As a personal assistant to megastar (and mega man-child) Dieter Bravo you've had your fair share of headaches. Getting accidentally pregnant with his baby however takes the cake, especially when he offers to pay you to be his surrogate. You just weren't expecting to fall in love with him along the way
A poker night over at Benny’s tests the burgeoning secret relationship you have been hiding with Frankie Morales.
After getting matching daisy tattoos with my cousin Jackie, she is convinced it’s finally time to find her soul mate. Me on the other hand? I don’t buy into fate, matching tattoos or destiny shit. Across town Joel Miller doesn’t believe in soul mates either, until he wakes up one morning with a daisy tattoo behind his ear. A disastrous first encounter leaves Joel and I firmly in enemy territory. And when Joel meets Jackie at a party and they discover their matching tattoos, it seems like destiny has brought them together. And me? I’m going to keep my own matching tattoo to myself. Why complicate things? Jackie is happy with Joel and I've started dating his charming and sexy brother, Tommy. Plus, there’s no way the annoying Joel Miller could be my soul mate…. Right?
hold·ing pat·tern
- the flight path maintained by an aircraft awaiting permission to land.
- a state or period of no progress or change.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire. Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.
You and Frankie find yourselves in a complicated situation when invited to Benny's wedding for a week in Mexico. Despite your strained friendship, you both pretend to be a couple to save Frankie embarrassment when seeing his recently engaged ex wife. However as you navigate through this charade, old feelings and unresolved issues resurface.
.Newly settled into Jackson City, you’re assigned to patrol duty with Joel Miller; a man of rough edges and cool appraisals. His story is buried deep beneath scars of loss while you hide your own grief behind flour-dusted hands and the desperate hope of belonging. What begins as forced proximity slowly shifts into something fragile and all-consuming. But as the past creeps forward through old wounds and the ever-present threat of raiders, your feelings for one another become both a sanctuary and a liability. In a world already broken, where there is already so much to lose, can you let yourself love Joel Miller?
Facing eviction you're desperate for a roommate, even if it comes in the form of the strange and often brash Max Phillips. What you don't understand is why he only works nights, why you never see him eat and why strange noises are coming from his room during the day. . .
oomf on twitter sent me holding pattern and i'm one chapter in and HOOKED
i wonder if reader is latina in any way because of santi's side. i thought, well, her sister is called hillary girl 😭 but then i remembered how popular gringo names from the US have become in latam 😭😭
you'd be surprised the amount of michelles, jonathans, johannas, kevins, and katherines that exist in here
I try to make all of my reader inserts as neutral as possible, so I try to make them blank slates. However, I knew a Latina Hilary growing up so I think that's where I got inspired! I want you to be able to imagine the reader is as you as you want it to be.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.
THIS STORY IS ON A03
tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.
notes: Remember when I said this was the second to last chapter? So, I lied because this story needs a little more time to breathe... Don't hate me.
THEN
The party is so loud Frankie can barely hear himself think. Bodies bump into his shoulder, alcohol-soaked breath wafting over him.
And he can't stop smiling.
Frankie is twenty one, he's in the air force and he shouldn't be this giddy at the thought of being someone's boyfriend. But with Pip, he's nearly beside himself with joy.
He sneaks a look at you across the party, watching with fondness as she talks to her girlfriends. He's in love with you, he acknowledges. But he's too scared to admit that part out loud to anyone. It's too soon to tell you that. Liking you feels safer.
Even though it's not just liking that has him fantasizing about them living in his house when they're both done with school and training. Of shared dinners after work, long nights of lovemaking and laughter. He thinks of the marriage his parents had and how he will do everything different.
He's always been quiet, prone to deep reflection and slower to anger than most of his peers. The air force has taken a bit of that from him. It can feel dehumanizing at times, exhausting and frustrating. But when he's behind the stick of his favorite chopper, everything else fades.
He just wishes Texas wasn't so fucking far away.
He thinks about asking Pip for a photo he can bring back to his barracks. Something to look at that reminds him he has a future waiting for him back here. Would it scare you to know how much he's imagined a future with you? That this summer hasn't just been amazing because of the sex, but for the quiet moments in between?
"Can you believe my parents locked the liquor cabinet?
Frankie is brought back into the moment, Travis at his side holding a solo cup and whining.
"They have so much in there and they never started locking it up until now. Fucking idiots. I wish they'd leave and never come b-." He catches himself, eyes going wide as he looks at Frankie. He's said an impossibly stupid thing. "Shit... I'm sorry, Frank."
"No worries," Frankie mumbles with a wince. "You seen Santi?"
"Nope. But I've seen Christy," Travis replies, briefly flashing a wag of his pink tongue. "Damn, she looks good."
"Oh yeah?" Frankie replies distractedly, dark eyes scanning the room. Travis watches this, voice turning exasperated.
"He's here with some hot date apparently," Travis says with an eye roll. "Surprised you don't know about it, being his boyfriend and all."
Frankie's jaw feathers. He's always had to maintain a civil relationship with Travis, but as they've gotten older he finds the boy more and more annoying. It's also painfully obvious that he has a thing for you even though she's given no indication that she feels the same. And why would you? You like Frankie. He still can't quite believe it. Seems almost too good to be true. You’re so smart and gorgeous and funny and... He feels his cheeks heat delightedly.
"I've been sorta busy lately," Frankie finally says distractedly when he sees Pip's head weaving through the crowd.
You glance Frankie's way and he feels his whole body going warm when their gazes connect. Everything about you is just so fucking perfect. Even the subtle smirk you send his way.
Travis' must notice the gooey look Frankie shoots her. The small smile you share before averting your gazes.
"You try anything with Pip and Hilary will kill you," Travis murmurs. "If she doesn't, Santi will."
Frankie is quiet, unhappy that he's been so obvious in his desire for you.
When Travis turns, Frankie can see the young man's attention is fixed on your smiling face. The way you throw your head back when you laugh. His eyes scan down your body in a way Frankie knows he wishes his hands were.
"Would be worth it though," Travis continues in a low voice. "I've been dying to get a piece of that ass for years."
Ugly jealousy twists in Frankie's guts. His fingers are curling into a loosened fist at his side.
"Yeah, well, like you said, Santi and Hilary would kill us."
Travis laughs in response and Frankie watches as his attention moves over the other girls in your group. They land on Christy and her skimpy outfit.
"Can you believe Christy's a real beauty queen?" Travis says, clicking his tongue appreciatively. "I mean I always thought she was hot, but that's insane."
"I guess."
Frankie knows that Christy is attractive. He's not blind. But he also knows she only ever flirts with him to get to Santi. He also knows he doesn't care what she looks like or what she does because the only girl Frankie has ever truly wanted actually wants him back.
It's hard not to smile when he thinks about that. How the girl he grew up alongside became the woman he can't think of life without.
You're standing there stiffly observing what Christy is saying. You look upset. This look is magnified when he notices Christy approaching from the corner of his eyes.
"Hi Travis. Hi Francisco," Christy says. He notices her voice is pitched higher, bubblegum sweet.
"Hey."
"Enjoying the party?"
She steps closer and from this distance he can smell the floral perfume she wears. Can see her nipples jutting through her thin camisole. He forces his eyes to the ground, feeling lecherous.
"Sure."
She tilts her face forward, ignoring the way he doesn't look her way. She's so close he feels the heat of her body.
"You look good tonight, Francisco."
Knowing that you're watching from across the room this makes Frankie flush with embarrassment. "Thanks," he mutters, voice low.
Travis excuses himself with a sneer. Clearly Frankie is taking the attention he wants for himself. Once he's out of earshot, Christy leans forward again.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I always liked you, you know, during school," she says, giving a girlish giggle and ducking your head like she's feeling shy. "I can't believe I just told you that. I must be drunk."
Frankie takes a sip of his beer, head rising to look for you. But you've escaped somewhere, lost in the shuffle.
"I hear there are some empty bedrooms upstairs," Christy purrs, her hip bumping into his. "Should we go check one out?"
Frankie cringes, trying to think of a nice way to say no.
"You said you're drunk," he says flatly. "I don't fuck drunk girls."
"I'm not that drunk," she insists.
He feels his jaw tighten. He's not an unkind person at heart, but her closeness is making him uncomfortable. "Not interested, sorry."
Christy gives an overdramatic pout, jutting her chest his way. When she sees he's not giving in she moves her face in again. "C'mon Francisco," Christy says, lips almost brushing his cheek. "I'll make you s-"
"I'm with someone," Frankie interrupts, no longer interested in being polite. She pulls back in shock, eyelids fluttering dramatically.
"What? Since when?"
"For a while," he replies smoothly. "And I'm really into her."
Saying it out loud makes his insides quiver delightedly. He almost wishes Pip was there to hear it.
Christy looks like she's just swallowed a stink bug. She's not used to being rejected and that's clear in her expression. But then her face slowly smoothes out. She leans her hip against his again, trying her best to get him to grind against her.
"I won't tell if you don't," she says, her mouth curling into a mischievous smile as she drops her voice. "Could be our little secret."
Frankie places his empty beer cup down on the nearby side table. "Maybe Travis wants to hook up," Frankie replies. "He's heading back now."
Christy briefly lifts her eyes to see Travis returning with two new solo cups before her attention flicks back to Frankie.
"You're telling me you don't want to fuck a beauty queen?" She asks with a disbelieving scoff.
Frankie shoots her a piteous look. "Have a good night Christy."
He gives her a kind smile, hoping that it will soften the harshness of his departure. She doesn't seem to enjoy it though. She rolls her eyes and goes stalking off in the direction of upstairs.
Travis smirks, handing Frankie one of the cups.
"Damn what did you say to Miss Florida? She looks pissed."
Frankie shrugs. He doesn't care that Christy is offended. He doesn't want her.
"You seen Pip?"
He wants you at his side. Or at least he wants an eye line of you.
"You really like her, huh?"
Frankie feels his stomach bottom out, turning his attention to Travis. The young man is looking at him in a way he's never seen, or perhaps never noticed, before. A dark kind of look: cold and dangerous.
"What are you talking about, man?"
"Pip. I see the way you look at her these days," Travis says smoothly, like this is a fact everyone knows. "And we all know she's been in love with you for years."
The tips of Frankie's ears burned in both embarrassment and delight at the word. "I'm just used to her always being around."
"Is that why you wear that hat everywhere?"
Frankie's cheeks burn as he absently taps the rim of his hat.
"This?" he says forcing a laugh. "I'm just used to it is all."
Travis laughs back but it’s a hollow sound. It doesn't touch his eyes, his mouth barely moves.
"Right. Sure." His eyes flick to Frankie's head again. "You won't mind if I borrow it then?"
His arm jerks out, hand swiping Frankie's ball cap right off of his head. Frankie goes to snatch it back, but Travis has already popped it on over his shorn curls. Before Frankie can attempt to take it back again, Travis hears his name being called.
"You can have it back in a bit," Travis said with a cruel kind of amusement as he walks backwards towards the call.
Frankie feels his teeth clench. Not just at having his shit taken, but knowing that Travis is probably on his way to tell Santiago about Frankie's obvious affection for his cousin.
"Hey, man."
A frustrated Frankie glances over to see several young men on the couch. All are fuzzily bearded and sleepy-looking. The bigger one with a baseball cap extends his arm, a joint held out in his fingers.
"You want a toke?"
Frankie hesitates briefly before shrugging. "Sure."
He didn't smoke pot often; his dad always knew when he did. He tried popping gum and spraying cologne but it couldn't compensate for the scent that clung to his clothing. But now his old man is gone. Frankie could do whatever he wanted. He's free in so many ways.
He takes a deep inhale, letting the sweet smoke fill his lungs before thanking the guy on the couch, handing him back his joint.
When the pot hits him a few minutes later it feels good. He takes a seat in one of the free chairs, listening to the men talk about government cover ups. But he's not really listening. He's daydreaming about his girlfriend.
Pip. The most beautiful, smart, funny, sexy woman he's ever known. A woman who never takes bullshit. Who sees him at his worst and still likes him.
He thinks he sees you stealing through the crowd and his heart leaps. He jumps to his feet, moving clumsily towards you. He calls your name but you don’t hear him over the crowd. Frustrated, he tries to muscle through the groups when he tumbles into a familiar figure.
"Frank? What're you doing?"
It's Santi; one arm around a cute blonde. He looks at his friend with amusement, much to Frankie's relief. Travis must not have said anything.
"I was looking for.... Well, you actually." Frankie runs his hand through his short hair, frustrated to feel his cap still missing. He feels naked without it. "Can we talk?"
"Sure."
"Uh... It's private. Can we talk outside?"
Santi trails a look over Frankie before glancing back at his date. He mumbles something and she nods, shooting Frankie an annoyed look as she moves to grab another drink.
Santi nods towards the back door, indicating Frankie should follow. "C'mon. Let's go."
They make it into the backyard where several groups talk loudly. Some playing chicken on the grass.
"It's Pip," Frankie says, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans when they find a quiet spot.
Santi furrows his thick brows. "What? She okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, she's fine." Frankie feels his stomach twist, his head spacey. He's trying to say it but he feels like he is outside his body.
Santiago Garcia is his best friend. The two of them have suffered through childhood, puberty, heartbreaks, abusive fathers, shitty home lives. There's the potential that he'll be giving all of that up. Years of friendship, of brotherhood, taken from him with this confession.
So he has to ask himself, is Pip worth it?
The speed of his decision surprises even him.
"I like Pip," Frankie says, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. "Like, a lot. And I want to date her."
He physically flinches, awaiting the discipline for his affection. He waits for Santi to start cussing him out, for hatred and ugly accusations.
