Summary: You work for your boss Harry Castillo for 3 years who you have secretly fallen for. the relationship between you changes as he starts dating a beautiful girl, Lucy, who is his buddy's match maker.
Warning: ANGST, PINING, jealous!reader, no description of the reader's body, insecured reader, LUCY, jealous! harry , special character appearance , allusions to smut, happy ending, 2nd person pov, 18+, smut, Harry in his mid 40s and reader late 20s or early 30s but really it's up to you.
5-6k words
Author's note: I've been in this fandom for almost for half a decade but this is my FIRST FIC so be kind y'all pleaseee. English isn't my first language so sorry in advance for mistakes.
TOO CLICHÉ
Work is hard but working under someone you have massive big fat crush on? Now that’s a real challenge and you’re convinced that you are god’s toughest warrior because you’re not sure how you are able to hide your infatuation with this insanely hot, millionaire gentleman Harry Castillo under the disguise of professionalism.
It’s been almost three years you are working for him as his personal assistant. It’s a job that pays well and your boss is pretty friendly and generous. Plus you get to look at him so that’s a bonus.
Harry Castillo is a dream man, he had it all, money, looks, personality yet he was still lacking in his romantic life. He used to date few people over the years but they used him as a money machine and discarded him when they got their fair share. You couldn’t understand how they are able to just let HIM down.
Only if he was mine you sighed, but you know it was impossible. He was way out of your league. First of all you were way younger than him. Secondly he dated women who were also posh and knew what they were doing with their life. You on the other hand……. Okay enough. Back to work!
You typically worked in your office room which was in his big fancy apartment. You knew what he liked, what he wore, what he ate, basically everything. You also pretty much knew all the clients like the back of your hand and harry often repaid with gifts for your over timing but really you don’t mind working for him. Your family didn’t live in the city so you went to empty home. Harry was also protective. Whenever you needed help you knew you could ask him for a hand.
The relation between you two were pretty close, having worked under him for now more that couple of years have really let you see the side of him that most people didn’t. He trusted you for both his official works as well as his personal life affairs. He confided about his life in you so you cherish the friendship you have built. You don’t want to ever jeopardize it because of some silly crush.
You were listing this week’s meetings when you got your call from Mr. Castillo to go to him.
You knock on his door.
“Hey come in!”
You enter to see him already holding two suits to show you. Today is his buddy’s wedding and you know what this means.
You show him the black one in his right hand, “This fits you better”.
“You sure?” he cocks his eyebrows.
“99%” you smile.
“Where’s the 1%?” he is clearly amused.
“Depends on whether you believe it or not while wearing it” you smirk. And huffs at that.
“Okay then this is it. We’re leaving at sharp 10.”
“Yes sir!” you say and he smiles.
“You think I’ll find someone there?” he winks and you roll your eyes,
“Sure.” and you smile too praying to god he doesn’t.
Ugh stop being selfish!
Lately you’ve been kinda relieved because he is single. That doesn’t mean you think you have a chance with him but last time he was with Anna you were sure you were very jealous. You could clearly see she was more into his money than him and eventually she left and you let out the heaviest sigh like it was weighing you down the whole time they dated. After everything Harry has done for you, you felt guilty for being happy when he was going through break up but you knew she wasn’t good for him ultimately he’d be better off without her.
You arrive at the party at 10:30 and the wedding ceremony began and it was successful. Everyone drinking, cheering and happy and you couldn’t help but smile.
It has been one year since and Harry’s dating life hasn’t turned up. Low-key you were happy. One less thing to be bothered about.
You were drinking and enjoying the party while harry was with the groom. The party went on and at one moment Harry called you.
“You look beautiful.” he complimented and you couldn’t stop the shy smile that took over your face.
“Thank you”, you replied.
“Wanna dance?” he pointed his thumb towards the floor.
“There’s something I wanted to say” You were still dancing when he said and you were confused.
“Umm….Sure” you said ,now butterflies in your stomach.
Then he took you and danced and you laughed and you didn’t know how easily time slipped by while you were holding him dancing. This might be one of the happiest memory of your life you thought.
“Yes?”, you said nervously.
“Do you see her? Lucy! I’ve talked to her. She’s the match maker. Do you think she’ll dance with me?” Your stomach dropped.
“Oh… I mean you should ask her” you said trying to hide your disappointment.
“Well.. thought so” he smiled and he looked at Lucy with heart eyes and you wanted vomit right there. You had no right to feel that way but jealousy is a disease.
“You go ask her”, you give the best smile you can as you say so and he thanks you and leaves. There goes that dream.
You are drinking and seeing him smiling and dancing with…. Lucy. She is drop dead gorgeous and you get why Harry likes her. They look beautiful together and she looks like she is someone who can handle herself. Confident and pretty. Fuck!
The party was over and you were with harry as his car is dropping you at your house. Harry couldn't stop talking about Lucy and you learn they exchanged number and he’s already planning the next date. You hum and response, simply sad and don’t have energy to make conversation.
“You okay?” Harry looks concerned, You turned your head at him “No no I’m totally fine just tired”, you try to put on your facade.
“Okay but let me know if you feel off” he adds, and you nod in reply.
One week later
It’s been two months now.The dates are going smooth between Harry and Lucy. She frequents to the apartment so you give them space and stay away at your office. She’s a nice girl who is funny too. Great!
You were booking a table at a fancy restaurant for your boss, for his date. You tried to process this whole week and now you’re kind of back to normalcy even though jealousy is gnawing at you whenever he mentions Lucy. But you realize you can’t be bitter and you do need to accept and move on. But damn was it hard. All you thought about, was him. even in the privacy of your bedroom when your fingers were between your thighs you only came thinking about him. This is the reason you’ve been single and hasn’t invested your time in romantic life. This invisible loyalty you had for Harry was holding you back and he doesn’t even have feelings for you. Bummer!
You limit your conversations with Harry only to work too because you know you should have a boundary since he now has a girlfriend. And if Harry has noticed he doesn’t say so yet. To be honest he misses spending time with you. You no longer went near him unless called and also became aloof. But he also is grateful for the personal space you have given to him since Lucy is in the picture. Lucy is great and he couldn’t be happier. He really wanted to make it work.
They look perfect together. You hum to yourself as you see them laughing yet on another party. This has become your almost daily routine. You have to see them together almost everyday and you can’t stop feeling the sadness and god knows how you cry like a foolish little girl in your pillows at night.
You are drinking when a guy slids next to your sit.
“Mind if I Sit?” the guy asks with big brown puppy eyes and curls and a charming smile.
“Sure”, you smile.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy gives sweet grin and only then you notice, this is a handsome man and you feel butterflies in your stomach.
“Sure” you say amused.
“Name’s Tommy. Tommy Miller. What’s your name sweetheart?” and you give him your name. You don’t know how long and easily this conversation is flowing and Tommy is really charming, funny. You learn he is from Texas.
You were laughing with Tommy when you heard your name getting called. It’s Harry. You excused yourself and went to stand next to Harry. Lucy probably went to washroom.
“How are you holding up?” He eyes Tommy and you give him assurance that you are okay and introduce him to Tommy.
“Tommy, this is Harry Castillo, My boss.” you smile and they shake hands. But something felt off with Harry you didn’t know why. He seemed like something bothered him but maybe he was just tired.
“ I’m going back home with Lucy. Do you want the lift?” and something in you triggered,
“No I think I will take Uber tonight thanks, you two enjoy.” You tried to give smile.
“Are you sure?You can come with us.” Harry insisted.
“I can give her lift”, Tommy announced, “Only if she agrees.” Harry looked at him with unreadable impression and you were thinking about the proposal and something in you clicked and you said, “Okay.”
Tommy grinned and Harry couldn’t hide his dissatisfaction and you clearly knew harry enough to know he was bothered. But you assumed it’s his protective side so you gave assurance that you’ll be okay.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” harry is worried as he should be because how did you just agree to go with a stranger you just met ten minutes ago and it’s pissing him off. You never go with someone else when he is there and he is the one usually giving you lift. So yeah harry wasn’t feeling okay but you were adult. If you chose someone he can’t change your mind.
“No, I think I’ll take the ride with Tommy.” you reply.
“Okay then take care. Text me when you get home” Harry left.
“So how about tomorrow night at Tipsy Bison?” Tommy asks.
It’s been a month now that you’ve met Tommy. He’s hardworking guy and lovely. Also good in bed so you went along pretty nice and you were spending a lot of time with him but you felt guilty. You still haven’t been able to move on from Harry. Part of you thought dipping into dating will help you finally be over him. Wrong! It doesn’t help that you still see him everyday although the relationship between you and harry is rocky right now.
Lately he’s been snapping and scolding you and you swear you never saw him like that with you. He was always calm and collected. He’s also losing his tempers occasionally with clients and if you noticed all this you don’t say anything. He seems do be doing well with Lucy so you really don’t know what happened.
“Yeah sure, sounds nice. I’m in!”
“ Be ready at 6 then!God I miss you!”
“We just met yesterday Tommy” you giggled and he is sweet you gotta give him that.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss my girl”, you hear him before you heard your name and look up to your office door. Harry is standing clearly pissed, you don’t know why but you end the conversation with Tommy saying you’ll get back later.
“Hey! Do you needed anything?” You ask.
“Have you sent the mail to Martell enterprise about the meeting tomorrow?” he’s leaning at the door frame.
“Yes I think I did..”
“Are you sure? Because they say they didn’t receive anything”He cocks his eyebrows at you.
You quickly check the mail and it suddenly hit you that you totally forgot to do it yesterday. You wrote the mail and didn’t click send, Somehow you missed it and how could you fuck up something so big? SHIT!
“O shit I’m so so sorry Harry, I thought I sent it , I wrote the mail but…”
Harry raised his hand signaling you to stop so you stop.
“You don’t forget call you boyfriend now do you?” you eyes went wide not understanding what he’s trying to imply. He continues.
“Lately you’ve been irresponsible. I wonder why I pay you when there are more skilled people that’s fawning for your position.” It’s true that you did some fuck ups but it’s nothing irredeemable and although yesterday's one really was big mistake, there’s no way this is the Harry you knew. You feel your stomach drop at his insults.
“What do you mean?” you don’t like how teary you’ve become and on the verge of crying.
“ You know what I mean. It’s time you start to focus on your job rather than chit chats with your boyfriend.” There was a venom mixed with his word and you felt sick. You maybe were his employee and maybe you thought he’s your friend but there’s a limit. He’s hurt your ego and this is clearly disrespectful of him. You’ve done nothing but serve him for years and this is how he treat you?
You gather your belongings and that startles Harry’s, “What are you doing?”
You get up from your desk and stand in front of harry despite the tears in your eyes, you don’t care what he sees but you feel like he broke your heart and there’s no going back
“I quit.”
“What do you mean?” harry confused.
“If you think you can find better okay, I’m leaving.I Quit and fuck you Harry Castillo!” you say with tears streaming your face and you storm past him not looking back.
You’re not going to take this from him. He’s an asshole you thought. And maybe it was time to start over.
Harry feels restless. He doesn’t know why. He clearly got the lottery in life. He’s got wealth, a good life and a pretty girlfriend he loves. Then why does he feel empty. His mind often wonders to you, how are you doing, where you were. Have you eaten enough? Are you taking care of yourself? Are you with him? how did you feel like….Okay stop! He knows you were off limits, so younger than him and his trusted friend. But sometimes his mind betrayed him and he feels guilty about that right after he comes in his hands at the thought of you. He has a beautiful women beside him then why does his mind wonder towards you. He hates himself. This is not fair to neither you or Lucy.
Ever since that Tommy guy came in the picture he’s losing you. Not that he owned you, but there was a bitter feeling that he feels.
It started the first night you encountered. You were laughing and he missed it. He missed your laugh. You weren’t close anymore and didn’t have heart to heart conversation after he started dating. You stayed away and he understood that it’s you being mindful to give him privacy and he was thankful for that and he needed that to nurture his new relationship. He’s been working less time to give more time to Lucy. And everything is working out but he couldn’t help but hate himself for how he treated you recently. Especially that day. He clearly saw the hurt in your eyes. He never saw you this sad and defeated. He then realized what he did.
He fucked up and there’s no going back. And you quit. You fucking quit. He should’ve known better.
He called you that night so many times and you blocked him number. He could just drive to your home but that would be too invasive. He needed to give you space. It’s been a week since and he tried to message you on social media hoping that you’d listen just once, that he was sorry but you just kept him on seen. So he gave you space that you asked for.
One week later he got your resignation letter via mail.
So you wouldn’t even meet him? Lucy was told that night that you quit but harry didn’t share with her what happened.
“She just needs her time. I’m sure she has her reason. Just give her space. I hope whatever happened, she’ll come around.You are good friends. That won’t go away.” Lucy says brushing his head while she was sitting on his lap after learning that you quit.
But Harry knew better. You won’t.
One month after you left he thought about dropping by your place because you were still ignoring him and there was no social media updates from you but he found you moved out of your apartment. FUCK!
You often recount your last encounter and think what happened and you don’t regret your decision. You clearly needed to get out of a life where Harry Castillo wasn’t near and your mental health has improved. But at the middle of the night when you aren’t busy, you remember him.
You broke up with Tommy. As much as he was sweet, you didn’t think you had it in you to continue. Even after everything happened you couldn’t get over Harry fucking Castillo. You thought it wasn’t fair to Tommy. So you ended things amicably a month after your resignation. You took that time to self reflect and made a shift in your career. You joined a tax firm as an administrative officer and your new work life is going well.
You moved to a different part of the city in a small apartment. So it was a fresh start for you. Even though you missed your old job, and your new job didn’t pay as much as harry did, but it’s decent enough that you could live with content. you remind yourself how bitterly your last job ended. That memory is enough for you to cringe.
How is he? Is he still as hot as he was? Is he still dating Lucy? Is he happy?
She was perfect for him. They looked good together, as much as you hate to admit, that’s the truth.
And when you come, it’s him in your thoughts. Still a foolish little girl.
“Hey! There’s new place that opened on the next street. Heard they have great sushi. It’s fancy. Wanna try this weekend?” Natasha, your work bestie asked.
“Mmmm…. sounds yum. Let’s go!” Your mouth watered.
“Dress well. Might find a price there.” she winks at you.
You roll your eyes. She knows about your last job and your ex boss that you pined after. She is like a big sister to you, nearly at her fifties. Occasionally you crash at her place when you are drunk , you spill teas. She makes your work place bearable. She has one girl who’s in college.
“Fuck that rich asshole” one day she said when he heard you mention Harry and you get why she is protective. You love her for that. She knows you more than most people. How crazy, in this short span how you found someone so lovely. Part of you is grateful that you met her because you left the old job. She’s someone who can listen to you without judging and she gives great advice. Both personally and professionally, as she’s been in this field nearly for two decades.
You wear a black ankle length sweetheart neck dress that night. And you put in extra effort to look good, intending to have fun. You didn’t mind meeting someone new either. Let’s try again you thought.
It was 6 when you arrived and found Natasha sitting at a table. The place is indeed very fancy and there was a cocktail lounge too, including a VIP area. This was a big place.
Natasha waved at you when she saw you and you went to her immediately.
“Hey you look so beautiful love!” Natasha exclaims.
“Look who’s talking.” you smile big . She’s wearing a beautiful shade of red that’s complimenting her curves.
She rolls her eyes and mutters thank you.
You enjoy your meal and sip your drink while you yap away your time. You were laughing at one of her jokes when you heard your name being called and you freeze.
You’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’s him. You snap your head to the direction the voice came from.
There he is , standing in all his glory in that navy blue jacket he wore, as handsome as ever. He had a soft smile and you hated how your heart still somersaults when you look at him.
“Harry…” you couldn’t stop the gasp that leaves you and your smile that spread across your face. Although things ended bitterly, you didn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him. After all he was your one of the closest friend who stuck through thick and thin, well maybe not always otherwise you wouldn’t be here.
You stand from your sit, Natasha looks between you, clearly knowing what’s happening the moment his name left your mouth like she heard countless time through your rants.
He surprised you with a hug when you go near him. And you hug him back. Despite it all you missed him, too damn much.
“Hey! I missed you.” he said softly after loosening from your hold.
“Yeah?”
“Of course! How are you by the way? What a pleasant surprise to find you?”
You suddenly remember Natasha is sitting,
“Harry this is Natasha. Nat it’s Harry.”
“heard a lot about you” Natasha said while he took her hand and he kissed it. Ever the gentleman.
“Nice to meet you mam. Heard only good things I hope.”
You gesture with your eye to Natasha like you’re about to kill her and she gets you. She smiles and nods positively.
