You are a little soul carrying around a corpse

29 ⨾ MDNI | she/her ⨾ pansexual 🏳️‍🌈 | former writer | horror 🔪 | dark romance 😈🖤 | multi-fandom | bookworm | here for all things Shawn Hatosy

[hazyhauntings]

⌞ 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ⌝

Meet the blogger .ᐟ

・┈ ✦ ﹕ former writer

・┈ ✦ ﹕ dedicated bookworm 🐛📖

・┈ ✦ ﹕ fangirl of many things

・┈ ✦ ﹕ hobbies ⨾ reading, occasionally writing, gaming, collecting art

・┈ ✦ ﹕ favorite band(s)/artists ⨾ Djo, Ice Nine Kills, Motionless In White, From Ashes To New, Palaye Royale, Taylor Swift, The Sleepy Haunts, Yungblud, etc

・┈ ✦ ﹕ favorite author(s) ⨾ Laurell K. Hamilton, H.D. Carlton, J.R. Ward, Hanna Harp, Joe Hill, Laurie Gilmore, etc.

・┈ ✦ ﹕ favorite tv show(s)/series ⨾ Supernatural, The Boys, The Pitt, The Rookie, Criminal Minds, Virgin River, Shrinking, Law & Order: SVU, Stranger Things, etc

・┈ ✦ ﹕ favorite movies ⨾ Scream, Terrifier franchise, Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, Trick R Treat, 28 days later franchise, Final Destination franchise, Top Gun & Top Gun Maverick, Twisters, etc.

[afterdarkbydel]

The Nephew Trap

Chapter Three: Straight Past the Turn

Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: We’re going back to the summer that started it all. Long before Carter’s matchmaking scheme, you, Jack, and Robby spent one life-changing summer together at the family cabin, and we finally begin to see how you and Jack fell in love and why the two of you never ended up together.

Warnings: age gap, mutual pining, brother’s best friend, references to Jack joining the Army, protective Robby, mild jealousy, flirting, nostalgic young love, eventual heartbreak, Reader is nineteen, and Jack is twenty-one

Author’s Note: Surprise! Flashback chapter! We’re stepping away from the present for a few chapters so we can finally experience Jack and Reader’s summer together instead of only hearing about it. This is where everything began: the cabin, the country club, the Jeep, and two people falling much harder than either of them intended. And yes, we are finally going to learn why they aren’t together now.

Xoxo, Del

| Prologue | Chpt. 1 | Chpt. 2 |

The Robinavitch cabin appeared between the trees at the end of a narrow gravel road, exactly as you remembered it.

Small. Weathered. Slightly crooked.

The dark green shutters needed repainting, one corner of the screened porch sagged lower than the other, and the wooden steps leading to the front door had faded silver beneath years of sun and lake water.

Beyond the cabin, the lake flashed between the trees.

You leaned closer to the passenger-side window as Robby slowed the car.

“Home sweet structural hazard,” Robby announced.

You glanced toward him.

His dark hair had grown long enough to fall across his forehead, and the beard he had cultivated during the semester made him look older, right up until he opened his mouth.

“You say that like you haven’t been talking about this summer for months,” you said.

Robby kept his attention on the gravel road.

“I was talking about the lake,” he clarified. “The cabin remains a death trap.”

You looked into the back seat.

Two suitcases, a duffel bag, several grocery sacks, and an unreasonable number of Robby’s textbooks had been wedged together with no recognizable system.

“You packed your entire pre-med program,” you observed.

Robby pulled into the clearing beside the cabin.

“I’m trying not to forget everything before fall,” Robby explained. 

“You brought three anatomy books,” you said.

Robby shifted the car into park.

“One is physiology,” he corrected.

“That does not improve the situation,” you replied.

Robby removed the keys from the ignition and looked toward you.

“You mocked me when I failed my first organic chemistry exam,” he reminded you.

You unfastened your seat belt.

“I mocked you because you said carbon had a personal vendetta against you,” you corrected.

“It did,” Robby insisted.

You opened your door and stepped into the warm afternoon air.

The smell reached you first.

Sun-warmed pine. Damp earth. Lake water. The faint, familiar trace of old wood baking beneath the summer heat.

For the first time since finishing your final exams, something inside you loosened.

You closed the car door and looked past the cabin toward the narrow dock.

The aluminum fishing boat was still tied beside it, knocking gently against one of the posts.

“You think the boat runs?” you asked.

Robby climbed out on the other side of the car.

“It barely ran last summer,” he answered.

“So no,” you concluded.

Robby opened the back door.

“I didn’t say that,” he argued.

“You didn’t have to,” you replied.

Robby pulled one of the grocery boxes toward him. The bottom immediately bowed. He tightened his grip around it.

“You could help,” he suggested.

You walked around the car and reached for your suitcase.

“I’m emotionally supporting you,” you told him.

“The pasta sauce is about to fall through the bottom,” Robby warned.

“You should have packed better,” you replied.

Robby stared at you over the roof of the car.

“You’ve been here thirty seconds,” he said.

“And I’ve already identified the problem,” you pointed out.

Robby adjusted the box against his chest.

“I’m going to make you sleep outside,” he threatened.

You pulled your suitcase free.

“You need me,” you reminded him.

Robby started toward the porch.

“For what?” he asked.

You dragged your suitcase over the gravel behind him.

“Someone has to make sure you eat something besides bar peanuts and whatever the kitchen sends back,” you explained.

Robby glanced over his shoulder.

“I survived an entire school year without you,” he argued.

“You called me because you forgot how long chicken lasts in the refrigerator,” you reminded him.

Robby stopped at the bottom step and turned toward you.

“It smelled fine,” he defended.

“It was gray,” you said.

“That doesn’t automatically mean bad,” Robby replied.

“It was chicken, Michael,” you emphasized.

Robby pointed one finger at you.

“Do not use my government name before we’ve even unpacked,” he warned.

You smiled and pulled the suitcase toward the porch.

The front screen door stood open behind him.

You stopped.

It had always scraped against the porch floor, usually requiring one hard pull and a carefully placed shoulder to open. Now it hung straight in the frame.

“You fixed the door?” you asked.

Robby glanced back at it.

“No,” he answered.

You looked along the porch.

Several of the loose boards had been replaced. The steps no longer tilted beneath Robby’s weight, and the path leading around the side of the cabin had been cleared of the branches that had fallen during the spring.

“The railing too?” you asked.

Robby climbed the first step.

“Jack’s been here since Monday,” he explained.

Your hand tightened around the suitcase handle.

You tried to make the reaction invisible.

Robby looked back at you.

It had not been invisible.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You frowned at him.

“Don’t what?” you asked.

Robby shifted the grocery box against his chest.

“Whatever your face just did,” he answered.

“My face didn’t do anything,” you argued.

Robby stared at you.

“You’re nineteen now,” he said. “This has to stop eventually.”

You pulled the suitcase toward the porch.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied.

“You’ve known exactly what I’m talking about since you were sixteen,” Robby said.

“I don’t have a crush on Jack,” you said, passing him on the steps. 

Robby followed you onto the porch.

“You asked whether he was coming before you agreed to spend the summer here,” he reminded you.

“I asked who was staying at the cabin,” you argued.

“You asked about Jack specifically,” Robby countered.

“Because you two are attached at the hip,” you said.

“We are not,” Robby replied, pushing the screen door open with his shoulder.

“You study together even though he isn’t in school yet,” you reminded him.

“He wants to be prepared,” Robby said.

“He wants free tutoring,” you corrected.

Robby stepped into the cabin.

“Same difference,” he replied.

You followed him inside as he placed the grocery box on the small kitchen table.

The cabin had not changed much.

The kitchen still occupied one corner of the main room, its cabinets painted the same dull cream they had been for years. The living room held an old plaid couch and two mismatched chairs facing the wall of windows overlooking the lake.

Sunlight spilled across the worn wooden floor.

A hallway beside the kitchen led to the two small bedrooms and the bathroom. Through the living room, the screened porch stretched across the back of the cabin, its door propped open to let in the breeze.

A dark duffel bag sat beside the porch futon.

A pair of work boots had been lined neatly beneath the small table beside it.

Jack’s paperback lay facedown on one of the cushions.

You looked toward the porch.

“He’s sleeping out there?” you asked.

Robby began unloading cans from the grocery box.

“When the weather’s good,” he answered.

“And when it isn’t?” you asked.

Robby nodded toward the faded couch.

“That pulls out,” he explained.

You looked at the cushions.

“That thing has a mattress?” you asked.

“Technically,” Robby replied.

“You invited someone to sleep on that?” you questioned.

“He volunteered,” Robby said.

“Why?” you asked.

Robby set a jar of pasta sauce on the counter.

“He likes the porch,” he answered.

You looked through the screens toward the water.

The futon faced the lake. A standing fan occupied one corner, and several clean work shirts hung over the back of a chair beside the screen door.

It already looked like Jack’s space.

Not temporary. Not as though he had come up for a weekend.

He was living here.

With you.

For the entire summer.

Robby opened another grocery sack.

“You’re doing it again,” he said.

You turned toward him. “Doing what?” 

“Thinking too loudly,” Robby answered.

You picked up a box of cereal.

“I’m wondering why you bought this,” you said.

Robby looked at the brightly colored cartoon printed across the front.

“It was on sale,” he explained.

“You’re twenty-four,” you pointed out.

“I’m saving for medical school,” Robby replied.

“That is not a nutritional defense,” you said.

Before Robby could answer, the sharp strike of a hammer sounded from behind the cabin.

You looked toward the open porch door.

Another strike followed. Then came the scrape of wood against wood.

Robby continued unpacking.

“He’s fixing the railing by the dock,” he explained.

“Jack?” you asked.

Robby looked toward you.

“No, the other man living on our porch,” he replied.

You ignored him and crossed the living room.

The screened porch was several degrees cooler than the rest of the cabin. Lake air moved through the mesh walls, carrying the sound of water against the shore.

You pushed through the outer door and stepped onto the narrow deck.

The hammering stopped. Footsteps sounded below. 

Then Jack came around the side of the cabin.

He was shirtless.

Faded work pants sat low on his hips, one knee streaked with dirt. His dark curls were damp from the heat and flattened slightly where he had pushed his hand through them. A hammer hung loosely from one hand, and his discarded gray T-shirt had been tucked through the back of his waistband.

The summer had already begun settling into his skin, darkening his shoulders and the bridge of his nose.

You had spent most of your first year of college convincing yourself that your crush on Jack Abbot had been a teenage affliction.

It returned before he reached the porch.

Jack looked up.

His steps slowed.

For one quiet second, he simply stared at you. 

Not through you. Not past you toward Robby.

At you.

His eyes moved over your face before dipping briefly toward the rest of you. The look was quick enough to remain polite, but not quick enough to miss.

Something shifted low in your stomach.

Jack stopped at the bottom of the steps. His mouth curved.

“Hey, Robinavitch,” he greeted.

You tightened your fingers around the porch railing.

“Hey, Abbot,” you replied.

Jack rested the hammer against his shoulder.

“When did you get here?” he asked.

“About five minutes ago,” you answered.

Jack glanced toward the open door behind you.

“And Robby already made you unload the car?” he asked.

“He’s very committed to traditional gender roles when boxes are heavy,” you explained.

Robby’s voice carried from inside the cabin.

“I can hear you,” he called.

Jack looked past you.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” he called back.

Robby appeared in the porch doorway.

His gaze moved from you to Jack. Then down to Jack’s bare chest. Then back to you.

Robby closed his eyes.

“No,” he said.

Jack frowned at him. “No what?”

Robby opened his eyes and pointed toward him.

“Put a shirt on,” he ordered.

Jack looked down at himself.

“It’s ninety degrees,” he replied.

“I don’t care,” Robby said.

You folded your arms.

“He’s working outside,” you pointed out.

Robby turned toward you.

“You stay out of this,” he told you.

Jack’s eyebrows lifted.

“She’s been here five minutes,” he observed.

Robby looked between the two of you.

“That is already five minutes too long,” he replied.

You stared at your brother.

“You are being incredibly weird,” you said.

Robby stepped onto the porch.

“I’m preventing an incident,” he explained.

Jack lowered the hammer.

“What incident?” Jack asked.

Robby looked toward you.

“She once walked into a door because you took your shirt off,” Robby answered.

You pointed toward him.

“I was sixteen,” you argued.

Robby folded his arms.

“And the door was visible,” he replied.

Jack’s mouth twitched.

You looked toward him.

“Don’t encourage him,” you warned.

“I haven’t said anything,” Jack replied.

“You’re smiling,” you accused.

Jack held your gaze.

“I’m happy to see you,” he said.

The words came easily. Too easily.

Your pulse stumbled.

Robby looked toward the ceiling of the porch as though requesting patience from a higher power.

Jack glanced toward your suitcase near the front door.

“You need help bringing things in?” he asked.

“I can carry my own bags,” you replied.

Jack stepped onto the first stair.

“I know,” he said.

He passed close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours. You caught the faint scent of lake water, cut wood, and sweat. Jack reached the porch and looked down at you. Up close, he seemed broader than you remembered.

Or maybe you had simply never allowed yourself to notice before.

He nodded toward the cabin.

“Show me which bags are yours,” he said.

Robby made a strangled sound behind you.

Jack looked toward him.

“What?” he asked.

Robby pointed toward Jack’s discarded shirt.

“Put that on before you say another sentence,” he ordered.

Jack pulled it from his waistband.

“You’ve gotten strange,” he observed.

“You’ve gotten shirtless,” Robby replied.

“It’s summer,” Jack pointed out.

“It’s my sister,” Robby countered.

You covered your face with one hand.

Jack stared at Robby. Then his gaze shifted toward you again. His smile returned, quieter this time.

“Glad you’re here, Robinavitch,” he said. 

You lowered your hand.

The lake glittered behind him. The porch screens hummed faintly in the breeze. Somewhere inside, Robby muttered under his breath about regretting the entire arrangement.

You looked at Jack.

“Thanks,” you replied.

You had been there less than ten minutes.

You were already in trouble.

By the end of the afternoon, your clothes had been folded into the narrow dresser in your childhood bedroom, Robby’s textbooks had consumed half the kitchen table, and Jack had repaired another two boards along the dock.

He had also remained shirtless.

Robby had complained three more times.

Jack had ignored him three more times.

Dinner came from a pot of pasta balanced between Robby’s flashcards and a stack of unopened mail their father had left on the counter.

Jack sat across from you, one arm resting along the back of his chair. He had finally put on a faded T-shirt, although the sleeves had been cut away so thoroughly that Robby’s efforts felt largely symbolic.

Robby stabbed his fork into his pasta.

“Grounds starts at five tomorrow,” Robby told Jack.

Jack reached for the parmesan.

“Four-thirty,” Jack corrected. “We’re finishing the back nine before the members come in this weekend.”

You looked toward him.

“You start work at four-thirty in the morning?” you asked.

Jack shook parmesan over his plate.

“I start regretting my choices at four-thirty,” Jack clarified. “Work starts at five.”

Robby pushed one of his textbooks aside to make room for his glass.

“He volunteered for it,” Robby told you.

Jack looked toward him.

“I volunteered for a paycheck,” Jack corrected.

You rested your forearms against the table.

“How long have you been working there?” you asked.

Jack set the parmesan between you.

“Since Monday,” Jack answered. “They bring grounds in early to get everything ready.”

Robby gestured vaguely toward the lake with his fork.

“He’s been coming back here and fixing this place after every shift,” Robby explained.

Jack glanced toward the loose cabinet hinge beside the sink.

“Someone had to,” Jack replied.

Robby pointed his fork toward him.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Robby reminded him.

Jack looked at the anatomy book beside Robby’s elbow.

“You brought homework on vacation,” Jack pointed out.

Robby straightened in his chair.

“I’m not on vacation,” Robby argued. “I’m working.”

Jack leaned back.

“You make drinks beside a lake,” Jack said.

Robby narrowed his eyes.

“You cut grass beside the same lake,” Robby countered.

Jack lifted one shoulder.

“I also fix things,” Jack replied.

You smiled into your glass.

“Is this what the last three days have been like?” you asked.

Jack turned his attention toward you.

“Quiet, mostly,” Jack answered.

Robby leaned back in his chair.

“And now she’s here,” Robby added.

You pointed your fork at him.

“You invited me,” you reminded him.

Robby looked toward Jack.

“I’m beginning to question several of my decisions,” Robby said.

Jack’s mouth curved.

You caught the expression before he lowered his gaze to his plate.

The three of you ate for another moment while the last sunlight stretched across the kitchen floor.

You looked at Jack again.

“What are you doing after summer?” you asked.

Jack’s fork paused against his plate.

Robby’s attention shifted toward him.

Jack set the fork down.

“I leave for basic training in August,” Jack answered.

You stared at him.

“You enlisted?” you asked.

Jack nodded once.

“A few months ago,” Jack replied.

The answer should not have surprised you. Jack had been working since high school, taking whatever jobs he could find while trying to decide how to afford the future he wanted.

Still, the thought of him leaving settled heavily in your chest.

“For how long?” you asked.

Jack leaned back in his chair.

“Basic is a few months,” Jack explained. “After that, it depends where they send me.”

You looked down at your plate.

“And then medical school?” you asked.

Jack rubbed his thumb along the edge of his fork.

“That’s the plan,” Jack answered.

Robby reached for his glass.

“The Army will help pay for it,” Robby explained.

Jack glanced toward him.

“If I survive basic without punching anyone,” Jack added.

Robby took a drink.

“That remains a significant concern,” Robby replied.

You looked back at Jack.

“When were you going to tell me?” you asked.

Jack held your gaze.

“I just did,” Jack answered.

You frowned at him.

“You know what I mean,” you said.

Jack’s expression softened.

“I haven’t seen you since Christmas, Robinavitch,” Jack reminded you.

The quiet way he said your name made it difficult to stay irritated.

You lowered your eyes to your plate.

“Well, now you’re stuck with me all summer,” you said.

Jack watched you for one long beat.

“There are worse things,” Jack replied.

Robby dropped his fork against his plate.

The metal struck the ceramic with a sharp clatter.

You looked toward him.

“What?” you asked.

Robby reached for the fallen fork.

“Nothing,” Robby muttered. “I’m just realizing how long summer is.”

By ten the next morning, you had learned three things about being the country club’s newest beverage-cart girl.

The cart pulled sharply to the left.

The club polo trapped heat like punishment.

And the little white tennis skirt earned significantly better tips than the khaki shorts folded inside your locker.

You had just finished restocking the cooler when the beverage manager handed you a cash box and pointed toward the course.

“Follow the paved path, stay clear of the greens, and check in after the ninth hole,” she instructed. “The grounds crew is still finishing a few areas, so listen if they tell you not to drive somewhere.”

You slid your sunglasses onto your face.

“Understood,” you replied.

Ten minutes later, you turned onto the path beside the fourth fairway and found Jack waiting near a maintenance cart.

His work shirt was already damp at the collar. Dirt marked his forearms, and a shovel rested against one shoulder.

Jack’s gaze found you first.

Then it dropped to the tennis skirt.