"You ask her out yet?"
A beat.
Frankie isn't sure that Santi actually said that or he hallucinated it. He's further confused when Santi laughs, pointing across the room at one of their old friends.
"Oh shit, did you see Jordan just bail off the table?"
Frankie doesn't bother looking over in the direction of the laughter and whoops. All he can fixate on is his friend not looking upset at all.
"... You're cool with it?" He says incredulously. "With me dating Pip?"
"Does she like you back?"'
Frankie has to bite back a grin. "Uh, yeah. Pretty sure."
"Then sure, why not? I mean.... She's a grown-up," Santi shrugs, eyes glazed from booze. "She can date whoever she wants."
"You're not upset?"
"This has been a long time coming as far as I'm concerned. Plus I know I can trust you to treat her well." Santi shrugs, giving Frankie a mischievous look. "Better you than Travis."
The two men laugh and the tightness in Frankie's chest unravels. He feels like he can breathe again.
"Speaking of which... I'm pretty sure I saw Travis heading upstairs with Christy a while ago," Santiago says with a bemused look. "I just know that's going to end disastrously."
"You never know," Frankie shrugs, smiling toothily. "Maybe it's fate."
He doesn't actually believe that. He's just so relieved at Santi's response.
"C'mon, lemme kick your ass at beer pong."
Frankie follows Santi to the other room, the two of them watching the game currently in progress. Frankie intends to only watch, but eventually it's dragged into the game but a very convincing Santi.
"You're gonna be family soon enough," Santi jokes over the gathered crowd. "You better stay in my good books."
Frankie knows he's kidding, but something about the concept of being a family with Santi and Pip and even Hilary makes his eyes water.
They win the next three games, hands sticky with booze, throat raw from cheers. Frankie feels naked without his hat the entire time. He taps out when the suggestion of a fourth round is mentioned.
"I gotta go find Pip," he says with a light slur.
Santi only punches him lightly in the shoulder, giving him a knowing look before turning back to start on the next round.
Frankie manages to walk away from the busy table, his mood serene, and his heart full. He feels happy and warm and he wants his girl with him. He can be public with her now. He can't wait to tell her.
He notices something dark blue on the coffee table, the familiar logo staring at him. It's half under a pizza box, forgotten, and Frankie grimaces.
"Fucking Travis," Frankie mutters, grabbing his baseball hat and shaking crumbs from it. He places it on his head, feeling more secure already.
"Oh my gosh are they making out?"
Frankie hears the scattered whispers of amused teens nearby. Several of whom are gathered by the large bay window, peering out into the front yard. Normally he wouldn't care about something as banal as a party hookup but he wants to laugh about this with Pip later.
He pictures them back at his place under the covers, laughing about the party, holding each other as they fall asleep.
He walks to the window, an amused smirk on his face. He joins the search in the darkness, eyes weaving until they land on the couple making out against the tree. Frankie goes to laugh when he sees that the boy is Travis, his movements quick and jerky.
But the laughter, the smile, all of it dies the second he sees the girl Travis is making out with. The girl who holds onto him and kisses him back ardently.
No. No she wouldn't.
But the longer Frankie watches the more the figures become clearer. So clear that Frankie feels like he can hear your whines, the same ones you gave him only hours ago. He feels his heart crack when he observes how you touch Travis in that same soft way you do with Frankie.
With that he's surging through the crowd, shouldering the front door open with a growl. Like a missile he's guided directly towards the oblivious couple.
A part of him is so desperate for this to be a nightmare. A bad trip. Anything but Pip willingly making out with Travis after admitting her feelings for Frankie. His mind is completely blank, his feet marching quickly across the grass. His face is on fire, his heart breaking as he sees Pip being pressed into the tree by Travis.
This turns Frankie's vision red.
He doesn't remember much of what happens next. The memory is like snapshots of moments. Travis falling to the ground. The anger in a Pips eyes, the casual sneer at the thought of sleeping with Frankie.
Pulling Travis off of you wasn't an issue. Having everyone circle and whisper didn't affect him. It was the coldness in your voice, the ugly look in your eyes and the disgusted scoff when you said you'd never sleep with him.
What the fuck had happened?
He's numb by the time he turns away, everything in his body cold. He doesn't notice the laughter or whispers. He couldn't care less about that. All he can think of is your disgust, the chill in your gaze. How could he have ever thought he knew you, his Pip?
You're a stranger to him.
He hears his name being called, but its several blocks before a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, spinning him around.
"Frankie, what the fuck happened?"
Santi is doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and looking at Frankie with utter confusion.
"Forget it," Frankie says his expression dark. "Forget all that dumb shit I said about Pip earlier. I don't know what I was thinking."
"What-"
"Just drop it, okay?" Frankie snaps, eyes black with hatred. "Don't mention it again. I'm serious. Not to her, not to Travis, nobody." Frankie has to look away from him when he speaks again. "As far as I'm concerned she doesn't exist."
Santi is quiet, eyes big and sad.
"Okay, Frank."
Santi is still talking, you know this because you can see his mouth moving across from you. But you're not getting any of what he says. You feel as if you're being held underwater, the world spinning and growing dark at the edges, sound muffled and your body numb before going sluggish.
"No," you whisper, closing your eyes. "No," You repeat to yourself, but it's coming out in a whisper. The room is spinning and you grip either side of the table to stop your stomach from flipping.
"You’re lying," you croak, head shaking violently from side to side. "That's not what happened.”
"I don't know what to tell you," Santi shrugs, brows tight. "He was with me the whole time playing beer pong."
"No, no, that's not ..." Your throat closes up and you're suddenly spluttering for air because you can't formulate a response to what Santi is telling you.
But your cousin doesn't lie to you, he never has. He's been there for you during the hard times as much as any brother would be.
Bile rises in the back of your throat, your stomach heaving. You force your lips shut, swallowing aggressively. You will not vomit in a fucking Denny's.
"Pip." Santi's voice is low and warped. Like he's a tape being rewound. "Breathe slowly. In and out."
You're starting to shake, legs going cold.
Breathe. Breathe you fucking idiot.
You take a deep, sputtering lungful of air, eyes blowing wide. Santi looks beside himself, hand holding your wrist. You clutch at his arm with your free hand, nails digging into the warm flesh there.
"I saw it with my own eyes. I saw them."
"Travis came down and talked about how he fucked the beauty queen," Santi says quietly, as if it pains him to tell you this.
"That can't be what happened," you say, lips trembling. "That can't be."
Because that would mean you kissed Travis in front of Frankie for no reason. That this decades-long feud has been going on because of a misunderstanding.
Years spent without the one man you've ever really loved, for no good fucking reason.
Santi leans forward, voice light. "Pip, he never would have done that to you. He told me that night that he liked you. He wanted my blessing I think."
You feel dizzy because things are starting to come together. Travis and Christy's secret relationship. The taking of Frankie's hat. The way the two of them look so similar from behind. It was Travis who fucked Christy in that bedroom, who came down afterwards and tried to do the same to you. Your skin crawls in revulsion at the thought of you letting him kiss you.
And an even more distressing, you think of the hurt way Frankie looked at you at that party. The layered cruelty of you words and actions. Punishing him for a slight he never committed.
Because you know deep down in your bones that what Santi has told you is the truth. That there's no planet in which Frankie Morales would willingly break your heart.
The nosy patrons, the tired looking servers, everyone fades into the background as you stand, looking at your cousin with your lips quaking.
"I have to go."
THEN
Frankie lies in bed that night, heart aching, chest tight. It feels like finding out his parents are dead all over again. That same hopeless feeling. But during that you had been there to bring him comfort and affection. To hold him in his sleep.
Now who does he have?
He was going to answer your question later this evening. Of when he first realized he liked you as more than just Santi's cousin.
The truth is he was pitifully unaware of you as a woman for most of your acquaintance. You'd just always been there in the gang, a sexless figure he liked to laugh with, to protect.
But the summer of his eighteenth year you asked him to hunt lightning bugs while Santi and Travis were off camping. You had a mason jar and lid ready, your denim shorts high on your thighs.
"Thanks for coming," you said, tapping the rim of his hat playfully. "Hilary says it's lame to still catch them."
Frankie didn't tell you he felt the same. But he'd been bored and there was nothing else to do. Plus the summer air wasn't too heavy, the night balmy so Frankie led you both behind the old baseball field.
Fireflies moved lazily in the dark, blinking like tiny dying stars and Frankie, only half heartedly invested, found himself watching you instead.
Your smile was wide as you darted after a one flickering flash. The same look you wore when you beat the boys in a race, or said something to make everyone laugh. The smile you'd worn since childhood.
He followed close behind, pretending to help, but getting caught up in watching how you moved, the way your face lit up when you succeeded in capturing your first.
"Got him!" You crowed, holding up your jar in triumph.
"Not exactly a skill, Pip. Kids do it every summer."
"Where's yours then?"
"Didn't feel like it."
You nudged your shoulder against his, rolling your eyes as the two of you took a seat on the grass.
You never asked him about the air force or how he felt about it. You tucked your knees to your chest, eyes stuck on the jar.
"They're so gorgeous."
You held up the jar to eye level, light flickering against your cheeks. You turned to grin at him, your face beautiful in the warm glow.
Beautiful.
That wasn't really a word he associated with you before. But he couldn't deny that in this moment you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Like a painting come to life.
He was curious as to what it would be like to cup your cheek, to feel the plump of your lips beneath his thumb.
Something warm in his chest caught him strangely off guard, making his head spin.You were almost three years younger than him. Sixteen to his eighteen. He wasn't supposed to think about you like that.
He felt the need to fill the silence.
"How come the sudden need for fireflies?"
"Uh, guess I just needed to get out of the house," you said quietly to the jar. "Mom was just ... "
You trailed off, face dropping. Frankie could see it, illuminated by the swarm inside the mason jar.
Instinctively he shuffled closer, throwing his arm casually around your shoulder like he'd done a hundred times before. Only now you snuggled against him, exhaling lightly.
"Thanks, Frankie."
Your head was at his cheek and he inhaled the scent of your hair before he swallowed thickly. You felt good against him, and he longed for you to tip your face up to him so he could capture your mouth in a sweet kiss.
It wasn't until that warm thread began to weave its way around his lower belly that he realized something had shifted.
Something he wasn't going to be able to ignore.
You can't breathe.
You know you're managing it, gulping deep lungfuls, but it doesn't feel like enough. The air is so hot and humid; it feels like it's coating your insides.
All a misunderstanding. Frankie never cheated. Frankie never cheated. I walked away from the most amazing man because of a misunderstanding.
You stop the truck midway home, your stomach heaving. You manage to stumble out of the cab before you're bent over, vomiting into the grass at the side of the street. Cars whizz by, some calling out to you, telling you to party less hard. You don't even hear them. All you can picture is the hurt in Frankie's eyes.
You empty your stomach, eyes wet, body trembling. Your throat is scorched when you finally crawl back behind the wheel, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
You finish the drive to your house, truck parked haphazardly. You realize you're crying when your view turns into a watercolor blur. You make it through the door, slumping against the wall just inside with a ragged cough.
A figure grips your hand, lacing their fingers with yours. You stare at the chipped black nails and many rings and look over at your sister.
"Hey, are you okay?"
You tell yourself that you don't want to tell Hilary everything that happened. You need time to process this, but your chin wobbles, eyes filling again.
"Let's go on the porch," she says gently tugging you. "C'mon."
You allow your sister to guide you out onto the porch, both of you seated on the old creaky chairs before she grabs a smoke from her pocket.
You watch her light it with an old bic lighter, orange flame springing to life. She looks at you through tired eyes, face drawn as she exhales a ribbon of smoke.
"What the hell is going on?"
You grip the sides of your head, fingers tangled in your hair.
"Hilary I fucked up so bad. I fucked up everything."
Your fingers rake through your hair again and pull as the devastation floods you. The pain serves to keep you anchored in the moment.
She sucks in a slow breath. "What? When?"
"Frankie," you say through a sudden sob. "I thought... Fuck, Hilary, I hated him for so long..."
The pain feels so sharp, like needles along your aorta. It propels you out of your chair, legs weak. You fall to your knees on the rotted porch planks holding your head in your hands as sobs ravage you.
You shake; feeling Hilary kneel beside you, hand on your shoulder, pulling you to face her.
"Tell me what happened."
She soothes you by rubbing your arms, almost like one would do if someone was cold. It calms you a fraction, allowing you to catch your breath.
"It was during Travis' party..."
The story pours out of you, ugly and raw and accompanied by warm tears that slip down your cheeks. You can't make eye contact with her during the story, terrified to see the piteous look she'll shoot you.
You live through that horrible memory, the sounds of Christie's moans, the sight of the standard oil logo looking back at you.
She's silent the entire time. As you finish the story and raise your eyes you see that she's just squinting at you, perplexed.
"You thought Frankie cheated on you?"
"I did," you tell her, eyes blurry. "I really thought I saw it with my own eyes. But it was fucking Travis wearing his hat. This is all so fucking stupid."
She's frowning, creases starting between her brows.
"That's why you were kissing some guy at the party," she whispers as if things are starting to fall into place for her.
You don't even question how she knows that bit of information. Santi probably told her, which causes your face to heat up and embarrassment.
"It was Travis," you tell her with deeper shame. "I was kissing Travis."
"That fucking snake." She exhales shakily, furious adrenaline clearly coursing through her body. "Fucks Christy and then tries to get you into bed." Hilary looks like she wants to punch something. Simultaneously infuriated and disgusted. "Have you and Frankie talked about it?"