“May I take her for few minutes if that’s okay with you?” Harry asks Natasha while looking at you and you get surprised not knowing how the conversation will go after your last meeting took place. She says, “Of course. She’s all yours.” and you roll your eyes. Now’s not the time for this, you eye her. She smiles and you two communicate in a language only you get while Harry’s clueless, waiting for your response.
“Okay,” let’s seat there”, you show him the cocktail bar.
You two then catch up with each other’s life. He came here with his friends. You heard he broke up with Lucy, and you sigh. You really thought they’d be the endgame. You don’t ask why. You don’t talk about Tommy yet. You are sensing he’s going to ask about him. You talk about your new job , new place and time goes by. You look at Natasha and she gives you a wink. She’s having drink and you’re thankful that she’s here.
“ You don’t answer my calls” Harry says and there it is. The conversation you’ve been avoiding.
“I thought I made it clear I wanted to be left alone.”you reply nonchalantly.
“I know what I did was really shitty and I deserve this from you but please will you just give me a chance to explain myself? Just please hear me just this once.”
You scoff. “ what else is there to listen? You belittled me and I bet you found someone the next day for my position. So I don’t see any problem for you. You’re doing just fine.”
“No one can replace you. No one.You were one of my closest friend. It was wrong of me to say that but I was angry and I didn’t know what I was doing. I was messing up for weeks and that day I really crossed the line. So I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve never been more ashamed at the way I treated you.” harry is pleading with his puppy eyes.
You consider his words and think for minutes as you say your next words.
“I forgave you a long time ago. That’s not the issue harry. It’s the forgetting. I don’t think I can get over that easily. You really hurt me.” A single tear ran through your cheek. But it had to be out of your chest. And Harry wanted nothing but to hug you. He hated himself everyday for what he did, how he made you feel.
“I’m so fucking sorry and I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting that we ruined our friendship. I will make it up to you however long it takes. Please just don’t cut me off. I need you. And to be honest I was going crazy and didn’t know back then but I felt like I was losing you and my anger pushed me to edge.”
“What ?Losing me?” you look at him confused.
“You were staying away from me and felt like we were becoming stranger, on top that, That Tommy………”
“Wait wait wait , I wanted to give you space because you were dating Lucy and you can’t put it on Tommy and why was Tommy a problem anyway?” you sound defensive.
“He… he stole you from me. I didn’t understand how I felt back then but all of this made me realize, what I felt for you.”
“I…I don’t understand” you look at him confused.
“I love you and I only want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it’s too late for me to say. I know you’re with Tommy and I lost the chance that day but I need to let this out or I won’t be able to sleep knowing that I didn’t try. And I thought about talking about my feelings but I wasn’t sure I was ready to say.” You absorb everything he says with tears in your eyes, you can’t believe what he’s saying so you let him continue, “ I was scared you’ll get more angry with me if I just sent these in messages since that’s the only way I could reach you. But you are here and I can’t lose this chance. I love you. Been loving you since when I don’t even know.” You could tell by his expression that he was being genuine.
“Harry… are you serious?” You were baffled hearing all this from him. After years of pining after him, it feels too surreal.
“Lucy and I, when we broke up months ago and she is the one who made me realize when I told her everything. I owed that to her.But I respect whatever you do knowing you’re with Tommy. I just needed to tell you”
“I’m not Not with Tommy. We broke up month after I quit.” You say with your head in your hand. Clearly all he said is too much to process. Is it irony of fate or what? Harry’s eye widened, “What?”
“Harry I… I wanted you,” taking harry again by surprise, you think it’s time you let it out,”I always liked you but I didn’t think you felt the same way and all of this is too much to take in. I need some space to think about it.” You are so used to heartbreak that you want to keep your walls up, after everything, you can’t let it crumble.
Harry took the information and stayed silent for minute and looked at you with pleading eyes. He doesn’t know how to react. You were in front of him all this time and he couldn’t see what you two obviously had. He felt sad but he understood and respected your wishes.
“I think I should go.” you bit your lips. You didn’t want to leave but you needed time to think. You need to get away from here.
“Will I see you again?” you hear him say when you start to leave.
“I don’t know,” You give him hug with a sad smile. “Goodbye Harry.”
“Good bye.” harry looks at you with with puppy eyes.
When you get back, Natasha is on her feet, ready to leave, there’s a clear understanding between you two.
You know you were gonna spend the night at Natasha’s.
It’s been two days since that night, since the confessions and you took your time to think. Natasha was screaming you to call back harry. She was supposed to be your side? But she’s a Harry fan now.
“He’s so handsome. If you aren’t taking him I will,” and you give her a push playfully.
“You know what happened” you sigh
“And he apologized. Not everything is fairy tale but you should give him a chance. That man is clearly head over heels for you. The way he was looking at you…..”
“I’m…I’m just so scared,” you say.
She shifts to hug you, “I know but live a little. Give him one chance. Just one.”
“What if that doesn’t work?” you argue.
“Then you’ll have peace knowing you tried with the person you wanted the most.”
You smile at this. She has a point.
“hey harry!”
“Hey. How are you?”
“fine. can i call you?”
The seconds after you send this question you see a call coming from Harry. You pick it up quickly, “Hi” you squeak out.
“I didn’t think I’d hear from you. Are you okay?”
Classic harry, always protective, “yes I’m,” you smile. And there’s a silence. It’s like harry was waiting for you to speak up so you do
“Listen….. I thought about what you said and I want to talk to you, face to face.”
“Jesus! Really?” you could hear the happiness in his voice, “Let’s meet tomorrow, at Beverly’s. Send me your address so I could pick you up.” he says excitedly “Only if you want” he adds.
So you give him the address and talk for an hour before ending the call even if you didn’t want to, because you have work , besides you will have the talk tomorrow. But the whole night butterflies were erupting in your stomach.
Tomorrow arrives and Harry picks you up from your apartment.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you Harry. You look handsome too.” You say almost shyly. This wasn’t something new. You always complimented each other before so why are you suddenly shy?
You arrive at the restaurant and place orders.
“So,” you try to start the conversation “ I thought about what you said and I think I’m willing to give you the chance”
Harry’s face light up at your words, “Thank you a lot. I promise I will make it up to you.” and you nod with a smile.
The night continues. You two chat away and have your meal together. Harry drops you at home when you invite him in.
You make him coffee after entering your house and catch up more, laughing , the time with him feels natural.
You were sitting next to him in sofa while watching something , when you felt his arm around you. You turn to find him already looking at you with soft eyes. Your eyes fell on his full pretty lips and your licked yours. Then the dam breaks. He kisses you and you kiss him back.
The kiss becomes hungry and you two find yourselves naked, you under him, after few minutes. He kisses you as he makes loves to you, slowing pulling orgasms out of you.
“I love you “ harry says. “I love you too harry.” and you feel your orgasm hit again. This is the third one.
“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Where?”
“Inside…please harry inside.”
“Fuck! Are you sure?”
“I’m on the pill. Please harry” you moan
Harry gives a couple deep frantic strokes before falling apart, spilling his seeds inside you. He captures your lip again and you stay like that for minutes before he cleans you and slips inside the blanket beside you. He hugs you that night in his sleep and you never slept so good.
This was my first ever fic. IDK what came over me to do this. I hope you enjoyed as much as I enjoyed writing this. Harry Castillo, the man that you are.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.
THIS STORY IS ON A03
tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.
notes: Remember when I said this was the second to last chapter? So, I lied because this story needs a little more time to breathe... Don't hate me.
THEN
The party is so loud Frankie can barely hear himself think. Bodies bump into his shoulder, alcohol-soaked breath wafting over him.
And he can't stop smiling.
Frankie is twenty one, he's in the air force and he shouldn't be this giddy at the thought of being someone's boyfriend. But with Pip, he's nearly beside himself with joy.
He sneaks a look at you across the party, watching with fondness as she talks to her girlfriends. He's in love with you, he acknowledges. But he's too scared to admit that part out loud to anyone. It's too soon to tell you that. Liking you feels safer.
Even though it's not just liking that has him fantasizing about them living in his house when they're both done with school and training. Of shared dinners after work, long nights of lovemaking and laughter. He thinks of the marriage his parents had and how he will do everything different.
He's always been quiet, prone to deep reflection and slower to anger than most of his peers. The air force has taken a bit of that from him. It can feel dehumanizing at times, exhausting and frustrating. But when he's behind the stick of his favorite chopper, everything else fades.
He just wishes Texas wasn't so fucking far away.
He thinks about asking Pip for a photo he can bring back to his barracks. Something to look at that reminds him he has a future waiting for him back here. Would it scare you to know how much he's imagined a future with you? That this summer hasn't just been amazing because of the sex, but for the quiet moments in between?
"Can you believe my parents locked the liquor cabinet?
Frankie is brought back into the moment, Travis at his side holding a solo cup and whining.
"They have so much in there and they never started locking it up until now. Fucking idiots. I wish they'd leave and never come b-." He catches himself, eyes going wide as he looks at Frankie. He's said an impossibly stupid thing. "Shit... I'm sorry, Frank."
"No worries," Frankie mumbles with a wince. "You seen Santi?"
"Nope. But I've seen Christy," Travis replies, briefly flashing a wag of his pink tongue. "Damn, she looks good."
"Oh yeah?" Frankie replies distractedly, dark eyes scanning the room. Travis watches this, voice turning exasperated.
"He's here with some hot date apparently," Travis says with an eye roll. "Surprised you don't know about it, being his boyfriend and all."
Frankie's jaw feathers. He's always had to maintain a civil relationship with Travis, but as they've gotten older he finds the boy more and more annoying. It's also painfully obvious that he has a thing for you even though she's given no indication that she feels the same. And why would you? You like Frankie. He still can't quite believe it. Seems almost too good to be true. You’re so smart and gorgeous and funny and... He feels his cheeks heat delightedly.
"I've been sorta busy lately," Frankie finally says distractedly when he sees Pip's head weaving through the crowd.
You glance Frankie's way and he feels his whole body going warm when their gazes connect. Everything about you is just so fucking perfect. Even the subtle smirk you send his way.
Travis' must notice the gooey look Frankie shoots her. The small smile you share before averting your gazes.
"You try anything with Pip and Hilary will kill you," Travis murmurs. "If she doesn't, Santi will."
Frankie is quiet, unhappy that he's been so obvious in his desire for you.
When Travis turns, Frankie can see the young man's attention is fixed on your smiling face. The way you throw your head back when you laugh. His eyes scan down your body in a way Frankie knows he wishes his hands were.
"Would be worth it though," Travis continues in a low voice. "I've been dying to get a piece of that ass for years."
Ugly jealousy twists in Frankie's guts. His fingers are curling into a loosened fist at his side.
"Yeah, well, like you said, Santi and Hilary would kill us."
Travis laughs in response and Frankie watches as his attention moves over the other girls in your group. They land on Christy and her skimpy outfit.
"Can you believe Christy's a real beauty queen?" Travis says, clicking his tongue appreciatively. "I mean I always thought she was hot, but that's insane."
"I guess."
Frankie knows that Christy is attractive. He's not blind. But he also knows she only ever flirts with him to get to Santi. He also knows he doesn't care what she looks like or what she does because the only girl Frankie has ever truly wanted actually wants him back.
It's hard not to smile when he thinks about that. How the girl he grew up alongside became the woman he can't think of life without.
You're standing there stiffly observing what Christy is saying. You look upset. This look is magnified when he notices Christy approaching from the corner of his eyes.
"Hi Travis. Hi Francisco," Christy says. He notices her voice is pitched higher, bubblegum sweet.
"Hey."
"Enjoying the party?"
She steps closer and from this distance he can smell the floral perfume she wears. Can see her nipples jutting through her thin camisole. He forces his eyes to the ground, feeling lecherous.
"Sure."
She tilts her face forward, ignoring the way he doesn't look her way. She's so close he feels the heat of her body.
"You look good tonight, Francisco."
Knowing that you're watching from across the room this makes Frankie flush with embarrassment. "Thanks," he mutters, voice low.
Travis excuses himself with a sneer. Clearly Frankie is taking the attention he wants for himself. Once he's out of earshot, Christy leans forward again.
"I need to tell you something."
"Okay."
"I always liked you, you know, during school," she says, giving a girlish giggle and ducking your head like she's feeling shy. "I can't believe I just told you that. I must be drunk."
Frankie takes a sip of his beer, head rising to look for you. But you've escaped somewhere, lost in the shuffle.
"I hear there are some empty bedrooms upstairs," Christy purrs, her hip bumping into his. "Should we go check one out?"
Frankie cringes, trying to think of a nice way to say no.
"You said you're drunk," he says flatly. "I don't fuck drunk girls."
"I'm not that drunk," she insists.
He feels his jaw tighten. He's not an unkind person at heart, but her closeness is making him uncomfortable. "Not interested, sorry."
Christy gives an overdramatic pout, jutting her chest his way. When she sees he's not giving in she moves her face in again. "C'mon Francisco," Christy says, lips almost brushing his cheek. "I'll make you s-"
"I'm with someone," Frankie interrupts, no longer interested in being polite. She pulls back in shock, eyelids fluttering dramatically.
"What? Since when?"
"For a while," he replies smoothly. "And I'm really into her."
Saying it out loud makes his insides quiver delightedly. He almost wishes Pip was there to hear it.
Christy looks like she's just swallowed a stink bug. She's not used to being rejected and that's clear in her expression. But then her face slowly smoothes out. She leans her hip against his again, trying her best to get him to grind against her.
"I won't tell if you don't," she says, her mouth curling into a mischievous smile as she drops her voice. "Could be our little secret."
Frankie places his empty beer cup down on the nearby side table. "Maybe Travis wants to hook up," Frankie replies. "He's heading back now."
Christy briefly lifts her eyes to see Travis returning with two new solo cups before her attention flicks back to Frankie.
"You're telling me you don't want to fuck a beauty queen?" She asks with a disbelieving scoff.
Frankie shoots her a piteous look. "Have a good night Christy."
He gives her a kind smile, hoping that it will soften the harshness of his departure. She doesn't seem to enjoy it though. She rolls her eyes and goes stalking off in the direction of upstairs.
Travis smirks, handing Frankie one of the cups.
"Damn what did you say to Miss Florida? She looks pissed."
Frankie shrugs. He doesn't care that Christy is offended. He doesn't want her.
"You seen Pip?"
He wants you at his side. Or at least he wants an eye line of you.
"You really like her, huh?"
Frankie feels his stomach bottom out, turning his attention to Travis. The young man is looking at him in a way he's never seen, or perhaps never noticed, before. A dark kind of look: cold and dangerous.
"What are you talking about, man?"
"Pip. I see the way you look at her these days," Travis says smoothly, like this is a fact everyone knows. "And we all know she's been in love with you for years."
The tips of Frankie's ears burned in both embarrassment and delight at the word. "I'm just used to her always being around."
"Is that why you wear that hat everywhere?"
Frankie's cheeks burn as he absently taps the rim of his hat.
"This?" he says forcing a laugh. "I'm just used to it is all."
Travis laughs back but it’s a hollow sound. It doesn't touch his eyes, his mouth barely moves.
"Right. Sure." His eyes flick to Frankie's head again. "You won't mind if I borrow it then?"
His arm jerks out, hand swiping Frankie's ball cap right off of his head. Frankie goes to snatch it back, but Travis has already popped it on over his shorn curls. Before Frankie can attempt to take it back again, Travis hears his name being called.
"You can have it back in a bit," Travis said with a cruel kind of amusement as he walks backwards towards the call.
Frankie feels his teeth clench. Not just at having his shit taken, but knowing that Travis is probably on his way to tell Santiago about Frankie's obvious affection for his cousin.
"Hey, man."
A frustrated Frankie glances over to see several young men on the couch. All are fuzzily bearded and sleepy-looking. The bigger one with a baseball cap extends his arm, a joint held out in his fingers.
"You want a toke?"
Frankie hesitates briefly before shrugging. "Sure."
He didn't smoke pot often; his dad always knew when he did. He tried popping gum and spraying cologne but it couldn't compensate for the scent that clung to his clothing. But now his old man is gone. Frankie could do whatever he wanted. He's free in so many ways.
He takes a deep inhale, letting the sweet smoke fill his lungs before thanking the guy on the couch, handing him back his joint.
When the pot hits him a few minutes later it feels good. He takes a seat in one of the free chairs, listening to the men talk about government cover ups. But he's not really listening. He's daydreaming about his girlfriend.
Pip. The most beautiful, smart, funny, sexy woman he's ever known. A woman who never takes bullshit. Who sees him at his worst and still likes him.