The beverage cart veered toward the grass.

You corrected the wheel sharply.

Jack’s mouth curved.

You stopped beside him and folded your arms over the steering wheel.

“Not one word,” you warned.

Jack rested one hand against the roof of the cart.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jack replied.

“You were about to,” you accused.

Jack looked down at the tires.

“You’re driving crooked,” Jack observed.

You tightened your hands around the steering wheel.

“It pulls to the left,” you insisted.

Jack lifted his eyes to yours.

“Maybe you got distracted,” Jack suggested.

You stared at him.

Jack’s smile deepened.

The summer had officially begun.

You reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Do you want one?” you asked.

Jack shifted the shovel against his shoulder.

“Are you offering?” Jack asked.

You held the bottle against your chest.

“You have money,” you pointed out.

Jack rested one forearm against the roof of the cart.

“You’re charging the grounds crew?” Jack asked.

You looked toward the maintenance cart behind him.

“Do I get free rides?” you asked.

Jack glanced at the empty passenger seat.

“Maybe,” Jack replied.

You extended the bottle toward him.

“Then maybe this is free,” you said.

Jack reached for it. His fingers closed around yours instead.

The contact lasted only a second.

It still sent a warm jolt up your arm.

Jack felt it too.

You knew because his eyes lifted sharply to yours.

Neither of you moved.

A groundskeeper shouted Jack’s name from farther down the fairway. Jack released your hand.

“Coming,” Jack called over his shoulder.

You pulled your arm back into the cart. Jack twisted the cap from the bottle.

“Thanks, Robinavitch,” Jack said.

You reached for the steering wheel.

“You owe me,” you told him.

Jack took a drink.

“I’ll think of something,” Jack promised.

You drove away before he could see the effect that had on you.

The cart still pulled to the left.

That was the only reason you nearly clipped the edge of the path.

It had nothing to do with Jack watching you leave.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

By the end of your first week, you had learned the route well enough to drive it without thinking.

You had also learned exactly where Jack’s crew would be working each morning.

He was usually somewhere between the fourth and seventh holes when you made your first round. By the second, he had dirt on his shirt and sweat at his temples. By the third, he was hungry enough to accept whatever sandwich you had managed to steal from the clubhouse kitchen.

You never admitted that you began packing an extra one.

Jack never asked why you always had his favorite.

On Friday afternoon, you found him kneeling beside a sprinkler head near the sixth green.

His sleeves were rolled above his forearms, and the back of his work shirt had darkened beneath the afternoon sun.

You slowed beside him.

Jack looked up at the sound of the engine.

His gaze moved over you slowly enough to make the heat feel worse.

“You’re late,” Jack said.

You stopped the cart beside him.

“You’re not on my schedule,” you reminded him.

Jack sat back on his heels.

“You came through here at one-fifteen yesterday,” Jack said.

You checked the small watch on your wrist.

“It’s one-twenty,” you pointed out.

Jack looked at you.

“Late,” Jack repeated.

You opened the cooler.

“I could keep driving,” you warned.

Jack stood. Water darkened the knees of his work pants, and a smear of soil crossed one side of his jaw.

“You won’t,” Jack said.

You pulled out a bottle of sports drink.

“You sound confident,” you observed.

Jack stepped closer to the cart. His faded work shirt clung slightly across his chest, darkened by the afternoon heat. Dirt streaked his forearms beneath the rolled sleeves. 

“You packed me lunch,” Jack replied.

You glanced toward the wrapped sandwich beside the cash box.

“That could be for anyone,” you argued.

Jack reached past you and picked it up. His arm brushed yours.

“You hate turkey,” Jack said.

You looked at him.

“You remember that?” you asked.

Jack’s expression changed. The teasing softened into something warmer.

“I remember things about you,” Jack answered.

Your hand tightened around the bottle.

For one dangerous second, neither of you looked away.

A golf cart approached along the path behind you.

The man driving it slowed when he saw you. He was young for a club member, probably not much older than Jack, with expensive sunglasses and the kind of confidence that came from never being told no.

“There she is,” the golfer called. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”

You turned toward him.

“I’m making my rounds,” you explained.

The golfer rested one arm across the steering wheel.

“You could make an extra stop at the clubhouse when we finish,” he suggested.

Jack went still beside you.

You had already dealt with three versions of this conversation that morning. You gave the golfer the same polite smile you had given the others.

“I’ll make sure the bar knows you’re coming,” you replied.

The golfer grinned. “I was thinking you could join me,” he clarified.

Jack stepped closer to the beverage cart.

“She’s working,” Jack said.

The golfer looked toward him.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the golfer replied.

Jack folded his arms across his chest. “I noticed.” 

You looked between them.

“I can handle it, Jack,” you told him.

Jack kept his attention on the golfer.

“I know,” Jack replied.

The golfer glanced at the tools scattered beside the sprinkler.

“You should probably get back to the grass,” he told Jack.

Jack’s jaw tightened.

You reached over and placed one hand against his forearm. The muscle shifted beneath your palm. Jack looked down at your hand. Then he looked at you.

“I’m fine,” you assured him.

Jack held your gaze for another beat.

“All right,” Jack said.

You turned back toward the golfer.

“I’m not interested,” you told him.

The golfer lifted both hands from the wheel.

“Worth a try,” he replied.

He drove away.

You watched until his cart disappeared around the bend. Then you looked toward Jack.

“You scared off a paying customer,” you said.

Jack picked up the sandwich.

“He’ll live,” Jack replied.

“You were glaring at him,” you accused.

Jack peeled back the paper around his lunch.

“He was bothering you,” Jack said.

“I was handling it,” you reminded him.

Jack looked at you.

“I know,” Jack repeated.

You folded your arms over the steering wheel.

“You do that for every beverage-cart girl?” you asked.

Jack took another bite of the sandwich.

“Do what?” Jack asked.

You tipped your head toward the disappearing golf cart.

“Scare off anyone who asks her out,” you clarified.

Jack looked down at the sandwich.

“He wasn’t taking the hint,” Jack replied.

You smiled.

“Was that bothering me,” you asked, “or was it bothering you?”

Jack pointed the sandwich toward the path.

“You have other customers,” Jack reminded you.

You started the cart.

“You’re jealous,” you said.

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re Robby’s sister,” Jack replied.

You leaned one elbow against the steering wheel.

“That wasn’t a denial,” you pointed out.

Jack stared at you.

You smiled and pressed the accelerator.

This time, when you drove away, the cart stayed perfectly centered on the path.

By the time you reached the next hole, your pulse still had not settled.

Neither had Jack’s.

You knew because when you glanced back, he was standing exactly where you had left him.

Still holding the sandwich.

Still watching you.

It should have embarrassed you.

Instead, you smiled for the rest of your route.

Over the next few days, the sixth hole quietly became your longest stop.

Jack began appearing beside the path before you reached it, usually with some excuse about needing water or checking the cart’s unreliable front tire. You started keeping an extra sandwich beside the cash box without admitting who it was for.

Neither of you mentioned the golfer again.

You did not have to.

Jack watched every cart that slowed beside you.

You watched for him around every bend.

By Friday, you knew what time his crew reached the back nine.

Jack knew when you made your final round.

Robby knew neither of those things.

You preferred to keep it that way.

That afternoon, you pulled alongside the maintenance cart and found Jack alone, loading tools into the back.

Jack glanced toward the beverage cart.

“You’re almost done,” Jack observed.

You rested your arms across the steering wheel.

“You memorized my schedule?” you asked.

Jack placed a wrench inside the toolbox.

“You drive past me four times a day,” Jack replied.

“That wasn’t my question,” you pointed out.

Jack closed the toolbox and looked at you.

“You’re almost done,” Jack repeated.

You smiled despite yourself.

“In twenty minutes,” you answered.

Jack leaned one hand against the side of your cart.

“Robby closes tonight,” Jack said.

“I know,” you replied.

Jack held your gaze.

“I can take you back,” Jack offered.

You looked down at the cash box and straightened the bills inside it.

“You could leave when your shift ends,” you said.

Jack’s fingers tapped once against the cart. 

“I could,” Jack agreed.

You lifted your eyes to his.

“But you’re going to wait?” you asked.

Jack’s mouth curved.

“Looks that way,” Jack replied.

You pressed your lips together, trying to hide your smile.

“You’ll be waiting twenty minutes,” you warned.

Jack picked up the toolbox.

“I know,” Jack said. “I’ll be out front.”

You pressed the accelerator before your smile could become humiliating.

Twenty minutes later, you stepped through the employee entrance and found Jack waiting beside the Jeep.

He had showered.

That was the first thing you noticed.

His grounds-crew shirt was gone, replaced by a faded gray T-shirt and clean jeans. His dark curls were still damp, drying unevenly in the evening heat.

Jack pushed away from the driver’s door when he saw you.

“Ready?” Jack asked.

You adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

“You cleaned up,” you observed.

Jack glanced down at himself.

“I was covered in dirt,” Jack explained.

You looked at his damp hair.

“You washed your hair,” you pointed out.

Jack opened the passenger door.

“It was also covered in dirt,” Jack replied.

You tried not to smile as you stepped closer.

“Very thorough,” you said.

Jack rested one arm along the top of the open door.

“I take hygiene seriously,” Jack told you.

You climbed into the Jeep and placed your bag at your feet.

“I’m learning so much about you,” you replied.

Jack’s mouth curved.

He closed your door, walked around the hood, and climbed behind the wheel.

The Jeep rolled away from the country club with the windows down and warm evening air moving through the open cabin.

You settled into the passenger seat as Jack turned onto the familiar road toward the cabin.

For several minutes, neither of you said much.

Jack drove one-handed, his wrist loose over the steering wheel.

You tried not to notice his forearm.

You failed.

Jack reached the intersection that led back to the cabin.

Then he drove straight past it.

You looked over your shoulder at the disappearing turn.

“You missed it,” you told him.

Jack kept his attention on the road.

“I know,” Jack replied.

You turned toward him.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

Jack shifted his hand along the steering wheel.

“There’s a carnival at the boardwalk,” Jack explained. “I thought we could get something to eat.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“The carnival?” you repeated.

Jack glanced toward you.

“Unless you’d rather go back and wait for Robby to bring home bar food,” Jack added.

You felt warmth rise into your cheeks.

“The carnival sounds better,” you decided.

Jack’s gaze lingered on your face before returning to the road.

“Good,” Jack said.

You looked through the windshield before he could see your smile deepen.

Neither of you called it a date.

Jack had not asked you on one.

You had not agreed to one.

But he had showered, changed his clothes, waited for your shift to end, and driven straight past the turn home.

It was a date.

And you were already wondering whether he planned to kiss you.

@fantasyreader130 , @stoptheinnocence , @millennialanxieties @gamern00b , @croissant31 , @sunbonesss , @maladptivedaydreaming ,@vicky066,

[afterdarkbydel]

The Nephew Trap

Chapter Two: The Breadstick Incident

Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9, 462

Summary: A day at the pool leaves you and Jack looking a little too much like a family. Later, Carter’s craving for “exceptional breadsticks” somehow brings Jack directly to the restaurant where you’re having a date. Pure coincidence, obviously.

Warnings: Fluff, romantic tension, meddling nine-year-old, mutual pining, jealousy, references to Jack’s prosthetic, Reader goes on a date with someone else, Carter weaponizes breadsticks, Jack Abbot being deeply incapable of hiding his feelings.

Author's Note:  A quick universe note before we begin: Jack is not a widower in this fic. This is an alternate canon created to make his romantic history with Reader work within the story. Thank you for all the love on Chapter One! I hope you enjoy The Breadstick Incident.

Xoxo, Del

| Prologue | Chpt. 1 |

Morning settled quietly over Robby’s house.

You woke before Carter, slipped out of the guest room, and padded downstairs in sleep shorts and an old T-shirt. Pale sunlight stretched across the kitchen floor, and for the first time since you had arrived, the house was completely still.

You filled the coffee maker, pressed the button, and leaned against the counter while it sputtered to life.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder and found Jack standing in the kitchen doorway.

His gray hair was flattened on one side, his glasses sat low on his nose, and a dark T-shirt hung loosely over a pair of sweatpants.

You looked him over.

“You look comfortable,” you said.

Jack dragged one hand through his hair as he entered the kitchen.

“That sounded judgmental,” he replied.

You reached into the cabinet and pulled out two mugs.

“It was observational,” you corrected.

Jack’s mouth curved as he stopped beside the island.

“I’m glad you’re learning,” he said.

You poured the first mug and pulled the creamer from the refrigerator.

Jack watched you add it to your coffee.

“So I remembered correctly,” he observed.

You glanced at the bottle before looking back at him. “You seem very proud of yourself.”

Jack reached for the second mug and slid it toward you.

“I value accuracy,” he replied.

You held the coffee pot above his cup.

“Still black?” you asked.

Jack nodded.

“Still,” he confirmed.

You filled his mug and returned the pot to the machine.

“That remains deeply unpleasant,” you said.

Jack lifted the coffee and took a careful sip. “It’s coffee.”

You carried your mug toward the island.

“It’s punishment,” you corrected.

Jack followed and took the stool beside yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence was not awkward. It was simply noticeable without Carter filling it with questions, schemes, or increasingly suspicious observations.

Jack rested both hands around his mug.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.

You tucked one leg beneath you on the stool.

“Better than expected,” you answered. “How was the futon?”

Jack stared into his coffee.

“Hostile,” he said.

A laugh slipped out of you.

“You said you’d slept in worse places,” you reminded him.

Jack turned his head toward you.

“I have,” he replied. “That doesn’t make the futon good.”

You smiled into your mug.

“You once slept three hours in a lawn chair with a paperback over your face,” you reminded him.

Jack’s brows lifted.

“That was different,” he said.

You leaned one elbow against the island. “How?”

Jack took another sip of coffee. “I was comfortable.”

You stared at him. “Your neck was bent at a ninety-degree angle.”

Jack lowered the mug. “I was twenty.”

You grinned. “You also had the book stuck to your forehead when you woke up.”

Jack’s mouth tightened as he tried not to smile. “It was hot.”

You laughed softly. “You had the words printed across your face.”

Jack looked at you over the rim of his mug. “And you still took a picture.”

Your smile widened. “Of course I did.”

Jack shook his head. “You were a menace.”

You lifted your mug toward him. “You liked me.”

Jack held your gaze for a beat.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”

The photograph from the night before slipped into your thoughts.

Jack with dark hair. Your head resting on his shoulder. Every letter you had written still sitting somewhere inside his house.

You traced one finger around the edge of your mug.

“You really kept all of them?” you asked.

Jack lowered his coffee. The amusement softened out of his face.

“Yeah,” he answered.

You looked down at the pale swirl of cream inside your cup. “Even the terrible ones?”

Jack leaned his forearms against the island.

“Especially the terrible ones,” he replied.

You looked back at him. “Why?”

Jack held your gaze. His lips parted, but a door opened down the hallway before he could answer.

Small footsteps shuffled toward the kitchen.

Carter appeared in the doorway with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair sticking up in several directions.

He stopped when he saw the two of you sitting together.

Then he smiled. You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t,” you warned.

Carter’s smile disappeared with suspicious speed.

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied.

Jack lifted his mug toward him.

“You woke up,” he pointed out. “That’s something.”

Carter crossed the kitchen and climbed onto the empty stool beside you.

“What were you talking about?” he asked.

You lifted your mug toward Jack.

“The time Uncle Jack fell asleep in a lawn chair with a book over his face,” you answered.

Carter’s face lit with recognition. “I saw that picture.”

Jack closed his eyes. “Of course you did.”

Carter pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “It was in the box in the garage.”

You smiled into your coffee. “It’s a good picture.”

Jack opened his eyes and looked at you. “You let me sleep like that.”

You shrugged. “You looked tired.”

Carter looked between you. “How long was he asleep?”

“Three hours,” you answered.

“It was not three hours,” Jack argued.

You turned toward Carter. “He missed dinner.”

Carter’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t wake him up?”

You took another sip of coffee. “I put a towel over his legs.”

Jack gave Carter a solemn look. “That was the extent of her compassion.”

You bumped your shoulder against his. “You survived.”

Jack’s gaze lingered on you. “Barely.”

You glanced toward your nephew. “What do you want for breakfast, bud?”

Carter pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

“Pancakes,” he answered.

Jack looked toward the pantry.

“Do we have pancake mix?” he asked.

Carter nodded.

“Dad keeps it above the cereal,” he explained.

You started to slide off the stool, but Jack stood before you could.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

Jack crossed to the cabinet and reached above the cereal boxes.

You watched him pull down the box.

“You know how to make pancakes?” you asked.

Jack glanced back at you.

“I’m a grown man,” he replied.

You lifted your mug. “That wasn’t an answer.”

Jack set the box on the counter. “I can follow directions.”

Carter leaned forward on the island.

“Can we go to the pool today?” he asked.

You glanced toward the bright sunlight filling the kitchen.

“That could be fun,” you answered.

Carter turned toward Jack. “Will you come too?”

Jack opened the box and studied the instructions.

“I thought that was implied,” he replied.

Carter’s face brightened. “All three of us?”

You looked across the kitchen at Jack. Jack met your eyes over the top of the box.

“Looks like it,” you said.

Carter threw off the blanket and slid from his stool.

“I’m getting my swim stuff,” he announced as he hurried toward the hallway.

You watched him disappear.

“He’s very invested in all three of us doing everything together,” you observed.

Jack pulled a mixing bowl from the cabinet.

“He’s subtle about it,” he replied.

You laughed as you carried your coffee toward the counter. “Painfully.”

Jack measured the pancake mix into the bowl.

“Pool, then your date tonight?” he asked, keeping his attention on the box.

You leaned your hip against the counter beside him. “That’s the plan.”

Jack added water to the bowl. “What time?”

You watched him begin stirring the batter. “Seven.”

Jack nodded once. “You know this guy well?”

A smile tugged at your mouth. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

Jack glanced at you over the top of his glasses. “I’m allowed to be curious.”

You took a sip of coffee. “About my date?”

Jack returned his attention to the bowl. “About your evening.”

You smiled slowly. “That sounded careful.”

Jack kept stirring. “It was meant to.”

Carter’s footsteps thundered down the hallway before you could push any further. He returned carrying his swim trunks, goggles, and one flipper. You looked down at the collection in his arms.

“Where is the other flipper?” you asked.

Carter glanced at the single flipper. “I don’t know.”

Jack set the whisk down.

“We haven’t even finished breakfast,” he said. “How have we already lost equipment?”

Carter looked toward the hallway. “It might be in my room.”

You pointed after him with your mug. “Go find it before breakfast.”

Carter turned and hurried away again.

Jack watched him disappear. Then he looked back at you.

“Seven?” he asked.

You smiled into your coffee. “Still curious?”

Jack picked up the whisk again. “Apparently.”

By the time you reached the pool, Jack had been turned into a pack mule.

He carried the cooler in one hand and a canvas bag stuffed with towels in the other. Carter’s goggles dangled from two fingers, and the inflatable basketball had been wedged beneath his arm. You walked beside him carrying the sunscreen. Jack glanced down at the bottle in your hand.