"I don't think I can say anything," you insist, heart pounding. "I just found out the truth from Santi. I'm still processing."
"Go have a shower and clear your head then," Hilary says urging you inside. "And brush your teeth because your breath is fucking disgusting."
THEN
Frankie sees Hilary from time to time in town. She's usually buying cigarettes or heading off with some new guy. Tonight she's at one of the bonfires the locals put on at the start of every summer.
Frankie had nothing better to do and with Santi overseas and Travis moved, he doesn't have much of a connection here. He thinks of going home after this to the house of his childhood. The empty one with no warmth. The one he had Pip in for several weeks.
Barely any time at all.
"Hey Catfish," Hilary says, handing him a beer as she approaches. Like you, she'd taken the nickname and run with it when his patchy beard grew back.
"Hey Hil."
The two drink quietly next to one another looking at the flames of the bonfire. Frankie tells himself he's not going to ask about you. Not going to torment himself. But it comes out, a slow murmur.
"You talked to your sister lately?"
"Not much," Hilary says. She takes another deep pull of her beer bottle. "She doesn't really love talking on the phone."
"Mhm. She like school?"
She gives him a look. "Why don't you just call and catch up with her yourself?"
"Not much to say."
"I know you like her, Frankie," Hilary says shrewdly. "And I bet she'd love to hear from you."
Frankie's face goes red, splotchy pink leading up his neck. He tries to shrug it off, but fails.
Hilary saw him that night with the flowers, with the open look of desire he had for you. There's no point in lying to her.
"I know she cares about you," Hilary says, eyes scanning his face. "And I know because she's never cared about a guy like that. Ever."
"You don't know that whole story," Frankie says.
"So tell me."
He shakes his head. That's Pip's story to tell.
"Look, it's obvious the two of you like each other. Or liked. So I don't get why you both don't just admit that to each other."
"We did, right before the party," Frankie snaps, before catching himself. "Hours before I saw her making out with-"
He slams his mouth shut, furious at having lost his temper and given away something so private.
Hilary looks stunned. She seems to grope for words.
"Wait, my sister was kissing some guy at a party?"
Frankie thinks about telling her that the guy was Travis, but he doesn't want to think about it too much. Saying the details makes it hurt worse. So he stays silent, eyes on the sand.
"She must've been drinking," Hilary continues. "There's no way she'd do that sober."
Frankie is quiet, not having considered this. Hilary blinks at him slowly, like an animal considering something.
"I just, I know my sister, Frankie. She's not a cruel person. There must have been something deeper going on."
Frankie is embarrassed to feel tears starting along his lash line. He blinks them back furiously, looking away as he shakes his head.
“You should call her, Frankie,” Hilary adds before walking away from him. “She’s still at the dorms until tomorrow.”
He watches her move over to the group she arrived with, a cigarette hanging from her lips, a beer in her hand within moments. He watches as she whispers something to the muscular man at her right, laughing gaily when he nods, stripping down to his boxers and running into the surf.
She’s always been able to charm people, to convince them to be brave. And when Frankie strides back to his truck an hour later, he realizes that she convinced him too. However, she was gone with some guy from the bonfire before he could chase her down for your number.
That’s led him here to the hospital where your mom works.
Would you really want to hear from him? And mostly, why does he want to talk to you? You broke his fucking heart. You acted like you were into him, agreed to a relationship and that same night you were making out in front of everyone with fucking Travis.
He's sick when he thinks about it. A memory he's tried time and time again to exorcise through booze and women. Because there have been other women in the four years since all of that happened. At first to prove he was over you and then to help him forget you.
Neither worked.
Frankie notices some nurses heading out of the hospital on their break. They talk quietly to one another between puffs of their cigarette.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel before removing the baseball cap nestled over his curls. He smooths his dark curls back, long fingers carding through the strands before popping the hat back on.
He raises his eyes to the rear view mirror, grimacing at his reflection, because this grey hat with the fishing logo doesn't sit right because it's not the one you gave him. That one sits at home in his bedroom, a shrine to your betrayal. Standard Heating Oil.
He should have burned it. Should have given it away. Should've buried it where he didn't have to see it every day. And yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bear to erase that part of his life, of you, for good.
Even after everything, he can't stop this deep want for you. A burning ache that won't be extinguished.
He'd forgive you if you'd just explain what happened. How you could go from crying his name between his sheets to letting Travis stick his tongue down your throat.
He needs answers.
He needs to hear your voice.
He pushes himself from the cab of the truck, fingers tapping at his thigh as he moves through to the nurses’ station. The hospital is very quiet at this time of night, voices hushed, wards closed.
It doesn't take long to locate your mom. She works in the same unit she always has and tonight, despite the quiet atmosphere, looks frazzled. She's writing down something in her charts before she notices Frankie approaching. Her face drops and she comes around the desk, meeting him mid-stride in the hallway.
"Francisco, what happened?" Her hands grip his elbows. "Is everything okay?"
Her breath seems overly minty when she says his name and he knows that its to cover the vodka she keeps in a nearby water bottle.
"Everything is fine, ma'am," Frankie says, giving her a polite smile. "I promise."
"Santi? Hilary?"
"As far as I know."
"Thank Christ," she says, a hand at her sternum.
When she gives a relieved smile it reminds him of yours. He never noticed until now that you both have the same smile.
"It feels like ages since I saw you," she observes, arms crossing as she looks him over. "You've grown up into such a handsome young man."
Frankie feels himself grow a bit embarrassed at the attention, looking down at the scuffed floor. "Thank you."
"And I hear you're still flying helicopters? That's so exciting."
Frankie can't help but smile shyly, pride suffusing him.
"Yeah, it's pretty great."
She nods, starting to walk down the hall to check on the charts. He follows beside her, hands in his pockets.
She scribbles away, talking to him over her shoulder.
"So, why are you here, honey? Anything I can help you with?"
Frankie's neck and the tips of his ears go pink, his face warm. Saying this to your mom suddenly feels daunting.
"It's, uh, well, I wanted to know if you had Pip's number at school."
She falters only a moment, scanning him. "You don't have it?"
"No ma'am."
"Of course I have it. Come back with me to the desk and I'll write it down for you."
He follows her to the desk, sidestepping a young orderly. Your mom digs in her purse for her address book, a few items shifted.
He sees a postcard inside as she rummages. It's from Seattle, obviously from Pip. She sends postcards home instead of visiting, he muses. Santi tells him as much.
She notices him looking, her smile toothy as she produces the postcard. He catches your writing on the back, his heart clenching.
"Just got this one from her today," she says holding it up. "Strange to imagine my baby all the way across the country, but these help."
"I bet."
Your mom digs in the desk for a pen and post it note, grumbling about the other nurses being disorganized.
"Ah, there's one," she announces, brandishing a pen with the hospital logo on one side. "Why did you need her number? You sure Everything's okay?"
"Yes, ma'am. Just..." Frankie swallows, cheeks flaming as he stands there. "Uh... I wanted to speak to her."
He meets her eyes and despite the glazed look she wears, he sees something else. A knowing, an understanding. A softness that moves to her mouth, hitching at one side.
"I see."
He watches her scribble down the number, tearing the yellow sheet from the others and holding it out to him.
"Here you are, honey."
Frankie reaches out to take the paper, eyes already memorizing the digits before he folds the page and stuffs it in his jeans pocket.
"Thank you very much."
Your mother nods, looking at him curiously.
"I bet she'll be really excited to hear from you."
Not so sure about that, he thinks.
"I hope so."
A beat. The two of them don't move, neither sure how to end the conversation.
"Your parents would be so proud of you, Francisco. I just know it." Your mother adjusts her scrub top, looking at Frankie with tenderness. "I mean, hell, I'm not even your mom and I'm so proud of all you've done with your life."
The words are gentle and said with genuine affection so sweet that it makes Frankie's eyes grow damp.
He'll never hear those words from his parents. No observance of his hard work. No celebration for his accomplishments. Hearing them from your mom takes his breath away.
He tries to thank her but the words are getting stuck in his throat.
As a mother she seems to sense this, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his middle. He's a head taller than her, but it doesn't stop making him feel like a child again when she squeezes.
"If you ever need anything, you come see me," your mom tells him. "To talk, to eat, to sleep. Anytime. You promise?"
"Yes ma'am," Frankie says, a tear escaping down his cheek. "I promise."
He moves from her with a small smile, the drive back home quick. But once inside the quiet house his bravado fades and he takes his time puttering around the kitchen.
The Post-It note sits on his kitchen table, but it could be in the trash for all he cares. He had the number memorized before your mom even finished handing it to him. The phone sits in is cradle on the table, intimidating in its stillness.
He can imagine your soft surprised voice. He loves how you say his name. The slope you put to the end of it. He feels his mouth lift at the corners in anticipation.
"Just do it," he rasps to himself. "Just fucking do it."
He picks up the phone, fingers trembling. He internally practices how to start the conversation.
Hi Pip. Congrats on graduating. No, that's fucking stupid. Hey Pip, it's been a while. How've you been? Hey Pip, you broke my heart and I want to know why. Hey Pip-
"Hello?"
A man's voice.
Frankie frowns at the phone, confused. This is your dorm room. Hilary mentioned that you live with girls a few times over the years. So why is a guy answering your phone at this time of night?
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
I dialed the wrong number, Frankie decides. Stupid of me.
But he still grips the receiver tightly, holding his breath.
"Nothing."
He goes to hang up when a voice drifts in the background. A voice he knows all too well.
"Just hang up and let's go to bed."
You.
You telling another man it's time to go to bed. A leaden rock drops inside Frankie's stomach, causing an anguished noise to escape him the second the phone receiver is placed back on the cradle.
He stares at it in numb shock for a few moments, mind going to the worst places possible. Your and some faceless guy in bed together. Him able to draw sounds from you that Frankie was incapable of.
What was Frankie thinking? That you'd magically stay single all this time? That you'd be pining away for him like he has for you?
Humiliation scalds his cheeks, sorrow heavy on his shoulders as he moves to the bedroom. He throws himself onto the bed he once shared with you, holding a pillow to his chest and falling into a dreamless sleep.
The shower is restorative, the mint toothpaste still clinging to your teeth. You feel better as you enter into the kitchen.
Hilary is seated there, ashtray half filled. You join her, breathing unevenly. Your body is still vibrating with all of this new information.
“You need to talk to Frankie about what happened.”
An anxious twist starts low in your belly. "I don't know what to do or what to say. I don't want to bring up all this hurt again. He doesn't deserve it."
"You need to tell him."
“Why?” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to be overheard by your mother. "It’s been almost twenty years."
"Because he deserves to know," Hilary defends, brows crossing. "And you know it."
You think of the lipstick tube you found in his house that one day. The clear sign that Frankie has found someone else; a woman that feels comfortable enough to leave her things behind at his home.
You push yourself up to your feet, starting to pace around the room.
"Frankie is over all of this, Hil. I'm just the loser that never moved on."
She gives you a sneer.
"Bullshit. I know he cares about you. He's always cared about you. Even after the party."
"Not true," you scoff. "Until this visit, Frankie has loathed me."
"No," Hilary says shaking her head. "He hasn't." She pauses, grimacing. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
You stop your pacing, eyes over your shoulder. "What?"
"Frankie has been visiting Mom since she got sick."
You draw back, dropping into the same seat. “What?”
"I was working doubles to pay for stuff for a while and he knew I wasn't at home as much because of it. Santi probably told him. So he started showing up to bring her treats, clean the house, visit over tea. When she could walk he'd take her for walks."
"No. That's not possible. Mom never..." You pause your sentence.
Mops. Brooms. Bringing by your mom's favorite brownies. The way she looked at him. The way he knew exactly how to be gentle with her.
"He only stopped when he heard you were coming back," Hilary says and looks hesitant, like she's betraying his trust by telling you. "He made me promise not to tell you anything."
"Why would he do all that?”
Hilary sighs, lighting up a new cigarette and giving you a leveling look.
"Why the fuck do you think?"
THEN
"A beach birthday is such a fun idea," Inaya says walking alongside Frankie, a cooler full of drinks carried between them. "I'm so bored during the summer."
Frankie grunts and nods, pulling his baseball cap down a little lower over his eyes. A red one this time. One from the flight school he teaches at.
It's where he met the very beautiful Inaya when she came to take lessons. She works at a daycare during the school year, she's patient and she thinks Frankie is charming.
They both keep it casual. What started as drinks after class has turned into the odd dinner out, sleeping together when they both feel like it. Sometimes it's just nice to go to the movies with someone who isn't Benny or Will.
Frankie likes Inaya because she fills a lot of the silence between them with chatter about traveling, about her job and her family.
He's jealous of her stories of close multi-generational family life. That she's excited about visiting her grandparents back in India. It seems surreal that anyone could enjoy being around their family.
She also carries a pain, and it's the only thing she doesn't like to talk about. The death of her fiance, Michael, when they were both still in their twenties. He was in the air force too, shot down over Paraguay.
He thinks that's why she likes to keep things surface level. It's easier for both of them that way.
"Do you think Santi will like the gift card?"
"He'll like anything," Frankie assures her.
She laughs, head tilted back. Frankie brought her today because the other guys have been bugging him about bringing her out. They keep telling him that he needs to have a proper adult relationship instead of flings.
In Frankie's opinion they're the last people he'd turn to for romantic advice. Santi is a serial heart breaker whether he's in Florida or working in Columbia. Will has been seeing the same girl off and on for the last few years and Benny is so focused on his boxing career he might as well be celibate.
"I know you guys served together in Argentina, right?"
"Yep."
"Loquacious as always, Morales," she says shouldering him playfully.