He thinks he sees you stealing through the crowd and his heart leaps. He jumps to his feet, moving clumsily towards you. He calls your name but you don’t hear him over the crowd. Frustrated, he tries to muscle through the groups when he tumbles into a familiar figure.
"Frank? What're you doing?"
It's Santi; one arm around a cute blonde. He looks at his friend with amusement, much to Frankie's relief. Travis must not have said anything.
"I was looking for.... Well, you actually." Frankie runs his hand through his short hair, frustrated to feel his cap still missing. He feels naked without it. "Can we talk?"
"Sure."
"Uh... It's private. Can we talk outside?"
Santi trails a look over Frankie before glancing back at his date. He mumbles something and she nods, shooting Frankie an annoyed look as she moves to grab another drink.
Santi nods towards the back door, indicating Frankie should follow. "C'mon. Let's go."
They make it into the backyard where several groups talk loudly. Some playing chicken on the grass.
"It's Pip," Frankie says, rubbing his clammy hands on his jeans when they find a quiet spot.
Santi furrows his thick brows. "What? She okay?"
"Yeah, yeah, she's fine." Frankie feels his stomach twist, his head spacey. He's trying to say it but he feels like he is outside his body.
Santiago Garcia is his best friend. The two of them have suffered through childhood, puberty, heartbreaks, abusive fathers, shitty home lives. There's the potential that he'll be giving all of that up. Years of friendship, of brotherhood, taken from him with this confession.
So he has to ask himself, is Pip worth it?
The speed of his decision surprises even him.
"I like Pip," Frankie says, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot. "Like, a lot. And I want to date her."
He physically flinches, awaiting the discipline for his affection. He waits for Santi to start cussing him out, for hatred and ugly accusations.
"You ask her out yet?"
A beat.
Frankie isn't sure that Santi actually said that or he hallucinated it. He's further confused when Santi laughs, pointing across the room at one of their old friends.
"Oh shit, did you see Jordan just bail off the table?"
Frankie doesn't bother looking over in the direction of the laughter and whoops. All he can fixate on is his friend not looking upset at all.
"... You're cool with it?" He says incredulously. "With me dating Pip?"
"Does she like you back?"'
Frankie has to bite back a grin. "Uh, yeah. Pretty sure."
"Then sure, why not? I mean.... She's a grown-up," Santi shrugs, eyes glazed from booze. "She can date whoever she wants."
"You're not upset?"
"This has been a long time coming as far as I'm concerned. Plus I know I can trust you to treat her well." Santi shrugs, giving Frankie a mischievous look. "Better you than Travis."
The two men laugh and the tightness in Frankie's chest unravels. He feels like he can breathe again.
"Speaking of which... I'm pretty sure I saw Travis heading upstairs with Christy a while ago," Santiago says with a bemused look. "I just know that's going to end disastrously."
"You never know," Frankie shrugs, smiling toothily. "Maybe it's fate."
He doesn't actually believe that. He's just so relieved at Santi's response.
"C'mon, lemme kick your ass at beer pong."
Frankie follows Santi to the other room, the two of them watching the game currently in progress. Frankie intends to only watch, but eventually it's dragged into the game but a very convincing Santi.
"You're gonna be family soon enough," Santi jokes over the gathered crowd. "You better stay in my good books."
Frankie knows he's kidding, but something about the concept of being a family with Santi and Pip and even Hilary makes his eyes water.
They win the next three games, hands sticky with booze, throat raw from cheers. Frankie feels naked without his hat the entire time. He taps out when the suggestion of a fourth round is mentioned.
"I gotta go find Pip," he says with a light slur.
Santi only punches him lightly in the shoulder, giving him a knowing look before turning back to start on the next round.
Frankie manages to walk away from the busy table, his mood serene, and his heart full. He feels happy and warm and he wants his girl with him. He can be public with her now. He can't wait to tell her.
He notices something dark blue on the coffee table, the familiar logo staring at him. It's half under a pizza box, forgotten, and Frankie grimaces.
"Fucking Travis," Frankie mutters, grabbing his baseball hat and shaking crumbs from it. He places it on his head, feeling more secure already.
"Oh my gosh are they making out?"
Frankie hears the scattered whispers of amused teens nearby. Several of whom are gathered by the large bay window, peering out into the front yard. Normally he wouldn't care about something as banal as a party hookup but he wants to laugh about this with Pip later.
He pictures them back at his place under the covers, laughing about the party, holding each other as they fall asleep.
He walks to the window, an amused smirk on his face. He joins the search in the darkness, eyes weaving until they land on the couple making out against the tree. Frankie goes to laugh when he sees that the boy is Travis, his movements quick and jerky.
But the laughter, the smile, all of it dies the second he sees the girl Travis is making out with. The girl who holds onto him and kisses him back ardently.
No. No she wouldn't.
But the longer Frankie watches the more the figures become clearer. So clear that Frankie feels like he can hear your whines, the same ones you gave him only hours ago. He feels his heart crack when he observes how you touch Travis in that same soft way you do with Frankie.
With that he's surging through the crowd, shouldering the front door open with a growl. Like a missile he's guided directly towards the oblivious couple.
A part of him is so desperate for this to be a nightmare. A bad trip. Anything but Pip willingly making out with Travis after admitting her feelings for Frankie. His mind is completely blank, his feet marching quickly across the grass. His face is on fire, his heart breaking as he sees Pip being pressed into the tree by Travis.
This turns Frankie's vision red.
He doesn't remember much of what happens next. The memory is like snapshots of moments. Travis falling to the ground. The anger in a Pips eyes, the casual sneer at the thought of sleeping with Frankie.
Pulling Travis off of you wasn't an issue. Having everyone circle and whisper didn't affect him. It was the coldness in your voice, the ugly look in your eyes and the disgusted scoff when you said you'd never sleep with him.
What the fuck had happened?
He's numb by the time he turns away, everything in his body cold. He doesn't notice the laughter or whispers. He couldn't care less about that. All he can think of is your disgust, the chill in your gaze. How could he have ever thought he knew you, his Pip?
You're a stranger to him.
He hears his name being called, but its several blocks before a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, spinning him around.
"Frankie, what the fuck happened?"
Santi is doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and looking at Frankie with utter confusion.
"Forget it," Frankie says his expression dark. "Forget all that dumb shit I said about Pip earlier. I don't know what I was thinking."
"What-"
"Just drop it, okay?" Frankie snaps, eyes black with hatred. "Don't mention it again. I'm serious. Not to her, not to Travis, nobody." Frankie has to look away from him when he speaks again. "As far as I'm concerned she doesn't exist."
Santi is quiet, eyes big and sad.
"Okay, Frank."
Santi is still talking, you know this because you can see his mouth moving across from you. But you're not getting any of what he says. You feel as if you're being held underwater, the world spinning and growing dark at the edges, sound muffled and your body numb before going sluggish.
"No," you whisper, closing your eyes. "No," You repeat to yourself, but it's coming out in a whisper. The room is spinning and you grip either side of the table to stop your stomach from flipping.
"You’re lying," you croak, head shaking violently from side to side. "That's not what happened.”
"I don't know what to tell you," Santi shrugs, brows tight. "He was with me the whole time playing beer pong."
"No, no, that's not ..." Your throat closes up and you're suddenly spluttering for air because you can't formulate a response to what Santi is telling you.
But your cousin doesn't lie to you, he never has. He's been there for you during the hard times as much as any brother would be.
Bile rises in the back of your throat, your stomach heaving. You force your lips shut, swallowing aggressively. You will not vomit in a fucking Denny's.
"Pip." Santi's voice is low and warped. Like he's a tape being rewound. "Breathe slowly. In and out."
You're starting to shake, legs going cold.
Breathe. Breathe you fucking idiot.
You take a deep, sputtering lungful of air, eyes blowing wide. Santi looks beside himself, hand holding your wrist. You clutch at his arm with your free hand, nails digging into the warm flesh there.
"I saw it with my own eyes. I saw them."
"Travis came down and talked about how he fucked the beauty queen," Santi says quietly, as if it pains him to tell you this.
"That can't be what happened," you say, lips trembling. "That can't be."
Because that would mean you kissed Travis in front of Frankie for no reason. That this decades-long feud has been going on because of a misunderstanding.
Years spent without the one man you've ever really loved, for no good fucking reason.
Santi leans forward, voice light. "Pip, he never would have done that to you. He told me that night that he liked you. He wanted my blessing I think."
You feel dizzy because things are starting to come together. Travis and Christy's secret relationship. The taking of Frankie's hat. The way the two of them look so similar from behind. It was Travis who fucked Christy in that bedroom, who came down afterwards and tried to do the same to you. Your skin crawls in revulsion at the thought of you letting him kiss you.
And an even more distressing, you think of the hurt way Frankie looked at you at that party. The layered cruelty of you words and actions. Punishing him for a slight he never committed.
Because you know deep down in your bones that what Santi has told you is the truth. That there's no planet in which Frankie Morales would willingly break your heart.
The nosy patrons, the tired looking servers, everyone fades into the background as you stand, looking at your cousin with your lips quaking.
"I have to go."
THEN
Frankie lies in bed that night, heart aching, chest tight. It feels like finding out his parents are dead all over again. That same hopeless feeling. But during that you had been there to bring him comfort and affection. To hold him in his sleep.
Now who does he have?
He was going to answer your question later this evening. Of when he first realized he liked you as more than just Santi's cousin.
The truth is he was pitifully unaware of you as a woman for most of your acquaintance. You'd just always been there in the gang, a sexless figure he liked to laugh with, to protect.
But the summer of his eighteenth year you asked him to hunt lightning bugs while Santi and Travis were off camping. You had a mason jar and lid ready, your denim shorts high on your thighs.
"Thanks for coming," you said, tapping the rim of his hat playfully. "Hilary says it's lame to still catch them."
Frankie didn't tell you he felt the same. But he'd been bored and there was nothing else to do. Plus the summer air wasn't too heavy, the night balmy so Frankie led you both behind the old baseball field.
Fireflies moved lazily in the dark, blinking like tiny dying stars and Frankie, only half heartedly invested, found himself watching you instead.
Your smile was wide as you darted after a one flickering flash. The same look you wore when you beat the boys in a race, or said something to make everyone laugh. The smile you'd worn since childhood.
He followed close behind, pretending to help, but getting caught up in watching how you moved, the way your face lit up when you succeeded in capturing your first.
"Got him!" You crowed, holding up your jar in triumph.
"Not exactly a skill, Pip. Kids do it every summer."
"Where's yours then?"
"Didn't feel like it."
You nudged your shoulder against his, rolling your eyes as the two of you took a seat on the grass.
You never asked him about the air force or how he felt about it. You tucked your knees to your chest, eyes stuck on the jar.
"They're so gorgeous."
You held up the jar to eye level, light flickering against your cheeks. You turned to grin at him, your face beautiful in the warm glow.
Beautiful.
That wasn't really a word he associated with you before. But he couldn't deny that in this moment you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Like a painting come to life.
He was curious as to what it would be like to cup your cheek, to feel the plump of your lips beneath his thumb.
Something warm in his chest caught him strangely off guard, making his head spin.You were almost three years younger than him. Sixteen to his eighteen. He wasn't supposed to think about you like that.
He felt the need to fill the silence.
"How come the sudden need for fireflies?"
"Uh, guess I just needed to get out of the house," you said quietly to the jar. "Mom was just ... "
You trailed off, face dropping. Frankie could see it, illuminated by the swarm inside the mason jar.
Instinctively he shuffled closer, throwing his arm casually around your shoulder like he'd done a hundred times before. Only now you snuggled against him, exhaling lightly.
"Thanks, Frankie."
Your head was at his cheek and he inhaled the scent of your hair before he swallowed thickly. You felt good against him, and he longed for you to tip your face up to him so he could capture your mouth in a sweet kiss.
It wasn't until that warm thread began to weave its way around his lower belly that he realized something had shifted.
Something he wasn't going to be able to ignore.
You can't breathe.
You know you're managing it, gulping deep lungfuls, but it doesn't feel like enough. The air is so hot and humid; it feels like it's coating your insides.
All a misunderstanding. Frankie never cheated. Frankie never cheated. I walked away from the most amazing man because of a misunderstanding.
You stop the truck midway home, your stomach heaving. You manage to stumble out of the cab before you're bent over, vomiting into the grass at the side of the street. Cars whizz by, some calling out to you, telling you to party less hard. You don't even hear them. All you can picture is the hurt in Frankie's eyes.
You empty your stomach, eyes wet, body trembling. Your throat is scorched when you finally crawl back behind the wheel, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
You finish the drive to your house, truck parked haphazardly. You realize you're crying when your view turns into a watercolor blur. You make it through the door, slumping against the wall just inside with a ragged cough.
A figure grips your hand, lacing their fingers with yours. You stare at the chipped black nails and many rings and look over at your sister.
"Hey, are you okay?"
You tell yourself that you don't want to tell Hilary everything that happened. You need time to process this, but your chin wobbles, eyes filling again.
"Let's go on the porch," she says gently tugging you. "C'mon."
You allow your sister to guide you out onto the porch, both of you seated on the old creaky chairs before she grabs a smoke from her pocket.
You watch her light it with an old bic lighter, orange flame springing to life. She looks at you through tired eyes, face drawn as she exhales a ribbon of smoke.
"What the hell is going on?"
You grip the sides of your head, fingers tangled in your hair.
"Hilary I fucked up so bad. I fucked up everything."
Your fingers rake through your hair again and pull as the devastation floods you. The pain serves to keep you anchored in the moment.
She sucks in a slow breath. "What? When?"
"Frankie," you say through a sudden sob. "I thought... Fuck, Hilary, I hated him for so long..."
The pain feels so sharp, like needles along your aorta. It propels you out of your chair, legs weak. You fall to your knees on the rotted porch planks holding your head in your hands as sobs ravage you.
You shake; feeling Hilary kneel beside you, hand on your shoulder, pulling you to face her.
"Tell me what happened."
She soothes you by rubbing your arms, almost like one would do if someone was cold. It calms you a fraction, allowing you to catch your breath.
"It was during Travis' party..."
The story pours out of you, ugly and raw and accompanied by warm tears that slip down your cheeks. You can't make eye contact with her during the story, terrified to see the piteous look she'll shoot you.
You live through that horrible memory, the sounds of Christie's moans, the sight of the standard oil logo looking back at you.
She's silent the entire time. As you finish the story and raise your eyes you see that she's just squinting at you, perplexed.
"You thought Frankie cheated on you?"
"I did," you tell her, eyes blurry. "I really thought I saw it with my own eyes. But it was fucking Travis wearing his hat. This is all so fucking stupid."
She's frowning, creases starting between her brows.
"That's why you were kissing some guy at the party," she whispers as if things are starting to fall into place for her.
You don't even question how she knows that bit of information. Santi probably told her, which causes your face to heat up and embarrassment.
"It was Travis," you tell her with deeper shame. "I was kissing Travis."
"That fucking snake." She exhales shakily, furious adrenaline clearly coursing through her body. "Fucks Christy and then tries to get you into bed." Hilary looks like she wants to punch something. Simultaneously infuriated and disgusted. "Have you and Frankie talked about it?"
"I don't think I can say anything," you insist, heart pounding. "I just found out the truth from Santi. I'm still processing."
"Go have a shower and clear your head then," Hilary says urging you inside. "And brush your teeth because your breath is fucking disgusting."
THEN
Frankie sees Hilary from time to time in town. She's usually buying cigarettes or heading off with some new guy. Tonight she's at one of the bonfires the locals put on at the start of every summer.
Frankie had nothing better to do and with Santi overseas and Travis moved, he doesn't have much of a connection here. He thinks of going home after this to the house of his childhood. The empty one with no warmth. The one he had Pip in for several weeks.
Barely any time at all.
"Hey Catfish," Hilary says, handing him a beer as she approaches. Like you, she'd taken the nickname and run with it when his patchy beard grew back.
"Hey Hil."
The two drink quietly next to one another looking at the flames of the bonfire. Frankie tells himself he's not going to ask about you. Not going to torment himself. But it comes out, a slow murmur.
"You talked to your sister lately?"
"Not much," Hilary says. She takes another deep pull of her beer bottle. "She doesn't really love talking on the phone."
"Mhm. She like school?"
She gives him a look. "Why don't you just call and catch up with her yourself?"
"Not much to say."
"I know you like her, Frankie," Hilary says shrewdly. "And I bet she'd love to hear from you."
Frankie's face goes red, splotchy pink leading up his neck. He tries to shrug it off, but fails.
Hilary saw him that night with the flowers, with the open look of desire he had for you. There's no point in lying to her.
"I know she cares about you," Hilary says, eyes scanning his face. "And I know because she's never cared about a guy like that. Ever."
