no promises | garrett graham ✶
summary: in which garrett spends an entire night spiralling because he’s convinced beau maxwell is your boyfriend.
pairing: garrett graham x fem!reader
notes: hi!! i hope you're all well. thank you so much for your request, this was so fun for me to write (i love jealous garrett!!) i hope you enjoy <3 🤭 💌
garrett knows something is wrong the second beau walks through the front door. not because beau is late, beau is always late.
not because the hockey house is packed beyond capacity following a friday night win, it always is.
definitely not because logan is currently laughing so hard he can barely breathe while tucker tries to explain why balancing an empty beer bottle on the ceiling fan had seemed like a good idea.
all of that is normal. what isn’t normal is the girl standing beside beau.
garrett’s entire body goes still. one second he’s half-listening to logan talk, the next he can’t hear a fucking thing.
because it’s you, standing beside beau, laughing. your head is tipped slightly backward, your hand resting lightly against his arm, the contact comfortable, familiar, easy.
the sight hits him so hard it genuinely feels physical. you weren’t supposed to be here. not tonight, not with beau, especially not with beau.
for one brief moment, all garrett feels is surprise, pure disbelief. none of this makes sense.
why are you here with him?
why are you smiling at him like that?
garrett watches as beau’s hand settles against the small of your back. surprise immediately becomes something else, something sharp, hot, ugly.
the action, although small, doesn’t look casual. it doesn’t look new. it doesn’t even look uncertain.
it looks familiar, natural. the kind of familiarity that only comes from history. suddenly he feels sick, the two of you look exactly like a couple.
logan follows his gaze immediately. he spots you, and a small grin immediately graces his features.
garrett drains half his beer, mostly because it’s either that or throw it directly at his best friends head. “you know,” logan says easily, “for a guy who insisted this was casual, you look dangerously close to punching something.”
garrett doesn’t answer, because the thing is, he shouldn’t be angry. he knows that.
you aren’t his girlfriend, the two of you have never been official, never had labels, never had dates, never had any conversation about where this undescribed 'thing' between you both was heading.
one agreement, one simple rule. no seeing other people.
now he’s standing here aimlessly, barely hearing the conversation around him. all he can focus on is you.
you and beau moving closer through the crowd, talking quietly between yourselves like you exist in your own little orbit.
beau’s hand resting against the small of your back like it belongs there. garrett’s chest tightens, he can’t help but wonder if you’ve been breaking that rule this whole time.
“guys.” beau reaches them first, his arm slipping away from your back.
garrett breathes a small sigh of relief.
you smile. it's warm, easy. the exact smile garrett spent most of last tuesday trying to kiss off your face.
his stomach drops once more. that’s the other problem, you weren’t some random hookup, not anymore. maybe once, months ago, before things got complicated. before you started leaving spare hair ties in his room, before he learned exactly how you took your coffee, before he started waking up reaching for you automatically.
before he realised he was absolutely fucked.
logan immediately points at himself, “logan," followed by tucker, "i'm tucker.”
“nice to meet you both.” your laugh follows.
garrett knows that laugh. he knows exactly what it sounds like at midnight, exactly what it sounds like when you’re trying not to smile, exactly what it sounds like when you’re underneath-
his thoughts stop immediately. your eyes find his, and your entire expression softens, just slightly, enough that nobody else would notice.
nobody except him. after all, he’s spent months memorising every version of your face.
the smile you give him is different. smaller yet warmer, more familiar. you walk straight towards him and before he can think, your arms are wrapping around his shoulders.
the hug is brief, completely normal, except nothing about it feels normal to him. garrett knows exactly how your body fits against his, knows exactly what perfume you’re wearing, knows exactly how many nights he’s spent with his face buried against your neck.
his hands settle instinctively against your waist. for a second neither of you move, just long enough for your eyes to meet when you pull back. long enough for something unspoken to pass between you, but you weren't sure if it was recognition or confusion.
beau appears beside you and the moment disappears.