Frankie scans the perimeter, taking in what the BBQ's are, where the bonfire has been started. He takes note of how many umbrellas and towels are lying out, how many bodies rest in various states of repose, sunglasses on, drinks in hand.
It's a habit that won't leave him, one that he cultivated overseas; making sure no danger lurks anywhere if he can control it. Yet there's only one danger that he can't see. One that terrifies him more than any other.
You.
As far as he knows you won't be showing up. You're in Seattle, living a life away from your home life in Florida. Still, his stomach clenches anxiously as his eyes drift over the smiling faces. He searches each one as Inaya makes some crack about millennials and driftwood.
His shoulders lower when he doesn't see your face, the knot in his stomach loosening.
He can survive this.
Inaya is a hit with the guys, not to Frankie's surprise. Will seems particularly enamored with her, hiding it poorly from Janette who hangs off his arm possessively. Frankie cracks a beer, smirking over at Santi who has observed the same. He drifts over to his friend, waving at those who wish him a happy birthday.
"Oye perdejo," Santi greets him, tapping his beer can against Frankie's. "Stop having so much fun."
Frankie rolls his eyes. If it was just the guys he'd be able to relax. But with this crowd of revelers he just feels awkward. He's never really enjoyed big crowds of drunken people.
"Enjoying your party?"
"Depends, what'd you get me?"
Frankie digs into the back pocket of his shorts holding a small envelope his way. "Gift card."
"So sentimental," Santi quips, snatching it and shoving it into his pocket as he motions to Inaya laughing with Benny. "So, your girlfriend's pretty great."
"Not my girlfriend," Frankie murmurs huskily against his beer can, eyes hidden behind his aviators.
"Right." Santi nods, his own eyes fixed so long on Frankie's profile that he feels his cheeks burn.
"What?"
"Nothing." Santi taps his beer can with his pointer finger absently, a small wistful look on his face. "Just wondering when you're gonna be honest with yourself."
"About what?"
"About the reason that you never want commitment with anyone."
Frankie's heart is in his throat. “There’s no reason. Just not the settling down type.”
His friend presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose. "Frank, c'mon-"
"I'm gonna go check on Inaya."
It's clear he wants to say more and Frankie wants nothing less. Santi gives a rueful shake of his head as Frankie crosses the sand, stopping to grab a beer bottle from the cooler before coming to stand next to a bemused Inaya . She's standing politely listening to Benny peacock.
"I'm still new but they're already calling me the 'blue-chip prospect' of the division."
"That's so cool," Inaya says with such sincerity Frankie would think it was real if he didn't know her so well. She glances over at Frankie taking a deep pull of his beer.
"Forgot mine?"
"You didn't ask for one."
Inaya gives an exaggerated look of exasperation over at Benny.
"Since Frank here decided chivalry is dead, I guess I'll have to go get a beer myself," she says, elbowing a smirking Frankie in the ribs. "Be right back."
"Dig to the bottom," he calls after her. "Stuff on top is still warm."
Benny is smiling broadly when he looks back. Will slowly approaches as well, Janette having just left in a fit.
"So," the younger Miller says in a teasing drawl. "She's pretty great, Fish."
Before Frankie can explain that he and she are casual, something stops him; something in the air. A strange sense that has gooseflesh starting on his arms and the back of his neck.
Santi's voice rings out over the crowd.
"Hi, Pip! There you are!"
Everything narrows down to a pinprick. The world is muted, save for his shallow breathing. He might as well be back in Argentina with the guys, focus fixed on his surroundings. His heart pumps slowly, body tight all over. His arms have tensed up, knuckles white around his beer bottle.
It's you.
He doesn't even need to turn around to know exactly how you'll walk, the way the sun will highlight parts of your hair, the curve of your mouth.
But he does.
He moves slowly, sunglasses plucked and moved to hang from the collar of his t-shirt. His pulse plays a cruel staccato in his neck as he finally views you and your sister approaching the group in.
It's been almost ten years since he last saw you and time has done nothing but add to your beauty. You've developed into your curves; you walk more confidently, your hair loose instead of its customary low ponytail.
Deep, aching want spreads through his body as he takes in the way your eyes shyly look around, just as they did when you were teens. You may be more at ease in crowds, but you've never really shaken off that initial insecurity.
"Is that the cousin?"
"Thought she was in Seattle," Benny murmurs to Will.
"As far as I know she still is," his brother agrees.
He looks over to Frankie who shrugs even though he knows very well you are. Did you fly out just for this? Why the hell didn't Santi tell him?
"Here take this first," you say to Santi, your voice makes Frankie's mouth dry.
He remembers that quiet murmur in his ear wishing him a good morning. He remembers the way you looked when you told him you loved him. He remembers the perfect comfort of being with you whether it was riding bikes through the neighborhood or between sheets.
You shared more than sex. You shared childhood. A history. Each other's ups and downs. The awkward stages. The milestones no child should have to endure. There is joy at seeing you here and now, pure and honest.
"She's hot," Benny observes, eyes trailing over you slowly in a way that tells Frankie everything he needs to know about his friend’s intentions.
"Down boy," Will chuckles. "Pope will kill you if you mess with Pip."
It all comes rushing back in that moment. And then all of a sudden that same pathetic joy turns to a feeble flame that is easily extinguished. All that's left is ash and ruin at the reminder of your callousness. Your sickening betrayal.
Fury plumes up Frankie’s throat, a scowl etched across his full mouth when your gaze finally shifts over to him and your eyes connect. He doesn't expect your stare to betray the same simmering agitation, nor an accusation in every blink you don't make. But he long gave up any ability to understand your anger.
Finally, like a physical severing, the two of you tear your eyes away and turn back to your respective conversations.
"Lemme get you a burger," Frankie hears Santi offer you.
Frankie clears his throat, not wanting to hear your reply. He doesn't give a shit about you. He never should have.
Will's eyes drift over to Frankie who has turned back away from you, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. He feels like he's going to punch something.
"You okay, Fish?" Will asks, puzzled. He scratches at his eyebrow as he stares at him.
"M'fine," Frankie mutters.
He moves from around the BBQ, trying to distance himself. He glances around for Inaya, horrified when he notices her laughter from across the fire. She's standing with you, beer extended as the two of you talk.
Why the fuck is she talking with you?
He ducks his head, grabbing some veggies and popping them onto a plate. He sees some blonde guy from one of Santi's poker nights.
The guy - Barry? Terry? - greets him, starting a lively conversation with him about how they need to have a rematch so he can win back his money. Frankie is only half listening, he keeps sneaking looks out the corner of his eyes at you and Inaya.
The two of you are still talking, making his stomach a quiver uneasily.
He distracts himself with conversation, trying to look un-phased that you're here. Before long an hour has passed and Frankie can't stop the itch under his skin. The one that compels him to casually scan the party.
Inaya is nowhere to be found, but even if she was Frankie wouldn't notice. His dark eyes are dragging over the sand for you and you alone.
He spots you over by the BBQ, looking tense as you go about fixing a burger. You've got that serious look you wear when you're frustrated. Brows pinched, jaw clenched.
You could be six, sixteen, and twenty six all at once. You'll always have that same expression and Frankie will always melt at the sight of it.
He misses you. Misses the way you could comfort him like no one else. Misses the way you said his name. Misses the scent of your skin. He misses lightning bugs and ghost stories around campfires.
And he knows in that horrible moment, that he's still so in love with you. Despite the party. Despite the man in your dorm room. Despite Seattle. Despite the silence. He misses you so much it feels like a physical pull of his sternum. One that forces his feet over the cooling sand, just to be near you.
He halts a few steps away, watching the way your body tightens at his nearness. Can you hear his shallow breathing? Can you just sense him? He holds his breath and comes to stand next to you, reaching for a plate that he doesn't even need. He can't eat right now, his stomach is in knots.
He tilts, eyes finally catching yours and he thinks he might faint or throw up. He's not sure which. You're not glaring at him anymore; instead it seems you're cataloging his features, taking in what a decade has done to him.
What do you see? The lines between his brows? The patchy quality to his beard that he never grew out of? The length of his messy hair? Or are you looking at the hat he wears today? The old green one from his closet?
Say something, Frankie tells himself when he realizes he's just been staring at you. Say something. Anything.
"Didn't know you'd be here. Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat, hating how stilted he sounds.
Your focus moves back to your plate. He watches you work, ears growing warm.
"Sure."
Silence extends as you both busy yourself with condiments and sides to your burgers. He keeps sneaking looks at your profile, questions running through his mind. Why did you never call him to explain? Don't you understand he would have forgiven you? Who was that guy in your dorm? Do you miss Frankie?
"Your girlfriend seems nice," you say.
Fuck. Inaya.
He could tell you she's just a friend from work. Could tell you that he just met her recently. But he's never lied to you before, so why start now?
"She's not really my girlfriend. We just... Hang out together sometimes."
He doesn't want to talk about Inaya. He wants to talk about that night. He wants to know what happened. He wants to know if you still care about him.
"Guess some things never change,” you say with a curl to your upper lip. Gone is the sweet voice he remembers, now replaced with something cold and flinty.
"Huh?"
“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify.
Old hurt comes rolling back, like a furious locomotive up his spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Your name is called by Santi and the other guys. Tom has arrived and is clearly eager to meet you. You give a false smile and wave their way before looking back up at Frankie.
"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it."
He watches you leave, hips swaying as you move over the sand to greet the guys. They'll love you, he's sure.
"That's her, huh?'
Frankie nearly jumps when he hears Inaya's soft voice at his elbow. "Huh? Who?"
"Morales," she sighs in mock exasperation. "C'mon."
Her eyes move from Pip back to Frankie and his nostrils flare slightly, eyes squinting.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, In."
She steps closer, voice quiet, only for him.
"I think I just met the reason you don't want to commit to a relationship."
Frankie's eyes narrow on her, anger clear in his expression. "Since when do you want commitment?"
"Not now," she says with a roll of her eyes. "But someday with someone."
"Not everyone has your penchant for romance, I guess," Frankie hisses, cheeks splotchy
She looks at him with a worried expression. His jaw tightens, long fingers twitching at his sides as he shuffles in the sand. Inaya knows him well enough to recognize the signs.
"You wanna leave?"
Frankie glances over her shoulder to see you at the rest of the guys laughing loudly. Just like he suspected, they love you already.
"Yeah."
She nods, taking his hand in hers and heading back to the truck. He doesn't bother saying goodbye to anyone. He just wants to slink off into the encroaching dusk and forget this ever happened.
“That Benny is like an oversized puppy who doesn't know whether to bite or chase its tail,” Inaya laughs, her feet propped up on the dashboard as he drives.
Frankie can smirk at that, nodding. "Spot on."
"You know, today I think I saw how you would have been as a boy," Inaya says affectionately, "All nervous and serious, hiding under that hat.”
She reaches over and tugs at the stray curl under Frankie's ear. He flinches away from her, scowling.
"Quit it, I'm driving."
She giggles, hair dancing in the air from the open window. She glances at the passing houses when she speaks next.
"Pip seemed cool."
Frankie is silent. He goes to turn on the radio but Inaya stills his fingers. She pulls herself into a properly seated position, braid falling over one shoulder.
"Frank, c'mon. I know something happened there. You were avoiding her like the plague for most of the party. And the second you saw her you were, like, in a trance."
Frankie swallows thickly, trying not to look unsettled. He had no idea he appeared that way to others. Is that what inspired Santi's stupid comments earlier? He's quiet, knowing that his silence is its own damning admission.
Inaya reaches across the cab of the truck, fingers light on his forearm.
"I just wanna know what happened. I'm your friend, let me help you."
Friends. He and Pip were friends. Inaya is nothing like you. The comparison makes him furious.
"We're not friends, Inaya," Frankie snaps, teeth clenched as he jerks to a stop at a red light.
Inaya takes a slow breath in, fingers lacing in her lap. "We're not?"
"No," Frankie says with a brutal curl of his lip. "We watch movies and eat food and sometimes we fuck. That's it."
For a moment he thinks she might slap him, but she remains self possessed, voice controlled.
"I see."
The light turns green and the truck jostles to life as he aggressively pushes down the accelerator. The rest of the ride is incredibly tense. Inaya flicks the radio on this time and Frankie is thankful for the normally annoying sound of Barry Manilow.
He eventually drops her off in front of her apartment building, turning the engine off with a slow twist of his keys. Frankie feels dead, his body heavy and useless.
The two sit in a heavy silence, the day and the harsh words from earlier still echoing around the cab of the truck. Both seem to know this is the last time they'll see each other.
Inaya unbuckles her seatbelt, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth before she looks his way.
"We get one shot at life, Frankie," she says as she opens her door and climbs out. "Don't waste yours."
Frankie doesn't say anything. He just watches her move to the building as he settles himself behind his steering wheel. He waits until she's safely inside before he pulls away, eyes wet and heart aching.
“I need to see him.”
You move on shaky legs, eyes wild and shaky hands gripping the strap of your purse. Everything you’ve learned in the last hour has shifted your universe in a monumental way. There’s no way you can just sit here any longer
Hilary stands, trying to grab at your wrist at you attempt to leave. “Hey, slow down.”
“I need to see Frankie,” you say sharply. “Right now.”
“You can always call him up and ask him to come over."
“Face to face.”
"You shouldn't be driving," Hilary tells you, face soft with concern. "Take a minute to breathe.”
"I'll be fine," you insist, shaking off her hand. "I promise."
Your hurried feet almost catch on the carpet as you rush for the door. Hilary is calling after you, but you don't hear her. All that pounds in your ears is the thrum of your heartbeat.
Frankie. Frankie. Frankie.