"You don't know that whole story," Frankie says.
"So tell me."
He shakes his head. That's Pip's story to tell.
"Look, it's obvious the two of you like each other. Or liked. So I don't get why you both don't just admit that to each other."
"We did, right before the party," Frankie snaps, before catching himself. "Hours before I saw her making out with-"
He slams his mouth shut, furious at having lost his temper and given away something so private.
Hilary looks stunned. She seems to grope for words.
"Wait, my sister was kissing some guy at a party?"
Frankie thinks about telling her that the guy was Travis, but he doesn't want to think about it too much. Saying the details makes it hurt worse. So he stays silent, eyes on the sand.
"She must've been drinking," Hilary continues. "There's no way she'd do that sober."
Frankie is quiet, not having considered this. Hilary blinks at him slowly, like an animal considering something.
"I just, I know my sister, Frankie. She's not a cruel person. There must have been something deeper going on."
Frankie is embarrassed to feel tears starting along his lash line. He blinks them back furiously, looking away as he shakes his head.
“You should call her, Frankie,” Hilary adds before walking away from him. “She’s still at the dorms until tomorrow.”
He watches her move over to the group she arrived with, a cigarette hanging from her lips, a beer in her hand within moments. He watches as she whispers something to the muscular man at her right, laughing gaily when he nods, stripping down to his boxers and running into the surf.
She’s always been able to charm people, to convince them to be brave. And when Frankie strides back to his truck an hour later, he realizes that she convinced him too. However, she was gone with some guy from the bonfire before he could chase her down for your number.
That’s led him here to the hospital where your mom works.
Would you really want to hear from him? And mostly, why does he want to talk to you? You broke his fucking heart. You acted like you were into him, agreed to a relationship and that same night you were making out in front of everyone with fucking Travis.
He's sick when he thinks about it. A memory he's tried time and time again to exorcise through booze and women. Because there have been other women in the four years since all of that happened. At first to prove he was over you and then to help him forget you.
Neither worked.
Frankie notices some nurses heading out of the hospital on their break. They talk quietly to one another between puffs of their cigarette.
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel before removing the baseball cap nestled over his curls. He smooths his dark curls back, long fingers carding through the strands before popping the hat back on.
He raises his eyes to the rear view mirror, grimacing at his reflection, because this grey hat with the fishing logo doesn't sit right because it's not the one you gave him. That one sits at home in his bedroom, a shrine to your betrayal. Standard Heating Oil.
He should have burned it. Should have given it away. Should've buried it where he didn't have to see it every day. And yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bear to erase that part of his life, of you, for good.
Even after everything, he can't stop this deep want for you. A burning ache that won't be extinguished.
He'd forgive you if you'd just explain what happened. How you could go from crying his name between his sheets to letting Travis stick his tongue down your throat.
He needs answers.
He needs to hear your voice.
He pushes himself from the cab of the truck, fingers tapping at his thigh as he moves through to the nurses’ station. The hospital is very quiet at this time of night, voices hushed, wards closed.
It doesn't take long to locate your mom. She works in the same unit she always has and tonight, despite the quiet atmosphere, looks frazzled. She's writing down something in her charts before she notices Frankie approaching. Her face drops and she comes around the desk, meeting him mid-stride in the hallway.
"Francisco, what happened?" Her hands grip his elbows. "Is everything okay?"
Her breath seems overly minty when she says his name and he knows that its to cover the vodka she keeps in a nearby water bottle.
"Everything is fine, ma'am," Frankie says, giving her a polite smile. "I promise."
"Santi? Hilary?"
"As far as I know."
"Thank Christ," she says, a hand at her sternum.
When she gives a relieved smile it reminds him of yours. He never noticed until now that you both have the same smile.
"It feels like ages since I saw you," she observes, arms crossing as she looks him over. "You've grown up into such a handsome young man."
Frankie feels himself grow a bit embarrassed at the attention, looking down at the scuffed floor. "Thank you."
"And I hear you're still flying helicopters? That's so exciting."
Frankie can't help but smile shyly, pride suffusing him.
"Yeah, it's pretty great."
She nods, starting to walk down the hall to check on the charts. He follows beside her, hands in his pockets.
She scribbles away, talking to him over her shoulder.
"So, why are you here, honey? Anything I can help you with?"
Frankie's neck and the tips of his ears go pink, his face warm. Saying this to your mom suddenly feels daunting.
"It's, uh, well, I wanted to know if you had Pip's number at school."
She falters only a moment, scanning him. "You don't have it?"
"No ma'am."
"Of course I have it. Come back with me to the desk and I'll write it down for you."
He follows her to the desk, sidestepping a young orderly. Your mom digs in her purse for her address book, a few items shifted.
He sees a postcard inside as she rummages. It's from Seattle, obviously from Pip. She sends postcards home instead of visiting, he muses. Santi tells him as much.
She notices him looking, her smile toothy as she produces the postcard. He catches your writing on the back, his heart clenching.
"Just got this one from her today," she says holding it up. "Strange to imagine my baby all the way across the country, but these help."
"I bet."
Your mom digs in the desk for a pen and post it note, grumbling about the other nurses being disorganized.
"Ah, there's one," she announces, brandishing a pen with the hospital logo on one side. "Why did you need her number? You sure Everything's okay?"
"Yes, ma'am. Just..." Frankie swallows, cheeks flaming as he stands there. "Uh... I wanted to speak to her."
He meets her eyes and despite the glazed look she wears, he sees something else. A knowing, an understanding. A softness that moves to her mouth, hitching at one side.
"I see."
He watches her scribble down the number, tearing the yellow sheet from the others and holding it out to him.
"Here you are, honey."
Frankie reaches out to take the paper, eyes already memorizing the digits before he folds the page and stuffs it in his jeans pocket.
"Thank you very much."
Your mother nods, looking at him curiously.
"I bet she'll be really excited to hear from you."
Not so sure about that, he thinks.
"I hope so."
A beat. The two of them don't move, neither sure how to end the conversation.
"Your parents would be so proud of you, Francisco. I just know it." Your mother adjusts her scrub top, looking at Frankie with tenderness. "I mean, hell, I'm not even your mom and I'm so proud of all you've done with your life."
The words are gentle and said with genuine affection so sweet that it makes Frankie's eyes grow damp.
He'll never hear those words from his parents. No observance of his hard work. No celebration for his accomplishments. Hearing them from your mom takes his breath away.
He tries to thank her but the words are getting stuck in his throat.
As a mother she seems to sense this, walking over to him and wrapping her arms around his middle. He's a head taller than her, but it doesn't stop making him feel like a child again when she squeezes.
"If you ever need anything, you come see me," your mom tells him. "To talk, to eat, to sleep. Anytime. You promise?"
"Yes ma'am," Frankie says, a tear escaping down his cheek. "I promise."
He moves from her with a small smile, the drive back home quick. But once inside the quiet house his bravado fades and he takes his time puttering around the kitchen.
The Post-It note sits on his kitchen table, but it could be in the trash for all he cares. He had the number memorized before your mom even finished handing it to him. The phone sits in is cradle on the table, intimidating in its stillness.
He can imagine your soft surprised voice. He loves how you say his name. The slope you put to the end of it. He feels his mouth lift at the corners in anticipation.
"Just do it," he rasps to himself. "Just fucking do it."
He picks up the phone, fingers trembling. He internally practices how to start the conversation.
Hi Pip. Congrats on graduating. No, that's fucking stupid. Hey Pip, it's been a while. How've you been? Hey Pip, you broke my heart and I want to know why. Hey Pip-
"Hello?"
A man's voice.
Frankie frowns at the phone, confused. This is your dorm room. Hilary mentioned that you live with girls a few times over the years. So why is a guy answering your phone at this time of night?
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
I dialed the wrong number, Frankie decides. Stupid of me.
But he still grips the receiver tightly, holding his breath.
"Nothing."
He goes to hang up when a voice drifts in the background. A voice he knows all too well.
"Just hang up and let's go to bed."
You.
You telling another man it's time to go to bed. A leaden rock drops inside Frankie's stomach, causing an anguished noise to escape him the second the phone receiver is placed back on the cradle.
He stares at it in numb shock for a few moments, mind going to the worst places possible. Your and some faceless guy in bed together. Him able to draw sounds from you that Frankie was incapable of.
What was Frankie thinking? That you'd magically stay single all this time? That you'd be pining away for him like he has for you?
Humiliation scalds his cheeks, sorrow heavy on his shoulders as he moves to the bedroom. He throws himself onto the bed he once shared with you, holding a pillow to his chest and falling into a dreamless sleep.
The shower is restorative, the mint toothpaste still clinging to your teeth. You feel better as you enter into the kitchen.
Hilary is seated there, ashtray half filled. You join her, breathing unevenly. Your body is still vibrating with all of this new information.
“You need to talk to Frankie about what happened.”
An anxious twist starts low in your belly. "I don't know what to do or what to say. I don't want to bring up all this hurt again. He doesn't deserve it."
"You need to tell him."
“Why?” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to be overheard by your mother. "It’s been almost twenty years."
"Because he deserves to know," Hilary defends, brows crossing. "And you know it."
You think of the lipstick tube you found in his house that one day. The clear sign that Frankie has found someone else; a woman that feels comfortable enough to leave her things behind at his home.
You push yourself up to your feet, starting to pace around the room.
"Frankie is over all of this, Hil. I'm just the loser that never moved on."
She gives you a sneer.
"Bullshit. I know he cares about you. He's always cared about you. Even after the party."
"Not true," you scoff. "Until this visit, Frankie has loathed me."
"No," Hilary says shaking her head. "He hasn't." She pauses, grimacing. "I shouldn't be telling you this."
You stop your pacing, eyes over your shoulder. "What?"
"Frankie has been visiting Mom since she got sick."
You draw back, dropping into the same seat. “What?”
"I was working doubles to pay for stuff for a while and he knew I wasn't at home as much because of it. Santi probably told him. So he started showing up to bring her treats, clean the house, visit over tea. When she could walk he'd take her for walks."
"No. That's not possible. Mom never..." You pause your sentence.
Mops. Brooms. Bringing by your mom's favorite brownies. The way she looked at him. The way he knew exactly how to be gentle with her.
"He only stopped when he heard you were coming back," Hilary says and looks hesitant, like she's betraying his trust by telling you. "He made me promise not to tell you anything."
"Why would he do all that?”
Hilary sighs, lighting up a new cigarette and giving you a leveling look.
"Why the fuck do you think?"
THEN
"A beach birthday is such a fun idea," Inaya says walking alongside Frankie, a cooler full of drinks carried between them. "I'm so bored during the summer."
Frankie grunts and nods, pulling his baseball cap down a little lower over his eyes. A red one this time. One from the flight school he teaches at.
It's where he met the very beautiful Inaya when she came to take lessons. She works at a daycare during the school year, she's patient and she thinks Frankie is charming.
They both keep it casual. What started as drinks after class has turned into the odd dinner out, sleeping together when they both feel like it. Sometimes it's just nice to go to the movies with someone who isn't Benny or Will.
Frankie likes Inaya because she fills a lot of the silence between them with chatter about traveling, about her job and her family.
He's jealous of her stories of close multi-generational family life. That she's excited about visiting her grandparents back in India. It seems surreal that anyone could enjoy being around their family.
She also carries a pain, and it's the only thing she doesn't like to talk about. The death of her fiance, Michael, when they were both still in their twenties. He was in the air force too, shot down over Paraguay.
He thinks that's why she likes to keep things surface level. It's easier for both of them that way.
"Do you think Santi will like the gift card?"
"He'll like anything," Frankie assures her.
She laughs, head tilted back. Frankie brought her today because the other guys have been bugging him about bringing her out. They keep telling him that he needs to have a proper adult relationship instead of flings.
In Frankie's opinion they're the last people he'd turn to for romantic advice. Santi is a serial heart breaker whether he's in Florida or working in Columbia. Will has been seeing the same girl off and on for the last few years and Benny is so focused on his boxing career he might as well be celibate.
"I know you guys served together in Argentina, right?"
"Yep."
"Loquacious as always, Morales," she says shouldering him playfully.
Frankie scans the perimeter, taking in what the BBQ's are, where the bonfire has been started. He takes note of how many umbrellas and towels are lying out, how many bodies rest in various states of repose, sunglasses on, drinks in hand.
It's a habit that won't leave him, one that he cultivated overseas; making sure no danger lurks anywhere if he can control it. Yet there's only one danger that he can't see. One that terrifies him more than any other.
You.
As far as he knows you won't be showing up. You're in Seattle, living a life away from your home life in Florida. Still, his stomach clenches anxiously as his eyes drift over the smiling faces. He searches each one as Inaya makes some crack about millennials and driftwood.
His shoulders lower when he doesn't see your face, the knot in his stomach loosening.
He can survive this.
Inaya is a hit with the guys, not to Frankie's surprise. Will seems particularly enamored with her, hiding it poorly from Janette who hangs off his arm possessively. Frankie cracks a beer, smirking over at Santi who has observed the same. He drifts over to his friend, waving at those who wish him a happy birthday.
"Oye perdejo," Santi greets him, tapping his beer can against Frankie's. "Stop having so much fun."
Frankie rolls his eyes. If it was just the guys he'd be able to relax. But with this crowd of revelers he just feels awkward. He's never really enjoyed big crowds of drunken people.
"Enjoying your party?"
"Depends, what'd you get me?"
Frankie digs into the back pocket of his shorts holding a small envelope his way. "Gift card."
"So sentimental," Santi quips, snatching it and shoving it into his pocket as he motions to Inaya laughing with Benny. "So, your girlfriend's pretty great."
"Not my girlfriend," Frankie murmurs huskily against his beer can, eyes hidden behind his aviators.
"Right." Santi nods, his own eyes fixed so long on Frankie's profile that he feels his cheeks burn.
"What?"
"Nothing." Santi taps his beer can with his pointer finger absently, a small wistful look on his face. "Just wondering when you're gonna be honest with yourself."
"About what?"
"About the reason that you never want commitment with anyone."
Frankie's heart is in his throat. “There’s no reason. Just not the settling down type.”
His friend presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose. "Frank, c'mon-"
"I'm gonna go check on Inaya."
It's clear he wants to say more and Frankie wants nothing less. Santi gives a rueful shake of his head as Frankie crosses the sand, stopping to grab a beer bottle from the cooler before coming to stand next to a bemused Inaya . She's standing politely listening to Benny peacock.
"I'm still new but they're already calling me the 'blue-chip prospect' of the division."
"That's so cool," Inaya says with such sincerity Frankie would think it was real if he didn't know her so well. She glances over at Frankie taking a deep pull of his beer.
"Forgot mine?"
"You didn't ask for one."
Inaya gives an exaggerated look of exasperation over at Benny.
"Since Frank here decided chivalry is dead, I guess I'll have to go get a beer myself," she says, elbowing a smirking Frankie in the ribs. "Be right back."
"Dig to the bottom," he calls after her. "Stuff on top is still warm."
Benny is smiling broadly when he looks back. Will slowly approaches as well, Janette having just left in a fit.
"So," the younger Miller says in a teasing drawl. "She's pretty great, Fish."
Before Frankie can explain that he and she are casual, something stops him; something in the air. A strange sense that has gooseflesh starting on his arms and the back of his neck.
Santi's voice rings out over the crowd.
"Hi, Pip! There you are!"
Everything narrows down to a pinprick. The world is muted, save for his shallow breathing. He might as well be back in Argentina with the guys, focus fixed on his surroundings. His heart pumps slowly, body tight all over. His arms have tensed up, knuckles white around his beer bottle.
It's you.
He doesn't even need to turn around to know exactly how you'll walk, the way the sun will highlight parts of your hair, the curve of your mouth.
But he does.
He moves slowly, sunglasses plucked and moved to hang from the collar of his t-shirt. His pulse plays a cruel staccato in his neck as he finally views you and your sister approaching the group in.
It's been almost ten years since he last saw you and time has done nothing but add to your beauty. You've developed into your curves; you walk more confidently, your hair loose instead of its customary low ponytail.
Deep, aching want spreads through his body as he takes in the way your eyes shyly look around, just as they did when you were teens. You may be more at ease in crowds, but you've never really shaken off that initial insecurity.
"Is that the cousin?"
"Thought she was in Seattle," Benny murmurs to Will.
"As far as I know she still is," his brother agrees.
He looks over to Frankie who shrugs even though he knows very well you are. Did you fly out just for this? Why the hell didn't Santi tell him?
"Here take this first," you say to Santi, your voice makes Frankie's mouth dry.
He remembers that quiet murmur in his ear wishing him a good morning. He remembers the way you looked when you told him you loved him. He remembers the perfect comfort of being with you whether it was riding bikes through the neighborhood or between sheets.
