging carrier bags. Jackpot. She grinned, thanked him, and lugged them back like she was returning from a victorious hunt. Plopping the bags down, she gave him a look, then glanced at the chaos on the table. “See! You cheated. I know you looked at my cards and ruined the order,” she accused, pointing at him with the air of someone uncovering a great scandal. She added a dramatic pout for emphasis, as if this was the worst betrayal she’d ever suffered.