Images of your time together are assaulting you, the kite, the pool, your first kiss, the funeral and his arms around you. His eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes.
Your vision is blurry, but you blink the building tears back as you practically tear the door of your truck open.
You need to see Frankie right this second. You need to clear this up. No more misunderstandings.
You peel out of the driveway, small little hiccupping sobs escaping you as your foot slams against the accelerator.
You think of the lost years. Of the twenties you two could have shared, could have spent building a life together. Instead you diverged like branches away from one another. Lives led with carried animosity. All because of a fucking misunderstanding.
I fucked up.
All this time we could have been together.
I didn't trust him.
We could have had so much time.
These thoughts make your breath catch in your chest, distracting you the vehicle that slams into the side of you truck. For a moment everything seems to go in slow motion. You take in the squeal and scent of burnt tires, the crunch of metal.
As an Oscar winning movie star and the world at his feet, famously troubled Dieter Bravo is used to getting exactly what he wants. But when sinister love letters begin appearing at his front door, his agency assigns you to be his personal bodyguard.
Professional, guarded and carrying deep scars from a past you’re trying to move on from, you don't relish the thought of babysitting a spoiled celebrity.
But as the stalker's threats escalate the two of you are forced into close quarters and a deeper danger. And while the growing attraction between you may be forbidden, a stalker's obsession is far more dangerous.
This is the second story I will be working on this year! Different from my normal fare, but I enjoy the challenge.
Rescued by Jackson patrolmen and brought back to the city's rapidly growing settlement, you're given temporary shelter in Joel Miller's spare room while waiting for a place of your own.
Joel does his best to be welcoming in his own gruff way, but your guarded nature and assessing stares leave him uneasy. With tensions already high after a recent falling out with Ellie he can't shake the feeling that there's more to you than you're letting on.
Despite both your better judgments, suspicion slowly gives way to attraction and an unexpected bond begins.
However you're hiding a secret powerful enough to destroy everything and everyone.
I suck at summaries okay? But here's an excerpt from the first chapter!
Excerpt
"Think of it like a roommate."
"Fuckin' roommate at my age," Joel scoffs, irritated and exhausted. "S' ridiculous. I don't see why we're letting all these folks in if we have no place-"
"Stop right there," Maria cuts in. "I'm serious, Joel. Not another word." She motions to the gathered masses down below. "That was you and Ellie at one time. You think it would have been right to turn you away?"
Shame touches Joel's cheeks, making them flame pink. He looks down, hands loose on the desk She's right. When he doesn't say anything else Maria continues, her voice just as sharp.
"You have your choice, a single or a mom with two kids."
Joel flinches at thoughts of loud children screaming in the night, of sticky fingers leaving greasy fingerprints on his woodworking supplies.
"Single."
"Figured as much," Maria says. "Alright. Glad that's sorted."
She turns, footsteps heavy on the wood floor of the office. Joel's voice reaches out after his sister-in-law.
"When's he moving in?"
"Tomorrow morning. "
Maria hesitates, looking over her shoulder with a strange expression before she moves down the steps.
"And it's a woman."
I hope this doesn't sound rude and am asking because I think you replied to the same ask a long time ago but may have changed your stance since then. Would you want to be sent typos and potential inconsistencies? They don't bother me when I'm reading and I don't make note of them but I've been rereading the same fics quite a lot lately and figure I could jot them down if it'd be useful to you since ko-fi isn't currently an option for me <3
Yes I would love that! Feel free to send them to me at
Hi! I was just curious, do you not like age gap romance? Or do you feel Joel Miller is a charcter who might not make the decision to date a young woman/considerably younger woman (which i feel too). No pressure, just wanted to know your opinion! Take care! LYSM!! <3
So this is totally just my own personal preference, but I guess for me Joel dating someone young enough to be his actual daughter is incredibly out of character and (again, in my own personal opinion) creepy.
People are welcome to enjoy what they like, and for my I like my MC's to have real life experience and be at the very least in their early thirties.
Age gap romances definitely have their time and place. Ren Browne wrote one about Javier Pena years ago (The crush) that I adored.
It's just for me, Joel is a very multifaceted character and whether it's game Joel or HBO Joel, I just can't see an age gap romance for him. I mean, he was with Tess for how long?
Anyway, I hope this answer doesn't piss people off. It's just my truth. I'm not here to yuck anyone else's yum!
I'm just curious if anyone can drop any suggestions for Joel Miller x reader where the reader is clearly in her 30's or older? I'm trying to compile a list! Thank you!
Have you heard the song Right Back to It by Waxahatchee? It's had a hold on me since it came out a few years ago to the point I can listen to it multiple times in a row. It reminds me so much of Holding Pattern which has also had a hold on me from the start ❤️❤️❤️ I tried selecting only a few lines of lyrics but ended up with all of them because I couldn't decide what to exclude. Waxahatchee explaining the song meaning can easily be found online but I didn't include it here for people who prefer not to know music background info.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.
THIS STORY IS ON A03
tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.
notes: There will be two more chapters after this! A finale and an epilogue! I got carried away... Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews and reblogs and shares how my story makes them feel.
THEN
You're on the lip of the ledge curled tight, the window open, letting the smoke out. You use a small cup as an ashtray and it's full.
Frankie went back to Texas today.
You heard it from Santi over breakfast. He mentioned it along with other innocuous facts like the girl from the party that he met is weird, that he's thinking of doing a backpacking trip to South America, that he's going to miss you when you're gone to Seattle for school.
You had to sit there at the table with your heart breaking, forcing your face to remain neutral.
And now your throat burns and your eyes are swollen. You pull your knees to your chest, inhaling deeply from the cigarette before holding in the smoke. You hold it so long in your chest it feels like a punishment, the curling wisps exhaling from you in a rush.
"Since when do you smoke?"
Hilary stands at your door, eyes kohl-rimmed, tank top low. You scowl.
"What? Like you don't do it all the time?"
Hilary isn't put off by your vitriol. To her you'll always be an amusing little puppy, nothing to fear; all bark no bite.
"What is your deal? You've been a bitch all week."
It's been five days since Frankie broke your heart. Five days of his silence, of your sobs. Five days of not understanding how he could claim to like you and then turn around and fuck someone else.
And now he's gone.
You think of Frankie entering the plane, all shoulders and muscled arms. You think of Christy who probably drove him to the airport. You think of him settling in, eyes closed as he returns to a life you'll never know.
"Leave me alone," you say turning back to the window. You stamp out your cigarette in the cup, the ash bitter on your tongue.
You hear the pad of Hillary's footsteps over the carpeted floor, her voice nearing you.
"Are you nervous about leaving for school or something?"
In two weeks time you'll be in Seattle going to school and forgetting everything about this summer. You can’t wait.
"No."
"Is it Frankie?" She steps even nearer, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Did he... try anything?"
You go rigid, eyes burning. "Of course not."
He just broke my heart.
"I didn't think so. He's always been really respectful." Now she's at your feet, looking to your face in concern. "I just noticed he hasn't been here since that night he brought those flo-"
You jump down from the ledge, eyes burning in fury. Why is she trying to act like a big sister now? She's always pushed you to the side, ignored you. And now, what? She thinks that she's going to offer some great life lessons?
"I don't ever want to hear the name Frankie again."
This stuns her into taking a step back, eyes surveying your face. She even gives a soft, disbelieving huff.
"What? I thought he was, like, your best friend."
"Well, you thought wrong. Just fuck off, would you? Pretty sure there's a bedpan that needs washing."
It comes out so much uglier than you were expecting, but you don't even flinch. This bitterness inside of you wants to splay out its tendrils and infect everyone.
Hilary goes red in the face, mouth curling into a snarl.
"I can't wait until you're gone," she throws over her shoulder as she exits the bedroom. "Do us all a favor and never come back."
Then she's gone, rushing from the room and slamming the door to hers.
Fuming, you stride down the hallway preparing to exit the house. Maybe you'll go for a walk.
But your mom is just entering in from the back door. She's wearing her nursing scrubs and about twelve hours of crumbly looking mascara. She carries a brown paper grocery bag in one arm. You can see several vodka bottles peeking out the top.
"Hello honey. Can you start the ov-"
"I'm heading out," you mumble, slipping on your speakers. Maybe Santi is at home and will want a visit.
"Wait, I brought home dinner," your mom insists, kicking off her nursing shoes; ugly white loafers.
"I'm not hungry."
"You will sit down and eat this dinner. I'm not made of money," she snarks, placing the bag onto the counter.
"Could've fooled me," you bite back. "How many vodka bottles did you get?"
She goes completely stiff, not unlike your reaction earlier in the bedroom. You've gone too far. You wait for a harsh reprimand, a slap across the face. But what comes next is so much worse.
She just lowers her head, face crumpling. A single tear rolls down her left cheek, disappearing into the starched collar of her nurse's uniform.
"Just go." She says quietly. "Just leave."
Those worlds will run through your head for the rest of your life. In the face of adversity, uncertainty, you will always just leave.
Your mom is confused to see Hilary arriving from the airport, squinting up at your sister when she steps through the door with her suitcase.
"Why are you here?"
"Good to see you too Mom," Hilary replies, un-phased. She kisses the top of your mom's head before rolling the suitcase down the hall. "I'm unpacking."
You follow her down to the old bedroom. You made her bed up with fresh sheets, plumped her pillows to try to make it look cheery.
You stand at the doorway, shoulder pressed against it. It is like old times with you uncertain if you should enter.
"This is weird," she says, looking your way as she unpacks into the dresser she'd used since she was a teenager.
"What's weird?"
"Us being here at the same time again."
You can't help but nod at that. It does feel strange being back here. Like being slingshotted through time.
"Yeah."
You think about what she'd said in the truck earlier. About people never changing. It hurts to hear it. You don't want it to be true.
"I'm really glad you're here," you eventually tell her with wet eyes.
She doesn't face you but her voice is thick when she replies.
"Me too."
THEN
The day you leave for Seattle is a morose one. Your mom isn't sober enough to take you to the airport and Hilary had to work.
Santi is already gone abroad for training and so it’s just you, your second hand suitcase and a backpack taking the bus to the airport where you sit with your dog eared copy of ''Dandelion Wine" and watch the happy couples.
A serious looking man is reading a magazine while his girlfriend rests her head on his shoulder, eyes closed. Another couple is stealing kissing and blushing, the rings on their fingers making it obvious they're heading to some tropical honeymoon. An elderly man and woman smile as they start playing cards on a food court table.
Every sight makes you sick with both revulsion and jealousy. It makes you think about how Frankie doesn't have your school apartment address. How he won't be able to send you letters. Not that he would.
If he had written you a letter, you would have mailed back black bits of charred paper to his return address. Curled bits of parchment with his chicken scratch on it.
But not before you read it.
Not before you pored over it like you did with his letters the years before. Only now you would be scouring each line for an explanation of his behavior. How a man you were in love with could suddenly change overnight.
You think about your mom passed out on the couch that morning. The crumpled envelope full of a few twenties she gave you the night before, her voice slurred as she told you to be safe. You think of the cloying humidity and the sharp pain and bad memories that linger back in Florida and you have to force your stomach to stop it's rocking.
When your plane eventually touches down in the Seattle airport hours later you instinctively you know you're never going back home. Not if you can help it. You're going to step off the plane into a new life.
And you're never looking back.
Rosalita doesn't have to come by as often during the day with the two of you there. But she stays most nights and her steady presence in the home seems to calm you all enough that you can get some sleep.
Rosalita doesn't bother trying to get your mom to walk anymore though. She makes sure she's got the right medication, that her lips aren't too chapped and that she's comfortable.
"Right now it's all about comfort," she tells you both quietly over tea one evening. "No more worrying about calories or smoking. Now’s the time to say yes."
Having Hilary at home is such a relief. You've had two weeks of her brash attitude and constant chatter to fill your brain to the brim. There's no room left for Frankie. No room to think about his perfect mouth or the way you melted into his arms.
You take on extra projects for your job, work late into the night, until your eyes are blurry and your fingers cramped. You appreciate the distraction.
But even through that, memories of Frankie's mouth won't leave you. The murmured hush of 'baby' in your ears. And the memories that keep flooding back with every day you stay here.
You want to leave.
Want to run.
Want to forget.
Santi comes over to visit with Hilary, the two of them standing on the back porch sharing a covert cigarette while you wash the dishes. You watch the two of them laugh lowly, shoulders shaking. It feels good to see. There's not a ton of good these days. It feels like there may not be much good ever again.
Later that afternoon you lay on your side, looking to Hilary resting on the couch opposite you. She looks younger, more peaceful without that habitual scowl she wears. For the first time in forever you consider that there's a reason she wears a scowl.
You got to leave, she didn't.
A Frasier re-run plays in the background, the gentle laugh track rousing your sister from her nap. She yawns, mascara smudged under her eyes. She was up late with your mother last night. You could hear them talking low and quiet in her bedroom. You envy how easily she does this. How unaffected she appears. She's always been the stronger one.
"I used to be able to sleep on this couch all night," she says blinking over at you. "Now I think I've thrown out my fucking back."
The two of you exchange quiet chuckles and you remember giggling late into the night on the evenings she felt like indulging you with stories about her teenage adventures. You had clung to those stories in fascination, dreaming of the day you would be able to go to the mall and wear low rise jeans.
Now you're both older, lines around your eyes and fatigue in both your bodies. And it feels less intimidating to ask her questions.
"How come Justin didn't come back with you?"
She looks away from you, lashes fluttering. You shift, body tired from the position. But you don't rush her. You just wait until she inevitably raises her eyes to you.
"We broke up right before I decided to come back."