You shared more than sex. You shared childhood. A history. Each other's ups and downs. The awkward stages. The milestones no child should have to endure. There is joy at seeing you here and now, pure and honest.
"She's hot," Benny observes, eyes trailing over you slowly in a way that tells Frankie everything he needs to know about his friend’s intentions.
"Down boy," Will chuckles. "Pope will kill you if you mess with Pip."
It all comes rushing back in that moment. And then all of a sudden that same pathetic joy turns to a feeble flame that is easily extinguished. All that's left is ash and ruin at the reminder of your callousness. Your sickening betrayal.
Fury plumes up Frankie’s throat, a scowl etched across his full mouth when your gaze finally shifts over to him and your eyes connect. He doesn't expect your stare to betray the same simmering agitation, nor an accusation in every blink you don't make. But he long gave up any ability to understand your anger.
Finally, like a physical severing, the two of you tear your eyes away and turn back to your respective conversations.
"Lemme get you a burger," Frankie hears Santi offer you.
Frankie clears his throat, not wanting to hear your reply. He doesn't give a shit about you. He never should have.
Will's eyes drift over to Frankie who has turned back away from you, fingers tightening around his beer bottle. He feels like he's going to punch something.
"You okay, Fish?" Will asks, puzzled. He scratches at his eyebrow as he stares at him.
"M'fine," Frankie mutters.
He moves from around the BBQ, trying to distance himself. He glances around for Inaya, horrified when he notices her laughter from across the fire. She's standing with you, beer extended as the two of you talk.
Why the fuck is she talking with you?
He ducks his head, grabbing some veggies and popping them onto a plate. He sees some blonde guy from one of Santi's poker nights.
The guy - Barry? Terry? - greets him, starting a lively conversation with him about how they need to have a rematch so he can win back his money. Frankie is only half listening, he keeps sneaking looks out the corner of his eyes at you and Inaya.
The two of you are still talking, making his stomach a quiver uneasily.
He distracts himself with conversation, trying to look un-phased that you're here. Before long an hour has passed and Frankie can't stop the itch under his skin. The one that compels him to casually scan the party.
Inaya is nowhere to be found, but even if she was Frankie wouldn't notice. His dark eyes are dragging over the sand for you and you alone.
He spots you over by the BBQ, looking tense as you go about fixing a burger. You've got that serious look you wear when you're frustrated. Brows pinched, jaw clenched.
You could be six, sixteen, and twenty six all at once. You'll always have that same expression and Frankie will always melt at the sight of it.
He misses you. Misses the way you could comfort him like no one else. Misses the way you said his name. Misses the scent of your skin. He misses lightning bugs and ghost stories around campfires.
And he knows in that horrible moment, that he's still so in love with you. Despite the party. Despite the man in your dorm room. Despite Seattle. Despite the silence. He misses you so much it feels like a physical pull of his sternum. One that forces his feet over the cooling sand, just to be near you.
He halts a few steps away, watching the way your body tightens at his nearness. Can you hear his shallow breathing? Can you just sense him? He holds his breath and comes to stand next to you, reaching for a plate that he doesn't even need. He can't eat right now, his stomach is in knots.
He tilts, eyes finally catching yours and he thinks he might faint or throw up. He's not sure which. You're not glaring at him anymore; instead it seems you're cataloging his features, taking in what a decade has done to him.
What do you see? The lines between his brows? The patchy quality to his beard that he never grew out of? The length of his messy hair? Or are you looking at the hat he wears today? The old green one from his closet?
Say something, Frankie tells himself when he realizes he's just been staring at you. Say something. Anything.
"Didn't know you'd be here. Didn't think you'd fly back for it," he adds before clearing his throat, hating how stilted he sounds.
Your focus moves back to your plate. He watches you work, ears growing warm.
"Sure."
Silence extends as you both busy yourself with condiments and sides to your burgers. He keeps sneaking looks at your profile, questions running through his mind. Why did you never call him to explain? Don't you understand he would have forgiven you? Who was that guy in your dorm? Do you miss Frankie?
"Your girlfriend seems nice," you say.
Fuck. Inaya.
He could tell you she's just a friend from work. Could tell you that he just met her recently. But he's never lied to you before, so why start now?
"She's not really my girlfriend. We just... Hang out together sometimes."
He doesn't want to talk about Inaya. He wants to talk about that night. He wants to know what happened. He wants to know if you still care about him.
"Guess some things never change,” you say with a curl to your upper lip. Gone is the sweet voice he remembers, now replaced with something cold and flinty.
"Huh?"
“You’ve just always been good at making girls think they mean more to you than they actually do," you clarify.
Old hurt comes rolling back, like a furious locomotive up his spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Your name is called by Santi and the other guys. Tom has arrived and is clearly eager to meet you. You give a false smile and wave their way before looking back up at Frankie.
"It means whatever you want it to, Frankie," you say with a disgusted scoff. "Just keep me out of it."
He watches you leave, hips swaying as you move over the sand to greet the guys. They'll love you, he's sure.
"That's her, huh?'
Frankie nearly jumps when he hears Inaya's soft voice at his elbow. "Huh? Who?"
"Morales," she sighs in mock exasperation. "C'mon."
Her eyes move from Pip back to Frankie and his nostrils flare slightly, eyes squinting.
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, In."
She steps closer, voice quiet, only for him.
"I think I just met the reason you don't want to commit to a relationship."
Frankie's eyes narrow on her, anger clear in his expression. "Since when do you want commitment?"
"Not now," she says with a roll of her eyes. "But someday with someone."
"Not everyone has your penchant for romance, I guess," Frankie hisses, cheeks splotchy
She looks at him with a worried expression. His jaw tightens, long fingers twitching at his sides as he shuffles in the sand. Inaya knows him well enough to recognize the signs.
"You wanna leave?"
Frankie glances over her shoulder to see you at the rest of the guys laughing loudly. Just like he suspected, they love you already.
"Yeah."
She nods, taking his hand in hers and heading back to the truck. He doesn't bother saying goodbye to anyone. He just wants to slink off into the encroaching dusk and forget this ever happened.
“That Benny is like an oversized puppy who doesn't know whether to bite or chase its tail,” Inaya laughs, her feet propped up on the dashboard as he drives.
Frankie can smirk at that, nodding. "Spot on."
"You know, today I think I saw how you would have been as a boy," Inaya says affectionately, "All nervous and serious, hiding under that hat.”
She reaches over and tugs at the stray curl under Frankie's ear. He flinches away from her, scowling.
"Quit it, I'm driving."
She giggles, hair dancing in the air from the open window. She glances at the passing houses when she speaks next.
"Pip seemed cool."
Frankie is silent. He goes to turn on the radio but Inaya stills his fingers. She pulls herself into a properly seated position, braid falling over one shoulder.
"Frank, c'mon. I know something happened there. You were avoiding her like the plague for most of the party. And the second you saw her you were, like, in a trance."
Frankie swallows thickly, trying not to look unsettled. He had no idea he appeared that way to others. Is that what inspired Santi's stupid comments earlier? He's quiet, knowing that his silence is its own damning admission.
Inaya reaches across the cab of the truck, fingers light on his forearm.
"I just wanna know what happened. I'm your friend, let me help you."
Friends. He and Pip were friends. Inaya is nothing like you. The comparison makes him furious.
"We're not friends, Inaya," Frankie snaps, teeth clenched as he jerks to a stop at a red light.
Inaya takes a slow breath in, fingers lacing in her lap. "We're not?"
"No," Frankie says with a brutal curl of his lip. "We watch movies and eat food and sometimes we fuck. That's it."
For a moment he thinks she might slap him, but she remains self possessed, voice controlled.
"I see."
The light turns green and the truck jostles to life as he aggressively pushes down the accelerator. The rest of the ride is incredibly tense. Inaya flicks the radio on this time and Frankie is thankful for the normally annoying sound of Barry Manilow.
He eventually drops her off in front of her apartment building, turning the engine off with a slow twist of his keys. Frankie feels dead, his body heavy and useless.
The two sit in a heavy silence, the day and the harsh words from earlier still echoing around the cab of the truck. Both seem to know this is the last time they'll see each other.
Inaya unbuckles her seatbelt, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth before she looks his way.
"We get one shot at life, Frankie," she says as she opens her door and climbs out. "Don't waste yours."
Frankie doesn't say anything. He just watches her move to the building as he settles himself behind his steering wheel. He waits until she's safely inside before he pulls away, eyes wet and heart aching.
“I need to see him.”
You move on shaky legs, eyes wild and shaky hands gripping the strap of your purse. Everything you’ve learned in the last hour has shifted your universe in a monumental way. There’s no way you can just sit here any longer
Hilary stands, trying to grab at your wrist at you attempt to leave. “Hey, slow down.”
“I need to see Frankie,” you say sharply. “Right now.”
“You can always call him up and ask him to come over."
“Face to face.”
"You shouldn't be driving," Hilary tells you, face soft with concern. "Take a minute to breathe.”
"I'll be fine," you insist, shaking off her hand. "I promise."
Your hurried feet almost catch on the carpet as you rush for the door. Hilary is calling after you, but you don't hear her. All that pounds in your ears is the thrum of your heartbeat.
Frankie. Frankie. Frankie.
Images of your time together are assaulting you, the kite, the pool, your first kiss, the funeral and his arms around you. His eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes.
Your vision is blurry, but you blink the building tears back as you practically tear the door of your truck open.
You need to see Frankie right this second. You need to clear this up. No more misunderstandings.
You peel out of the driveway, small little hiccupping sobs escaping you as your foot slams against the accelerator.
You think of the lost years. Of the twenties you two could have shared, could have spent building a life together. Instead you diverged like branches away from one another. Lives led with carried animosity. All because of a fucking misunderstanding.
I fucked up.
All this time we could have been together.
I didn't trust him.
We could have had so much time.
These thoughts make your breath catch in your chest, distracting you the vehicle that slams into the side of you truck. For a moment everything seems to go in slow motion. You take in the squeal and scent of burnt tires, the crunch of metal.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.
THIS STORY IS ON A03
tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.
notes: I cannot believe how much this story means to me. And how much your comments about it touch me. To those who have experienced the death of a parent, know that I see you and I love you. For those who had a hard mother's day, I'm so sorry. I love you.
warning: LONG chapter! over 16k
THEN
"Can you gimme another one?" Frankie asks, his breath hot against your sticky cheek.
You whine brokenly, hand groping behind you to grab the back of his sweaty neck and hold. He wears two weeks’ worth of stubble which rasps against your cheeks as he continues.
"Not gonna stop until you do," he promises with a breathless kiss to your shoulder. "I bet you can give me two more at least."
The two of you have been fucking all afternoon despite the muggy weather. Your bodies are glistening with sweat, sliding off of one another. A fan blows uselessly in the corner.
Frankie has you on all fours and he cages you under his body, rolling his hips, fucking you into the mattress before the heat overwhelms you and you complain.
"S'too damn hot!"
He apologizes, pulling you up to balance back against his sweaty chest. The two of you take a moment, a breather. The bed creaks as he gently tugs your hair and pulls your face back to face him over your shoulder.
"I need another one, Pip."
You stare up at him, eyes fuzzy at the edges, pupils like expanding moons. He’s so gorgeous all damp and pink.
One arm is banded across your waist, the other sliding to play with your clit when your hips start to roll. . You practically growl as your lips connect, all tongues and groans until you speak against the corner of his mouth.
"Wait. Sit back," you instruct. "I wanna ride you."'
You haven't done that yet and Frankie's face goes red to the tips in excitement. He pulls from you gently before flopping into his back, eyes raking over your body as he pulls himself into a sitting position.
His back kisses the headboard, his eyes taking you in with delight. You crawl up to him, and you watch as he groans, body twitching.
"Goddamn, you look good naked."
You face burns when you give him a toothy grin. "Shut the fuck up."
You rise up and quickly straddle him with your thighs, forearms balanced on his wide shoulders.
He watches you from under thick lashes, pupils widening as you begin lowering yourself with slow determination. He feels so much bigger from this angle.
"Take your time," he coos when he senses your frustration, arms wrapping around your middle to hold tightly. "We have all the time in the world."
It has been two weeks since he came back for his parent’s funeral and the two of you have been sleeping with each other every day since then.
"We could just practice with each other," he’d suggested the morning after you lost your virginity. His body was warm, his cock hard and pressing into your thigh.
"Yeah, so we get good at it," you agreed, moving to help Frankie remove his t-shirt from over your head. "You'll be ready for base and I'll be ready for college."
"Yeah," he'd said, sliding his body down the bed and hooking your right leg over his shoulder. "Practice until we're experts."
You know he'll never see you as anything but Pip, Santi's annoying cousin. So you don't put it into your head. You don't cling to a dreamy future that won't come true.
You stay satisfied that he takes you to bed and that he's always so gentle until you ask him not to be.
With the house empty there's no need to rush. You take your time exploring each other's bodies. You try all the positions you've read about in magazines, eager to run your lips over every piece of flesh.
This is too casual to be considered some clandestine affair. The only time that you keep it hushed is when you're around your friend's, sure the distance yourself, no lingering looks.
Sometimes it's hard though. The lines feel blurred when he asks you to spend the night or be cooks dinner for the two of you. It starts to feel domestic, you coming to his place, usually at sunset. Him having prepared something simple like chicken for the two of you to eat.
The longer that time goes on sometimes you watch television together, cuddled up on the couch. Those nights he runs his fingers through your hair with his eyes on the TV. Sometimes you think you catch him gazing at you when you pretend to sleep on his lap.
And he feels so good, the entire time you're with him everything feels so right.
But he's going back to Texas in August. You won't see him for several years again. You can't get mushy now. You can't afford to let this crush develop into something it never was.
"You’re so-" Frankie cuts himself off with a ragged moan. "How are you so fucking good at this?"
It's your first time riding a man and you're surprised yourself at how easy it is. What was so intimidating feels so natural when it's Frankie you're doing it with.
And now as he groans your name and grips your hips, you feel yourself start to tremble. You're close and he knows it. You've been bouncing in his lap for ten minutes now and his fingers have been worrying your clit the entire time.
"That's right," he says smiling up at you as he watches you throw your head back. "Just like that, baby. Just like that."
He calls you baby often. Sometimes just when you're on the couch relaxing or when he brings you a lemonade to combat the heat.
Your hips are starting to rut, your moans turning into frantic grunts as your body spasms, breasts bouncing furiously as you ride him. You chase that pleasure that seems just out of reach, your whines increasing in frequency. You think you're saying his name, but it might just be incoherent babbling at this point.
Frankie seems to note your growing distress. His big hands come to slide back the sweaty strands that have fallen into your face, sticking to your cheeks.
"Just let go," he whispers, hands moving lower to tug you closer. He presses damp kisses to your neck, voice hot and rumbling against your pulse point. "I've got you."
"Fuck, Frankie, I'm- I'm-"
He grins up at your fucked-out expression before you dip your damp chest to meet his. His mouth is covering yours, kissing you deeply as you shatter around him.
Practice, you tell yourself as the two of you fall into a mid afternoon slumber minutes later, bodies entwined.
It's just practice.
You wake up in a soft bed feeling disoriented. The space you're in is unfamiliar yet not completely foreign. It takes you several blinks to clear the blur from your swollen eyes and when you do, you realize that you are in Frankie's childhood bedroom.
The sun isn't close to rising meaning you haven't been asleep all that long. You feel empty, rung out like an old sponge.
Your face flames as you recall throwing yourself into Frankie's arms. You cried yourself silly before he brought you inside, practically carrying you to his bed and insisting you could take a quick nap in the bed.
You hadn't fought him on it. Just sniffled into his neck your agreement and allowed him to help you down onto sweetly scented flannel bed sheets.
You sit up properly, head swimming when your feet touch the thick carpet underneath the bed.
Baby. He called you baby.
You're too overwrought with the other emotions of the day to fixate on that one word. Your mother's illness pushes that thought clean out of your head. Everything is terrible and ugly and you sincerely feel you're unable to cope.
"Hey. You okay?"
Frankie is standing outside the open bedroom door, peeking in slightly. He's so broad and tall he practically takes up the whole frame. His wide shoulders stretch the fabric of his t-shirt, the sleeves hugging the thick curve of his arms. You look away from them.
You shrug. Is it possible to feel okay about this? You don't think so. You blink slowly, feeling the burn in your eyes as you stand. His eyes watch your ascent, widening as you wobble, calming when he can tell you're balanced.
"Can I borrow your phone?" You ask, surprised by the hoarseness of your voice. "I have to call Rosalita."
