"Pack a bag," Jesse said.
"For?"
"Trust me."
I raised a brow. "We've established I do."
He smirked, but something in his eyes looked nervous.
Like the kind of nervous you get when you're about to show someone a scar that's still healing.
---
We drove three hours out of town.
No music. Just wind and hands brushing on the gearshift.
And when we finally pulled into a quiet little town, Jesse exhaled like he was bracing for something.
"Where are we?"
"My old neighborhood," he said softly.
I blinked.
"You've never…"
"I know."
---
We walked through cracked sidewalks.
Past rusted mailboxes and chipped fences.
Jesse nodded at houses without smiling.
Pointed out a window and said, "That's where I broke my wrist at eleven."
Pointed at a field. "That's where I kissed a boy and got beat up for it."
I squeezed his hand tighter.
He looked at me.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Are you?"
He shrugged.
Then looked at me again—longer this time.
"I think I brought you here so I could be."
---
We stopped outside a weathered diner.
Inside, it smelled like grease and regret.
A waitress blinked at Jesse, then gasped.
"Hayes? Jesse Hayes?"
He nodded, lips twitching.
"Still making trouble," she said, voice fond.
"Trying to fix more than I break these days," he answered.
Her eyes landed on me. "And who's this?"
I opened my mouth.
Jesse beat me to it.
"This is Kade. My… person."
My person.
Not boyfriend.
Not partner.
Just—mine.
And it landed deeper than any label.
---
Over lunch, Jesse told me stories.
About the boy who used to hide under bleachers.
The teen who fixed engines to avoid fists.
The man who left without saying goodbye.
"You hate it here," I said, gently.
"Used to."
"And now?"
He looked around.
At the dusty jukebox.
The chipped table.
Me.
"Now I think maybe it just needed a second chance."
---
We left that town with nothing but a receipt and a memory.
But something in Jesse had shifted.
Less tension in his shoulders.
Less steel in his voice.
And as we pulled back into our own driveway that night, he turned to me and whispered:
"Thank you for making the ugliest parts of me feel worth showing."
I leaned in.
"Thank you for trusting me with them."