"Why?"
"He was too..."'she trails off, one hand aloft. She's searching for the right description. "Nice."
A beat.
"He's... Too nice?"
She nods again, looking nauseated. "Yeah. I mean, I have these ideas, right? Pick up and move to a new country, start a new life, and he just... Went with it." She frowns. "No arguing, no complaining."
"... Right."
"Plus he was just there all the time. Wanting to hang out. Wanting to hold my hand and be all mushy."
"It sounds like he just cares about you."
She gives you a rueful look. One that communicates everything. She doesn’t trust it. That stops you short as you realize your sister has only known the transactional relationship. The thought of being given love so freely doesn't compute for her.
"He just loves you, Hil."
"Whatever. It’s over now."
She waves the idea away. The conversation is closed, her body language clear.
A light rain has started tapping on the roof. One that will bring more humidity and short fuses. You think in the face of this you might as well keep talking. To ask the hard questions.
"Hil, did you ever resent me leaving here? For barely coming home when we were younger?"
She stretches her back, speaking around a yawn. "No. Not really."
"How is that possible? I barely came around."
You watch her settle again, eyes half open. She tilts her head your way.
"The same reason I didn't let you drink or shoplift at the mall with me."
"Because I was your annoying little sister?"
"I mean, yeah, you were," she grins before sobering. "It's because I knew that you were meant for better things. I knew your future wasn't here in the same town we grew up in. And I knew if you started doing all the shit I did, you wouldn't be able to leave."
She settles on her back.
"If you'd stayed, I would have felt like I failed as your sister," she continues. "You needed space to breathe. To become your own person." She beams over at you and you can see her eyes are damp. "And look at you. You did. Your own apartment, a job you're good at. No booze or drugs or criminal record ruining your life."
You say nothing; the only sound in the room is the wet blink you give.
"I like to think I'm part of the reason you're so successful."
If she was anyone else you would tackle her with a hug. But you know she would want nothing less. You want to thank her but know how she feels about that as well. So you’re quiet, coiled in gratitude.
"But I forced you to stay here with Mom," you whisper, not trusting your voice to stay even.
She rolls her eyes, arms going behind her neck. "You couldn't force me to do anything and you know it."
That draws a small little giggle from you. She gets a strange look on her face. A mixture of embarrassment and amusement.
"You know, I actually liked living here with Mom."
"What?"
"I liked having someone in the house when I got home. I actually missed this house if you can believe it."
You can't. This house is everything you've tried to forget.
"I liked how the sun felt on the porch in the morning. How I knew everyone in town. I didn't mind my life. I liked being useful, I guess."
"You did a lot for her."
"Happy to do it."
"How were you not resentful for it? After what she put us through as kids?"
Hilary goes quiet, mouth pressed together in a tight line.
"Because when I needed bail money, she was there. When I needed a place to stay she let me move back in. She talked to me when I was down, made me meals when I was too depressed to get out of bed." Hilary sniffs. "Yeah, she drank too much. But we all have our vices, you know?"
You're quiet, taking this information in. You wish you'd had this conversation with her years ago.
"No, she wasn't a perfect mom to us as kids. Not by a long shot. But she also tried to make up for it." Hilary yawns again. "I guess I don't want to judge her for who she used to be. I just want to accept her for who she became."
She's a complicated person, your sister. A living contradiction. Loving, withdrawn, cold and warm. You find yourself captivated by her straightforward sincerity.
"I wish I could have seen more of that side to her," you admit. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long."
"But you're here now," she tells you.
Yeah. You're here now.
Back in your childhood home with your sister and mother. Back on the couch you used to watch Saturday morning cartoons on.
You think of your childhood together. Of Hilary and her popularity. Of the summer bonfires and days in the water. Of Hilary protecting you in her own, strange way. For some reason something sticks out to you as you dance through time, a comment Hilary made around the bonfire that one summer. The time she told you to stay away from Travis without much reasoning.
"Why did you dislike Travis so much?" You say after a pause. "I mean, I know he was an asshole but..."
You're surprised when your sister's face goes pink. She ducks her head slightly, pulling her sweatshirt up over her chin. She mumbles something that you can't hear and you ask her to repeat herself.
"Because I slept with him,” Hilary says louder with a groan.
Your eyes blow wide. "You did not."
"Sure did," Hilary says, lowering her hands from her face. "Why do you think I told you to stay away from him? He was sleeping with anyone and everyone. Thank God I was smart enough to use a condom."
Your stomach drops as you think of that party, of you backed up against the tree and Travis's filthy words at your ear. At the discomfort you felt being so close to him and the way he told you he wanted you for so long.
"We were, like, fifteen. We'd all been drinking and Travis saw an opportunity," she explains with a sobering look. "Only happened once but it was enough. Worst sex of my life."
"Wow."
"Is not like I was the only one!” Hilary defends, clearly embarrassed. “He and Christy had a whole hook up thing going on for years."
"Excuse me? Christy could barely stand him."
"In public," Hilary says with a smirk. "But trust me; it was common knowledge in my friend circles. They were fucking all the time."
You stare into space and parse through the interactions between Christy and Travis, unable to see any link, any proof. But your sister wouldn't lie.
The two of you go quiet, the rain still heard through the partly cracked window. After a few minutes you can hear your sister begin to snore. She's asleep and soon you follow.
THEN
Your college graduation party is fairly muted compared to the parties you used to attend back in Florida, but it's still riotous enough to go late and involve your entire dorm floor in on the festivities.
The furniture has been moved, your roommates have bought plenty of booze and someone keeps playing shitty Eminem beats while people get drunker and drunker. Some guys from nearby dorms are here as well, all rules about co-ed mingling in the dorms after 11pm forgotten.
It's graduation after all.
Grady from your Intro to Business class is here, nursing a warm beer and catching your eyes every so often. He's got light brown hair that falls into his dark blue eyes. He wears cargo pants and an oversized rock T-shirt from some band you've never heard of. He's handsome in a classical way and pretty clever.
You've been busy at school, keeping your head down. You're social, you love to laugh and smile. Things you find easier to do now that you're not back in Florida. You feel like a different person here, someone who doesn't carry baggage of an alcoholic mom and an absent father. You get to just be you; a woman with goals.
You haven't dated anyone since the Frankie debacle, and you don't want you. Despite how everything went down, the thought of inviting another man into your life that way seems too intimidating.
And that's worked for you, but now? It's your graduation and you realize as you look around at your friends that you haven't had much of a life outside of your studies and these four walls.
Maybe that's why you smile when Grady offers to stay behind when the rest of the party files out. When your roommates have gone to their separate bedrooms and the two of you remain in the kitchen cleaning out cups.
"I can't believe I waited until our last day to tell you this, but I've had a crush on you for years," he admits, blush going to his cheeks.
"Well I'm glad you told me, even if it is our last day," you tease.
"Guess we better make tonight count then, huh?"
He says it in a sweet way, eyes searching yours. It's not said with brash confidence, something you find utterly repulsive in the other men you've met here. With Grady it's just a sweet earnestness, a hope that you feel the same way he does.
"Yeah," you say, rinsing a sudsy cup before holding it his way. "We better."
He takes the cup, drying it with a goofy grin on his face. You're about to say something to him when the dorm phone rings.
It's nearly two in the morning, definitely too late for phone calls.
"Want me to answer it?" Grady asks wiping his hands and heading over to lift the receiver when you give him a nod, your soapy hands working on more of the dishes. You hear the dorm phone being lifted from the cradle.
"Hello?"
You continue washing the cups, glancing over your shoulder when there's a long stretch of quiet.
"Hello?" Grady says again, a little bit louder. "Is anyone there?"
He pauses, looking at you with a quirked brow, shaking his head. "Nothing."
"Just hang up," you reply, shrugging with a yawn, wiping the soap from your hands. "And then let's go to bed."
He nods, replacing the phone to its cradle and coming your way. He kisses you softly on the mouth, too soft. But you let him; you tilt your head and welcome his tongue behind your teeth.
You invite him into your bed, you watch as he slithers down your body, kissing your inner thighs and murmuring about how beautiful you are. But you can't enjoy it because your body still craves the touch of a man you left behind in your memories. The scent of his sweat, the way he groaned your name.
The life you were supposed to lead with him. Letters and phone calls and long distance love. This graduation would have marked the end of your distance. The star of your reunion. Instead, it's just a bitter reminder of the tie that has been severed.
Grady doesn't notice your reticence until his mouth latches over your sex and you let out a hiccupping sob. He stops abruptly, and despite you covering your face and insisting that you want to continue he begins dressing again, murmuring that it's late and he better get back to his dorm.
At the sound of your door closing you roll onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest. Tears slide down your cheeks as you imagine the life you'll never lead with a man you'll never have.
"Blue Heron is out."
You glance up from your laptop, brows tight. You've just finished a meeting, your eyes sore from staring at your laptop.
"Huh? Why?"
Hilary holds up her phone, the screen cracked. "I just looked and the place is pretty much condemned."
You stand, crossing the room to take the phone from her. You scroll, reading quickly.
Blue Heron Campground Condemned Following Structural Safety Concerns
Blue Heron campground has officially been closed after local inspectors condemned several of the property’s main facilities due to severe floor instability and structural deterioration.
"Fuck."
You two sisters share a look, a silent frustration and devastation mixed into one stare.
It's a helpless feeling; the one thing the two of you thought you could control is slipping through your fingers. Much like your mother in the next room. This was the one thing you thought you could do for her.
"Yeah." She finally nods grimly. "Fuck."
There's a sudden commotion from the kitchen. What sounds like Rosalita gasping and the two of you take off running towards the sound.
You hear a deep voice as you prepare to round the wall, heart dropping to your feet.
"I'm sorry, Ros-"
"No no, it’s fine; you just surprised me, Mister Frankie."
You slam back against the wall, hiding from the duo as Hilary shoots you a confused look. Still, she silently passes by you, walking into the kitchen.
"Hey Morales."
"Hey, Hil. Glad to see you back."
"Yeah, couldn't stay away from the muggy weather and gators, I guess."
Frankie chuckles gently, but you feel like it sounds forced. Like he doesn't actually want to be here, but he can't stay away.
"What did you bring?" You hear Hillary cross the kitchen floor. "Triple fudge brownies?"
"Yeah, I thought you guys might want them."
"That's sweet of you." There's the chatter of dishes being pulled down from the cupboard.
You wait for Frankie to excuse himself, but the silence between them lingers a beat. You wonder if he's waiting for you to appear.
"You want one, Rosalita?" Hilary asks.
"No. I'm fine, thank you. I am just going to the store."
The door opens and closes and you wait, ears straining to see if Frankie exited along with Rosalita. Hilary finally speaks again, voice gentle.
"How about you Morales? You want one?"
"Uh... Sure."
Fuck.
You cover your face with your hands, knowing that if you walk off you'll make noise, but not wanting to enter into the kitchen either. You feel stuck.
There's the clink of cutlery on plates, quiet chewing.
"So were you in the neighborhood carrying brownies?"
A pause.
"I wanted to how everyone is doing."
The subtext isn't subtle. He probably wants to know where the two of you stand after that day you fell into him, kissing him as if you had longed for the press of his lips for years. Maybe, if you’re honest with yourself, a part of you had been.
"We're doing okay," Hilary answers lightly "I mean, Mom can't really leave bed much. I don’t think she has much time left."
Frankie makes a soft, clicking noise against his teeth. It's authentic, sad and slow.
"But, you know, it's nice all of us being under one roof again. Feels like old times when you and Santi used to drop by and annoy the shit out of me."
The two chuckle before lapsing into a comfortable silence.
"And your sister? How’s she?"
There's your answer. Your pulse tics in your neck as you think about him sitting there, beautiful and sad, asking about you.
"She's having a tough go, I think," Hillary admits. "I'm used to being in the house, being with Mom. She's more... Sensitive than I am."
You wonder if she thinks you've ducked back down the hall, or perhaps she wants you to hear this.
"She's a lot tougher than people think," Frankie tells her. For a moment you wish you could see his face.
"You're probably right," Hilary says. You hear the gentle scrape of forks against plates again. "I mean, you would know. You knew her best."
"I thought I did," Frankie says. His words are soft around the edges, hesitant. "Not so sure I ever did though."
"Trust me, you did."
This gives you pause. You didn't think Hillary really observed much about you and Frankie. But now you're starting to wonder.
"Thanks so much for bringing these," Hilary says. "I haven't had them in ages."
"Yeah, your mom usually goes crazy for them. Would it... Could I say goodbye to her?"
"Of course," Hilary says. "She's kind of in and out of consciousness but I think she'd appreciate it."'
They move too quickly for you to back away in time without giving yourself away. When his tall frame comes into view from around the corner he pauses, eyes widening when he sees you there pressed against the wall.
"Pip..." His voice is husky and soft, eyes stuck on your face.
Just the sight of him has your face hot with shame. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You recall his plump lips against yours, the scent of his skin, the sensation of being held in his lap as if cherished.
Hilary is behind Frankie now, giving you a curious look. But you say nothing. Instead you lower your gaze to the ground and remain silent.
Frankie swallows lightly, eyes on the ground as he passes you. Your eyes shutter when he moves by you in the narrow hallway, warm arm grazing yours.
Then it's too much. His body, his nearness, your mother in the next room. It's all too much and you rush into your childhood bedroom, heart in your throat.
Even with the door closed you can still hear Frankie's footsteps leading to your mother's room, can still hear the dark timber of his voice. Despite it being muffled through the walls, it's still a rich sound.