“Glad we divided the responsibilities evenly,” he said.

You held the sunscreen up between two fingers.

“This is essential equipment,” you replied.

Jack adjusted the cooler against his leg. “I’m carrying everything we own.”

You looked him over. “You seem capable.”

Jack caught the way your gaze moved over him. “Careful, Robinavitch.”

You smiled as you followed Carter through the gate. “Just appreciating the help, Abbot.”

Jack watched you walk ahead of him.

“That didn’t sound like appreciation,” he muttered.

Carter chose a cluster of chairs near the shallow end and immediately dropped his bag onto the concrete.

“I’m going diving,” he announced.

You caught the back of his shirt before he could escape.

“You’re putting on sunscreen first,” you told him.

Carter’s shoulders slumped. “I put it on at home."

Jack deposited the cooler beside one of the chairs.

“That was almost two hours ago,” he reminded him.

Carter looked between the two of you. “You both sound like Dad.”

Jack lowered himself onto the edge of a chair. “That is the most hurtful thing you’ve said to me all weekend.”

You squeezed sunscreen into your palm. “Stand still, bud.”

Carter reluctantly turned his back to you.

While you rubbed sunscreen over his shoulders, Jack removed his sunglasses and placed them carefully inside the cooler bag’s front pocket. Then he caught the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. You looked up at exactly the wrong moment.

The years had changed him, but not nearly enough to make looking harmless. His shoulders were still broad. His chest was still solid, his body carrying the natural strength of someone who used it rather than sculpted it for display.

You dropped the sunscreen bottle. It struck the concrete beside your foot.

Jack looked toward it. “You okay?”

You bent quickly and picked it up. “Slippery.”

Jack glanced at the dry bottle in your hand. “Right.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Put your sunscreen on.”

Jack’s mouth twitched. “Yes, ma’am.”

You finished with Carter before straightening and slipping your cover-up over your head.

Jack had just opened the cooler. His hand stopped inside it.

You pretended not to notice his gaze catch on you.

Jack cleared his throat and looked deeper into the cooler as though something critically important had happened among the water bottles.

“We have water,” he announced.

You placed your cover-up over the back of the chair. “Excellent work.”

Jack pulled out one bottle. “And juice.”

You nodded once. “Remarkable.”

Carter pushed his goggles over his eyes and looked between you. “Why are you both acting weird?”

Jack twisted the cap off the water bottle.

“Heat,” he answered.

You nodded gravely. “Very dangerous.”

Carter studied you for another second before apparently deciding the pool was more interesting than either of you.

“Come watch me dive,” he ordered.

Jack pointed toward the walkway. “No running.”

Carter immediately slowed to an exaggerated march.

“I’m not running,” he replied.

“You were about to,” Jack said.

Carter continued his dramatic march toward the deep end. “You can’t prove that.”

Jack followed him. “I saw you.”

Carter glanced over his shoulder. “That’s not proof.”

You fell into step beside Jack. “He might have a future in law."

Jack looked down at you. “He has a future in prison.”

Carter climbed onto the diving board and turned to face you both.

“Watch this!” he called.

You raised one hand. “We’re watching.”

Carter bounced twice before jumping, tucking his knees against his chest and hitting the water with an enormous splash. He surfaced several feet away.

“Did you see it?” he asked.

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “No. Do it again.”

Carter’s mouth dropped open. “You were looking right at me!”

Jack shrugged. “I blinked.”

Carter scrambled toward the ladder. “You can’t blink that long.”

You leaned closer to Jack. “That was cruel.”

Jack watched Carter climb from the pool. “He needs the exercise.”

Carter performed the same dive three more times before deciding he needed a new audience activity. He swam toward the edge and pushed his goggles onto his forehead.

“Race me,” he told Jack.

Jack looked down at him. “That seems unfair.”

Carter gripped the edge. “Because you’re old?”

You pressed your lips together. Jack slowly turned his head toward you.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied.

Jack looked back at Carter. “I meant unfair to you.”

Carter pushed away from the wall. “You’re scared.”

Jack stepped into the pool. “I’m reconsidering every nice thing I’ve ever done for you.”

Carter paddled toward the lane markers. “First one to the other side and back wins.”

You sat on the edge and lowered your feet into the water. “Try not to humiliate him.”

Jack looked over his shoulder. “Which one?”

You smiled sweetly. “Dealer’s choice.”

Carter and Jack lined up against the wall.

You lifted one hand. “Ready?”

Carter lowered his goggles. “Ready.”

Jack braced one foot against the wall. “Whenever you are.”

You dropped your hand. “Go!”

They launched forward. Jack stayed beside him for the first few strokes before gradually pulling ahead. He touched the opposite wall, turned smoothly, and started back while Carter scrambled into his own turn behind him. Jack reached your side of the pool first and caught the edge beside your knee. Carter arrived several seconds later, slapping one hand against the wall before surfacing with a gasp.

“That didn’t count,” he declared.

Jack wiped water from his eyes. “You lost by half the pool."

Carter pushed his goggles onto his forehead. “You have a secret robot foot.”

Jack stared at him.

“I have a prosthetic,” he corrected. “It does not make me swim faster.”

You slipped into the pool and moved to Carter’s side.

“Can you prove that?” you asked.

Jack turned toward you. “You’re encouraging him.”

You studied Jack’s prosthetic beneath the rippling water. “I’m asking important scientific questions.”

Carter pointed toward Jack’s leg. “It could have a motor.”

Jack looked down at it. “Where would I put the batteries?”

Carter considered the question. “In your pocket,” he answered.

Jack spread both hands. “I’m wearing swim trunks.”

Carter nodded with complete confidence. “A waterproof pocket.”

A laugh escaped you. Jack looked between the two of you. “This is ridiculous.”

You shifted closer to Carter. “We may need to inspect the equipment.”

Jack immediately backed through the water. “You’re not inspecting anything.”

Carter grinned. “That sounds suspicious.”

Jack pointed toward him. “You lost the race.”

Carter lifted his chin. “Because of the robot foot.”

You held out your hand. “I think we have grounds for an appeal.”

Carter slapped his palm against yours.

Jack stared at your joined hands. “I’m surrounded by criminals.”

Carter’s attention shifted toward the basketball hoop at the other end of the pool.

“Let’s play basketball,” he suggested.

Jack glanced at the floating hoop. “Fine.”

Carter retrieved the ball and tucked it against his chest.

“Me and Auntie against Uncle Jack,” he announced.

Jack lifted his eyebrows. “Two against one?”

You moved decisively to Carter’s side. “You have the robot foot.”

Jack closed his eyes. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

Carter smiled. “Probably not.”

Jack opened his eyes and pointed between you. “No holding. No scratching. No trying to drown me.”

You took the ball from Carter. “You take all the fun out of sports.”

Jack moved backward toward the hoop. “I know how both of you operate.”

Carter leaned closer to you. “I’ll distract him,” he whispered.

Jack stopped. “I can hear you.”

Carter lowered his voice further. “No, you can’t.”

Jack rubbed one hand over his face. “This is going to be a disaster.”

It was. Carter attached himself to Jack’s right arm while you slipped around his other side with the ball. Jack tried to free himself without sending Carter underwater, giving you enough time to shoot. The ball struck the rim and bounced back toward Jack. Jack caught it one-handed.

“That was holding,” he said.

Carter continued hanging from his arm. “No, it wasn’t.”

Jack looked down at him. “You are currently holding me.”

Carter released him. “Not anymore.”

You snatched the ball from Jack’s hand and swam away.

Jack stared after you. “That was theft.”

You cradled the ball against your chest. “You were distracted.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “By the child physically restraining me.”

Carter swam to your side. “That sounds like an excuse.”

Jack pushed his wet hair away from his forehead. “You two deserve each other.”

You passed the ball to Carter. “Thank you.”

Carter threw it toward the hoop. The ball bounced against the rim before dropping through. Carter shouted and threw both arms into the air. You caught him around the middle and lifted him partly out of the water.

“That’s my nephew!” you cheered.

Carter pumped one fist. “We’re winning!”

Jack looked toward the nonexistent scoreboard. “You have one point.”

You lowered Carter into the water. “And you have zero.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.”

You recognized the expression immediately. Carter edged closer to you.

“What does that face mean?” he whispered.

You kept your eyes on Jack. “It means we made a mistake.”

Jack took the ball from beneath the hoop. “You have.”

The next several minutes were ruthless. Jack blocked Carter’s first attempt, stole the ball from you, and scored before either of you reached the other end. When Carter tried to hang from him again, Jack lifted him beneath the arms and deposited him several feet away.

“You can’t move players,” Carter protested.

Jack caught the returning ball. “I just did.”

You lunged for it. Jack moved the ball out of reach.

“You’re cheating,” you accused.

Jack held it above his head. “I’m taller.”

You frowned. “That’s not a skill.”

Jack shrugged a shoulder. “It’s working.”

You splashed water directly into his face.

Jack recoiled and brought one hand to his eyes. “That was a foul.”

You stole the ball from his other hand. “Prove it.”

Jack glared at you. “It was water in my eyes.”

Carter swam beside you. “It’s a pool.”

Jack wiped his face. “That doesn’t make it legal.”

You backed toward the hoop. “Are you going to complain or defend?”

Jack began moving toward you. “I can do both.”

You twisted away, but Jack caught you around the waist before you could reach the hoop.

Your back met his chest.

His arm settled firmly across your middle, warm even beneath the cool water. The laughter caught somewhere inside your throat. For one suspended second, neither of you moved. Jack’s breath touched your temple.

“Got you,” he said quietly.

Your fingers curled around his forearm. “That feels like holding.”

Jack loosened his grip, but he did not release you immediately.

“You were cheating,” he murmured.

You turned your head enough to catch the edge of his profile. “You were losing.”

A wave of water hit both of you. Jack released you as Carter surfaced beside you.

“Are we still playing?” Carter asked.

Jack blinked and cleared his throat. “Apparently.”

You passed the ball directly to Carter. Carter shot while Jack was still recovering. The ball sailed neatly through the hoop. You and Carter erupted.

Jack stared at the basket. “That shouldn’t count.”

You slapped your palm against Carter’s. “It counts twice.”

“Why would it count twice?” Jack demanded.

Carter grinned. “Because you were holding her.”

Jack looked at you as though this were somehow your fault.

You shook your head. “He has eyes.”

Jack pointed toward the stairs. “Both of you. Out of the pool.”

Carter laughed as he swam away. “You’re not the boss.”

Jack followed him. “I have delegated authority.”

You trailed behind them. “Not at the pool.”

Jack looked over his shoulder. “Especially at the pool.”

By the time the three of you returned to the chairs, Carter was exhausted, and Jack had accepted that he had officially lost under whatever rules you and Carter had invented. Carter dropped onto the end of one lounger and reached for a towel.

“We won,” he announced.

Jack handed him the towel. “You committed multiple crimes.”

Carter dried his face. “Still won.”

You sank onto the neighboring chair. “Scoreboard, Abbot.”

Jack picked up his water bottle. “There was no scoreboard.”

“Then you can’t prove we lost,” you replied.

Jack stared at you. “I watched it happen.”

You smiled. “That isn’t proof.”

Carter looked toward you with open admiration. “That’s what I said earlier.”

Jack lowered himself onto the chair between you and Carter. “This alliance needs to end.”

An older woman passed with a small girl walking beside her. She slowed when Carter leaned across Jack to steal a bottle of juice from the cooler. She smiled warmly at the three of you.

“You have a beautiful family,” she said.

You went still. Jack’s hand stopped halfway to his water bottle.

“Thank you,” Carter answered brightly.

The woman continued toward the shallow end before either adult managed to speak. Silence settled over the chairs. You looked toward Jack. Jack stared straight ahead. Carter pushed the straw into his juice pouch.

“She thought we were a family,” he observed.

Jack finally picked up his water. “We heard her.”

Carter took a drink. “She said we were beautiful.”

You reached for your towel. “She was being polite.”

Carter looked at Jack. “She didn’t have to say anything.”

Jack unscrewed the cap from his bottle with unnecessary focus. “Drink your juice, Carter.”

Carter leaned back against the chair, entirely too pleased with himself.

You glanced toward Jack again. His sunglasses hid his eyes now, but the faint color climbing the side of his neck was much harder to conceal. You rubbed the towel over your arms.

“She probably says that to everyone,” you said.

Jack took a long drink. “Probably.”

Carter looked between you. “You’re both being weird again.”

Jack lowered the bottle. “Heat,” he replied.

You nodded solemnly. “Very dangerous.”

The three of you smelled like chlorine by the time you made it back to the house.

Carter abandoned his pool bag just inside the door and started toward the hallway. Jack caught the strap before it hit the floor.

“Absolutely not,” Jack said.

Carter turned around. “What?”

Jack lifted the dripping bag. “You are not leaving this here.”

Carter looked toward you for support. You removed your sunglasses and pushed them onto the top of your head.

“He’s right,” you told him. “Take it to the laundry room.”

Carter’s mouth pulled into a pout. “You’re both bossy.”

Jack handed the bag back to him. “You had plenty of opportunities to choose less responsible adults.”

Carter dragged the bag toward the laundry room. “I didn’t get to choose.”

Jack watched him go. “That explains a lot.”

You laughed and carried the empty water bottles toward the kitchen. Jack followed with the cooler.

“Go get ready,” he said as he placed it beside the sink. “I’ll deal with this.”

You glanced toward the clock above the stove. “I have time.”

Jack opened the cooler and began pulling out the remaining drinks. “You also have pool hair.”

You touched the damp strands near your neck. “Are you saying I don’t look good?”

Jack’s hand paused inside the cooler. You waited. Jack slowly turned his head toward you.

“I’m saying you have somewhere to be,” he answered carefully.

You smiled. “That was not the question.”

Jack looked back into the cooler. “Go shower, Robinavitch.”

You laughed as you headed for the hallway. “Coward.”

Jack pulled out a melting ice pack. “Correct.”

By the time you came back downstairs to retrieve your purse, freshly showered and wrapped in a robe, Carter was lying across the living-room couch with his arms folded. You stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked.

Carter looked toward you. “You’re leaving.”

You crossed the room and sat beside his legs. “For a few hours,” you reminded him.

Carter shifted farther into the cushions. “We were supposed to hang out.”

“We spent the entire day together,” you reminded him.

Carter frowned. “That was before.”

You lifted his feet and placed them across your lap. “Before what?”

Carter frowned at the television. “Before you had to go somewhere.”

You rubbed one hand over his shin. “You’re going to be here with Uncle Jack.”

Carter looked toward the kitchen, where Jack was rinsing the cooler in the sink. “That’s not all three of us.”

Something pinched softly inside your chest. You squeezed Carter’s ankle. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Carter remained unconvinced. “How late?”

“I don’t know yet,” you answered.

He studied your face. “Where are you going?”

You glanced toward the kitchen. Jack had his back to you, one hand braced against the counter while the faucet ran.

“Bellini’s,” you answered.

Carter’s pout eased. “The Italian place?”

You nodded. “The one downtown.”

Carter sat up. “The one with the breadsticks?”

You laughed. “Yes, the one with the breadsticks.”

Carter hugged the cushion against his stomach. “Can you bring me some?”

You rose from the couch. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Carter followed you toward the stairs. “And dessert?”

“You’re not coming upstairs,” you told him.

Carter’s brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “You’re following me.”

“I’m going to my room,” Carter answered.

You stopped. “Your room is downstairs.”

Carter stopped at the first step.

Jack leaned against the kitchen doorway. “She’s got you there.”

Carter looked back at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Jack dried his hands and shrugged.

You started up the stairs. “Stay down here, bud.”

Carter watched you disappear around the landing before moving to the living room. Jack stood near the kitchen island, sorting through the takeout menus Robby kept shoved into one of the drawers. Carter sat on the couch with his knees pulled up beneath him.

“Can we go to Bellini’s?” Carter asked.

Jack looked over. “Why?”

Carter shrugged. “I like the breadsticks.”

Jack studied him. “You’ve been there?”

Carter nodded. “With Dad. They have really good breadsticks.”

 He paused, then added, “And cheese pizza.”

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly. “You are making a very passionate case for bread and cheese.”

Carter lifted one shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling, then back at him. “Maybe.”

Carter brightened. “Really?”

Jack pointed one finger at him. “I said maybe.”

Carter settled back into the couch, visibly pleased with the progress he had made. Jack returned his attention to the menus.

“You’re being weird,” he said.

Carter picked up the remote. “I’m being hungry.”

Before Jack could answer, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Carter turned first. You came down with your purse over one shoulder, your phone in your hand, and your shoes clicking softly against the floor. Carter’s face lit up.

“You look really pretty, Auntie,” he said.

Your expression softened. “Thank you, bud.”

Jack looked up. For one quiet second, he forgot what he was doing. His hand remained pressed against the open drawer, one menu caught beneath his fingers. The dress fit you in a way that made looking away feel strangely difficult. Your makeup was finished, your earrings caught the light when you moved, and you looked entirely too good to be leaving with someone else. You glanced toward him. Jack lowered his gaze to the menu. Then immediately looked back at you.

You adjusted the strap of your purse. “Everything okay?”

Jack cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Carter watched him with open interest. You crossed the room and bent to kiss the top of Carter’s head.

“I’ll be back later,” you told him.

Carter looked up at you. “Bring back dessert.”

You straightened. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Carter grinned, satisfied. Jack closed the drawer and carried the menus into the living room while you adjusted your purse and started toward the door.

Carter lifted one hand. “Bye, Auntie.”

You reached for the doorknob.

“Hey, Robinavitch,” Jack called from the living room.

You paused and looked over your shoulder. Jack stood beside the couch, one hand resting on the back cushion. This time, he let himself look at you without pretending otherwise. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“You still got it,” he said.

The words landed low and warm beneath your ribs. You rolled your eyes before either of them could see it. “Devastatingly romantic, Abbot.”

Jack’s smile deepened. “I wasn’t trying to be romantic.”

“Good,” you replied as you opened the door. “Because you failed.”

Carter looked up at Jack from the couch.

“I thought it sounded romantic,” he said.

Jack glanced down at him. Carter held up one hand. Jack hesitated for only a second before slapping his palm against Carter’s.

You stared at them from the doorway. “Really?”

Carter grinned. “It was romantic.”

You shook your head as you stepped onto the porch. “Goodnight, boys.”

Carter waved from the couch. “Bye, Auntie.”

Jack’s expression softened. “Have fun.”

You looked back at him. “I’ll try.” You closed the door behind you.

Carter waited until your footsteps faded down the walkway. Then he looked up at Jack. “So Bellini’s?”

Jack kept his eyes on the closed door for another second.

“You are really committed to this,” he said.

Carter nodded. “The breadsticks are really good.”

Jack studied him. “You’ve mentioned.”

Carter leaned forward on the couch. “And the cheese pizza.”

Jack sighed and looked down at the T-shirt he had worn home from the pool. “Let me clean up first.”

Carter’s face brightened. “So that’s a yes?”