Frankie nods, fishing his cell from the back pocket of his jeans and holding it out in your direction.
Baby.
You're careful not to touch his fingertips as you take it from him, hands light as you begin dialing quickly.
He goes to give you space, walking out of the room with one backwards look your way.
Rosalita answers on the second ring, tone concerned as she asks who this is.
"Hey, Rosalita? It's me. I'm just at a..." you glance after Frankie who has left to walk back down the hall, "... a friend's house. I forgot my phone at home. I just didn't want you to worry."
"Of course my dear. I am so thankful you called. Will you be home soon?"
You pause, gnawing at the fingernail you've got lodged between your front teeth.
"Shouldn't be here too long."
You do say your goodbyes and you and the call. The background of Frankie's phone glows and you take a moment to look at it.
It's a dog, a chocolate lab if you're correct. It looks like it's just growing out of the puppy stage. You smile; curious as to who it belongs to.
You make your way down the hallway, trying to smooth back your hair the best you can. You can only assume that your mascara is smudged wildly, your hair a mess around your head.
Frankie is facing the sink, starting to hand wash the dishes that sit there waiting. They look clean already, but his hands still move over them with precision. He does this in silence, a guarded hunch to his shoulders.
He seems nervous.
He glances up when he hears you enter the kitchen and the smile he shoots you is thin. He motions to the table set with two very frosted cinnamon buns. You can smell the sweetness from where you stand, eyes taking in the familiar oversized shape, the detail on the edges of the bun itself.
"Thought you'd want one."
You go to politely refuse when your eyes slide back to the pastry. "Wait, are those..."
Frankie grins to himself. "Yep. The Village bakery. Grabbed em this morning."
You move quickly across the room, plopping yourself into the chair before your plate. You've never been able to say no to these. You take a bite of the sweet cinnamon treat, eyes closing momentarily. The frosting slides over your tongue and you're transported to ten, with Santi giving you half of his.
Frankie brings a cup of chamomile tea, sliding the thick mug towards you. You take it gratefully, mouth full of sweet cinnamon and frosting that you swallow quickly.
"I haven't had one since I lived here."
"A while then."
"Yeah."
You gaze at him for a beat, taking in the lines at the corner of his eyes, the sparse flecks of gray at his temple and beard. The eleven lines that have always existed since you knew him are deep.
You realize you missed so much time with him. You skipped over his twenties when he grew out the buzz cut. Barely recall his thirties when he filled out more, jaw sharp but cheeks softened with age.
"Who's the dog?"
His dark brows knit. "Huh?"
You motion to the phone you've laid on the table. "The dog on your phone."
"Oh." Frankie leans back, amusement clear. "That's Lobo, my aunt's dog. The picture is super old. He's like five now."
"She brought her dog here?"
"No no." He shakes his head, plump pink mouth curved into a small o shape. "I went back to visit."
"You went back to Argentina?"
"Just for a couple weeks. It was really nice. I got to see where my folks grew up. Was introduced to some cousins I'd never met before. It was cool."
"I'm so glad you got to do that." Your smile is genuine. "Was it gorgeous?
"The parts I saw, yeah."
"I'm so jealous," you say with a cinnamon scented sigh. "I want to travel everywhere."
His head tilts slightly, the flash of the hat logo peeking out. "Do you get to travel much for your job?"
"I wish. I talk to people from all over the world, but I do it at home in my sweats."
You take another bite, the gooey cinnamon making you feel more relaxed. Frankie leans his cheek into his fist propped up by his arm on the table.
"What's Seattle like?"
"Nothing like here," you reply with a smile. "The weather isn't sticky, the traffic is way less stressful. The coffee is way better. There's so much green. Way less stress about hurricanes. The air is just ... Better."
You're not sure if it's the actual air or the distance between your old lif that makes it easier to breathe.
"The food isn't as good though," you offer diplomatically. "I miss pan de Cuba. And the beaches suck. But aside from that? I really like it."
"So you'd never move back here is what you're saying," Frankie smirks.
"No. Never."
Not just because of the reasons listed. But because this place holds nothing you want to keep.
Frankie looks at you with a faraway look, nodding.
"Haven't you ever wanted to live somewhere new?"
Frankie has a soft little curl to his mouth which juxtaposes his suddenly tense posture in his seat.
"Let's sit on the couch," he offers, wincing as he stands. "These chairs kill my back."
You rise without thinking, plate and mug in hand and follow him to the old couch pressed against the wall, just like it always was. Despite the fact that it's new with much plumper cushions, it's still the same color and shape as his old childhood one.
You feel your eyes drift around the room as you walk towards it, scanning the shelves you pass in interest. You want to see what books he reads now, what little tchotchkies have been found worthy enough of cluttering his space.
But it's so impossibly bare in here. You suppose you didn't notice as much during the poker game because it was so full of people.
You look over your shoulder and see the stenciled archway leading into the kitchen. Something stirs in your heart, pain and sweetness combined. Frankie hasn't changed anything in the house and you know why.
Your eyes move to the fireplace, a wistful little smile on your face as you recall the time Santi singed his hair when he lit it to make indoor s'mores.
The smile fades when you spot a shell pink lipstick tube sitting near one side of the fireplace top. It's a trendy brand, the kind a younger woman would use. A woman who has clearly been in Frankie's house, someone comfortable enough to leave her things behind.
Your stomach tightens at the thought even though it has no reason to. Good on Frankie for getting laid.
Except you don't actually feel that way
You take a seat on the couch, balancing your mug on one knee, placing the cinnamon bun plate on the coffee table.
Frankie lowers himself down next to you, sitting close enough that the couch dips under his weight, the cushion pulling you slightly toward him. His posture is relaxed but there’s a subtle rigidity in the way his back stays straight. Like a forced nonchalance.
"How are you feeling now? Better?"
"I don't know about better. I guess, more calm." You feel embarrassment creep up your neck. "I'm so sorry for just barging over here."
"It's fine. Totally fine. I'm glad I was home."
One of his hands rests on his thigh, fingers flexing once and then going still. The other moves to drape along the back of the couch, not quite close enough to touch you.
"It's weird being back here," you murmur. "I can't believe you still live here."
"How come?"
"You wanted to fly all over the world," you remind him. You drag your free hand through the air with a flourish. "You wanted to see everything."
His lips part briefly, and then press together again, like he almost says something and then changes his mind.
"Frankie?"
His name feels like a hard candy on your tongue, sweet and familiar but sharp should you bite it and let the jagged shards explode in your mouth. "Yeah?"
"Can I ask what happened?"
"When?"
You shoot him a meaningful look, one brow arched. You know when.
The baseball cap casts a soft shadow over his face when he lowers his head, dark hair curling just beneath the edges. You like how it always curls under his left ear.
"Frankie."
His jaw feathers, teeth clenched. He won't look at you.
"Frankie," you repeat.
His gaze flickers toward you and away again, quick and careful. He scratches the side of his nose.
"You should go."
Anger boils hot in your belly at the dismissive tone he uses. "No."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
It feels like you're ten again being left behind while the guys went to watch fireworks for the fourth of July. "Why did you start using? Why aren't you flying anymore?"
You pause for a beat, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
"Frankie, please just talk to me."
He stares at you with an expression you can't name.
He's waiting for you to leave and you have every reason to do so. He clearly doesn't want you here, his words, his body language - all of it compels you to fuck right off. It reminds you that you don't know him anymore. That you're different people than you were when you were kids. Back when it was a different version of Frankie and a different version of you.
But still you linger, eyes roving the threadbare t-shirt that strains over his wide shoulders. His tshirts used to smell like tide detergent and sunlight, bleached so many times they felt stiff under your cheek.
You long to touch the sleeve, just to test if it feels the same. Your eyes rise, seeing Frankie's reflection staring back at you. The two of you remain locked in a look of mutual concern before he shifts his attention away again.
"You listened to me talk about my mom. Hell, you even bandaged her up. I can't bandage anything or anyone for you," you murmur. "So let me do this. Let me listen."
He must feel the weight of your gaze because he makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat. He hangs his head between his shoulders, thick fingers wrapping around the edge of his knees. The silence that follows feels anticipatory.
"I saw a lot of shit when I was deployed," Frankie finally murmurs.
He exhales slowly before looking at you. You're still across the couch from him, behind an invisible line.
"You see certain things, you do certain things... It changes you. You can't forget it even when you're back home."
He's killed people.
That's what he doesn't want to say out loud.
You're not stupid; Santi has told you about his own experiences. You know he's seen combat; he's been in tough situations. Frankie is not that sensitive teen you had your first kiss with. No longer the shy boy you gave a hat. He's different, he's angry, he's haunted.
"My dad always talked about his time serving when I was growing up. The things he saw and how he was able to compartmentalize. I figured it'd be like that for me too. Except the shit I saw and did..."
He exhales through his nose, scratching at the side of his jaw. His short nails drag through his beard, making a rasping sound.
"I couldn't just put it away like he did. I just felt angry and scared all the time."
His arms come to cross over his chest, a guard for a heart that beats steadily behind bleached ribs.
"Guys at work did coke sometimes. They gave me a line at some party and I remember feeling so good. All those ugly thoughts and memories, the fear- all of it was gone. I was numb to it. I felt powerful."
You hold your breath, watching as his eyes scan you. You don't want to stop him from sharing by twitching or showing judgment.
"So I kept doing it. Started as once in a while at a party, then on weekends, then during the week after work. But the more I did it, the worse those memories were when I was sober. So it started being before work, after work. On hard days it was during work. And then one week we get a random drug test..."
He doesn't have to explain further, it's pretty obvious how things played out.
"All I ever wanted to do was fly. Fly away from here. Fly away from my problems. I just wanted to be up there in the sky, in the clouds." He sighs, eyes closing. "But I always ended up here. Down in the dirt."
Now his eyes rise to find yours, searching almost like you're a lifeline.
"I won't get to fly for another six months and that's if I can find a place out here that'll hire me with a record." He runs his hands down his face. "The one thing I'm good at and I can't even do it anymore."
From this short distance you can see his dark eyes are misty.
Despite everything he's said, despite the realization that you don't know him anymore, your heart swells. He may not be that shy boy you first met, but those eyes staring across the couch? Those are the same eyes you fell in love with. The eyes that a part of you will always love.
So it doesn't feel too strange to move forward and slide your arms around his neck. It even feels natural when his arms band around your waist, pulling you into his lap.
He doesn't cry. Not out loud. His has always been one to carry a secret pain, the kind seen in his eyes but never vocalized. But you feel it in the curl of his fingers against your back, and the gentle hitch to his breathing.
You hold each other for what seems like forever. Sewn together by arms and memories, drinking in the scent of his neck, feeling the bristle of his beard against your shoulder.
"You'll fly again," you whisper, a promise, an oath. You believe it when you say it.
Frankie will fly again.
He pulls back eventually, dark eyes still glossy. He scans your face, looking for an answer to a question he's too afraid to ask. And it's like you realize you're in his lap, tangled in his arms and your core squeezes.
The realization that you're aroused makes you feel disgusting and you avert your gaze. You shouldn't be feeling like this with Frankie. Not right now. Not when he's being so vulnerable. You prepare to move off of him, hips shifting. But he shakes his head, brows jumping.
"No...Don't..."
His hands snake through your hair, tugging gently, urging your face back up. His eyes trail a sluggish route across your face. You're convinced that he must hear your heart's rapid tempo because for a moment that's all you can hear.
Tha-thump.
Tha-thump.
Tha-thump.
His words keep rattling around in your head, pinging from side to side.
I've got you baby. I'm here.
Only when Frankie sees that you haven't moved, haven't pushed him away in disgust does he urge your face to his and press his mouth to yours. His lips are warm and dry, soft when they slant over yours. And it's so much better than you remembered. The sweetness of nostalgia tempered with the excitement of novelty.
It's been years since you last felt Frankie's mouth, the tender touch of his hands, the way he used to hold you like he wanted you to be a part of him, to live behind his ribs as his new and steady heart.
A lifetime ago when the future was stretched out in front of you, when Frankie was the most perfect man you'd ever met and you couldn't imagine not loving everything about him.
When your hands land on his chest he pulls back abruptly, mouth still grazing yours as he searches your eyes. Hot air huffs over your chin, his pupils wide with arousal. He's staring at your mouth, like he's can't believe what's happening when his face soars to yours again.
"I'm sorry, I sh-"
He doesn't have time to say anything more because you're gripping his collar and dragging his face back to yours, deepening the kiss with tender urgency. His lips are soft and perfect, his body molded against yours.
His arms are long, winding around your shoulders and your middle, holding you like a human cocoon. You muse that you'll emerge different, more vibrant. His body is solid, the width of his shoulders easy to cling to. The feeling of him is intoxicating, like you're drunk on lust. Maybe you are.
His teeth snag around your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before nipping lightly. Lightning skitters up your core, gooseflesh rising rapidly. You keen, fingers fisted in his t-shirt, holding him desperately. You want to feel him, every part of him. Your mouth drags to his jaw; kissing, sucking, licking.
"Fuck, baby-"
The nickname does something to snap you out of your stupor, pulling back with your fingers trembling over your lips. Frankie's own mouth is swollen, reddened and parted. His pebbled neck is bright pink, and you can feel the desire pouring out of him.
"I need to go," you say through ragged gasps as you push off of him. He lets you go this time, arms dropping uselessly to either side of his hips.
He's breathing heavily as he shakes his head.
"Don't leave," he pleads brown eyes big and sorrowful. "Please, just stay."
The desperation is so clear in his gaze and in his deep voice. And it's almost enough to convince you. For you to stay here and sink into the memory and familiarity.
But then your eyes snag on the forgotten tube of lipstick by the fireplace. The one from a nameless woman. Who knows when she was last here. And suddenly you're thrown back through the years and that familiar tightness is back in your chest. The one that remembers his deception.
"I have to go."
"Can I drive you?"
"I want to walk. I need the fresh air."
His lips thin but he nods, sitting there looking so defeated.
"Be safe."
THEN
"Do you see it?"
"Nope."
The two of you are in his backyard, the sun having set hours ago. The night is quiet and peaceful. Cicadas are the only things heard, perhaps a far off frog.
You sit wedged between Frankie's long legs on a cheap lounge chair. He has a beer next to him on the ground, but it's fairly untouched.
You wanted to look at the stars tonight. Santi had mentioned something about being about to see Venus with the naked eye.
So far all you've seen is stars and a plane flying by. It reminds you of Frankie's flying, of his existence amongst the clouds.
"I'm so jealous you get to ride in a helicopter all day."
"I don't ride them all day," Frankie says, stroking your shoulder. He's got you leaning back against his chest. "I still have classes you know."
"Pfft, whatever," you say with a roll of your eyes. "You're in the sky more than the average person, Morales."
You yelp through a laugh when he gently pinches your side.
"Smartass."
His breathing stirs the hair at the top of your head. Rhythmic and soothing.
"Are you going to Travis' party this Saturday?"
"Of course."
You take his left hand between yours, ice following the deep shores of his knuckles like the dips and valleys he must glide his helicopter between.
"I wish I could ride in one," you offer, kissing his fingertips absently. "It must be amazing."
"There's flight places around here that offer rides."
"Expensive," you remind him. "And besides I only want to ride if..."
You stop yourself before it slips out. The admission that makes your heart throb in your chest.
You only want to ride if Frankie's the one flying.
You've had fantasies of exactly that, of seeing Frankie in his element. You have imagined him taking you over mountains, soaring through the sky. And sometimes you even fantasize that he'll take you somewhere quiet, landing in gorgeous empty fields with flowers and soft grass.
You picture him declaring his long hidden love for you, of taking you right there in the open, his muscled body over yours as he groans your names between sweet promises of forever.
He knows this. He must because he kisses your temple and his voice goes low and earnest.
"Can I take you to breakfast Sunday?" Frankie asks quietly. "Then for a ride? I found a place that rents out to people in the military. Got a good deal."
"Really? You’ll fly me in a real helicopter?" Your eyes are wide.
"Yep."
"I'd love to go with you. Are the guys-"
"Just you," Frankie cuts in. "I want it to be just us."
His eyes are big and vulnerable, staring into yours. You think he might be holding his breath. There's no mistaking what he's saying.
He wants to take me on a date.
This was only ever a casual thing. Something to pass the summer days between trips to the river and nights playing pool with the guys.
But Frankie is offering you more.
Your heart flips brutally in your chest and you can feel your face warming at the realization that you very much want more with him.
"I'd love to."
Your mother is still asleep and you're finishing up a particularly aggravating meeting with a very loud very opinionated coworker days after your run in with Frankie. An experience you’re trying very hard not to fixate on.
Your head throbs as you rub at your temples with your middle fingers.