You think you can hear your mother's faint rasping voice, then the sound of gentle laughter. You're surprised by this. You don't know how much time passes but eventually you glance up to see Hilary cracking the door open, brows raised.
"He's gone."
"Okay."
She has that look of a person keeping something contained. Like she wants to voice something but it's carefully side stepping it. She adopts a more casual pose.
"Santi just sent a text asking if we want to go play pool. You wanna go?"
"Rosalita is leaving soon."
"Oh, shit, that's right." Hilary fishes her phone from her back pocket, preparing to compose a text. "I'll tell him we can't make it."
You shake your head and push yourself off the mattress. You move to her, forcing your voice to sound steady.
"Not a chance. Go get your ass to the pool hall. I'll stay here with Mom."
She hesitates, in decision clear in her overly-plucked brows.
"You sure?"
She knows you feel more and more uneasy being at home alone with your mother. Terrified that something terrible will happen when you're alone.
"Yes," You say firmly. "I'll be okay."
THEN
You're twenty six when Santi's 30th comes around. His birthdays are always a cause for celebration and this year his party is being held at the beach. It's a BBQ and bonfire back home. He begged you to fly home to attend. He wants you to meet his army friends he served with not so long ago. Will, Benny, Tom.
You are three and a half years into your first real job and you love it. But you've taken no vacation time and no sick days in those two years. Diane from HR had commented on this only a week before, her instructions to 'book some time off ' still in your head
"Is Travis coming?" You ask lightly, phone held tightly to your ear.
"Nah, I don't really see him anymore."
"And Frankie?"
You hold your breath as Santi replies.
"He's working."
The last you heard through the grapevine, Frankie was overseas flying helicopters, so if he's working you know you're safe to go.
You try not to sound too relieved when you agree to attend. Santi is delighted, giving you the details before you hear girlish giggling in the background.
You didn't ask for details on Frankie, even though you thought about him. You worried for him, imagining his handsome face contorted, ears covered in oversized headphones. He wouldn't still wear your hat of course.
But in your fantasies he did.
Knowing you'd get to avoid his big, beautiful eyes and sweet dimple, you flew back home with only the faintest twist in your stomach.
You're mom is working part time now. The mortgage paid off which means she has plenty of time to drink. You observe she's already three sheets when you arrive as she stumbles towards you, arms extended.
"There she is," she slurs, the gin wafting over your cheek. "My little girl."
When she pulls back to look at you with bleary eyes you notice the red spider webs under the skin of her cheeks and along the end of her nose.
"You're here."
You glance over to see Hilary holding a bowl of cereal, munching away. She gives you a small nod. Hilary lives with your mom from time to time when her relationships fail or she's not working. Right now it's both.
"You coming to the BBQ?"
"Yep."
"You get him a gift?"
"My presence is his present."
You laugh, telling her that you'll put her name on your card. You got him an engraved flask. She hesitates before thanking you.
Later that night when your mom is passed out on the couch, you and your sister take sweating jars of sweet tea onto the porch.
"You seeing anyone?" She asks, a lit cigarette hung loosely at the corner of her mouth.
"There's this guy I started seeing recently, Greg," you tell her with a shrug. Ice clatters in the mason jar as you take a sip of your drink.
"He nice?"
"Very." You feel yourself grow shy. "He's a really great guy."
She surveys your face for a long while, a calm smile on her face. Like she's proud of you for picking a good one, unlike the string of losers she brings home.
And even though you'll never voice this thought out loud, you can't help but think that Greg is nothing like Frankie. Not as tall, not as handsome, voice not as deep. His hair doesn't have that natural tousled look. Doesn't curl under one ear. He doesn't have pouty lips and big hands.
But he is kind. He doesn't take you to parties and fuck other women. He doesn't act like he loves you and then toss you aside.
You tell yourself he won't hurt you like Frankie did. That Greg is safe.
You're okay.
Hilary is soon gone to the pool hall in a plume of cigarette smoke and heavy eyeliner. She promised she wouldn't be too late but you told her to be. She's earned it. Rosalita has left for the night, giving you a gentle hug and promising she'll be back tomorrow.
So now it's you and Mom.
Since your mother stopped leaving her bed, you can admit that like a coward, you haven't ventured into her bedroom very much. You don't say it out loud but you're petrified of finding her rigid corpse there one morning. Her concave chest and milky eyes in a waxen face.
So you usually stand at the doorway, always with a task. Does she want water? Crackers? New blankets?
These tasks keep you busy, focused. You can't let your mind drift to dark places if you're over-scheduled. So tonight you do the same. You stand at the doorway of her bedroom, peering in. She looks distantly into the room, eyes unfocused. You wonder what she’s thinking about.
"Hey Mom. Want a brownie?"
She looks your way and cracks a huge smile, which, if she wasn't so thin, would look less ghoulish.
"Yes."
You bring out the lap tray and the plated brownie, sitting it in front of her.
"My favorite ones!" She exclaims.
You rise up the back of her bed, pushing pillows until she's comfortably seated up.
She weakly jabs at the brownie, lifting the fork shakily to her mouth before abandoning the plan all together. She drops the fork with a clatter onto the plate and picks the brownie up in between two trembling fingers. You watch as she pops a few crumbs onto her tongue.
The bliss that crosses her face makes you want to call Frankie and thank him personally
"It's so good," she murmurs.
You nod; charmed by the sweet way she smiles at you. As if life is just so simple when you have a brownie to eat.
"Frankie dropped them off earlier," you say quietly, just for the pleasure of saying his name to someone else.
Her eyes are small and confused. "Frankie?"
You shuffle more onto the bed, one leg crooked as you lean back on your palms.
"Francisco Morales. He came to see you earlier."
She takes another bite of brownie. "Is he still in the front yard?"
"Huh? No. Why would he be?"
"He carried you home. You twisted your ankle."
For a long moment you just stare at her, one brow arched before a memory hits you acutely.
You were eleven at the time, playing baseball with the three boys. Santi's arm was in a sling from a bike accident the week before so he was designated pitcher. Travis was the one at bat and he hit the far ball. Frankie was nearer to them, you were deep in the outfield.
In your eagerness to prove your athletic prowess to the older boys, you backed up rapidly not paying attention to your surroundings.
When your foot landed wrong in an unseen gopher hole and you went toppling back, felt the sharp twist of your ankle. You yelped so loudly you think the neighbor heard you. You were crying, face warm from the sun and sticky from your tears. The throbbing your ankle was overwhelming.
And suddenly Frankie's strong arms were crooked under your knees and back, pulling you into his arms. You're face landed in the slope of his neck and inhaled his old spice deodorant and fresh sweat scent.
"Hold on," he told you breathlessly. "I've got you, Pip."
The pain was insurmountable. No wonder you barely remembered it, your mind must have pushed it out. But you do remember wrapping your arms around his neck and crying gently into his throat.
You barely remember him rushing you home, the way he panted against your ear as he raced through the neighborhood, or the way Santi was shouting after him about getting you ice. Travis hadn't bothered coming along, not that you were disappointed. If anything you were thankful for it.
But you do remember the terrified look on your mother's face that day when she saw Frankie carrying you home. The way she ran his way, the scent of vodka. You'd been in too much pain to be embarrassed about it.
It's funny that this is a memory that sticks out in your mother's mind.
"Did he find the mop?"
You peer at her, torn from the memory as she looks up at you. Her eyes look too big for her face. You try to register what she's asking you.
"What mop?"
She sighs, frustrated with your confusion. Her mouth goes a little slack before she smacks her lips together and motions to the brownie. "I'm done with this."
You remove the brownie and the tray placing both on the dresser before returning to her side of the bed.
You watch her eyes go soft around the edges, her chin trembling slightly.
"You know I would do it differently," she says in an ardent tone of voice.
"What would you do different, mom?"
"I would do so much differently. No more booze. No more Florida and paying off a mortgage for a home your dad wanted."
You watch her wince before placing a shaky hand over her swollen belly.
"Do we have more medicine? It hurts."
"Of course."
You rise, shaking a morphine tablet out of its container and placing it on her dry tongue. You urge some water into her, watching in relief as her throat bobs. She’s still fairly coherent, still looking at you with interest. It emboldens you as you take your seat at the edge of her bed again.
"Mom, why did you stay here after dad left?"
"Your friends were here. Family. It was bad enough your father left; I didn't need you and your sister..." Suddenly she's gone from that, mind moving through time as you sit there staring at her. "Is your boyfriend coming by again?"
"Who?”
"Francisco."
"He's not my boyfriend, Mom. He never was."
"Of course he was," your mom says with a light laugh. "He was always here with your cousin. I remember how you looked at each other."
Your pulse is pounding in your temple, confusion and heartache combined. Your mom was so often home and sober. When would she have ever noticed?
"Are you going to marry him? I remember one phone call..." she trails off, voice slurring.
You watch her eyes start to shutter. She's groggy now, the medication taking hold.
"Mom, what are you talking about?"
But she's fading too quickly to answer you, eyelids heavy as she struggles to listen to you. And you realize that this could be the last time you speak to her. The last time to tell her everything you've had pent up.
You think of the acidic words on your tongue that have been there since you returned. All the ugly things you've wanted to say to her about her alcoholism, about how she wasn't there enough.
But it all seems so... Unnecessary.
You think of the long hours she worked. The loneliness of being a single mom to two girls. You think of the things she must have had to see at her job and still come home with a smile and sometimes, muffins.
You think about how she always encouraged your education, and while she couldn't afford to send you anywhere, it was her cutting out scholarships from the paper. It was her giving you the last of her booze money before you left.
You realize you've looked at so much with the expectation of disappointment. Of being pushed aside. Your mom. Hilary. Greg. Frankie.
And now? Now it just feels so much better to let it go. To accept that your mom could have done better, but she could have done a lot worse.
So when you take her gnarled hand in yours, thumb tracing over bony knuckles, there isn't any ire left in you. Only a heart swollen with compassion.
"I wasn't fair to you these last few years," you say gently. "I blamed you for a lot. Some of it deserved, but some of it just carried anger I should have let go a long time ago. "
Her heavy lidded eyes tell you she wants to apologize. That she wants to explain but she's so tired so you just smile gently at her, brushing her hair back from her face.
“I need you to know that I forgive you, Mom. More than that, I love you."
She doesn't reply, but her shuttering eyes are wet. Her wrinkled lips are trying to form words, but they can't. But that's okay because you don't need any.
"I love you, mom," you repeat, feeling the words deep in your soul.
You mean them.
You continue to hold her hand long after, watching as her face turns placid, chest rising slowly. She's asleep. Before you tuck her in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, you think you see the faintest whisper of a smile accompany the single tear that slides down her cheek.
THEN
The afternoon of Santi's birthday party you put on your best sundress, put a ribbon in your hair and dab color to your lips. You spritz some perfume to your neck and wrists, looking at yourself in the cheap mirror you had as a child.
You look good.
You snap a photo of yourself, sending it off to Greg with a giggle, your thumbnail wedged between your front teeth.
"Ready to go?"
Hilary is wearing a jean skirt and a black tank that shows off her cleavage. Her body has always been incredible and you feel slightly insecure as the two of you drive over to the beach with a cooler in your trunk.
The sand is gritty under your feet as you hold your sandals loosely crooked on your second and third fingers.
The crowd is in the distance, lots of laughter and the scent of hamburgers drifting your way.
"Hope the guys aren't gross," your sister mutters. "I'm just glad Travis won't be here."
"Me too."
Travis moved out west a few years ago with his girlfriend. No one mourned the loss of him.
Your nose wrinkles in disgust when you think about the party at his place. You can't seem to forget his groping hands, the way he wouldn't stop, the things he said. And that always leads you to remembering Frankie's furious face. The anger that radiated off of him.
You're thankful that you won't see either of them today.
At least that's what you're thinking until you approach and see a familiar head of dark curls partially hidden under a green hat.
For a minute you don't even register that it's him. His back is facing you, and it's even broader than last time. He's filled out, his body that of a man in his early thirties, not his mid twenties. He's wearing a grey T-shirt and when he lifts the beer bottle to his mouth you see it flex, the gold of his skin creamy in the fading sunlight.
"Hil! Pip! There you are," Santi says with a wave, excusing himself from the crowd around the BBQ.
You see Frankie's shoulders flinch, like he's been hit in the side. And when he turns slowly and finally looks at you, really looks at you, you see the years of silence and resentment locked away until this moment, now set free.
You think it must match your hardened gaze because your teeth clench, your face forcing itself into a smile as your cousin comes to wrap you and your sister in a hug.
"Lemme get you a burger!"
"Here, take this first," you say handing him the wrapped gift. He smiles even broader, becomes even more handsome if that's possible.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Of course I did!"
"She just put my name on the card," Hilary snarks behind you. "Me showing up is your gift."
"Do they accept returns?"
Hilary grins widely. "Fuck you, you brat. Get me a burger."
You laugh with them, watching out the corner of your eyes is Frankie slinks away to the opposite side of the BBQ, ensuring that the two of you won't collide.
Santi wraps an arm around your sister, leading her to the burgers and some friends she clearly recognizes from around town. All of a sudden it feels like old parties, with you standing awkwardly while your sister goes off being Miss Popular.
"If you want a beer I think you should know the ones on top are really warm. This once is nice and cold."
A beautiful south Asian woman appears, a beer in one hand extended your way. She's stunning with long legs and dark hair loosely braided down her back.
"Oh, I don't really like beer." You don't usually enjoy any alcohol. But you can't tell people the real reason why. "I'm designated driver," you add.
"Oh. Smart," she says, cracking the beer and taking a sip. She motions in the direction of the group. "We just took a cab here."
She remains there at your elbow, her big dark eyes gazing at you with obvious interest.