Jack pointed toward him. “That is a ‘go put your shoes on while I shower.’”

Carter jumped from the couch. “That sounds like a yes.”

Jack watched him hurry toward the hallway. “It sounded like instructions.”

Carter called back from around the corner. “I’m getting my shoes!”

Jack glanced once more toward the front door. Then he rubbed one hand over his face and headed upstairs. “This better be exceptional pizza.”

Bellini’s was warm, busy, and louder than you expected for a Saturday night.

The dining room carried the low hum of conversation beneath soft music, punctuated by silverware against plates and the occasional burst of laughter from the bar. Strings of small lights glowed above the exposed brick walls, making the restaurant feel intimate without trying too hard. David had arrived before you and was already waiting near the host stand when you walked in. He smiled as soon as he saw you.

“You look beautiful,” David said.

You adjusted the strap of your purse and returned the smile.

“Thank you,” you replied. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

David glanced down at his button-down shirt.

“I wore the one without a hospital logo,” he said.

You nodded approvingly. “A bold choice.”

The host led you toward a booth near the center of the dining room. David waited for you to slide in before taking the seat across from you.

So far, there was nothing wrong with him. That was almost the problem. David was kind. He was easy to talk to. He asked questions and listened to the answers instead of waiting for his turn to speak. He had a pleasant smile, a stable job, and apparently no secret history involving your brother, a summer twenty years ago, or a box of letters hidden inside his house.

It should have been relaxing. Instead, you kept thinking about Jack standing beside Robby’s couch. You still got it. You reached for your water. David glanced up from the menu.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, but my nephew seemed very invested in the breadsticks.”

David smiled. “Smart kid.”

A server appeared beside the table carrying a basket lined with white paper.

“These are dangerous,” she warned as she placed it between you.

David reached for one. “I’m willing to take the risk.”

You laughed and tore a piece from another.

“I promised to bring some home,” you explained. “So I’m going to need a second basket before we leave.”

David lifted his eyebrows. “Already making demands?”

“My nephew is nine,” you said. “His disappointment can be devastating.”

“I have nieces,” David replied. “I understand.”

The conversation moved easily from there.

David told you about a scheduling disaster involving three departments reserving the same conference room. You told him about Robby leaving you in charge of Carter for the weekend and conveniently failing to mention that Jack would be there too. David paused with his glass halfway to his mouth.

“Jack?” he asked.

You reached for another piece of breadstick. “Old family friend.”

The description felt technically accurate and completely inadequate.

David took a drink before setting the glass down. “The uncle your nephew kept mentioning at work?”

You looked at him. “Carter mentioned him to you?”

David smiled. “When I stopped by the unit last week, he was waiting for your brother. He gave me a detailed ranking of every adult in his life.”

You leaned back against the booth. “Should I ask where I placed?”

David shook his head. “You were first.”

You smiled. “That’s correct.”

David reached for another breadstick. “Uncle Jack was a very close second.”

You exhaled a laugh. “That sounds right.”

David studied you for a moment. “He seems important to him.”

“He is,” you replied.

The answer came without hesitation. David nodded, but something thoughtful passed over his expression before he looked down at the menu again. The server returned to take your orders. David chose chicken parmesan. You ordered pasta and asked for an extra basket of breadsticks to take home.

When the server walked away, David rested his forearms against the edge of the table.

“So your brother left you with his son and Uncle Jack for the weekend?”

You smiled. “Carter arranged the Uncle Jack part.”

David’s eyebrows rose. “He arranged it?”

You tore off another piece of breadstick. “He’s nine and apparently developing a dangerous interest in logistics.”

David laughed. “Should I be worried?”

You looked across the table at him. “About Carter?”

David nodded. “He sounds formidable.”

You reached for your water. “Only when he wants something.”

The conversation moved on, but it never quite found the rhythm it had before. David was still easy company. You still enjoyed talking to him. But there was a carefulness now, a quiet awareness sitting between you that neither of you named. You were telling him about a ridiculous argument you and Robby had once had over a family recipe when a familiar voice carried across the dining room.

“Auntie!”

Your eyes closed. Across the table, David stopped with his fork suspended above his plate.

You slowly turned your head.

Carter stood several tables away, his entire face glowing with a level of surprise no child had ever performed convincingly. Jack stood behind him. He had changed into clean jeans and a dark button-down with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. One hand rested firmly on Carter’s shoulder. Jack looked directly at you. Mortification spread across his face.

Carter lifted one hand and waved with enormous enthusiasm.

“Auntie! Hi!” he called. “I didn’t know you were here!”

Jack closed his eyes. You stared at your nephew. David looked from Carter to Jack, then back to you. You did not take your eyes off Carter. Carter slipped free of Jack’s hand and hurried toward the table. Jack caught the back of his shirt after two steps.

“No,” Jack said firmly.

Carter looked over his shoulder. “I’m saying hi.”

Jack shook his head. “You said hi.”

Carter frowned. “She might not have heard me.”

“The entire restaurant heard you,” Jack replied.

Several people at nearby tables were now openly watching. Carter smiled at them. Jack tightened his grip on the back of Carter’s shirt and gave you a helpless look across the room. You knew that look. I swear I did not know.

Carter twisted in Jack’s hold. “Can I go hug her?”

Jack stared down at him. “You can sit at our table and reconsider your choices.”

Carter pointed toward you. “But Auntie’s right there.”

Jack looked toward your table again. “Yes,” he said. “I am painfully aware.”

David pressed his lips together, but you caught the beginning of a smile. Carter ducked beneath Jack’s hand and made it three more steps before Jack caught him around the middle.

“Carter,” Jack warned.

Carter’s legs continued moving uselessly above the floor. “I just want to say hi.”

You finally lifted one hand. “Let him come over before you dislocate something.”

Jack looked at you. “I am trying to remove him.”

“You’re carrying him through a restaurant,” you replied.

Carter grinned as Jack reluctantly set him down. The second his shoes touched the floor, Carter hurried toward you.

“Auntie,” he said brightly as he reached the booth. “What a surprise.”

You looked at him. “Is it?”

Carter’s smile faltered. “A little?”

Jack arrived behind him and shoved both hands into his pockets.

“Hi,” he said.

You held his gaze. “Hi.”

Jack glanced toward David. Then back at you. “For the record,” he said carefully, “I was promised exceptional breadsticks.”

Carter nodded. “They are exceptional.”

You looked down at your nephew. “You knew exactly where I was.” Carter’s mouth opened.

Jack pointed toward him. “Think very carefully before you answer.”

Carter closed his mouth again. David set his fork beside his plate.

“You must be Uncle Jack,” he said.

Jack’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly before he held out one hand.

“Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself.

David shook it. “David Mercer.”

Jack nodded once. “Nice to meet you.”

The words were polite. His grip, you suspected, was equally polite. Carter looked between the two men.

“David is the date,” he explained.

You closed your eyes. “Thank you, Carter.”

David’s smile returned.

Carter turned toward Jack. “Uncle Jack used to be Auntie’s boyfriend.”

Your eyes opened. “No, he didn’t.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jack replied at the same time.

David looked between you. Carter brightened. “See?”

You stared at Jack. “You are not helping.”

Jack rubbed one hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”

David leaned back in the booth. “This is significantly more interesting than the conference-room story.”

Jack looked toward him. “I am so sorry.”

David smiled. “I’m not.”

Carter rested both hands on the edge of the table. “They kissed too.”

Jack placed one hand over Carter’s face. “That’s enough.”

Carter’s voice came muffled beneath his palm. “I’m just explaining.”

Jack looked down at him. “You have explained nothing useful.”

You glanced around at the neighboring tables. Several people were still listening.

“Take him to your table,” you told Jack.

Jack nodded immediately. “That was the plan.”

Carter pulled Jack’s hand away from his mouth. “Can Auntie sit with us?”

“No,” you and Jack answered together.

David laughed. Carter frowned. “Why not?”

Jack placed both hands on Carter’s shoulders and turned him around. “Because she is on a date.”

Carter looked back at you. “Still?”

Jack began steering him away. “Keep walking.”

Carter twisted enough to call over his shoulder. “We’re over there!”

You watched Jack guide him between the tables. Jack glanced back once. He mouthed, I’m sorry. You shook your head, but you could not stop the smile pulling at your mouth. Across from you, David picked up his water.

“So,” he said, “I shouldn’t be worried?”

You looked toward the booth where Carter was already pointing excitedly at something on the menu while Jack stared at him with the exhausted expression of a man reconsidering every decision that had led him there. Then Jack looked up. His eyes found yours from across the restaurant. You turned back toward David.

“It’s complicated,” you admitted.

David’s expression softened. Not offended. Not surprised, either. Just understanding. He glanced once toward Jack’s table before returning his attention to you.

“I had a feeling,” David said.

You looked down at your hands. “I’m sorry.”

David shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You gave him a small, apologetic smile. “I went on a date with you while apparently being emotionally complicated.”

David leaned back against the booth. “That describes most adults.”

A laugh escaped you. David smiled, then looked toward Jack again.

“He matters to you,” he said.

You followed his gaze before you could stop yourself. Jack was listening to Carter explain something with both hands, but his attention kept drifting toward your table.

“He’s been part of my life for a long time,” you answered.

David nodded slowly. “That sounds complicated.”

“It is,” you admitted.

David reached for his water. “For what it’s worth, I’ve had a good time.”

“So have I,” you told him honestly.

David smiled faintly. “But there isn’t any chemistry.”

You exhaled in relief. “No. There isn’t.”

David’s mouth curved. “Good.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Good?”

David laughed. “I was trying to find a polite way to say it.”

You pressed one hand to your chest. “And here I was preparing to feel terrible.”

“You can still feel a little terrible,” David offered. “For my ego.”

You smiled. “I’ll schedule five minutes.”

David lifted his glass toward you. “Appreciated.”

You raised your own glass and tapped it lightly against his. “To absolutely no chemistry.”

David nodded solemnly. “To a very pleasant administrative dinner.”

You laughed, and the last of the tension left the table. By the time the server returned with the check, the date had shifted into something easy again. David paid for your dinner despite your attempt to argue, and you gathered the bag of extra breadsticks and the boxed slice of chocolate cake you had promised Carter. David stood beside the booth and reached for his jacket.

“Do you need me to walk you out?” he asked.

You glanced toward Jack and Carter’s table. Carter was already watching you. Jack noticed him watching and followed his gaze. His eyes landed on the takeout bag in your hand, then moved to David standing beside you. You looked back at David.

“I took a car here,” you explained. “I’ll order another one.”

David nodded toward the other booth. “I suspect you may have transportation.”

You followed his gaze again. Carter immediately waved. Jack caught Carter’s wrist and lowered his hand.

You sighed. “I suspect you’re right.”

David smiled. “Good luck.”

You exhaled. “With the nine-year-old or Jack?”

David considered the question. “Yes.”

You laughed as you stepped away from the table. David leaned in and gave you a brief hug.

“It was nice getting to know you,” he said.

“You too,” you replied.

David pulled back and nodded toward the takeout bag. “Protect the breadsticks.”

You held the breadstick bag against your side. “With my life.”

David headed toward the front doors. You watched until he disappeared into the crowd, then turned toward the other side of the restaurant. Carter immediately sat up straighter. Jack looked as though he would prefer to be anywhere else on earth.

You crossed the dining room and stopped beside their booth. Carter looked up from his plate. The breadstick in his hand slowly lowered toward his plate.

“Hi, Auntie,” Carter said carefully.

You folded your arms. “Having a nice dinner?”

Carter glanced toward Jack. Jack immediately shook his head.

“Do not involve me,” Jack warned him. “You did this entirely by yourself.”

Carter turned back toward you. “The pizza is really good,” he offered.

You looked pointedly across the restaurant toward the table you had just left. “What an incredible coincidence that it happened to be here.”

Carter took a small bite of his breadstick. “Pittsburgh isn’t that big.”

Jack stared at him. “That is your defense?”

Carter chewed slowly. “It’s true.”

You held out one hand. “Move over.”

Carter blinked. “You’re sitting with us?”

“For a minute,” you clarified.

Carter immediately scooted toward the wall. Jack watched you slide into the booth beside him, his expression shifting from mortification to cautious curiosity.

You looked toward Jack. “You really didn’t know?”

Jack’s expression shifted immediately. “No,” he said. “I swear.”

You studied him for a moment. The mortification on his face was too genuine to fake.

You let out a breath. “Okay.”

Jack’s shoulders loosened slightly. Then his gaze moved toward the front doors.

“Is David waiting for you?” he asked.

You shook your head. “We had a nice time, but there wasn’t any chemistry.”

Jack went very still. For one brief second, relief threatened to show on his face. Then he pressed his lips together, lowered his eyes to the table, and reached for his water with the careful focus of a man attempting to conceal excellent news. Carter watched him over the top of his breadstick. You watched him too.

“You’re working very hard not to look pleased,” you observed.

Jack lowered the glass and arranged his expression into something sympathetic.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he said.

You stared at him. “That was terrible.”

Jack’s mouth twitched before he could stop it. “I’m doing my best.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Your best looks suspiciously happy.”

Jack glanced toward Carter. “I’ve had a difficult evening.”

Carter bit down on his breadstick to hide his grin.

You sighed and let your gaze move over Jack. “Looks like you’re taking me home, Abbot.”

Jack’s hand stopped halfway to the check. Carter’s eyes moved immediately to him. Jack cleared his throat and picked up the check.

“Apparently I am,” he said, working very hard not to look pleased for the second time in under a minute.

You caught the faint pull at the corner of his mouth. “Try to contain yourself.”

Jack looked at you. “Robinavitch, I’m exercising extraordinary restraint.”

Carter smiled into his breadstick. You pointed toward him. “Not one word.”

Carter swallowed and lifted both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

Jack reached for his wallet. “He doesn’t have to,” he muttered.

You looked down at Carter. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

Carter lowered his hands and studied the remains of his pizza.

“I really did want to eat here,” he said.

Jack slid his card into the check holder.

“That does not make bringing me here under false pretenses acceptable,” Jack told him.

Carter twisted his napkin between his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You held his gaze. “For what?”

Carter sighed. “For bringing Uncle Jack here because I knew you were here,” he answered.

Jack lifted one finger. “And?”

Carter frowned at him. “There’s more?”

Jack raised his eyebrows.

Carter sighed again. “And for yelling across the restaurant.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

Carter studied your face. “Am I grounded?”

Jack picked up the check holder. “That is a conversation for your father.”

Carter’s expression brightened. “So no?”

Jack slid from the booth. “That was not what I said.”

You picked up the breadstick bag and balanced the cake box beneath your arm. Jack immediately held out one hand.

“Give me that,” he said.

You tightened your grip on the bag. “I can carry bread.”

Jack looked at the purse hanging from your shoulder, the cake box balanced beneath your arm, and the bag in your hand.

“Clearly,” Jack said.

You surrendered the bag. “Bossy,” you muttered.

Jack tucked it against his side. “Efficient,” he corrected.

Carter climbed out of the booth and glanced toward the front of the restaurant.

“So you’re done with the date?” he asked.

You looked down at him. “Yes.”

Carter nodded slowly.

“Because there wasn’t a spark?” he asked.

You stopped walking. Jack’s hand went still between Carter’s shoulder blades. You and Jack looked at him.

“Where did you learn that?” you both asked at the same time.

Carter glanced between you.

“TV,” he answered.

Jack resumed guiding him toward the exit.

“You have reached your question limit,” Jack told him.

Carter walked reluctantly beneath his hand.

“I only asked one,” he argued.

Jack steered him around another table. “You’ve asked enough for the entire restaurant.”

You followed them through the dining room and out onto the sidewalk. Carter hurried several paces ahead and began searching the rows of cars.

“Where’s the truck?” he called.

Jack pointed toward the far end of the lot. “Under the light.” Carter started to run.

“Walk,” Jack ordered.

Carter slowed without turning around.

“I am walking,” he called back.

You and Jack continued across the parking lot behind him. After several steps, you glanced at Jack’s clean shirt and dark jeans.

“You cleaned up nicely,” you said.

Jack looked down at himself. “You sound surprised.”

“You spent the afternoon being accused of swimming with a motorized foot,” you reminded him.

Jack nodded.

“It was a difficult recovery,” he said.

You smiled.

“The button-down helped,” you added.

Jack looked toward you. His gaze lingered for one quiet beat.

“That dress helps too,” he said.

The teasing response you had prepared disappeared. You looked ahead.

“Careful, Abbot,” you warned.

Jack opened his mouth, but Carter tugged impatiently at the rear door handle.

“It’s locked!” Carter called.

Jack lifted the keys. He unlocked the truck, and Carter climbed into the back seat. Jack reached the passenger side before you did and opened the door. You stopped beside him.

“I can open a door,” you said.

Jack kept one hand on the handle. “I know.”

You looked at him. “Then why are you doing it?”

Jack glanced toward the open cab.

“Because I got here first,” he answered.

You narrowed your eyes but climbed inside. Jack placed the breadsticks carefully on the floor near your feet before closing the door. By the time he rounded the hood and slid behind the wheel, Carter had already leaned forward between the seats.

“Can I have a breadstick now?” Carter asked.

Jack inserted the key into the ignition.

“No,” Jack answered.

Carter looked toward you. “Auntie?”

You buckled your seat belt. “You heard him.”

Carter dropped back against the seat.

“You’re supposed to be nicer,” he complained.

Jack started the engine.

“She’s learning,” Jack said.

You looked toward him.

“I am not,” you replied.

Jack pulled out of the parking space.

“Denial is the first stage,” he said.

Carter was quiet for a moment in the back seat. Then he leaned forward between the seats.

“I’m sorry I ruined your date, Auntie,” Carter said.

You turned slightly in your seat to look at him.

“You didn’t ruin it,” you assured him.

Carter frowned. “I yelled across the restaurant.”

“You definitely did that,” you agreed.

Jack glanced at Carter through the rearview mirror.

“At an impressive volume,” Jack added.

Carter sank lower against the seat. “So I did ruin it.”

You shook your head. “No. David and I probably weren’t going on a second date anyway.”

Jack’s mouth curved before he could stop it. You caught the smirk from the corner of your eye.

“Don’t,” you warned him.

Jack looked toward the road with exaggerated innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

Carter leaned forward again. “You look happy.”

Jack checked the mirror. “You have lost your observation privileges.”

Carter smiled. “That’s not a real thing.”

Jack adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “It is now.”

You settled back into your seat. “He’s right, though.”

Jack glanced toward you. “Whose side are you on?”

You smiled. “The truth.”

Carter lifted one hand from the back seat. You reached behind you and slapped your palm against his.

Jack stared straight ahead. “Unbelievable.”

Carter dropped back into his seat, apparently satisfied. The truck grew quiet as Jack drove away from the restaurant. Several minutes passed before Carter spoke again.

“Can I have one of the breadsticks when we get home?” he asked.

You looked over your shoulder. “Tomorrow.”

Carter groaned and rested his head against the window. “That’s forever.”

Jack glanced at him in the mirror. “You’ll survive.”

“I might not,” Carter mumbled.