Your mom's questions about Greg have been in your head for days now as well. His smiling face dancing at the edge of your subconscious. You still have his number saved in your phone, you don't know why. Perhaps you wanted it as proof that someone loved you at one time. Maybe you were just too lazy to erase it. You're not sure.
You know that you can't hear his voice; you can't be drawn into a long conversation about your past relationship with a voice that once whispered loving sentiment to you in the dark.
Texting exists and that feels safe. So you bring up the message, thumb dancing along your screen.
Hey Triple G, long time no talk.
You expect to have to wait a long while And go to make yourself a sandwich. You're surprised that when you return less than 10 minutes later, a reply is waiting for you.
No fucking way.
How are you?
I can't believe you still have my number.
Guess I needed it in case I wanted my finances analyzed.
So wise of you. You always were a great planner.
You smile a bit at your phone. You can hear the cadence of his voice when you read his texts.
How have you been?
Can I give you a call? Easier than texting.
You pause, heart skipping. This is going better than expected, the fear tempered by curiosity.
Yeah okay.
Even though you're expecting it, when the phone rings moments later, you still almost drop it.
"Hello?"
"It really is you."
"You were expecting a Nigerian prince?"
"I don't know what I was expecting," he says with the soft chuckle. "But it's nice to hear your voice."
You hate yourself for a moment; because the genuine way he says that makes your heart actually throb with missing him. It's over in a flash, a lightning strike, but you can't ignore that you felt it.
"How are you?" He continues. "Where are you?"
"I'm back home in Florida."
You hear Greg's inhale. He knows all about your history with your mother. The visit's home that never materialized. The promise that you would introduce them. The most he ever got was a staticy phone call with her one Christmas that you were feeling benevolent.
"Your mom...?"
"Not doing great," you admit quietly. "Uh, dementia and just because the universe is an asshole, liver disease too."
"Jesus, I'm sorry, sweets."
Sweets. His nickname for you. It hurts to hear it tonight. But it also warms something inside your chest, something that has been cold the last few months.
"I'm staying with her until," you blink, "until things..."
You can't say it. Can't say out loud that you're only here until she dies. That you're systematically inventorying her life in the house here. The house you will sell off the moment you can, ridding yourself of the memories you never wanted to keep in the first place.
"I get it," Greg says in a voice of comfort.
"Yeah. You always did."
Silence slips in, not exactly comfortable but also not as strained as you were assuming it would be.
"So, why the contact out of the blue?" Greg inquires, voice turning worried. "Are you okay? Like-"
"Sad but okay," you assure him. "I'll be honest, I don't know how else I could feel it this moment.”
"Is your sister helping you?"
"Fuck no," you say with a shake of your head, despite the the fact that he won't be able to see it. "But she's done her time. She took care of my mom for a while. She's with her fiancé up in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. But at least my cousin is around. He helps out when he can."
"Othello?"
You let out a full-throated laugh. "Santiago," you correct.
"Well that's good," Greg offers in a voice that almost touches on condescending. "It's good you have someone else there for you."
You think that perhaps at this moment he's trying to suss out if you're in a relationship or not.
"So are you bald yet?" You ask, giggling behind your hand. "I know that was a big concern for you the last time I saw you."
Greg gives a full belly laugh over the phone . "Oh eff off," he says with a dark scoff.
"Don't edit yourself on my account, you say with a small smirk at the sound of his banal form of swearing. "The Greg of my day definitely had a filthy mouth."
You don't mean for it to come off as a double entendre, but you grimace anyway in embarrassment. Greg pauses, and you're sure that he's going to mention the inappropriateness of that remark. But instead you just hear a soft sigh, a thing of mournful regret.
"It's not that. It's just, my, uh, my son is in the room playing. I don't want him picking up on my bad habits."
Your stomach plummets.
Not because you always wanted a child with Greg yourself, you can't say that was ever in the cards. And it's not because you wish that you were there with him right now. It's that he broke your heart and is now walking around contented and happy. The thought of it fills you with a sudden rage.
"Jen will kill me if he starts swearing at daycare," he adds with an uneasy laugh when you don't respond right away.
Your jaw bulges as your teeth clamp together. You don't want to hear about how he found the right person. How he started that family with the woman he cheated on you with. Jen from accounting. Jen with the happy home life and shiny hair.
"Why did you cheat on me, Greg?"
No buildup, no more polite conversation. You've done away with that now. All you want from him is information; you don't care about his home life.
You hear another sigh come down the telephone, bolstering himself for a very uncomfortable conversation.
"Ah. I see. So that's what the call is about."
If he was any other guy he would hang up on you just to avoid the awkwardness of this conversation. But because he's Triple G, Good Guy Greg, he's going to answer you.
"You really want to go there?"
"I do."
You hear him shift; probably looking over your shoulder to make sure his son isn't listening in.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," Greg finally murmurs, voice lowered. "And if I could go back in time and change how things went, I would. I should've ended things, not cheated."
You suck at your teeth, leaning back in your office chair as you roll your eyes.
"Yeah yeah I've heard that one before. Just be real with me, Greg. Why did you do it?"
You can hear a soft tinkle of a child's toy in the background, the snatches of a television humming low with a child's show. Greg must have turned it on to entertain him.
Does his son look like him? Or is he a redhead like his mother?
It doesn't matter.
"When we first got together things were great. Probably the most amazing three months I'd ever experienced with a partner. But the longer things went on, and the more serious things got it’s like you started to pull away."
"Bullshit."
You'd hope to come away with something better, something more informative that could shape your future self.
His voice returns to you sternly.
"I'm not going to argue with you. I'm just telling you how I remember things. And I remember that the more serious things got, the more you tried to push me away, the less you let me touch you."
"That is such a cliché," you mutter, disappointed.
"Do you not remember the days I would come home and you'd be waiting there for me, furious?"
"What? No."
"Oh c'mon," Greg says, and now he sounds a little put out. “It started becoming, like, a weekly thing. I'd come home late because of work and you'd be there to badger me."
"Badger you?"
You feel your fingers tightening around the cell phone held to your ear.
"At first I thought it was because you were just missing me," Greg says with a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. "But then you blew up at me, convinced I was cheating on you."
"You did cheat on me!'
"Not then!" His voice rises. "Not until months down the line when you started to hate me."
"I never hated you, Greg. Never."
You mean that.
"Sweets c'mon. By the end we weren't having sex, you never wanted to stay over at my place and you were always making excuses as to why I couldn't meet your mom."
This throws you for a loop. So much so that your mouth just opens and closes for a moment, like a fish on land.
"W-what? That's not..."
"I can hear you getting upset," Greg says, voice returning to its normal dulcet register.
"I'm not upset. I just don't remember things like you do. I remember us being happy and then one day you telling me you cheated."
"You don't remember all the times you accused me of cheating?"
It's hazy, the memory grey at the edges. "I guess I did once or twice."
"You sat there and told me that it was inevitable. That it didn't matter how much you loved me, I was still going to break your heart anyway. That you were destined to end up just like your mother."
Going through your memories right now is like trying to push through a particularly stubborn patch of snow. It's hard, unyielding and it frustrates you.
"No. No that's not... I only said that because you were cheating on me," you defend weakly.
"That's not true. I didn't check out of our relationship until you'd make it clear there was no trust left."
Your breathing grows unsteady. You don't remember it like this. Could so much really have been erased from your memory in 5 years. Or did you block it?
"It didn't matter how many times I told you that there was nothing going or how many times I showed you my phone and my location. There was no trust left by the end.' his voice sounds tight, like he's swallowing emotions. "And I really think you didn't love me enough to try and save us."
Bits and pieces of your relationship suddenly float around your mind. The way you hugged him but pressed your nose to his neck, to ensure a woman's perfume didn't linger. The way you glanced over his shoulder every time he was composing a text.
"It's like you wanted me to cheat," Greg is saying, drawing your attention back. "Just so you could prove... Something."
Those words ricochet around your skull, like a bouncing ball against a rubber room.
"Well I was right, wasn't I?' you reason shakily, bolstered by your own hurt.”You did cheat on me. I just called it early on."
"It always felt more like a self fulfilling prophecy to me," he says back, no snark in his tone.
A tense silence follows. One where you want to come up with a vitriolic response, but are left only feeling like a chastised child.
"I really am sorry that I hurt you," Greg says in a tone as delicate as a butterfly’s wing. "That was wrong. No matter how you slice it, I never should have been unfaithful."
You can hear a toddlers voice in the background, a whining plaintive sound. The conversation is winding down; you can tell Greg is tired.
"Anyway, I gotta go put Chad to bed-"
"You named your kid Chad?"
You don't mean for it to come out so ugly, the mockery and disdain clear in your tone. But you don't amend it. The ensuing silence makes you feel embarrassed enough to look down at your feet.
"I'm gonna go," he finally says in a voice you recognize as terse. "Take care of yourself."
He doesn't wait for your farewell before ending the call but that's fine, you weren't going to give him one anyway.
THEN
Frankie and you are lying in his bed, letting the whirring fan glide over your naked bodies. You're on your belly, hair sticky on the back of your neck. He's on his back, one arm under his neck, the other one tracing shapes along your spine.
You've just finished a very intense sex session that started with a back massage and ended with him edging you until you threatened to kill him if he didn't let you come. The two of you are now spent, sleepy and loose limbed overtop his soft bedsheets. Sex with Frankie is always so relaxing.
You give a stretch, reaching over the side of the mattress to grab your purse. Frankie watches from one cracked open eye to see you retrieve a cigarette, a flame sparking to life at the end of your bic lighter.
"You smoke?" He asks when you take a deep inhale, the end of the cigarette glowing a light orange.
"Once in a while."
You started last month when Hilary forgot she left a pack under her bed. After a few test runs in the backyard, you think you've gotten the hang of it. You can make little smoke o's in the air now.
"Gimme a puff."
You study him from across the narrow bed to see if he's serious. He's got long fingers extended your way, his face placid.
You hand it over to him, still waiting for him to laugh at you and confess he's never smoked before. But he doesn't, he just closes his eyes and brings it to his lips with the kind of practiced ease of a professional smoker.
Your gaze fixates on the softness of his plush mouth as it settles around the cigarette.
Your pulse tics as his lips part just enough to pull in a slow inhale. His lean throat bobs as he holds it in his lungs before expelling it in a slow stream that curls seductively over his bottom lip.
Smoking should not be that sexy.
His hand drifts back toward you, offering the cigarette back.
"Lots of guys smoke on the base," he explains.
"Huh. Wouldn't have guessed that."
His fingers linger against yours as he hands it back to you, the shared warmth causing you both to smile at one another.
"What time is it?" You ask after a few minutes of passing the cigarette back and forth to one another. He glances at his watch, eyes narrowed on the face.
"Almost six."
"Shit!"
You jump up, pulling your summer dress on over your head in a hurry. When you know you're coming to Frankie's place you don't even bother with a bra and panties. There's no point, he tugs the clothes from you basically the second the front door is closed behind you.
"What's the rush?" Frankie asks, stamping out the cigarette on the empty condom wrapper sitting next to his bedside lamp.
"Travis' party, remember?"
"But it doesn't start until, like, eight."
You roll your eyes good-naturedly at this.
"Believe it or not, Morales, I don't want to show up smelling like sex." You give him a once over. "Which means you need a shower too."
"Why?" Frankie teases. "Maybe I want to show up smelling like sex."
You look down at him with your hands propped on your hips, trying not to smirk.
"Yeah right, what if Christy is there tonight?"
"So what if she is?"
"Well, maybe you'll want to test out what we've been practicing. A notch in your belt before you leave back for Texas."
You say it airily, but you gauge his reaction. It's no mystery that Christy has a crush on Frankie. She told her friends at a bonfire earlier in the summer when she found out he was returning home for the funeral. You'd been there, silently seething.
Frankie sobers, abruptly pulling himself to a sitting position as you tug on your socks on. You glance at your purse, the dark blue rim sticking out over the edge reminding you. The main reason for your trip over here.
You fish the Standard Oil baseball cap out of your bag, holding it out in Frankie's direction.
"I almost forgot. I figured you'd want to wear this for the party so you can cover up that horrible haircut."
You say it with a playful laugh, waiting for him to call you a pain in the ass or something equally benign. Instead he looks at it briefly before plucking it from between your fingers with a flat gaze your way.
"Thanks. So, are you leaving now or what?"
That's it? That's the response you're going to get after years of protecting that hat. Years of keeping it perched on your shelf, making sure it doesn't accumulate dust?
"What the hell is your problem?"
"What? I said thank you," he mumbles.
"You're being rude," you shoot back.
"How am I being rude?"
"You're acting all miserable all of a sudden!"
"Because you just suggested that I should hook up with Christy tonight at the party," he snaps.
"I didn't suggest it," you fire back. "It was just an observation because she likes you!"
"Who gives a shit if Christy likes me?"
"I just figured you'd want to hook up with someone else before you go!"
Frankie looks like he's back at has parents funeral. That same dark, withdrawn look overtaking his body.
"Is that what you'll be doing?" He asks in a raspy murmur. "Hooking up with some random guy tonight?"
You think about how to answer him as you slowly straighten. You want to seem cool, seem desirable. In order to do that you'll have to appear nonchalant.
But when your eyes connect with his, all thoughts of bravado and falseness leave your mind entirely. This is Frankie, you're honest with him.
"No. I'm not hooking up with anyone else."
Frankie's tugging on his jeans now, a scowl on his face as he stands next to the bed.
"Have you been hooking up with anyone else these past few weeks?" He asks, focusing his attention on his fingers doing up his zipper.
You balk, the thought never having occurred to you.
"No," you breathe. "Have you been?"
You hold your breath as your way to his response, the blood roaring in your ears. Frankie raises his head, giving you a frosty look.
"And if I have?"
You feel like you've been dealt a devastating punch in your gut. If he tells you he's been hooking up with other girls this summer, you think you might burst into tears.
When you don't reply he exhales.
"Of course I haven't been," he scoffs, slipping the t-shirt over his muscled torso.
"Okay," you say, voice tight. "That's good."
The air in the room has changed. Frankie's jaw is feathering, eyes on the ceiling. The two of you stand beside the bed in heavy awkwardness.
"It doesn't really matter though. You'll have a new guy the second I leave anyway," he mutters, pinching his brow briefly.
You can't understand his vacillation in mood. Weren't you just having a good time? Weren't you just laying in bed laughing and sharing a cigarette?
And why is he acting all hurt? He's the one that suggested practicing in the first place!
"Why do you care?" You ask sharply. "This is all just practice, right?"
Frankie surprises you by throwing his cap to the floor, watching it bounce under the bed before throwing up his hands in exasperation.
"Seriously, Pip? You really think that's what this has been all month? Practice?"
You square your shoulders, voice coming out shaky and furious.
"It's what you said! You're the one who said we should practice!" You shout cheeks warm. "You're the one who said we shouldn't tell Santi!"
"Because I thought you'd get tired of me!" Frankie roars back. "And I didn't want Santi dragged into this if it was just a fling for you."
"And it wasn't that for you!?"
"No!"
The volume of your voices is lowering increment by increment, sentence by sentence. But now both drop to a quiet hesitancy.
"You wanted a distraction," you reason. "I could've been anyone."
He winces, like the suggestion hurts him
"You think I would have done that with just any girl?" Frankie asks you, eyes luminous. "I wanted it because it was you, Pip."
Like a dog hearing a far-off noise you cock your head curiously. "What? Why?"
His broad chest is expanding quickly under his shirt as he takes in deep gulps of air. He's starting to shift from foot to foot, like he wants to go streaming out of the room.
"Because I like you!" He finally says in a voice so raw and ragged it catches at the edges.
The flooring of his room suddenly feels uneven, so much so that you stumble a bit even though you're not attempting to move anywhere. Because the words you say don't make any sense to you.
Frankie actually likes you? Like..Romantically? You're so floored that you just blink at him for a moment, mouth dropped, eyes wide. He takes your silence for disgust, cringing away.
You watch him cover his eyes with his forearm, shaking his head slowly from side to side in humiliation.
"Please just say something, Pip. Anything."
You wait for a moment, letting the last thirty seconds settle into your brain before stepping hesitantly towards him. Your feet move silently over the plush carpet until you stand directly in front of him.
You wish he wasn't covering his eyes like that. His eyes are your favorite part of him. You raise your hand to touch his wrist, urging his arm away from his face.
"For how long?"
His brows knit and he lowers his arm down, down, down until it hangs at his side. "How long what?"
"How long have you liked me?"
His long dark lashes sweep his cheekbones as he tries to answer. You can see the frustration and the fear mixed together.
"Jesus, I don't know," he says incredulously. "A while. Why does it matter how long?"