"Any chance there's a Pepsi?" You ask, trying to break the silence.
She nods, speaking as she digs into the ice chest, fingers rattling the quickly melting ice.
"You’re Pip, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Inaya," she says as she grins widely, you're not surprised to see she has the most beautiful smile.
"It's so nice to finally meet you," she says brightly, passing you the drink. "Santi has told me so much about you."
This must be Santi's latest conquest, you think. She looks the type - beautiful and delicate looking.
"That's sweet of him, considering we grew up together and he has tons of dirt on me." You laugh, taking the can. "If you want, I can share the stories I have on him. Just ask."
She giggles, and her laugh is melodic.
"Actually, do you have any on Frankie?" She says as she covertly points his way. "I need some good stories to torment him with. He's always so tight lipped about his past."
You follow her pointed finger to see Frankie chuckling with a blonde man, dark eyes crinkled under the rim of his cap. It's a new one bearing the logo of some lumber yard.
With a devastating swoop of your stomach, you realize that she's not with Santi. She's here with Frankie.
"I was surprised to see him," you mutter, trying not to breathe too heavily.
"He got home a day early," she gives another tinkling laugh, which you now find grating. "And I'm so glad because I was way too nervous to come alone. This is my first time meeting all his friends. Aside from Santi. He's your cousin, right?"
"Yep."
You don't know if she's privy to what happened between you and Frankie. And if she is, Santi's birthday is not the place to discuss it.
"So," she prompts, running her hands for her hair in a way that's completely unforced. "Any stories I can torture Frankie with?"
You smile weakly. The heat of the day feels oppressive, the stench of the barbecue overpowering. The nearby shrieks people and low murmur of sunbathers are already giving you a headache.
"None worth telling," you insist. "He was always the good kid.”
Almost as if he can hear your kind, Frankie's 's attention drifts amongst the partygoers. You stand rooted to the spot as his eyes make their way to you, the surprise registering there as he watches you and his girlfriend talking.
You're convinced that familiar scent of Old Spice and fresh sweat is carried on the breeze to you. It makes your palms grow damp.
You excuse yourself, going to stand with another group of women you don't recognize. They're loud and funny and they welcome you into the conversation without thought.
It's an hour later when your stomach grumbles and you decide is time for a burger. You saunter up to the picnic table, eyes on the topping and variety of chips. You swipe your arm over your forehead, brushing hair out of your eyes.
Music is playing faintly, the sight of the water quite calming. Hilary is laughing with a group, and for a moment the day feels almost relaxing.
But as you go to reach for a burger bun it's like something in the air shifts behind you, the hair on the back of your neck prickling.
You know without even looking over your shoulder that it’s Frankie.
He moves to stand beside you, his hand going for a paper plate.
After a few moments of breathing deeply, eyes lifting to sneak a glance at him.
Up this close you see the new lines to his face. The cheeks that have filled out, the light scruff that covers his chin and above his top lip. He's a new person. A man, no longer the boy you remember.
But still there is that same hair tucked under a cap, still those watchful eyes that slant your way now. Ever calculating, ever observing.
"Didn't know you'd be here," he mumbles.
You don't answer him; you just look back at your plate squirt the mustard over your bun.
"Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat.
"Sure," you reply, voice tight.
You watch his large hand go to grab a burger bun from the center of the table, momentarily hypnotized by the deep shores of his knuckles, the width of his fingers.
You toss some potato salad onto the plate, trying to quell the frantic tempo of your heart.
"Your girlfriend seems nice."
His hand stops mid hover over a plate of onions. At least he has the good grace to look embarrassed, pink crawling up his neck and splotching his tanned cheeks.
"She's not really my girlfriend..." He trails off, voice hushed. "We just... Hang out together sometimes."
Hang out. He means fuck.
Something about his intentional ambiguity takes you right back to that night at the party. To the night he betrayed you. When he said one thing and then did another. Here he is again, leading a girl on for his own selfish gain.
It makes your insides flame with fury. Years of repressed anger and emotional avoidance all culminate in a maelstrom behind your ribs.
"Guess some things never change,” you say with a vicious snarl his way.
He blinks slowly, dumbly. "Huh?"
The reaction makes you even more infuriated.
“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify.
Now his brows drag down, mouth in a frown. His eyes bounce back between your own, true confusion clouding his expression.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
You hear your name being called. Santi is waving over at you from the portable BBQ. A group of handsome but serious men stand around him, beers in their hands. You think you recognize them from the photo Santi showed you: his army buddies.
You turn back to Frankie, noting that his glare hasn't left your face.
"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it."
You turn, walking over to Santi and the group of guys. All the while you feel Frankie's eyes on your back. The way you know he's still glaring at you.
You introduce yourself, being as charming as possible. Benny, Will and Tom. Women who are as gentle as they are intimidating. And when you finally turn several moments later you see Frankie and Inaya hand in hand, moving across the beach to his truck.
When they drive off you expect to feel a sick sort of satisfaction, but instead all you're left with is a hollowness in your chest and tears that burn along your waterline.
The scent of oil and coffee hangs in the air, wafting over the busy restaurant. Denny's, a former haunt for you and your cousin.
"Are you excited about going back to South America?" You ask, leaning back in the cracked red faux-leather booth.
Santi sits across from you, curled over a steaming mug of black coffee.
"Being home for a bit was fun, but I feel ready to get back into things again."
He leans back in the booth, arms stretched wide. He looks so relaxed, so happy. It gladdens you to see your normally stressed cousin looking so restored.
You know his job is hard combating drug cartels. That he puts on the careless playboy act because his real life has real stakes.
"I must admit it's been nice having you around this summer," you say, perusing the menu. "I think I would've stayed inside all this time without you forcing me to be social."
He grins. "The guys love you. Benny says if you need anything when I'm gone he's got you. Frankie too."
Your jaw shifts. "Mhmm."
Santi must note your quiet displeasure because he shifts focus.
"Auntie seems to be..." Santi trails off, briefly worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "I'm glad I got to see her this summer."
"I'm glad too."
"How are you doing with it?"
"Surviving," you offer, finger scraping against the plastic menu, tone light.
Santi removes his arms from the back of the booth and tilts your way, voice low.
"C'mon, Pip. Be real."
The server comes to deliver your breakfasts of pancakes, eggs, bacon. All your favorites that you share with gusto.
"I have no idea how I'm feeling," you say with a weak laugh as you mix sugar into your coffee. "I just kind of wake up go through the motions and then go to sleep and do it all over again the next day."
Seeing your increasing solemnity, you watch as your cousins broad smile turns muted. "How is Hilary doing?"
"She's good... I mean, I think." You pat some butter onto your toast. "I mean, she broke up with Justin."
"Yeah she told me."
"She tell you why?"
"Sounded like it just ran its course."
You fold your hands on the table.
"She broke up with him because he was too nice."
"No shit?" Santi almost laughs. "Damn, she's crazy sometimes."
"Tell me about it."
You're amused when you see syrup slip down your cousin's chin.
"You eat like you're on the run."
"Who says I'm not?" He winks at you.
Your pancakes are barely touched, your mouth dry. You can't stop thinking about what Hilary said about Travis fucking everyone.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Did you... Did Travis ever talk to you about Christy?"
"Travis? Damn, I haven't thought about him in years. Why would he be talking about Christy?"
You shrug. "No reason."
Santiago takes a bite of his bacon, making an upset groaning noise.
"She was at pool the other night and I swear I was going to claw my eyes out." He shakes his head, left cheek full. "No one likes to talk about Christy as much as Christy does. Why do you ask?"
"No reason," you lie. "Hilary and I were talking about old times last night and I guess she's stuck in my brain."
"Well, she wouldn't leave me the fuck alone," Santi says taking a swig of coffee. "I mean, I slept with her once during a visit back, like, six years ago and she won't let it go."
You fall quiet and nod, poking at your quickly cooling eggs. Seems like everyone fucked Christy at one point.
"The only one who can't stand her more than me is Frankie," Santi scoffs into his chipped coffee mug.
You go rigid, jaw feathering. You feel like you're vibrating and not just from the coffee you've been drinking all morning.
"She was all over us both at the pool hall and he was so annoyed he left early."
You bite back a scathing retort about how Frankie probably didn't mind it as much as Santi thinks. And yet, a fire heats low in your belly. An ugly, pulsing jealousy.
"You two seem to be getting on better this visit though," he says. "Not as much bickering."
"I guess," you mutter to your plate.
"Anything you want to tell me?" Santi wheedles, tapping his fork against his plate lightly.
"Huh?"
"Oh, come on, Pip," Santi says with a roll of his eyes. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're not into each other?"
The waitress comes by to refill your emptied coffee mugs, giving you a moment to collect yourself. Finally she leaves and you lean over the table, voice a hush.
"What are you on about?"
"Frankie asked me for your number. He keeps asking how you are," Santi says. "And you keep getting weird every time I bring him up."
"I'm not getting weird." Even as you say it, you can hear the strain in your voice.
"I'm just saying, maybe it's time to bury the hatchet."
You say nothing as you shovel a bite of pancake into your downturned mouth.
You think about Frankie and the couch and the safety you felt wrapped up in his arms. The perfect feeling of calm serenity along with the scorching heat of need when he kissed you. How it felt like no time had passed at all.
"Or maybe it's time you two finally made a serious go of it," Santi croons with a waggle of his dark brows.
The pancakes go tacky in your mouth, fork almost clattering onto the tabletop. Everything starts going slow, and then your heart hiccups and it begins speeding up at once.
"... What?"
"Like a real relationship."
You watch your cousin take another bite of pancake. The syrup clings to his lower lip and you stare at it in a confused daze before he rubs it away with a napkin.
"Why the hell would Frankie and I want to be in a real relationship?"
"Because you've been into him since we were kids," Santi says with a playful cock of his head when your eyes blow wide.
"It was a crush at best," you say with a withering look his way. Pain exists there in your chest. A low, burning sensation that feels just as acute as it did in your youth.
"I dunno. I was picking up some serious vibes from both of you until that stupid party Travis threw. Then you both got weird."
You try to raise the mug to your mouth without it shaking but are unsuccessful. Little creamy dots dribble onto the plate next to your breakfast. Santi notices.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you snap, letting the mug slam down, spraying more coffee onto the table. "I just don't know where you're getting this crazy information and why you think Frankie and I should give it a shot."
A woman with two children scowls over at you for disturbing them. An old man with a hat scoffs under his breath. You sink down in the booth, cheeks hot.
"You don't have to lie to me, Pip."
You raise your eyes, feeling more vulnerable than you ever have in the presence of your cousin. He's looking at you with eyes soft around the edges. The eyes of someone who observes, who keeps information close.
And in that moment you realize he's known all along. That it was more than a crush you felt for Frankie, that your feelings weren't always just surface level.
"I really cared about him," you whisper, tears starting in the corner of your eyes.
"I wasn't blind. I knew, Pip."
Something about the way he says the nickname makes you feel like an awkward teen again. It makes years of resentment bubble forth.
"Yeah, well, did he tell you that he strung me around all summer and made it seem like he felt the same? That he told me he wanted us to do long distance?"
Santi looks like you've just told him the moon landing was faked. He just stares, mouth slightly dropping. You've never seen his eyes so wide and round before.
"And did he tell you that hours after telling me that he had feelings for me that I caught him fucking Christy upstairs in Travis' parents' bedroom?" You say, voice finally cracking. "Did he tell you that he broke my fucking heart?"
The tears are free flowing down your cheeks, the sobs catching in your chest as you try to slow your breathing.
"Then he has the nerve to hate me all these years? Because I, what? I kissed Travis because I was devastated? What is that in comparison to fucking the girl who made my teenage life miserable?"
Your chest is heaving, cheeks and neck on fire. You know nearby diners are looking your way, watching the altercation.
But you can't stop, it just spills out of you, years of pain and hurt and anger. You cover your face, embarrassed and livid in one swoop.
And you expect Santi to apologize, to insist he had no idea that Frankie had done this to you. But he's not. He's just staring at you with a concerned look.
"Pip," he finally says. "That's not what happened."
a din djarin tale for @fuzzy's ser greendown writing challenge
kofi | get notifications | ao3 | masterlist
RATING: Explicit (18+ mdni)
PAIRING: Din Djarin x f!Reader | WORD COUNT: 7.7k
CW: medieval au, violence, murder, brief mention of animal abuse off screen (but the animal ends up ok!!), hurt/no comfort, hurt/a lil comfort, threat of death, imprisonment, din carries/manhandles reader but he is literally Colossally Huge and Strong and reader’s body/size is not described
SUMMARY: fleeing with a bounty on your head, your escape is thwarted by a knight of the mandalorian guard, ser din the colossus.
READ ON AO3
*available for registered ao3 users. more info here
Hello hello! Big fan of all your fics! Forgive me if you get this question all the time (because why WOULDN’T YOU!!), but is there any update on how STFF is going as a novel or when you expect to put it out? I tried to look on your page for myself but couldn’t seem to find anything. Whatever you end up doing (digital or paper), I’ll will support with you with my hard earned cash baby!!! Give me 14 copies 😂 it’s the one fic that I still have flashbacks from like 2 years later 🫶🏼💓 thank you for all the work you do I’m obsessed with your brilliance and talent!
I love you for this support.
I have not heard back from publishers, so I think it's gonna be a self publish! I just need someone to do a final edit so I don't publish it with a ton of errors. It's just that editing costs $$$ so I'm saving my pennies! My hope is August by the latest. I do intend to have it for distribution by the end of the summer.
Thank you for loving the story as much as I do.
Love, Emma
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