“You’ve had pizza and three breadsticks,” Jack reminded him.

Carter closed his eyes. “I’m still growing.”

By the time Jack turned onto Robby’s street, Carter’s breathing had evened out. You glanced behind you.

“He’s asleep,” you said softly.

Jack checked the mirror. “Scheming is exhausting.”

You nodded. “He had a busy evening.”

Jack pulled into the driveway and switched off the engine. You reached for the breadstick bag and cake box while Jack looked toward the sleeping child in the back seat.

“You’ve got the food,” Jack said as he opened his door. “I’ll get Carter.”

You looked pointedly toward his prosthetic. “Good plan. You do have a secret robot foot.”

Jack stared at you over the roof of the truck. “Get out, Robinavitch.”

You laughed as you climbed down. Jack opened the back door and carefully unbuckled Carter. Carter stirred as Jack lifted him, one sleepy arm winding around Jack’s neck.

“Did Auntie come home?” Carter mumbled.

You stepped around the truck. “I’m right here, bud.”

Carter’s eyes barely opened. “Good.”

Jack adjusted Carter against his chest. “Glad we cleared that up.”

Carter rested his cheek against Jack’s shoulder. “Uncle Jack took you home.”

You met Jack’s eyes over Carter’s head.

“He did,” you confirmed.

A faint, sleepy smile crossed Carter’s face before his eyes closed again. You unlocked the house and held the door while Jack carried him inside. The two of you moved through the quiet hallway without needing to discuss what came next. You switched on Carter’s bedside lamp. Jack lowered him onto the mattress. You pulled back the blanket while Jack removed his shoes.

Carter stirred when you covered him.

“Breadsticks,” he murmured.

You brushed one hand over his hair. “Tomorrow.”

“And cake?” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated.

Carter sighed against the pillow. “Okay.”

Jack switched off the lamp, and you followed him into the hallway. You pulled Carter’s door nearly closed behind you.

“He’s going to wake up at six demanding carbohydrates,” Jack whispered.

You started toward the kitchen. “That sounds like your problem.”

Jack followed with the restaurant bag. “How did this become my problem?”

You shrugged. “You agreed to the breadstick expedition.”

“I was deceived,” Jack replied.

You clicked your tongue. “You were outsmarted by a nine-year-old.”

Jack set the bag on the kitchen counter. “I preferred deceived.”

You placed the cake in the refrigerator while Jack leaned one hip against the counter. For the first time since leaving the restaurant, the house was completely quiet. You closed the refrigerator.

“Thank you for bringing me home,” you said.

Jack folded his arms. “We were coming here anyway.”

You nodded, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. “Still. And thank you for handling Carter.”

Jack glanced toward the hallway. “I’m not sure handling is the word I’d use.”

You smiled. “You tried.”

Jack looked back at you. “I’m sorry he put you in that position.”

“I know,” you said. “It’s okay.”

Jack held your gaze. The silence stretched just long enough to become noticeable.

You stepped toward the hallway, then paused beside him.

“For the record,” you said.

Jack turned his head. “What?”

You let your gaze travel deliberately over the clean button-down before returning to his face.

“You still got it too.”

Jack went very still.

You smiled before he could recover. “Goodnight, Abbot.”

You walked toward the stairs.

Behind you, Jack cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Robinavitch.”

At the foot of the stairs, you glanced back.

Jack stood where you had left him, one hand resting against the counter and the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Heat climbed into your cheeks. You shook your head and continued upstairs.

Jack remained in the kitchen beside a bag of contraband breadsticks.

The evening had not gone exactly according to Carter’s plan.

He had been caught. He had been lectured.

He was almost certainly going to hear about it from his father.

But Auntie’s date was over. Uncle Jack had been jealous. And they had come home together.

Carter would have called the breadstick incident a success.

@fantasyreader130 , @stoptheinnocence , @millennialanxieties @gamern00b , @croissant31 , @sunbonesss

[afterdarkbydel]

The Nephew Trap

Chapter One: Everybody’s Here

Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8, 278

Summary: You arrive at Robby’s house expecting a quiet weekend with Carter and find Jack’s truck already in the driveway. Carter insists the overlap is accidental. Neither of you believes him. By the end of the night, an old photograph, a box of letters, and one unanswered question make it clear that Carter’s plans are only getting started.

Warnings: no major warnings; past romantic history, references to Jack leaving for Army basic training, meddling-child behavior, emotional incompetence, competitive board-game conduct

Author's Note: 

Welcome to the first official chapter of The Nephew Trap!

After discovering photographic evidence of Auntie and Uncle Jack’s long-ago summer romance, Carter has decided that their current relationship status is unacceptable. His first step is simple: get them into the same house for an entire weekend and hope they remember how much they like each other. Unfortunately for Jack and Reader, Carter is remarkably good at selective honesty. This chapter has forced-proximity babysitting, adjoining rooms, Jack being interrogated during a game of catch, domestic taco preparation, an aggressively competitive game of Sorry!, and the reveal that Jack kept every letter Reader sent him during basic training.

Carter may be nine, but he has a plan.

Xoxo, Del

| Prologue |

Jack’s truck was already parked in Robby’s driveway.

You slowed behind it, one hand still resting on the steering wheel, and stared through the windshield.

Jack was not supposed to be there until Saturday evening.

At least, that was the arrangement Robby had given you. You were staying with Carter while he attended a medical conference, and Jack was covering the few hours you would be gone for dinner Saturday night.

Simple.

There was no reason for Jack’s truck to be sitting in the driveway before noon on Friday.

The front door opened before you could reach for your overnight bag.

Carter stepped onto the porch in basketball shorts and a faded Pirates T-shirt. His face brightened when he spotted you.

“Auntie!” Carter called as he hurried down the steps.

You climbed out just in time for him to throw both arms around your waist.

“Hi, bud,” you said, bending to squeeze him. “Did your dad leave you anything edible before he abandoned the state?”

Carter pulled back and nodded. “He made eggs.”

“Then I’ll postpone calling social services,” you told him.

You opened the back door and pulled out your overnight bag. As you lifted the strap onto your shoulder, Carter rocked on the balls of his feet beside you.

Your attention shifted to the truck.

“Why is Uncle Jack here?” you asked, pointing toward it.

Carter followed your gesture. “He’s staying too.”

Your hand stilled on the strap. “He’s what?”

Carter turned toward the house. “He brought groceries.”

You followed him across the driveway, your confusion growing with every step.

“Carter,” you said as he reached the porch, “Uncle Jack is supposed to come tomorrow while I’m at dinner.”

Carter pushed open the front door. “I know.”

“Then why is he here now?” you asked as you followed him inside.

Carter stepped into the entryway and looked back at you. “I asked him to come early.”

You stopped beneath the doorway. “You did what?”

“I called him,” Carter explained, as though this were the obvious solution.

Before you could ask why your nine-year-old nephew was independently reorganizing his childcare arrangements, Jack’s duffel caught your eye.

It sat beside the stairs, zipped shut, with a sweatshirt folded over the top.

You pointed toward it. “Why does he have luggage?”

Carter glanced at the bag. “Because I told him to stay.”

“For tonight?” you asked, looking back at Carter.

“For the weekend,” Carter clarified.

You stared at him.

Carter returned the look with a level of composure no child caught rearranging multiple adults’ lives should possess.

Jack stepped out of the kitchen before you could question him again.

He carried two paper grocery bags against his chest, with a receipt caught between his fingers. He wore jeans and a dark T-shirt, and his reading glasses sat low on his nose while he scanned the receipt. His gray hair was slightly disordered, as though he had already run his hand through it several times that morning.

Jack looked up.

His gaze found your face first, then dropped to the bag hanging from your shoulder.

He stopped walking.

“You brought a bag,” Jack observed.

You shifted your attention pointedly toward his duffel. “So did you.”

Carter slipped past both of you and returned to the kitchen island.

“Good,” Carter said as he climbed onto a stool. “Everybody’s here.”

Jack slowly turned toward him. “Why did you say that like this was a scheduled outcome?”

Carter looked between you and Jack. “Because I invited both of you.”

You set your overnight bag beside Jack’s duffel and followed them into the kitchen.

“What exactly did you tell him?” you asked, pointing toward Jack as Carter began tracing his finger along the edge of the counter.

Carter kept his eyes down. “That you had plans.”

“One date,” you corrected as you folded your arms. “Tomorrow night.”

Jack’s attention shifted toward you. “A date?”

You caught the slight change in his face and narrowed your eyes. “Stay focused.”

Jack pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I am focused.”

“You made a face,” you told him.

Jack’s expression settled into deliberate neutrality. “I did not make a face.”

Carter looked up. “You did.”

Jack turned his head toward him. “This conversation is about you.”

Carter lowered his gaze.

Jack set the grocery bags on the counter before looking back at you.

“He called me last night,” Jack explained. “He said he wasn’t sure how much you’d be here because you had plans.”

You stared across the island at Carter. “You know I’m staying all weekend.”

Carter lifted one shoulder. “You said you had plans.”

“Saturday night,” you reminded him.

Carter tapped his finger on the counter. “You didn’t say those were your only plans.”

Jack folded his arms over his chest. “He also said he didn’t want to be alone if you left before I got here.”

You looked back at Jack. “You were supposed to get here before I left.”

Jack glanced toward Carter. “That information was not included.”

Carter looked down again.

You planted both hands on the edge of the island. “So you called Uncle Jack and told him I might not be around.”

Carter swallowed before answering. “I said I didn’t know how much you’d be around.”

“You did know,” you said, keeping your eyes on him.

“I knew you were leaving,” Carter replied.

“For dinner,” you emphasized.

Carter lifted his shoulders. “That is still leaving.”

Jack rubbed one hand along his jaw.

“I asked whether he wanted me to come for the full weekend,” Jack said. “He said yes.”

You turned toward Jack. “And you just agreed?”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “He sounded worried.”

Carter’s expression softened as he looked down.

“I was worried,” Carter said quietly.

Jack’s attention shifted back to him.

You watched Carter twist his hands in his lap.

“I wanted both of you here,” he added without looking up.

The answer was sweet enough to dull the edge of your irritation.

Only slightly.

You stepped around the island and stopped beside his stool.

“You could have asked me,” you said, resting a hand on the back of his stool.

Carter tipped his head back to look at you. “You would’ve said Uncle Jack was coming tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Carter turned toward Jack. “And you would’ve said Auntie already had it handled.”

Jack’s jaw shifted, but he did not deny it.

You pulled your phone from your bag.

“I’m calling your father,” you announced as you searched for Robby’s name.

Carter returned his attention to the counter. “He’s at the airport.”

You glanced at him over the top of your phone. “You have been remarkably thorough.”

Jack leaned one hip against the counter. “Put him on speaker. I’d like to know whether your brother authorized any part of this.”

Robby answered after several rings, airport noise filling the background.

“Hey,” Robby greeted.

You tapped the speaker button and held the phone between yourself and Jack.

“Michael,” you said.

Jack glanced toward Carter. “Did he just get full-named?”

Carter looked up at Jack. “That means she’s mad.”

Robby released a tired sigh through the phone. “What happened?”

You looked pointedly at Carter. “Your son called Jack and invited him to move into your house for the weekend.”

Carter immediately sat straighter. “I did not invite him to move in.”

Jack pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a smile.

Robby went quiet for a moment.

“Jack,” Robby said carefully, “why are you there?”

Jack shifted closer to your phone. “Carter called me last night.”

Robby remained silent, so Jack continued.

“He said he wasn’t sure how much his aunt would be around because she had plans,” Jack explained.

Robby’s confusion came clearly through the speaker. “She has dinner Saturday.”

“I am now aware of that,” Jack replied.

You pointed toward Carter. “He made it sound like I had an entire mysterious weekend elsewhere.”

Carter frowned at you. “I didn’t say mysterious.”

Jack tilted his head. “No. He allowed me to supply that detail independently.”

Robby exhaled slowly. “Carter, did you tell Jack your aunt wasn’t staying?”

Carter shook his head before remembering his father could not see him.

“No,” Carter answered. “I said I didn’t know how much she would be around.”

Robby’s tone sharpened slightly. “You did know.”

Carter gripped the edge of the counter. “She has plans.”

You held up one finger. “One dinner.”

Carter glanced between you and Jack. “That could take a long time.”

Jack looked away, but not before you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You pointed at him. “Do not encourage him.”

Jack looked back at you. “I am doing nothing.”

“You are enjoying this,” you accused.

Jack glanced toward Carter. “I’m impressed by his commitment to technical accuracy.”

Carter’s face brightened.

Jack immediately lifted a hand. “That was not praise.”

Robby’s voice cut back through the kitchen.

“Okay,” Robby said. “Jack was only supposed to cover Saturday night.”

You nodded firmly at the phone. “Thank you.”

“But you’re both already there,” Robby continued.

Your nod stopped.

“That is not an argument,” you told him.

“It is when my flight boards in ten minutes,” Robby replied.

Jack looked toward the two overnight bags in the entryway.

“I can leave,” Jack offered.

Carter’s face fell.

You noticed.

So did Jack.

Robby’s voice softened. “Carter clearly wants both of you there.”

Robby paused as airport announcements echoed behind him.

“You both took the weekend off, you’re already at the house, and I trust you to sort it out,” he added.

You gripped the phone more tightly. “Michael.”

“My plane,” Robby replied quickly. “Love you. Keep my child alive.”

The call disconnected.

You stared at the dark screen.

Jack looked at Carter, who had begun studying the marbled kitchen island with unnecessary concentration.

“Your father is a coward,” Jack said.

You slipped the phone back into your bag. “He has always been a coward.”

Carter lifted his head and looked between you.

“So Uncle Jack can stay?” he asked hopefully.

You turned toward Jack.

Jack met your eyes across the kitchen.

Neither of you answered immediately.

Carter waited.

Jack broke eye contact first and glanced toward his duffel.

“I can go,” Jack said, his voice quieter now. “This was supposed to be your weekend with him.”

Carter’s face fell before he could hide it.

You saw Jack notice too.

You exhaled and rested one hand against the island.

“You already came all the way over here,” you said.

Jack lifted one shoulder. “I know how to drive home.”

Carter looked down.

“I wanted you to stay,” he admitted.

Jack’s expression softened. “I know, buddy.”

Carter dragged his finger slowly along the edge of the counter. “Both of you.”

That landed differently.

You looked at Jack again.

“It’s two nights,” you said finally.

Jack studied your face. “Are you sure?”

You picked up your bag from beside his. “No. But apparently I am outnumbered.”

Carter’s expression brightened instantly.

Jack glanced at him and then back at you.

“That recovery was suspiciously fast,” Jack said.

Carter grinned. “I feel better.”

“You’re a menace,” you told him.

Carter smile grew. “Dad says I get it from you.”

You stared at him.

Jack coughed into his fist.

You turned sharply. “Was that another laugh?”

Jack shook his head as he reached for the grocery bags. “Breathing.”

“You should see someone about that,” you muttered.

Jack carried the groceries farther into the kitchen, his smile still visible in profile.

Behind you, Carter watched the two overnight bags resting together beside the stairs.

The first part of his plan had worked.

You hooked your fingers beneath the strap of your overnight bag and lifted it onto your shoulder.

“Which room am I in?” you asked, turning toward Carter.

Carter slid down from the stool and headed for the stairs.

“The guest room,” he answered over his shoulder.

Jack retrieved his duffel from beside yours and followed the two of you.

“And where is Uncle Jack sleeping?” you asked as you started upstairs.

Carter reached the landing and pointed toward the end of the hall.

“The office,” he said.

Jack adjusted the strap of his duffel.

“The office has a bed?” he asked.

Carter crossed the hall and pushed open the door.

“It has a futon,” he explained.

Jack peered into the room.

“That is not quite the same thing,” he said.

Carter pointed toward the folded futon against the wall.

“It turns into a bed,” he insisted.

Jack stepped inside and lowered his duffel onto it.

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he conceded.

You stopped in the doorway behind him.

“That is not a particularly enthusiastic endorsement,” you said.

Jack glanced back at you.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” he replied.

Carter crossed the office and opened a door beside the bookshelf.

“There’s a bathroom too,” he announced.

You followed him through the doorway and found a narrow bathroom with another door on the opposite side.

Carter opened that one and stepped into the guest room.

“And Auntie sleeps in here,” he said, gesturing toward the bed.

You set your bag on top of the comforter before looking back through the bathroom.

“The rooms connect,” Carter beamed.

Jack stood in the opposite doorway with one hand resting against the frame.

“Convenient,” he said.

Carter smiled. You caught it.

“Why do you look so pleased?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Carter’s expression immediately flattened.

“I don’t,” he replied.

Jack looked down at him. “You do.” 

Carter turned toward the hallway.

“I’m going downstairs,” he announced before slipping out of the room.

You watched him disappear.

“He’s being weird,” you said.

Jack removed his glasses and began wiping the lenses against the hem of his shirt.

“He successfully manipulated both of us into spending a weekend together,” he replied. “I think we’re past weird.”

You watched him slide the glasses back onto his face.

“You really thought I might not be here?” you asked.

Jack’s hand paused beside the frame.

“He sounded worried,” he answered.

You leaned one hip against the dresser.

“That isn’t what I asked,” you said.

Jack lowered his hand. For a moment, he said nothing. Then he glanced through the open bathroom toward your room.

“You had plans,” he said.

You folded your arms across your chest.

“One date,” you reminded him.

Jack lifted one shoulder.

“I didn’t know that,” he replied.

“You could have called me,” you pointed out.

Jack gave you a look.

“And said what?” he asked. “‘Your nephew told me you have a mysterious social life. Please account for your movements’?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

Jack smiled at the sound.

“You could have asked whether I was still covering the weekend,” you said.

Jack’s smile faded into something quieter.

“You said yes to Robby,” he replied. “I didn’t think you’d leave Carter without someone.”

You held his gaze.

“No,” you said. “I wouldn’t.”

Jack’s expression softened.

“I know,” he answered.

The certainty in his voice settled strangely beneath your ribs.

You looked away first and reached for the zipper on your bag.

“You could still go home,” you said as you opened it.

Jack remained in the bathroom doorway.

“I could,” he replied.

Neither of you moved.

From downstairs, Carter shouted both of your names.

You pulled a folded shirt from your bag and placed it on the bed.

“Come on,” you said, turning toward the hallway. “Before he plans the rest of our lives.”

Jack pushed away from the doorframe and followed you into the guest room.

You had almost reached the hall when his voice stopped you.

“Hey,” Jack called softly.

You turned back toward him.

Jack stood between the two rooms, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jeans.

“Good to see you,” he said.

The last of your irritation slipped away before you could hold on to it.

“You too,” you replied.

Jack smiled.

It was small and warm and painfully familiar.

Carter called your names again, louder this time.

You tilted your head toward the stairs.

“We should go before he comes looking for us,” you said.

Jack stepped into the hallway beside you.

“He’ll give us another thirty seconds,” he replied. “Then he’s coming up.”

As though summoned by the prediction, Carter shouted again from downstairs.

You started toward the stairs.