“you guys know each other?” beau asks.
you respond simply. “kind of".
the words come out easy, almost as though they had been rehearsed.
as if he hadn’t spent half his week tangled up with you in his bed. as if he didn’t know exactly how you looked first thing in the morning. as if he didn’t know the sleepy sound you make when he pulls you closer, pressing your body into his chest.
beau doesn’t notice anything. if he does, he doesn’t show it. he just grins, “y/n and i go way back.” his arm drapes around your shoulders easily, casually, like it belongs there.
garrett hates how instantly his jaw tightens. you roll your eyes. “i've been putting up with beau for way too long."
beau grins in response, “and yet you still adore me.”
beau laughs at your comment, squeezing your shoulder gently before pulling you into his side. the action is effortless, casual, like touching you is second nature to him.
everyone laughs, everyone except garrett. all he can think about is the way beau touches you like it’s instinct, and how badly he hates watching it. he tells himself to get a grip, to stop reading into things, to stop spiralling.
the kitchen however, is what finally does him in.
garrett is halfway through another beer, leaning against the counter and pretending not to watch you from across the room, when beau suddenly appears beside him.
he heads straight for the fridge, opens it, stares, closes it, before opening it again. garrett already doesn’t like where this is going. beau glances over, gaze landing on him. “question.”
garrett’s voice is flat. “yeah?”
beau keeps staring into the fridge. “what does y/n usually drink, do you know?”
everything inside garrett immediately stills. beau doesn’t notice, still scanning shelves. “she keeps stealing mine.”
logan appears in the kitchen like he can smell chaos, interested immediately.
“ah. very romantic of you, maxwell.”
beau doesn’t even look at him, however he huffs a quick laugh. “fuck off, logan.” he keeps searching, then grabs two random bottles before holding them up. “which one?”
garrett stares, his jaw tightens. the question shouldn’t bother him, yet somehow it does.
how the hell does beau not know?
if the two of you are this close, if he's touching you like that, if you’re glued to each other all night.
how does he not know something that simple?
how does he not know your favourite drink?
garrett doesn’t even think. “neither.”
beau blinks, logan slowly turns, a grin already forming across his features in clear amusement. garrett pushes off the counter, walking towards the hockey house fridge.
he opens it, reaching towards the very back. tucked behind everything else, hidden where no one ever bothers looking, your favourite drink.
the one he started keeping stocked because every time you came over, you stole one. the one you once declared was “objectively superior” to every other drink in existence. the one nobody else in this house touches, because no one else even knows it’s there.
garrett grabs it, turns, and hands it to beau. the movement is automatic, instinctive.
the second the bottle leaves his hand, he realises his mistake. beau looks down at the drink, then back at garrett, slowly.
logan’s grin turns downright evil, because suddenly everyone in this kitchen is thinking the exact same thing.
how the hell does garrett know that?
and all garrett can think is, how the hell doesn’t beau?
it gets worse, so much worse.
throughout the course of the night beau fails to leave your side. everywhere garrett looks there you are, sitting beside him, laughing with him, talking to him, sharing food with him.
every single interaction feels like another punch to the ribs. none of it looks awkward, none of it looks new.
it looks real, established, comfortable.
garrett keeps finding himself wondering the same thing.
how long has this been like this?
how long have you and beau been this close?
why the hell had you never mentioned him?
the questions keep circling. louder, meaner, more irrational. the more he watches throughout the night, the worse it gets.
other people start noticing you too, guys, specifically. garrett notices every single one. every wandering stare, every double take, every moment someone looks a little too long.
your outfit doesn’t help. not because it’s revealing, simply because it’s you. you look good in everything, always have.
you’ve always had this unfair ability to look good in everything. effortless, natural, like you don’t even realise what you do to people.
tonight your outfit is simple. jeans, a tiny top, and your hair loose around your shoulders, skin warm and glowing beneath the low lighting.
you look beautiful without even trying.
one guy lingers too long when you pass through the kitchen, another openly checks you out when you laugh near the couch. garrett feels something dark twist in his chest.
ugly, possessive, protective.
the thing is, he knows you. he knows how naturally warm you are, how friendly you are, how easily you smile at people, how you always assume the best in everyone, and how painfully oblivious you can be when someone’s flirting with you.
suddenly he feels hyperaware of every person around you, especially beau.
beau is always near, always beside you, always close enough to touch. garrett hates how much that bothers him. he knows beau, he trusts him, yet that somehow doesn’t make this any easier. trusting beau doesn’t magically stop the ugly jealousy curling in his stomach every time he touches you.
the music changes, the entire house erupts. a louder song, one everyone knows. half the room immediately starts yelling the lyrics. people start jumping, laughing, shouting.
the energy shifts instantly, and beau turns to you with a grin.
you laugh immediately. “beau-”
too late. he’s already grabbing your hand, pulling you towards the middle of the living room.
garrett goes still, completely still, like his entire body has forgotten how to function. beau’s hands settle on your waist, and your hands land on his shoulders.
the air leaves garrett’s lungs, actually leaves. his grip on the plastic cup tightens hard enough it bends beneath his fingers.
you’re laughing, dancing, moving easily with him.
the worst part, is how natural it looks. like this is normal, like beau touching you is normal, like your body already knows exactly how to move with his.