“There it is,” you said.

Jack followed, smiling faintly.

A few minutes later, Carter slipped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.

He crossed to his nightstand and lifted the book resting on top of the old photograph.

Separate rooms were not ideal.

Connected rooms would have to do.

Carter lowered the book into place again and hurried out to the kitchen.

He found you standing at the kitchen island, removing groceries from one of the paper bags while Jack arranged them inside the refrigerator.

Carter stopped in the doorway.

You passed Jack a carton of eggs without looking up.

Jack took it from your hand without looking back.

Neither of you seemed to notice.

Carter did.

“What are we doing today?” Carter asked as he entered the kitchen.

You pulled a loaf of bread from the bag and glanced toward him.

“What do you want to do?” you asked.

Carter climbed onto his stool.

“I don’t know,” he replied, resting his elbows on the island.

Jack closed the refrigerator and turned toward him.

“That is not a useful contribution,” Jack said.

Carter looked at you.

 “Auntie usually has ideas,” he pointed out.

You placed the bread on the counter.

“Auntie usually has advance notice that she’s planning activities for three people,” you replied.

Jack reached into the second grocery bag.

“I bought lunch,” he offered.

You glanced at the container in his hand.

“You bought enough lunch for the Steelers’ offensive line,” you observed.

Jack set the container of deli meat beside the bread.

“I was told your availability was uncertain,” he reminded you.

Carter quietly lowered his gaze to the island. You looked toward him.

“Nice try,” you said.

Carter traced one finger through a small patch of condensation.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.

“You didn’t have to,” you told him.

Jack removed a bottle of coffee creamer from the bag and set it on the counter.

Your attention caught on the familiar label. Your favorite.

“You bought that?” you asked, pointing toward it.

Jack followed your gaze.

“It’s creamer,” he answered.

“I can see that,” you said as you picked it up. “Robby doesn’t drink this kind.”

Carter looked at the bottle in your hand.

“Dad drinks the plain one,” he confirmed.

Jack began folding the empty grocery bag.

“I must have grabbed the wrong one,” he said.

You turned the bottle around and looked at the label. “You accidentally grabbed the exact creamer I use?”

Jack kept his attention on the paper bag.

“It was next to the other one,” he replied.

Carter looked between you.

“You knew which one Auntie likes,” he said.

Jack flattened the bag against the counter.

“I have seen her drink coffee before,” he answered.

You studied him. “You remembered.” 

Jack finally looked at you.

“You still use it, don’t you?” he asked.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the bottle.

“Yes,” you admitted.

Jack gave a small nod.

“Then I remembered correctly,” he said.

The simplicity of the answer left you with nowhere to put the sudden warmth spreading through your chest.

You opened the refrigerator and placed the creamer inside.

Carter watched you put it beside Jack’s carton of milk.

One shelf.

That seemed promising.

You closed the refrigerator and turned back toward the island.

“Lunch first,” you decided. “Then we can figure out the rest of the day.”

Carter sat straighter.

“Can we go to the batting cages?” he asked.

Jack pulled a cutting board from beneath the counter.

“I thought you hated the batting cages,” he said.

Carter frowned at him. “I don’t hate them.” 

“The last time we went, you said the pitching machine was trying to kill you,” Jack reminded him.

“It was throwing too fast,” Carter muttered.

You leaned against the counter beside Jack.

“We can go somewhere else,” you offered.

Carter glanced between you. “Could we all go to the park?” 

Jack set a knife beside the cutting board.

“All three of us?” he clarified.

Carter nodded.

“You’re both here,” he said simply.

Jack looked at you. You held his gaze for a moment before lifting one shoulder.

“The park sounds harmless,” you said.

Jack turned back toward Carter.

“The park it is,” he agreed.

Carter smiled. You reached for the bread.

“What kind of sandwich do you want?” you asked him.

Carter looked at the ingredients spread across the island.

“Turkey and cheese,” he answered.

Jack opened the container of turkey. “With mustard?”

Carter shook his head.

“Mayonnaise,” he corrected.

You opened the refrigerator again.

“You hated mayonnaise last month,” you said as you searched the door.

Carter rested his chin in his hand.

“I changed my mind,” he explained.

Jack glanced toward you.

“He’s allowed to grow,” he said.

You found the jar and placed it beside him.

“You’re defending him because he complimented your grocery choices,” you accused.

Jack picked up the jar. “He has excellent judgment.” 

Carter smiled at Jack. You pointed the loaf of bread at both of them.

“I see how this weekend is going to go,” you said.

Jack’s mouth curved as he reached for the bread.

“You’ve been here less than an hour,” he reminded you.

“And I’ve already been deceived, outvoted, and assigned half a bathroom,” you replied.

Carter raised his hand from the island.

“You got the better bedroom,” he pointed out.

You looked at him. “Whose side are you on?”

Carter considered the question. “Both.”

Jack glanced toward him.

“That sounds suspiciously diplomatic,” he observed.

Carter lowered his hand.

“I’m hungry,” he announced.

You exchanged a look with Jack.

Jack passed you two slices of bread. You accepted them and moved closer to the cutting board. 

For the next several minutes, the three of you fell into an easy rhythm. Jack assembled the sandwiches. You sliced strawberries. Carter stole slices of cheese whenever he thought neither of you was watching. Jack caught his wrist on the fourth attempt.

“That belongs on your sandwich,” Jack said, holding Carter’s hand above the cutting board.

Carter looked at the piece of cheese between his fingers.

“It was extra,” he argued.

Jack glanced toward the sandwich.

“It was the last piece,” he replied.

You covered a laugh with the back of your hand. Carter looked toward you for help. You shook your head.

“You were caught in the act,” you told him. “I can’t save you.”

Carter placed the cheese reluctantly onto the bread. Jack released his wrist.

“Thank you,” Jack said.

Carter watched Jack turn back toward the counter. Then he looked at you. Then at Jack again.

The photograph had not lied.

You fit together so easily.

Carter only had to make sure the two of you noticed.

The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon.

You spread a blanket beneath a wide tree at the edge of the field while Carter carried two gloves and a baseball toward the open grass. Jack stopped beside the blanket and held out your book.

“You left this in your bag,” he said.

You looked up at him. “You went through my bag?” 

Jack shifted the sunscreen tucked beneath his arm.

“I was looking for this,” he explained.

You took the paperback from him.

“And somehow found my book instead,” you said.

Jack lowered the sunscreen onto the blanket.

“It was a complicated search,” he replied.

Carter lifted his glove from several yards away.

“Uncle Jack,” he called. “Come on.”

Jack glanced toward him.

“I’ve been summoned,” he said.

You opened the book across your lap.

“Try not to injure each other,” you told him.

Jack started backing toward Carter.

“He’s nine,” he reminded you.

You raised your eyes from the page.

“I was talking to him,” you said.

Carter laughed as Jack turned toward the field.

You watched them move farther into the grass before lowering your attention to your book.

Carter threw first.

The ball sailed high and slightly to Jack’s left. Jack caught it easily, transferred it to his throwing hand, and sent it back in one smooth motion.

Carter caught it against his chest.

“Nice,” Jack called as he adjusted his glove.

Carter pulled the ball free.

“I’m glad Auntie is here,” he said.

Jack glanced toward the blanket beneath the tree. You had stretched out on your stomach, ankles crossed behind you, with your attention fixed on the page.

“Yeah,” Jack replied as he looked back at Carter. “Me too.”

Carter rolled the baseball between his palm and glove.

“She’s pretty cool,” he said.

Jack raised his glove.

“She is,” he agreed.

Carter threw the ball back.

“And nice,” he added.

Jack caught it near his shoulder.

“Usually,” he replied.

Carter frowned across the grass.

“She’s always nice,” he insisted.

Jack pulled the ball from his glove.

“You didn’t know her when she was seventeen,” he said.

Carter’s expression sharpened.

“What did she do when she was seventeen?” he asked.

Jack sent the ball back toward him.

“Nothing I’m telling you without your father present,” he answered.

Carter caught the throw against his chest.

“She’s funny too,” he continued.

Jack adjusted the glove on his hand.

“She thinks she is,” he said.

Carter glanced toward the blanket.

You turned a page, entirely unaware of the conversation happening across the field.

Carter tucked the ball against his hip. “And she’s really pretty.”

Jack’s eyebrows rose. “You think I haven’t noticed?”

Carter’s face brightened.

Jack immediately pointed the baseball at him. “That is not permission to do whatever you’re doing.”

Carter lifted his free hand.

“I’m not doing anything,” he claimed.

Jack gave him a long look. “You called me under false pretenses, arranged adjoining rooms, and now you’re listing your aunt’s best qualities,” he said. “You’re doing something.”

Carter shifted the ball beneath his arm.

“I’m making conversation,” he replied.

Jack held out his glove.

“Then make conversation about baseball,” he said.

Carter drew his arm back.

“Have you ever had a crush on someone?” he asked as he threw.

Jack caught the ball but did not immediately return it.

“That is not about baseball,” he pointed out.

Carter shrugged.

“I used to have a crush on someone in my class,” he explained.

Jack studied him for a moment.

“Did she know?” he asked.

Carter looked down at his glove.

“No,” he admitted.

Jack tossed the ball back more gently.

“Why not?” he asked.

Carter caught it against his chest.

“I didn’t tell her,” he said.

Jack nodded slowly.

“That would do it,” he replied.

Carter picked at one of the laces on his glove.

“Then she started liking somebody else,” he added.

Jack’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said.

Carter lifted his head.

“Have you ever done that?” he asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Done what?” he asked.

Carter shifted his weight.

“Liked someone and not told them,” he clarified.

Jack’s gaze drifted toward the blanket again.

You had shifted onto your side, one hand tucked beneath your head while you read. The breeze lifted a few loose strands of hair across your cheek, and you brushed them away without looking up.

Carter followed Jack’s gaze. Jack finally turned back to him.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I have.”

Carter’s eyes brightened.

“Was it Auntie?” he asked.

Jack pointed the baseball at him again.

“Catch,” he warned.

He threw the ball before Carter could ask anything else.

Carter scrambled to raise his glove and caught it awkwardly against his shoulder.

“That wasn’t an answer,” he called.

Jack lifted his glove.

“It was the only one you’re getting,” he replied.

Carter considered him for a moment. Then he drew his arm back.

“Okay,” he said.

He threw the ball. Jack caught it. Carter waited exactly two seconds.

“Did you ever kiss Auntie?” he asked.

Jack dropped the ball. 

From the blanket, you looked up at the sound of Carter’s laughter carrying across the field.

Jack bent to retrieve the baseball.

“What happened?” you called.

Jack straightened and looked toward you.

“Nothing,” he called back.

Carter cupped his hand around his mouth.

“I asked him a question,” he shouted.

Jack reached over and lowered Carter’s arm.

“She doesn’t need the details,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed from beneath the tree.

“What question?” you called.

Carter opened his mouth.

Jack placed the baseball directly into it before he could answer.

Carter spluttered and pulled it away.

“You can’t do that,” he protested.

Jack walked backward across the grass.

“I just did,” he replied.

Carter wiped the ball against his shirt.

“That’s gross,” he complained.

Jack raised his glove.

“Then stop asking questions that make me panic,” he said.

You watched them for another moment.

Jack said something you could not hear. Carter grinned. Jack pointed at him in warning.

You shook your head and returned to your book, smiling despite yourself.

Across the field, Carter tossed the ball back to Jack.

The questions had worked.

Uncle Jack still thought Auntie was pretty.

That was important information.

By the time you returned to Robby’s house, Carter had grass stains on both knees and Jack had lost whatever authority he had started the afternoon with.

“He cheated,” Carter announced as he kicked off his sneakers in the entryway.

Jack closed the front door behind him.

“I adjusted the rules,” he corrected.

You lowered the folded blanket onto the bench.

“You threw the ball farther every time he caught it,” you said.

Jack placed the gloves beside the door.

“That is called encouraging growth,” he replied.

Carter pointed toward him.

“He made me run into a bush,” he said.

Jack looked down at him.

“The bush was avoidable,” he replied.

“It moved,” Carter insisted.

You turned toward Jack.

“The bush moved?” you asked.

Jack lifted one shoulder.

“I wasn’t watching the bush,” he said.

Carter started toward his bedroom.

“I’m telling Dad,” he called over his shoulder.

Jack watched him go.

“Your father has done worse,” he called after him.

Carter disappeared. You bent to pick up one of the sneakers he had left behind. Jack reached the other one first.

“He learned from Robby,” Jack said as he set it beside its match.

You straightened.

“That is an unfair accusation,” you replied.

Jack looked at you.

“I’ve known your brother longer than Carter has,” he said.

“You’ve also encouraged him for decades,” you pointed out.

Jack considered that.

“That is fair,” he admitted.

Carter shouted from his room that he could not find a clean shirt. You looked toward the hallway.

“He has an entire dresser,” you said.

Jack picked up the blanket.

“And yet the shirt remains hidden,” he replied.

You pointed toward the kitchen.

“You start dinner. I’ll find the missing clothing.”

Jack gave you a small nod.

“I can do that,” he said.

You started down the hall while Jack carried the blanket toward the laundry room.

By the time you returned, Carter had changed into clean shorts and a T-shirt and taken his usual place at the kitchen island.

Jack stood at the stove, breaking ground beef apart in a skillet with a wooden spoon.

“What are we making?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen.

Jack glanced over his shoulder.

“Tacos,” he answered.

You crossed to the refrigerator and opened it.

“Good choice,” you said.

Jack turned back to the stove.

“I thought so,” he replied.

You took out the tomatoes and lettuce, then opened a drawer for the cutting board. Jack shifted slightly to give you more room at the counter. You set the tomatoes beside the sink and reached for a knife. Without looking, Jack slid one toward you. You took it from the counter.

“Thanks,” you said.

Jack nodded as he stirred the meat.

“Mm-hm,” he replied.

You began slicing the tomatoes while he added seasoning to the skillet. Carter watched from the island. Jack opened the cabinet above him and reached for the taco shells. You moved the cutting board aside before his elbow could catch it. He set the box down in the space you had cleared. Neither of you commented on it. You finished the tomatoes and reached into the refrigerator for the cheese. Jack lowered the heat beneath the skillet.

“Lettuce too?” he asked.

You set the cheese on the counter.

“Already out,” you answered.

Jack glanced down and found it beside your cutting board.

“Right,” he said.

You began shredding the lettuce while he drained the meat. Jack reached behind you for a serving bowl. You shifted left before he had to ask. He passed close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“You’re fine,” you said without looking up.

Carter’s gaze followed the movement. Jack poured the meat into the bowl and set it on the island. You carried the tomatoes and lettuce over behind him.

“Cheese,” Jack said as he turned back toward the counter.

You handed it to him before he finished reaching. Jack looked at the bag in your hand, then at you.

“Thanks,” he said.

You smiled faintly.

“Mm-hm,” you replied.

Carter rested his chin in his hands. Neither of you had discussed who was doing what. Jack had started the meat. You had filled in everything around him. 

By the time dinner was ready, the counter held the beef, tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, salsa, and warm taco shells in a neat line. Jack carried the last bowl to the island.

“Plates,” he said.

You opened the cabinet and took down three.

“Already on it,” you replied.

Carter watched you place them beside the food.

The park had given him answers.

Dinner was giving him evidence.

After the last plate had been loaded into the dishwasher, Carter disappeared down the hallway and returned with a blue box tucked beneath his arm.

“Can we play Sorry!?” he asked as he carried it into the living room.

You lowered yourself onto the rug beside the coffee table and held out your hands.

“Absolutely,” you answered.

Jack paused beside the couch.

“That was alarmingly enthusiastic,” he observed.

You took the box from Carter and pulled off the lid.

“It’s a board game, Jack,” you reminded him.

Jack sat on the edge of the couch and leaned toward the table.

“It’s a board game you once refused to finish because Robby sent you back to start,” he said.

You gathered the red pawns.

“Robby cheated,” you replied.

Jack claimed the green pieces.

“He drew a Sorry! card,” he corrected.

“He enjoyed it too much,” you argued as you placed your pawns in their starting circle.

Carter settled cross-legged across from you and arranged the blue pieces.

“Are you not supposed to enjoy winning?” he asked.

You glanced toward him.

“Not that much,” you explained.

Jack placed his final pawn on the board.

“That is exactly how much you should enjoy it,” he countered.

You looked across the table at him.

“That explains a lot about you,” you said.

Jack’s mouth curved.

“I’m comfortable with that,” he replied.

Jack reached for the deck, but you took it before he could.

“I’m shuffling,” you announced.

Jack withdrew his hand.

“Why?” he asked.

You began shuffling the cards.

“Because you bend them,” you explained.

Jack leaned back against the couch.

“I do not bend the cards,” he argued.

Carter looked toward him.

“Dad says you do,” he offered.

Jack’s expression tightened. “Your father is unreliable.” 

You placed the deck in the center of the board.

“Carter goes first,” you decided.

The game remained peaceful until Jack drew a Sorry! card.

You saw his eyes settle on your red pawn.

“No,” you warned as you placed one hand beside it.

Jack lifted a green pawn from start.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said.

“You’re looking at mine,” you accused.

Jack reached around your hand and replaced your red pawn with his green one.

“Sorry,” he said as he returned your piece to start.

You stared at the displaced pawn.

“You don’t sound sorry,” you told him.

Jack settled back onto the couch.

“I’m honoring the title of the game,” he replied.

Carter laughed from across the table. You pointed toward Jack.

“Remember this when you get a chance to send him back,” you instructed Carter.

Jack looked toward your nephew.

“She’s recruiting you into a vendetta,” he warned.

Carter reached for the deck. “Will it help me win?” 

You nodded firmly.

“Yes,” you answered.

Jack shook his head. “No.”

Carter drew his card.

“I’ll decide later,” he replied.

Several turns later, Jack moved one of his green pawns within a few spaces of home.

You watched him sit back with a satisfied smile.

“You look smug,” you observed.

Jack rested one ankle across his opposite knee.

“I’m winning,” he replied.

You drew an eleven. Your attention went immediately to the green pawn near home. Jack followed your gaze and lowered his foot to the floor.

“Don’t,” he warned.

You lifted the card between two fingers.

“Don’t what?” you asked innocently.

Jack pointed toward your other available pawn.

“You have another move,” he said.

You reached for the red piece across from his.

“Not a better one,” you replied.

You switched the pawns, placing yours close to home and sending Jack’s back across the board.

“Sorry,” you said sweetly as you discarded the card.

Carter burst into laughter. Jack stared at his displaced pawn.

“You’ve been waiting to do that,” he accused.

You smiled across the table.

“Since you sent me back to start,” you confirmed.

“That was fifteen minutes ago,” Jack reminded you.

You folded your hands beneath your chin.

“And I remembered,” you said.

Jack looked at you over the top of his glasses.

“You’re vindictive,” he told you.

You leaned back on one hand.

“You like that about me,” you replied.

Jack held your gaze for a beat.

“Occasionally,” he admitted.

Carter looked between the two of you before quietly drawing his next card. 

By the end of the game, all four of Carter’s pawns were safely home while you and Jack each had two stranded on the board.

“I won,” Carter announced as he raised both arms.

You stared at his blue pieces. “How did that happen?” 

Jack leaned forward and inspected the board.

“He played the game instead of trying to ruin my life,” he explained.

You looked up at him. “You started it.”

Jack began collecting his green pawns.

“And you escalated,” he replied.

Carter gathered the discarded cards into a pile. “Can we play again?” 

You returned your red pieces to their starting circle.

“Absolutely,” you answered. “I want a fair game.”

Jack reset his pieces and looked down at you.

“The first game was fair,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You’re afraid I’ll beat you,” you challenged.

Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“You came in third,” he reminded you.

You placed your last pawn into start. 

“I beat you emotionally,” you replied.

Carter frowned. “What does that mean?” 

Jack kept his eyes on you.

“It means she lost,” he explained.

You pushed the deck toward him.

“Shuffle the cards, Abbot,” you ordered.

Jack smiled as he picked them up.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

Carter watched the look that passed between you. Neither of you noticed him set his blue pawn down.

“I’ll be right back,” he announced as he pushed himself to his feet.

You adjusted one of your red pieces.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

Carter backed toward the hallway.

“I need something from my room,” he answered.

Jack began shuffling the deck.

“You have thirty seconds before we start without you,” he warned.

Carter hurried down the hall.

“You can’t start without me,” he called over his shoulder.

Jack squared the deck against the table.

“Then you’d better move quickly,” he replied.

Carter slipped into his bedroom and crossed to the nightstand. He lifted the book resting on top of the old photograph.

From the living room, your voice carried down the hallway. “You’re bending the cards.”

Jack answered a moment later. “I am not bending the cards.”

Carter picked up the photograph carefully by its edges.

It was time to find out exactly what had happened that summer.

Carter returned to the living room with the photograph tucked carefully behind his back.

Jack looked up from the deck in his hands.

“What do you have?” he asked as Carter stopped beside the coffee table.

Carter kept one hand hidden behind him.

“I found something,” he announced.

You adjusted one of your red pawns inside the starting circle.

“That sentence rarely ends well,” you said.

Carter stepped closer and placed the photograph in the center of the board. Jack’s hands went still around the cards. Your fingers froze against the red pawn.

The faded photograph lay across the path between your pieces, half covering the deck Jack had been shuffling.

You recognized the Jeep first. Then Jack’s dark hair. Then yourself, curled against his side with your arms wrapped around one of his and your head resting on his shoulder. 

For one disorienting second, the room seemed to tilt backward through time.

Carter rested both hands against the edge of the coffee table.

“Were you boyfriend and girlfriend?” he asked.

“No,” you answered immediately.

“Yeah,” Jack said at the same time.

You turned toward him.

“We were not,” you insisted.

Jack lowered the cards onto the table.

“That isn’t how I remember it,” he replied.

Carter looked between the two of you.

“So one of you is wrong,” he concluded.

You picked up the photograph by its edges.

“No one is wrong,” you explained. “We just never called it that.”

Jack leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees.

“You never called it that,” he corrected.

You looked at him over the photograph.

“Neither did you,” you reminded him.

Jack’s mouth pulled slightly to one side.

“I didn’t think I needed to file paperwork,” he said.

Carter frowned.

“But you liked each other?” he asked.

You glanced back down at the picture. Jack’s smile in it was easy and unguarded, his cheek pressed lightly against the top of your head.

“Yes,” you admitted.

Beside you, Jack watched your face.

“Very much,” he added.

Your eyes lifted to his. The quiet certainty in his answer caught you off guard. Carter leaned closer to the table.

“Did you kiss?” he asked.

You turned sharply toward him.

“Carter,” you warned.

Carter pointed at the photograph.

“You’re sitting on him,” he said.

You looked down at the image.

“I am sitting beside him,” you corrected.

Jack studied the picture.

“You were mostly on me,” he said.

You stared at him. “That is not helpful.”

Jack’s mouth twitched.

“It is accurate,” he replied.

Carter’s eyes brightened.

“So you did kiss,” he concluded.

You lowered the photograph to the table.

“This conversation has taken an unfortunate turn,” you said.

Jack reached for the picture before you could move it farther away.

“Where did you find this?” he asked as he lifted it.

Carter folded his hands in his lap.

“In the garage,” he answered.

You looked at him.

“When were you in the garage?” you asked.

Carter shifted on the rug.

“When Dad and I were looking for my glove,” he explained.

Jack studied the faded photograph again.

“Robby kept this?” he asked.

Carter nodded.

“It was in a box with a lot of other pictures,” he said.

You leaned toward Jack and looked down at the image in his hands.

“I didn’t know this existed,” you admitted.

Jack rubbed his thumb lightly along the worn white border.

“Neither did I,” he replied.

Carter watched the two of you study the photograph together.

“What happened?” he asked.

You looked toward him.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Carter pointed between you and Jack.

“If you liked each other, why did you stop?” he clarified.

Jack’s fingers tightened slightly around the photograph.

“I left,” he answered.

Carter turned toward him.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

Jack rested the photograph against his knee.

“Army basic training,” he explained.

Carter’s brow furrowed.

“So you broke up?” he asked.

You exchanged a glance with Jack.

“There wasn’t really anything to break up,” you said carefully. “We knew he was leaving.”

Jack looked down at the photograph.

“It was one summer,” he added.

One summer.

As though the length of something determined how much it had mattered.

Carter looked at you.

“Did you miss him?” he asked.

You smiled faintly despite yourself.

“Of course I did,” you answered.

Jack’s gaze lifted to yours. You looked away before the moment could settle too deeply.

“I wrote letters to him,” you added.

Carter turned back toward Jack.

“Letters?” he asked.

Jack nodded.

“Lots of them,” he answered.

You gave a quiet laugh.

“They were mostly nonsense,” you said.

Jack looked offended.

“They were not nonsense,” he argued.

You lifted your eyebrows.

“I once sent you four pages about Michael eating the yogurt I had hidden in the back of the refrigerator,” you reminded him.

Jack pointed toward you with the photograph.

“It had your name on it,” he said.

“Exactly,” you replied.

Jack nodded once.

“That was theft,” he said.

Carter looked between you.

“Dad stole your yogurt?” he asked.

You nodded solemnly.

“Your father has always been a criminal,” you told him.

Jack smiled before he could hide it. Carter’s attention shifted back to him.

“Did you write back?” he asked.

Jack tapped the edge of the photograph against his knee.

“When I could,” he answered.

You looked toward him.

“He wrote terrible letters,” you said.

Jack turned his head.

“I was busy,” he replied.

You raised your eyebrows.

“You once wrote, ‘It’s hot. Training is hard. I miss real food,’” you reminded him.

Jack pointed toward you with the photograph again.

“All accurate,” he said.

Carter smiled.

“What did Auntie write about?” he asked.

Jack glanced down at the picture.

“Home,” he answered. “Her job. Her friends. How school was going. Whatever your dad had done to annoy her that week.”

You folded your arms.

“Michael gave me plenty of material,” you said.

Carter looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he turned toward Jack again.

“Do you still have Auntie’s letters?” he asked.

You reached toward the board and began straightening the discarded cards.

“That was a very long time ago, bud,” you said.

Jack did not answer. Your hand slowed. Carter waited. You looked over at Jack. He was still holding the photograph, his eyes fixed on the younger versions of both of you.

“Jack?” you prompted.

Jack lifted his gaze.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

Your fingers stilled against the cards. Carter sat straighter.

“You kept them?” he asked.

Jack nodded once.

“All of them,” he said.

The room went very still. You searched his face.

“You still have every letter I sent you?” you asked.

Jack held your gaze.

“They’re in a box at my house,” he explained. “With some other things from then.”

You swallowed.

“You never told me,” you said.

Jack glanced down at the photograph again.

“You never asked,” he replied.

There was no accusation in the answer. That somehow made it land harder. Carter looked between you, barely containing his satisfaction.

“So you were boyfriend and girlfriend,” he concluded.

You turned toward him.

“That is not what we said,” you replied.

Carter pointed toward Jack.

“He kept all your letters,” he said.

You folded your arms.

“That still doesn’t mean we called each other boyfriend and girlfriend,” you explained.

Jack leaned back against the couch.

“I’m still voting yes,” he said.

You stared at him.

“There was no vote,” you replied.

Jack’s mouth curved.

“There is now,” he said.

Carter accepted the photograph when Jack handed it back.

“Two against one,” he announced.

You pointed at him.

“You do not get a vote,” you told him.

Carter looked down at the photograph.

“I found the evidence,” he said.

Jack covered a laugh with one hand. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Do not encourage this,” you warned.

Jack lowered his hand.

“I’m not,” he replied.

“You absolutely are,” you said.

Carter held the photograph against his chest.

“Do you still like each other?” he asked.

The question quieted the room.

You looked at Jack. Jack looked back at you. Neither of you answered quickly enough.

Carter noticed.

You reached for the game pieces.

“Bedtime,” you announced.

Carter frowned.

“It’s not bedtime,” he protested.

You began dropping the pawns into the box.

“It is for children conducting interrogations,” you said.

Jack checked his watch.

“That feels legally questionable,” he observed.

You looked at him.

“Whose side are you on?” you asked.

Jack settled deeper into the couch.

“Currently? Carter’s,” he answered.

Carter grinned. You pointed toward the hallway.

“Both of you are impossible,” you said.

Carter rose from the rug and carried the photograph toward his room.

 The adults could argue about what to call that summer. 

They had liked each other.

 They had kissed.

 Auntie had written letters.

 Uncle Jack had kept every one.

And when Carter asked whether they still liked each other, neither of them had said no.

[afterdarkbydel]

The Nephew Trap

Prologue: The Photograph

Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2, 965

Summary: While searching the garage for his missing baseball glove, Carter Robinavitch finds an old photograph of his aunt curled against Uncle Jack’s shoulder. His dad, Robby, makes the mistake of telling him the truth. They loved each other once. They are both single now. And Carter has recently discovered The Parent Trap.

Warnings: no major warnings; references to Jack leaving for Army basic training, old romantic history, and a scheming nine-year-old

Author's Note:  Welcome to The Nephew Trap, a new Jack Abbot x Reader mini-series featuring Robby’s sister!Reader, an old summer romance, forced-proximity babysitting, and Carter deciding the adults require logistical assistance. The Photograph is our prequel: the moment Carter discovers Auntie and Uncle Jack used to be in love, and, thanks to a recent viewing of The Parent Trap, begins developing a plan. Expect second-chance romance, domestic chaos, old love letters, breadstick-based deception, and Robby’s nine-year-old son becoming everyone’s problem.

Xoxo, Del

The search for Carter Robinavitch's missing baseball glove had started inside the hall closet and eventually driven them into the garage, where Robby was beginning to suspect it had disappeared into whatever dimension also contained unmatched socks and every screwdriver he had ever purchased.

“It has to be out here,” Robby said as he pulled a cloudy plastic tote away from the wall. “You had it when we played catch last weekend.”

Carter stood beside the workbench with his hands planted on his hips. “Maybe you put it somewhere.”

Robby looked over his shoulder. “It’s your glove.”

“You touched it too,” Carter argued.

“I threw a baseball into it,” Robby said. “That does not make me responsible for its long-term storage.”

Carter tilted his head. “You’re the adult.”

Robby stared at his son for a long moment.

“That argument only works when it benefits you,” Robby said.

Carter shrugged without remorse. “It benefits me now.”

The July heat had settled thickly inside the garage despite the wide-open door. Sunlight stretched across the concrete floor, catching dust in the air. Somewhere down the block, a lawn mower droned steadily, and the smell of freshly cut grass drifted in on the occasional breeze.

Robby lifted the lid from the first tote and stared down at several tangled extension cords, a broken desk lamp, and a curved piece of plastic that no longer appeared connected to anything useful.

“No glove,” Robby announced.

Carter leaned over the side of the tote. “What’s that?”

“Evidence that I don’t know how to throw things away,” Robby said.

Carter picked up the plastic attachment and turned it over. “What does it do?”

Robby took it from him and examined it. “I have no idea.”

“Then why do you have it?” Carter asked.

“Because the second I throw it away, I’ll discover it’s the only thing keeping the house operational,” Robby said.

Carter nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”

“It really doesn’t,” Robby muttered.

He pushed the tote aside and reached behind two folded camping chairs. His fingers caught on the softened corner of a cardboard box wedged between an old cooler and the wall.

Robby pulled it free, sending a thin cloud of dust into the air.

Carter coughed dramatically and waved one hand in front of his face. “What’s in there?”

“Probably more evidence of poor decision-making,” Robby said as he wiped his palm over the top.

The cardboard had bowed inward with age. Its flaps were folded loosely over one another, and there was no label written across the side.

Carter immediately dropped to his knees beside it.

“Careful,” Robby warned as Carter reached for the top flap. “It might be important.”

Carter glanced at the buckling corners. “It looks old.”

“Old things can still be important,” Robby said.

“You said the vacuum piece was garbage,” Carter reminded him.

“That was different,” Robby said.

Carter looked up. “How?”

Robby opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

A small smile appeared on Carter’s face. “You don’t know.”

“I’m your father,” Robby said as he sat down on an overturned bucket. “I’m allowed to be inconsistent.”

Carter pulled the box closer. “Is that a real rule?”

“It is in this garage,” Robby said.

Carter peeled back the flaps and found the box filled with photographs.

Most were loose, their glossy surfaces faded and dulled with time. A few remained inside paper envelopes with dates scrawled across the fronts in blue ink.

Carter’s face brightened. “These are old pictures.”

Robby leaned forward to look inside. “That appears to be the theme.”

Carter pulled out the first photograph.

A much younger Robby stood waist-deep in lake water, both arms thrown into the air and his mouth open in outrage. Sunlit water droplets hung around him, and a dark object floated several feet away.

Carter held the photograph up. “What happened to you?”

Robby squinted at it. “Your aunt shoved me off the dock.”

Carter studied his father’s expression. “Why?”

“She was violent,” Robby said.

Carter looked over the top edge of the picture. “What did you do first?”

Robby shifted on the bucket.

Carter continued watching him.

“I may have thrown one of her sandals into the lake,” Robby admitted.

Carter glanced at the object floating behind him in the photograph. “Is that the sandal?”

“Probably,” Robby said.

“Then she wasn’t violent,” Carter decided. “She was getting it back.”

“With my body?” Robby asked incredulously.

Carter placed the picture carefully on the concrete. “It worked.”

Robby pointed at him. “You are disturbingly loyal to her.”

“She gives me money for the ice-cream truck,” Carter said.

“So your loyalty has been purchased,” Robby said.

Carter reached into the box again. “That’s how money works.”

The next photograph showed you and Robby sitting on the hood of an old car. You had one arm hooked around your brother’s neck while Robby held two rapidly melting ice-cream cones away from both of you. You were laughing. 

Carter smiled down at it. “Auntie looks the same.”

Robby leaned closer. “Tell her that. She’ll like you even more.”

“Her hair is different,” Carter observed.

“She’ll like that part less,” Robby said.

Carter placed the photograph beside the first and reached into the box again.

The next photograph made Carter laugh before Robby could see it.

“What?” Robby asked as he held out his hand. “Let me see.”

Carter passed it over, still grinning.

The picture had been taken at the end of a wooden dock. Robby and Jack were soaked through, barefoot in their swim trunks, and caught halfway through what looked like a wrestling match. Jack had one arm hooked around Robby’s neck while Robby had both arms locked around Jack’s waist, both of them grinning at the camera like they had spent the entire afternoon making themselves everyone else’s problem.

Carter leaned closer and pointed at Jack. “His hair is different.”

Robby looked down at the photograph. Jack’s hair had been dark then, wet curls falling over his forehead.

“It wasn’t gray yet,” Carter added.

“No,” Robby said. “It wasn’t.”

Carter studied the picture for another moment. “Who won?”

“I did,” Robby answered.

Carter looked at the way Jack had Robby caught beneath one arm. “It doesn’t look like you did.”

Robby lowered the photograph. “A picture only shows one second.”

Carter raised a skeptical brow. “Was that second before Uncle Jack threw you in?”

Robby set the photograph on the floor. “We’re moving on.”

Carter smiled. “That means yes.”

“It means history has been imperfectly preserved,” Robby countered.

Carter began sorting through the remaining photographs, creating loose, uneven piles on the garage floor.

There were pictures of you, and Robby stretched across a picnic blanket, each trying to shove the other out of the frame. Jack asleep in a lawn chair with an open paperback covering his face. All three of you crowded around a bonfire. Robby holding up a small fish while you stood behind him pretending to gag. Jack wearing mirrored sunglasses and looking deeply unimpressed with whoever held the camera.

An entire summer had been preserved in square, sun-faded pieces.

“Why is Auntie wearing Uncle Jack’s hat?” Carter asked as he held up another picture.

Robby glanced over. “Because your aunt stole anything that wasn’t physically attached to someone.”

Carter looked at the baseball cap sitting low over your eyes. “Did she give it back?”

“Probably not,” Robby said.

Carter selected another picture. “Why is Uncle Jack asleep on the grass?”

“He claimed it was comfortable,” Robby said.

Carter looked at him. “Was it?”

“No,” Robby answered.

“Then why did he sleep there?” Carter asked.

“He was in his twenties,” Robby said with a shrug. “Logic was still developing.”

Carter placed that photograph onto the pile and reached deeper into the box.

Then he stopped.

Robby did not notice immediately. He had moved to the shelves and was checking behind a stack of old folding chairs.

When Carter remained quiet for several seconds, Robby looked back.

His son sat perfectly still, one photograph held carefully between both hands.

“What did you find?” Robby asked.

Carter did not answer.

His brow had furrowed as he stared at the picture.

“Carter?” Robby prompted as he straightened.

Carter slowly turned the photograph around.

Robby recognized it immediately.

You were curled sideways in the passenger seat of Jack’s old Jeep, your knees pulled close. Your arms were folded across Jack’s shoulder, and your cheek rested on top of them, your body tucked comfortably into his side.

Jack sat behind the wheel in a plain white T-shirt, his head tipped back against the seat. His dark hair was thick and wind-tossed, and his eyes were closed. A soft, private smile rested on his mouth.

The lake stretched blue behind you beneath a nearly white summer sky.

Nothing about the photograph had been arranged.

That was what made it intimate.

You looked as though you had folded yourself against Jack without thinking. Jack looked as though he had forgotten anyone else was there.

Carter looked from the photograph to Robby.

“She’s using him as a pillow,” Carter said.

“She had a tendency to do that,” Robby replied.

Carter looked down at the picture again. “Does she still?”

“No,” Robby said.

Carter raised his head. “Why not?”

Robby turned toward the shelves again. “People get older.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Carter said.

Robby closed his eyes briefly.

“No,” Robby admitted. “It doesn’t.”

Carter traced one finger carefully along the faded white edge.

“Uncle Jack looks happy,” Carter said.

Robby glanced back at the photograph.

Jack did look happy.