logan appears beside him again. “uh oh.” garrett doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away. “i don't want to hear it man.” logan watches for another second, then mutters, almost impressed. “jesus.”
garrett’s voice is low, dangerously flat. “what?”
logan glances sideways at him, then back at you. “you’re jealous.”
garrett doesn’t answer because jealousy feels too simple of a word for whatever this is.
this feels meaner, sharper, hotter. this feels like watching someone else touch something his body already knows by memory. garrett knows your waist. he knows exactly how it feels beneath his hands, knows how perfectly you fit against him. he knows exactly what sound you make when he kisses the sensitive spot below your ear.
now beau is touching you like he has every right. garrett hates it. he simply hates it.
someone bumps into you from behind, hard enough that you stumble. garrett moves before he even thinks, his body reacting entirely on instinct, heart slamming against his ribs. much to his dismay however, beau catches you first, his hands firm on your waist, steadying you instantly.
you laugh breathlessly. “i’m okay.”
garrett stops dead, heart pounding. the guy who bumped you barely glances back, just simply keeps moving.
he doesn’t apologise, and something cold settles in garrett’s chest. all he can think about is how much worse that could've been. how crowded the hockey house is, how many drunk idiots are around, how many people are watching you.
a few minutes later, beau has wandered off, disappearing somewhere into the crowd for drinks or to talk to someone across the room.
garrett tells himself not to look for you, he lasts maybe thirty seconds. then he sees him, some guy approaching you. he's confident, smirking. he watches on as he says something to you. you smile politely, say something back. garrett’s entire body goes rigid, logan sees it too. “oh no.”
the guy steps closer, too close.
your smile falters slightly, barely, so small most people wouldn’t catch it. garrett does, because he knows you, he knows that expression, knows the tiny hesitation, the subtle discomfort, the way you’re trying to be polite instead of rude.
something inside of him snaps. he's moving before anyone can stop him, before logic can catch up, before pride can remind him that this is a terrible idea.
three strides. that’s all it takes, straight through the crowd, straight towards you. the guy is mid-sentence when garrett steps in directly between you, broad shoulders blocking the other man completely. the movement is so fast it makes you suck in a small breath behind him.
the guy blinks, completely caught off guard. garrett’s voice is calm, too calm, the dangerous kind.
behind him, he feels you freeze. the guy looks irritated. “relax, man. we were talking.”
garrett doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t soften. “conversation’s over.”
the guy stares. looks garrett up and down, calculates very quickly, before clearly deciding it isn't worth it. he mutters something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.
garrett doesn’t move until he’s gone, only then does he exhale, slowly.
his pulse is still racing, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, because you’re behind him, because beau is now staring, because this has officially gone too far.
he doesn’t care. he turns.
you’re staring at him. completely wide-eyed, surprised, confused.
beau is too. he's watching carefully now, his easy expression gone, because even he can tell something is happening here.
garrett knows, he’s seconds away from saying something he can’t take back. he looks down at you, and somehow, now that you’re this close, everything feels worse.
he knows this face, knows the tiny crease between your brows when you’re confused, knows the softness in your eyes when you look at him late at night, knows what it feels like when that expression melts into something softer in his arms.
his chest rises too fast, his jaw tight.
your voice comes out quiet, soft. “garrett…”
there’s concern there now, confusion too. “what’s wrong?”
that almost undoes him, because you genuinely don’t know. you genuinely have no idea what you’ve done to him tonight. garrett laughs once, short, humourless. you watch as he drags a hand through his hair, his pulse still hammering.
he looks at beau, then back at you. his voice drops. low, raw, honest.
“what exactly is going on here?”
you blink, confusion gracing your features. “what?”
garrett gestures vaguely between you and beau, his frustration finally cracking through. “this.”
your brows pull together. “this?”
“yes, this.” his voice sharpens slightly, not angry at you, just overwhelmed, frustrated.
“you show up here with beau.”
your confusion only deepens. garrett continues.
“he walks in with his hand on your back.”
his eyes lock onto yours.
“you’ve spent the entire night glued to his side.”
his jaw tightens. “you’re dancing with him.”
you stare, still not seeming to understand. somehow that makes garrett spiral harder.
because how do you not see this?
how do you not realise what this looks like?
his voice drops lower, quieter, almost dangerous in how controlled it is.
“you never told me you and beau were this close, y/n.”
that lands. you freeze. realisation slowly starts dawning across your features.
garrett lets out a hollow laugh.
your mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
his gaze doesn’t leave yours.
silence. three seconds. four.
your expression changes. confusion disappears, realisation slams in, then shock. you laugh. garrett stares, clearly annoyed, hurt.
beau’s eyes widen. he looks at you, then garrett, and finally, he understands.
an amused grin breaks across his features. “oh my god.”
you immediately flush. “beau.”
beau looks delighted, actually delighted.
“no way.” he points between the both of you, repeating himself. “no way.”
garrett’s patience is hanging by a thread. “what?”
beau looks at him, still grinning, clearly amused by the entire situation unfolding before him.
“you think y/n and i are together?”
silence. garrett says nothing, which is an answer in itself.
beau bursts out laughing, full-body laughter, actually bent over. you cover your face, mortified. “oh my god.”
garrett just stands there, completely unimpressed, trying to make sense of beau's reaction.
beau wipes at his face, still laughing. “g.” he points at himself, “she’s family.”
garrett’s expression doesn’t change. beau snorts, “no, literally.”
your voice comes out muffled behind your hands. “we grew up together.”
beau grins. “our moms have been best friends forever.” he gestures between you both. “she’s been attached to my side since we were like, six.”
you lower your hands slightly, still blushing, your cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson red. “beau’s basically my brother.”
garrett blinks. once, twice. the jealousy, the anger, the panic. it all evaporates so fast, it almost gives him whiplash. relief crashes into him so hard his knees nearly fall weak.
beau isn’t your boyfriend, you weren’t hiding another relationship, you weren’t breaking your one rule.
you’re still his. or at least as much his as you’ve ever been.
that thought alone sends something warm and overwhelming through his chest. after a few seconds beau’s grin turns downright evil, because now he’s noticing something else.
his gaze flicks between both of you, then narrows.
your head snaps toward him, immediate panic. “no.”
beau points directly at garrett, then at you, a slow smile spreading across his features. “oh, this is good.”
you already look horrified. “beau, don’t.”
beau ignores you completely, eyes locked on garrett. “you’re the guy.”
garrett nearly stops breathing, you close your eyes. “please stop talking.”
beau looks thrilled. “no fucking way. this is-"
"you're the guy. oh this is incredible."
you groan. “can you please-”
beau cuts you off. “she talks about you.”
garrett hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. all he can do is stare at you, at your flushed cheeks, your obvious embarrassment, the way you can’t meet his eyes.
all he feels is relief. warm, overwhelming. it settles deep in his chest, loosening something painfully tight that had been wound there all night. his voice is quieter when he finally speaks, low enough that only you can hear.
you peek at him, still embarrassed.
beau laughs. “she absolutely does.”
garrett’s mouth finally curves, small, real. it's the first genuine smile he's given all night. he steps towards you. slowly, deliberately, like the rest of the room no longer exists.
he's close enough that the space between you disappears.
you feel yourself nearly stop breathing. his hand settles against your waist instictively, like it belongs there, like it’s always belonged there. your breath catches, his thumb brushes once against your side, the action intimate enough to make heat crawl up your neck.
his gaze softens, only for you, and suddenly he looks exhausted. relieved, wrecked, all at once. “you have any idea how insane you made me tonight?”
your cheeks burn. “garrett-”
his forehead nearly brushes yours now. his voice low, protective, possessive, gentle. “i spent the last two hours trying not to lose my mind watching guys stare at you.”
your pulse jumps, his hand tightens slightly at your waist.
“and beau touching you all night?” he exhales, shakes his head once, almost laughing at himself now, like he can't believe how badly he lost his mind over this.
“i was two seconds away from doing something stupid, baby.”
the nickname lands between you like something tangible. garrett doesn’t call you that, not really, not often.
if anything, he usually says your name, or nothing at all. most of the time he just looks at you in that quiet, intense way of his and somehow that says enough.
so hearing it now, hearing baby in that low, rough voice, so gentle, so instinctive, like it slipped out without him even realising, hits you harder than it should.
you stare up at him, speechless. suddenly everything clicks into place.
the tension, the jealousy, the protectiveness, all of it.
your voice comes out small, soft, almost disbelieving. “…you were jealous?”
garrett lets out a quiet laugh. his eyes don’t leave yours. “jealous doesn’t even begin to cover it, y/n.”
his expression softens even more. “you should’ve told me.”
your voice is barely above a whisper. “…i didn’t think it mattered.”
garrett gives a quiet huff of disbelief. “of course it mattered.” his eyes flick briefly to beau, then back to you, and his voice drops. quiet certainty.
not harsh, not demanding, just firm, like he needs five minutes alone with you before he completely loses his mind. your heart pounds, because suddenly beau is grinning.
none of it matters, because all you can see is garrett. his hand in yours, his expression, the way he’s looking at you like you’ve just undone him.
when his fingers slide between yours, you go without hesitation.
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