Not the quiet, restrained happiness Robby knew now. Not the small smile Jack gave Carter after a joke or the tired amusement he wore after a manageable shift.

He looked young and completely unguarded.

He looked gone for you.

“He was,” Robby said.

Carter’s eyes shifted to your face. “Auntie looks happy too.”

“Yeah,” Robby said softly. “She was.”

Carter studied the two of you for another moment.

Then he looked up at his father.

“Were they boyfriend and girlfriend?” Carter asked.

Robby huffed out a quiet laugh. “That depends which one you ask.”

Carter shifted closer. “What does Uncle Jack say?”

“He says they were,” Robby replied.

Carter glanced down at the photograph. “What does Auntie say?”

“She says it was only a summer,” Robby said.

Carter frowned. “That’s not no.”

“No,” Robby conceded. “It isn’t.”

“Did they kiss?” Carter asked.

Robby gave him a warning look. “I’m not discussing your aunt’s kissing history with you.”

Carter pointed toward the photograph. “They look like they kissed.”

Robby pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re nine.”

“I know what kissing is,” Carter said.

“That is not the reassuring statement you think it is,” Robby replied.

Carter looked at the photograph again. “Why did they stop being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Robby reached into the box and began gathering some of the scattered pictures. “Jack joined the Army. He left for basic training at the end of that summer.”

“Did they break up?” Carter asked.

“Not exactly,” Robby answered.

“Did they have a fight?” Carter asked.

“No,” Robby said.

“Did Uncle Jack do something bad?” Carter continued.

“No,” Robby replied.

“Did Auntie?” Carter asked.

“No,” Robby said again.

Carter’s frown deepened. “Then why did they stop?”

“Because Jack left,” Robby explained.

“But he came back,” Carter pointed out.

“Eventually,” Robby said.

“And Auntie was still here,” Carter added.

Robby gave him a wary look. “Yes.”

Carter stared at his father. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Robby said before he could stop himself. “It doesn’t.”

Carter’s expression changed.

It was subtle, a thoughtful press of his mouth, a slight narrowing of his eyes, but Robby recognized the look. His son had found a problem, and he was beginning to organize it inside his head.

Robby held out his hand. “Let me have that before you bend it.”

Carter kept the photograph resting on his knees. “Did Auntie want Uncle Jack to stay?”

“I don’t know,” Robby said.

“You know everything about Auntie,” Carter insisted.

“I absolutely do not,” Robby replied.

“She calls you every day,” Carter said.

“That doesn’t mean she provides a detailed emotional transcript,” Robby told him.

Carter studied Jack’s face. “Did Uncle Jack want her to wait?”

Robby hesitated.

Carter immediately looked up. “You made a face.”

“I did not make a face,” Robby said.

“You did,” Carter insisted.

“I have one face,” Robby replied.

“You have lots of faces,” Carter said. “That was your yes face.”

“I don’t have a yes face,” Robby argued.

“You do when Auntie asks if you ate lunch,” Carter said.

Robby pressed his lips together.

Carter nodded knowingly. “That one too.”

Robby stood and brushed the dust from his jeans. “We were looking for a baseball glove.”

Carter held the photograph against his shirt. “Did Auntie talk to him after he left?”

“She wrote to him,” Robby said as he moved another cooler away from the wall.

Carter’s eyes widened. “Real letters?”

“Yes, real letters,” Robby answered.

“With stamps?” Carter asked.

“With stamps,” Robby confirmed.

Carter stared at him. “Why didn’t she text him?”

Robby looked back over his shoulder. “Because some of us lived before constant internet access.”

Carter’s expression suggested this was barely believable.

“Does Uncle Jack still have them?” Carter asked.

Robby turned back to the shelves. “How would I know?”

“You’re his best friend,” Carter said.

“I do not inventory Jack’s personal belongings,” Robby replied.

Carter looked down at the picture. “They look like they loved each other.”

The simple certainty in his voice made Robby pause.

Robby considered correcting him. He could have explained that they had been young, that it had been brief, and that sometimes affection survived long after a relationship ended.

Instead, he remembered Jack leaving that summer.

He remembered you pretending not to be heartbroken.

“They did,” Robby said quietly.

Carter raised his eyes. “Do they still?”

Robby went still.

Outside, a dog barked twice. The air conditioner hummed through the garage wall, and a dry leaf scraped across the concrete.

Robby chose his answer carefully.

“They still love each other,” Robby said.

Carter’s expression turned impatient. “Like boyfriend-and-girlfriend love?”

“I don’t know,” Robby answered.

Carter continued watching him.

“It’s complicated,” Robby added.

Carter looked deeply unimpressed. “That usually means yes.”

Robby frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Movies,” Carter said.

“That explains very little and concerns me greatly,” Robby replied.

Carter glanced toward the house, where the television waited in the living room.

Robby began stacking the photographs and returning them to the cardboard box.

“We’re done with ancient history,” Robby said. “Help me check beneath that tarp.”

Carter glanced down at the Jeep photograph one last time.

While Robby turned to shift a pair of folding chairs and a cooler, Carter folded the picture against his palm, not enough to crease it, only enough to hide it, and slipped it carefully into the deep pocket of his shorts.

By the time Robby turned around, Carter was crouched near the canvas tarp with both hands apparently empty.

Together, they dragged the cooler several inches from the wall.

The edge of the canvas tarp shifted with it, revealing the worn leather pocket of Carter’s glove beneath a collapsed camping chair.

“There,” Robby said as he pointed. “Your glove.”

Carter dropped to his knees and pulled it free. “I knew it was out here.”

Robby stared at him. “You accused me of losing it.”

“I was considering possibilities,” Carter said as he slid the glove onto his hand.

“You owe me forty minutes,” Robby told him.

Carter opened and closed the glove. “How do I give you minutes?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Robby said.

Carter headed toward the open garage door, striking the glove with his fist as though catching an invisible ball.

At the threshold, he stopped.

“Your conference is next weekend, right?” Carter asked as he turned back.

Robby bent to replace the lid on a storage tote. “Yeah.”

“And Auntie’s staying with me?” Carter continued.

“She’s taking most of the weekend,” Robby answered.

Carter slipped one hand into the pocket containing the photograph. “Is Uncle Jack coming too?”

“He’s covering Saturday while your aunt has plans,” Robby said.

Carter’s fingers settled against the faded edge of the picture.

“Only Saturday?” Carter asked.

Robby looked up. “Why?”

Carter withdrew his empty hand from his pocket. “No reason.”

“That sounded like a reason,” Robby said.

Carter began walking backward toward the house. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which movie?”

“I’ll pick,” Carter said as he turned around.

“That answer did not make me less suspicious,” Robby called after him.

Carter disappeared inside without responding.

Robby remained in the garage, surrounded by open bins and displaced camping equipment, with the uneasy feeling that he had just told his son something he would eventually regret.

Inside the house, Carter carried the photograph directly to his bedroom and tucked it beneath the book on his nightstand.

Then he returned to the living room, picked up the remote, and searched until he found the movie he remembered seeing advertised.

Two girls smiled back at him from the screen beneath the title.

Carter settled into the couch and selected The Parent Trap.

By the time Robby came inside, Carter was watching very carefully.

Auntie was staying Friday.

Uncle Jack was only coming Saturday.

Carter kept his eyes on the girls scheming across the screen.

That wasn’t enough time.

[unc-peepaw]

Pope (before he changed his name, moved to Pittsburgh, and became a doctor) and Dr. Jack Abbott (new identity) Part.1

[derancodey]

Soft Boyfriends

[mabeltanaka]

Animal Kingdom 4.13 "Smurf"

[shadeofpeach]

I trust you

Pairing: Andrew Pope Cody x lover!reader Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, blood, injury, gunshot wound, knife wound, graphic descriptions of medical procedures, emotional breakdown, guilt, established relationship. Summary: You begged Andrew to let you go on a job, but when things go brutally wrong, you are used against the Cody brothers. Left severely injured and bleeding out, Andrew is forced to stitch you back to life. A/N request + my first bloody angst andrew fic !! 🎀 based on this request🎀

Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction and written solely for entertainment purposes.

Andrew had told you no.

He’d told you no at least a dozen times, trying to keep you in the safety of the house. “I don't have a good feeling about this, baby.” he’d muttered into your hair the night before.

But you were tired of being left behind in the house.

You begged. You told him you could handle it.

Now, you were choking on your own blood, tied to a chair as Andrew’s worst nightmare was playing out in real time.

The plan was simple, or as simple as a Cody job ever got. A quick exchange, a lockbox of clean bonds, and out. But the crew they were dealing with wasn't looking to trade; they were looking for revenge since they noticed the Cody's were at his territory.

When you woke up, the metallic taste of blood was thick on your tongue. The room was dark, standing in the shadows was a man whose face you couldn't see, holding a burner phone.

And on the other end of the line was Andrew.

"I don't give a shit about the bonds," Andrew’s voice came through the speaker. It didn’t sound like him. The usual calculating edge was entirely gone, replaced by desperation. "You touch her, and I will personally dismantle every single person you’ve ever spoken to."

"She's alive, Cody," the man holding the phone drawled, stepping closer to you. He drew a hunting knife from his belt. The blade caught the weak light. "But the price just went up. You brought your own weakness to a job… not so intelligent of you, isnt it? That costs extra, I know you would give everything for her. Poor she. She's really beautiful, you know? Looks like an angel… such a shame I have to make her bleed."

"Name the place." Andrew roared through the phone. You could hear the screech of tires in the background. "We’ll bring the cash. All of it. Don't fucking touch her."

"I don't like your tone, Andrew," the man said smoothly. Without breaking eye contact with you, he drove the knife down into your thigh.

The scream that tore from your throat didn't even sound human. It was an agonizing tear as the blade sliced deep, dragging through muscle and severing a major artery. Dark arterial blood instantly began to pump through your denim.

"No! NO!" Andrew shrieked over the line, the sound of his voice breaking completely. "Stop!"

"Relax, man, I'm just making sure you understand the stakes," the man said. He pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch. The room started to spin. You started losing blood, very fast.

"I'm going to kill you," Andrew whispered, a shaking promise. "I am going to rip your fucking throat out."

"Bring the bonds to the docks. Container 42. Then I will tell you where she is. You have… ten minutes maximum before she bleed out. And Andrew? No brothers. No help. Just you. You were the only one who knew about the lockbox."

The man hung up the phone. He looked down at you, tossing the bloody knife onto a table. "Let's make sure you don't try to run, pretty thing."

He pulled a gun from his waistband. You couldn't even move to cringe away. A bullet pierced your leg and shattered your calf muscle. The force of a kick to your side knocked you and the chair down completely. You hit the ground hard, the pain so blinding that your brain simply shut off the signals, leaving you floating in a numb void.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't scream anymore. You could only watch the blood expand toward the floor.

You have no idea how much time has passed. Your body was cold, beginning to tremble slightly. The pain in your leg had disappeared; you could barely feel you lower body. Exhaustion was taking over your body when the door was kicked open.

Through the haze of your fading consciousness, you heard gunfire. Rapid, deafening, and relentless. There were no shouts, no warnings, just the execution of the men in the room.

Then, hands were on you. Untying you and then on your face.

"Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me, baby, please."

Andrew dropped to his knees in the puddle of your blood. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked entirely broken. The fierce Andrew Cody was gone; this was just a man watching his world end.

He ripped his flannel off, his hands shaking so violently he could barely manage it, and shoved it hard against the gaping wound in your thigh.

You let out a pathetic whimper, your fingers feebly twitching against his vest.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, pressing his weight into the wound to stop the bleeding. He took your face in his other hand, his thumb smearing blood across your cheek as he tried to keep your eyes locked on his. "Stay with me, fuck, baby, please. Do not close your eyes. You hear me? You gotta stay awake for me."

"Andrew..." you breathed, the word barely a puff of air. "C-Cold."

"I know, I know, baby, I'm right here." He looked up, screaming toward the doorway. "Baz! She's bleeding out!"

Baz appeared in the doorway, his face grim, already calling a dirty backalley doctor. "All clear. Car's running. Move."

Andrew scooped you into his arms, lifting you gently despite the horrific injuries. As he pulled you against his chest, your blood soaked entirely through his shirt. He ran out into the pouring rain, holding you like you were made of glass, pressing his lips against your forehead over and over again.

"I shouldn't have let you come," he whispered fiercely into your hair as he threw you into the back seat of the truck, climbing in right after you to keep pressure on your wounds. "I should have locked you in the house. This is on me. This is all on me."

A deep agony appeared in his chest when your eyes started closing. "Baby, hey, open your eyes, don't do that," he desesperatly tried to keep you awake, and took your hand with his free one. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, please give me a sign, anything." You moved your fingers, interlacing them lightly with his, pressing gently. He sighed and screamed Deran to hurry.

The truck screeched away into the night and Andrew held you tight, his tears mixing with the blood on your skin, begging god to let you open your eyes one more time.

Andrew's hands were glued to your thigh. They couldn't go to a hospital, not with gunshot wounds, not with a Cody job gone loud. It had to be the house.

Andrew carried you in. When he laid you down on the hard wood, the bright lights showed the true horror of it all: the deep slice in your leg and the bloody mess of your calf.

"Get out," Andrew rasped after some seconds, not looking at his brothers. "Everyone out. Leave."

"Andrew, you need help with—" Baz said after starting an IV, but Andrew whipped his head around, his eyes were wild.

"Out!" he roared.

The brothers backed away, closing the doors to the room, leaving only him and the sound of your ragged breathing.

Andrew tore open the medical kit, his hands fumbling with the bottles of antiseptic, local anesthetic, and heavy nylon sutures.

He knew how to patch a wound, he’d done it for his brothers a hundred times, but this was you. Every touch felt like he was breaking you further.

"I have to numb it, baby. I have to clean it first," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The moment the antiseptic hit the open laceration on your thigh, your body convulsed. An agonizing shriek tore from your throat, your fingers clawing at the edges of the table. Your hips buckled from the sheer, burning agony of it.

Seeing you twist in pain broke whatever fragile hold Andrew had on his emotions.

A choked sob escaped his chest. As he prepped the needle to start stitching, tears finally spilled over his eyelashes, hot and fast. He looked so broken in that moment, his massive shoulders trembling as he tried to thread the needle through his blurred vision.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," he wept openly, a sound so raw it made your heart hurt worse than your physical wounds. "It’s my fault. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve kept you in the house. I did this to you."

The local anesthetic was finally starting to dull the sharpest edges of the pain into a throbbing ache. Through the haze of exhaustion and blood loss, you looked at him. You had never seen Andrew look so defeated. He looked like a terrified child trapped in a monster's body.

Slowly, weakly, you lifted your uninjured arm. Your fingers were trembling, but you managed to reach up, pressing your palm against his wet cheek.

Andrew froze at the sensation of your skin. He leaned heavily into your hand, closing his eyes for a brief second as if your touch was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind.

"Andrew..." you croaked. "B-baby." He looked down at you. "N-not your fault," you whispered, trying to force a smile through your trembling lips. "I... S-stop. Don't c-cry."

"You almost died," he choked out, his voice a broken whisper. He took a ragged breath, trying to steady his hands as he lowered the needle to the edge of the knife wound on your thigh. "I can't... I can't lose you. If you die, I don't survive it. I don't."

"'m here," you promised softly. "Fix m- me up. I t-trust you."

Hearing those words, knowing you didn't hate him, knowing you still trusted his hands to put you back together, gave him the focus he needed.

Andrew wiped his eyes on his shoulder and started working. He was meticulous. Every pull of the thread was agonizing, and you still cried out, your grip tightening on the table. Every time you gasped, he would mutter a soft "I've got you, I''m sorry, almost done, baby," using his voice to soothe you.

By the time he finished stitching your thigh and packed the gunshot wound in your calf with clean gauze, the sun was just beginning to peek through the sky.

The table was a mess of blood and medical waste, but the bleeding had completely stopped. Your breathing had evened out, a faint color returning to your body as the IV fluids Baz had quickly started before leaving the room took some effect.

Andrew gently lifted you from the table, carrying you into his bedroom. He laid you down on the bed with agonizing care, supporting your body as your head hit the pillows and placing the IV bag in an IV pole.

Baz and Smurf had already been inside. While Andrew was finishing the stitches, they had silently gone to work turning his bedroom into a makeshift recovery ward. On the nightstand sat a fresh IV pole, lines, and bags of O-negative blood, the benefit of having a dirty paramedic on the Cody payroll. Smurf had even left a clean, damp washcloth and a bowl of warm water resting on the dresser.

Andrew didn’t say a word, he felt a grim wave of relief that, for once, his family had anticipated exactly what you needed to survive.

You were entirely spent, your eyes half closed, skin still holding a pallor of someone who had lost far too much blood.

"I'm going to take very good care of you, I promise, I love you so much, I can't lose you," Andrew whispered.

He still didn't want anyone else touching you right now, so he did it himself. His hands were steady now as he spiked the blood bag, hanging it from the pole where the already started fluids where. He knew exactly how to find the veins, next to the other line.

"Small pinch, baby, I'm sorry," he murmured.

You let out a tiny hiss as the needle slid in, but you kept your half closed eyes locked onto his face. He taped the line down securely, and within seconds, the blood began to flow down the clear tubing and into your system.

Andrew let out a long breath and grabbed the warm washcloth Smurf had left and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. With gentle strokes, he began to wipe the dried blood from your forehead, your cheeks, and your collarbone, cleaning away the horror of the night.

"The blood will help. It'll make the cold go away," he whispered, pressing the warm cloth to your cheek.

As the transfusion did its work, a faint warmth began to creep back into your skin. You felt the freezing numbness in your limbs slowly begin to lift. Weakly, you curled your fingers around the edge of her t-shirt.

"Thank you, baby."

Andrew closed his eyes when he heard your voice again, then leaning down to give you a soft kiss.

"Don't thank me," he muttered against your lips, his arms wrapping around you as he carefully climbed into the bed, mindful of the IV lines and you injuries. He pulled you against his body, his eyes fixed on the plastic bag as it slowly dripped life back into your body. "Just stay. Stay here with me. Don't leave me."

You were going to be okay. The road to recovery would be long, and Andrew would likely never let you within ten feet of a Cody job ever again. As he held you in the quiet safety of his room, the crushing guilt finally began to ease.

You were alive. And he was never letting you go.

-'🖤⛓ ⁠*⁠.⁠‧₊˚

animal kingdom masterlist

[xmissghoulx]

Oh my goodness!! 😍😍😍

[ivars]

5.01

[trippingonthelight]

"pope stop touching me"

"i'm not touching you"

"get out of my damn face"

"i'm not in your damn face"

[trippingonthelight]

"pope stop touching me"

"i'm not touching you"

"get out of my damn face"

"i'm not in your damn face"

[wesandresons]

JAKE WEARY as DERAN CODY ANIMAL KINGDOM SEASON 1, EPISODE 9

[josephs-quinns]

Shawn Hatosy photographed by Ian Spanier for the LA Times

[thebugsfollow]

Shawn talking about Kelly

[usershawn]

Shawn Hatosy for The Envelope, Los Angeles Times