Embarrassment is starting to flood his cheeks, the tips of his ears. It makes you smile, a big fat beaming smile up at him. It makes you go fizzy inside and it makes you step so close you feel the heat of his body leech into yours.
"Because I've liked you since I was fourteen years old, and I guess I just wanted to compare numbers."
Frankie's shoulders loosen like the invisible strings keeping them tight around his ears have been severed.
But he still remains wary, dark eyes squinting, body coiled.
"Are you serious?"
"Very."
A grin begins to form, hesitant at first, then so wide his dimple pops out. You can practically see the delight rising in him so much he can barely contain it.
He steps forward, sweeping you into his arms before his mouth crashes into yours, the collision of your bodies matching the intensity of your feelings. He likes you. You like him.
His fingers are hooking around the straps of your dress to pull it down, baring your flesh to him again.
"I'm taking you back to bed," Frankie informs you between kisses. "And we're not leaving it until I've fucked you so hard you forget your own name."
You're happy to comply.
Sunday
FRANKIE: Hey. I got your # from Santi. Any chance we can talk?
FRANKIE: I'm around anytime.
Monday
FRANKIE: I'm really sorry if I stepped over the line. I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.
Tuesday
FRANKIE: Pip? Are you getting these?
Thursday
FRANKIE: I really hope we can keep a friendship going.
Sunday
FRANKIE: Got the message. I'll stop bugging you. Take care, Pip.
THEN
You're practically vibrating with eager anticipation for the party.
You've borrowed one of Hillary's skirts and her watermelon lip-gloss, your hair is soft and curled. You dabbed on some of your mom's perfume. You also snuck some of Hilary's concealer to camouflage the hickey at the base of your throat. The sight of it makes you smile.
You feel beautiful when you look yourself over in the mirror. You hope Frankie will like it. He seems to prefer you naked.
"You look pretty dressed up for a house party," Hilary says in what sounds like mockery as you come sailing into the kitchen. She's standing by the partly opened back door, smoking.
Mom would like kill her for smoking indoors. But she's pulling a double at the hospital so she'll never know.
"I just wanted to look nice is all," you shrug, grabbing your purse. "Is that a crime?"
Hilary is dressed in her custodial uniform for work. She works at the hospital with your mom, but in the sanitation department. Your mom got her the job when she dropped out of college. Her hair is tied back severely from her face. Her bitten down fingernails are covered in chipped black nail polish. She looks tired.
"You're, like, buzzing," she says as her eyes scan your legs. "Is that my skirt?"
"I dunno," you say feigning casual dismissal. "It was in my closet."
There's a knock at the partially open door, surprising you. You glance at the clock over the sink to see it's just past eight pm. Too early. You didn't want Hilary here for this. She's never going to let you live it down. Hilary pops the cigarette between her lips, tugging the door all the way open.
"Hey Frankie," Hilary says, shooting you a smirk over her shoulder, cigarette wedged at the corner of her mouth. "How nice to see you."
"Hey Hil."
He treads inside like a nervous dog and you think you can understand why. He's wearing a button up polo, his hair is freshly washed, even his stubble is shaved. He smells like cologne a dad would wear. He's dressed up. But most telling is that he's holding a small bouquet of wild flowers.
"Saw these on my way over and thought you'd like them," he says, holding them out to you shyly.
"You're early," you say with a strained smile, even as you take the blooms. They are the most beautiful things you've ever seen.
"Sorry. Guess I was looking forward to getting to the party," Frankie says without a shred of apology on his face.
You realize he doesn't care that Hillary knows. He doesn't care that anyone knows.
"Have fun you two," Hilary says grabbing her car keys from the table, giving you a not very subtle waggle of her brows.
A few moments later you're still thinking of the flowers in the vase at home. Of the way Frankie is holding your hand as you walk to the party. He's saying something but you're living in that helicopter fantasy playing in your head.
"I'm not going to be seeing any other girls back in Texas," he says.
You pause, brow creased. "Oh."
"I know that you're going to college and you're going to be having all these new experiences," Frankie murmurs, stroking his thumb over your knuckles. "And I'll be busy at base until my MOSA is over in a few years. But maybe until then we could write and talk on the phone... If that's something you're up for?"
Frankie's neck is a bright pink that he rubs at absently. His fingers graze the short hair he used to card through when it was lush and curled under his ears.
Your feet stop working and you feel unable to move your body, unable to do anything but look to him with an awestruck expression.
"Just until I'm done the rest of my training and can come back. I'm not really allowed more than two days off at a time and I can only stay near base. My parents were a kind of exception."
"Right." You squeeze his hand. "So you want to send me letters?"
"And phone calls when you're free. Like, if we did long distance, I mean."
Long distance. Which means he wants to date. "So if I write to you, you better write back this time," you tell him. "For a guy who liked me you sure weren't writing sonnets."
Frankie ducks his head, cheeks splotchy. "I never knew what to write back to you. It's scary over here blah blah my roommate doesn't shower enough blah blah. I figured it was boring for you to read."
You feel a bit embarrassed at how long you poured over his letters, every detail fascinating to you.
"I liked them," you eventually say. "I liked anything you sent me."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
You want that more than anything in the world. But something holds you back. "It's a long time apart," you mutter. "You might want someone closer by."
"I don't like any girl the way I like you."
"You just like sex," you laugh. He's grinning, but his brows are knitted.
"I mean yeah, who doesn't? But I've liked you for a long time, Pip. It's just now I get to say it to your face."
You don't think you'll ever get sick of hearing that. It makes you both grin goofily at each other. A long time. How long? A year? More?
"For how long exactly?"
You watch his eyes go from amused to yearning.
"When I found out I was heading to Texas for training I was sick with the thought that I wouldn't see you for who knows how long. It's why I came over that day. The bike was an excuse. I wanted to ask you to write to me. I wanted you to keep my hat, like... So you wouldn't forget about me."
You remain absolutely stunned at this revelation. He liked you then? That was years ago! Tears fill your eyes, smiling gently at how his cheeks go pink.
"I've liked you since the first day I met you," you say with a delirious laugh at being able to say it out loud. Thoughts that you've had since you were a young girl. You won't tell him that it's deeper than that. That you've loved him at the different stages, during the different forms of love.
"I thought you said fourteen?"
"Grown up like, I guess. But I always thought you were pretty wonderful."
The two of you keep walking, but Frankie still seems nervous. Its another block before he speaks again, low and thick.
"So, do you want to be my girlfriend?"
You stop to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging his face to yours. Your lips are gentle, tender and he melts into you.
"Of course I want to be your girlfriend, you idiot."
By the time you and Frankie reach Travis' house the party is well under way. Former classmates are scattered along the porch, more shouting and dancing inside.
Your fingers aren't entwined anymore, Frankie has his hands stuffed firmly in the pocket so his jeans. You don't want to tip anybody off.
It's not weird that you would appear together, You've been tagging along with Santi and his friends for most of your life. You're usually overlooked, the baby of the group. For once it plays in your favor.
"I want Santi to know we're together if you're okay with it."
That pulls you up short. You stop in the middle of the sidewalk in front of Travis' house, eyes wide.
"When?"
"Tonight. I figure we can tell him together."
It feels soon but at the same time it doesn't. You two have known each other so long, have cared about each other so long that it doesn't seem fast.
But at the same time you can't imagine your cousin’s reaction.
"I don't like lying to him and I figure we can tell him tonight:" Frankie adds. "The booze and the girls will make it a smooth conversation I think."
The thought of really starting something serious with Frankie makes your whole body warm from the inside out.
"Yeah." You nod, trying not to look too eager. "Okay."
You exchange a small smile between you before facing the party.
"Get outta here," a blonde guy in a football jersey says as you both approach the house. "Morales is that you?"
It's Josh from Frankie's graduating year. He's bleary eyed, his fringe sweaty at the tips.
"Just visiting," Frankie says with a terse smile. He jogs down from the porch, a beer and his left hand. He claps Frankie on the shoulder like the two are old pals.
"No way, man. They let you off base?"Josh is squinting, unable to stay still. You feel Frankie stiffen beside you. He won't want to tell this asshole he's only back because his parents are dead.
You give Josh an overly- exaggerated look of regret, interrupting swiftly.
"I'm really sorry but we have to go. Frankie is helping me find Santi!"Before Josh can give another alcohol-soaked response you're tugging Frankie by the sleeve in after you.
"Thanks," he mutters, colliding with your back briefly.
"Anytime."
He pushes the front door open for you both. Music booms from the speakers set up in the corner. Some upbeat pop song you can't stand. You walk in, sensing that Frankie isn't following seconds in.
When you glance back at him you can see him glued to the threshold of the house looking anxiously from face to face, waving at the people who recognize him. His shoulders hunch and he tugs down his cap a little lower.
"Maybe this party wasn't such a hot idea."
"Just tell them you're on furlough because of funding cuts or something."
Groups of people are gathered in the kitchen around a tapped barrel. You're sure Josh will be in soon be in to do a keg stand.
You survey the busy place for Santi, eyes drifting over the crowd. So many bodies, so much noise. You wish you were back at Frankie's in bed.
You're still riding that high of him admitting his feelings. Knowing that the ones you've been keeping under lock and key behind your ribs have been reciprocated. It makes you want to reach out and grab his hand. To kiss him in front of everyone.
Maybe you can after you talk to Santi. Maybe he'll understand? You can admit the thought makes you a little queasy.
"I figure we can tell him later," Frankie says over the noise, reading your mind. "Let's get him drinking first."
You laugh, nodding. "Good plan."
Your name is called, your eyes going over to a far corner with several girls your age. Friends from school holding solo cups. They wave you over but you want to stay with Frankie.
"I'm gonna go find Travis. You go hang out with your friends," he murmurs, hand stopping just before it's started skating down your back. "We have to play it cool."
"Right."
You don't look his way, knowing that the second you do, your gooey expression will give everything away. You feel his heavy body press against yours.
"But come find me in an hour," Frankie murmurs, grazing his lips against your earlobe. "I'll be upstairs."
It's hard to focus when his warm mouth is on your skin, but you manage it, your voice wobbly.
"Why?"
Frankie pulls back, a playful grin on his handsome face.
"Travis' parents have a waterbed."
You crack up at that, your laughter full-throated and wild, feeling both amused and turned on out of your mind.
"Okay," you say with a crooked grin. "I'll come find you."
HIL: hey I think I'm gonna come up for a few days
Really????
HIL: yeah.
Hil that's amazing.
HIL: calm down weirdo. <3
HIL: pick me up from the airport at nine on Monday.
THEN
You've never been great at making girlfriends. You suppose having your cousin as a best friend and his two guy buddies doesn't really make it easy to understand the subtle complexities of an average girl’s interior life.
Thankfully in the last few years you've managed to cultivate a small group of friends. Girls who make you laugh, who are going to University, who want to talk about more than your local town and who they want to marry.
The group of you standing around the table full of chips and old soda cans are talking about summer plans which include local travel, drinking and partying.
"I can't wait until school starts," Natasha says with an over exaggerated moan. "No more fucking Florida!"
"I can't wait until the moment I'm not living at home anymore," Sydney agrees, shaking her dark braids back from her face. "I'm going to drink and eat whatever I want."
"Are you going to Celeste's bonfire?”
“Yeah, she's trying to do a whole last summer celebration for our graduating class."
You roll your eyes. Participating in things like this always feels incredibly cheesy to you. You don't want to remember your stupid town. You can't wait to escape it. You can't wait to fly across the world and never look back.
Except...
You will look back because Frankie lives here.
And for the first time, since this entire thing between you and he started, you have the smallest niggle of hesitation. Will Frankie want to remain here? His house is here. Memories with his deceased parents.
You frown, those thoughts swirling in your head as you take another sip of the foamy beer in your cup. It's tepid, gross going down but leaves you with a pleasant buzz.
"What about you? I feel like we've barely seen you all summer!" Natasha says, elbowing you in the ribs, distracting you from these thoughts. Her chin length bob is shiny when she gives a disproving cock of her head.
"She's got a man I bet," Sydney teases. "Kevin right?"
You make a repulsed face. "Ew. No."
"But there is someone?" Natasha says, eyes narrowing on your downturned face. She must see the start of a smirk because she pushes your shoulder gently. "No way! What's his name!"
Don't look up. Don't look up. Don't search for Frankie in the crowded room. Don't give it away.
But you want to share a small piece of it with someone. You haven't been able to tell anyone about your relationship, and it slips out of you.
"It's private for now," you say, unable to bite back your smile any longer. "But yeah, there's a guy."
The girls screech, shaking you by the arms as they jump up and down. Your solo cup sloshes beer onto the already sticky floor.
"No way! Is it serious?"
"Yeah. It's serious."
I’m think in love,, you want to tell them. We've secretly liked each other for years. It's the most romantic thing you think you've ever experienced.
"I knew it!' Sydney crows. "I told Tash you must be getting laid!"
You're about to add your two cents when a silken voice falls over the group.
"Who is getting laid?”
Christy is approaching your group with a swing in her step. Natasha looks envious while Sydney looks awestruck, taking in Christie's, gorgeous body and even more gorgeous face. She's become something of a local legend in your town. She won a local beauty contest this year and she was interviewed on the news.
Madison Judd has gone to school somewhere overseas. Melody Kim is engaged and looking at houses with her older fiancé. So now it's only Christy that remains.
"Our girl here is finally getting laid on the regular," Sydney says, wrapping an arm around your neck and trying to appear cool. It makes you cringe internally.
Christy laughs into her cup. "Cute."
The three girls start chatting animatedly about the men at the party. Who's cute, who's grown into their awkwardness, whose going to puke.
"Josh, definitely," Christy says with an eye roll. “He was already hammered by the time I got here."
You wish that Christy would just leave. Why is she here in the first place? From what you gather, she can barely stand Travis. But you suppose in this town with nothing else going on any party is a good party.
The party host himself comes swinging into the room; shouting over the crowd that beer pong will be starting shortly in the other room. A chorus of drunken cheers goes around the room. He smiles at the group before his eyes land on you.
"Pip!"
Travis jogs over your way, his face shiny with sweat. He greets the other girls out of breath from all his cheering.
"Hey Travis," Christy says. "Cool party."
"Thanks. Wish my parents went to Boca every weekend." He turns back to face you. "You leave for school soon right?"
"Mhm. Next week."
"We're gonna miss you around here," Travis says in a voice that sounds almost sincere. "Can't remember a weekend I haven't seen your annoying face."
You roll your eyes, giving him a good natured shove that he chuckles at, pretending to be wounded. "Oh fuck off. Go lose at beer pong."
He slaps a damp kiss to your cheek, surprising you. "Catch you later, Pip."
He moves back through the throngs of people. It's getting louder in here; the drunken calls pitched sloppily, voices slurred.
"Is it just me or is Travis looking halfway decent these days?" Sydney says, squinting at him from across the room.
You take a long look at your childhood friend, trying to assess him from a neutral perspective. His muscled body is taut in track pants and a T-shirt. It's his usual attire these days, he's become something of a gym rat. His body is almost as filled out as Frankie's, you note.
He's also cut his hair short, looking more respectable for his new job. He could be Frankie's brother at this point and you sort of wonder if that's the point.
Travis' jealousy of Frankie's friendship with Santi has only grown through the years. As the two grew closer, Travis felt even more excluded. He never said it out loud, but his snarky comments and eye rolls made it pretty obvious.
You let your eyes drift briefly to Frankie at his elbow, trying to quell the rapid tempo of your heartbeat. He's in conversation with a few of his friends from school, he's holding a red solo cup in one hand, the other still firmly planted in his jeans.
He looks so handsome. All strong jaw and masculine features offset by those perfect lips. You want to drag him back to his place right this second and nibble on them.
"Francisco looks so good tonight," Christy says, practically purring as she stares at him across the room. "The army has been good to him. Do you see those biceps?"
She sweeps her tongue along her plump upper lip, chasing away the foam from her beer.
"Mhm," Natasha and Sydney agree, staring at your boyfriend lasciviously, making your insides curl with white hot anger.
You want to tell them that Frankie is yours, that they need to stop leering at him. That you knew him first and know him best, even though it feels incredibly juvenile to call dibs on a person.
"He's got that big house to himself now," Christy adds. "Maybe he wants some company so he isn't so lonely."
Your fingers curl around the solo cup, crushing the empty plastic in your hand. Thankfully no one notices.
"I think I'm gonna go say hi," Christy says, throwing her shoulders back while your two friends giggle beside you.
Possessiveness snaps inside you like a feral dogs, all teeth and bloodlust.
Don't go near him. Don't even look at him.
You watch her approach Frankie, her long legs gliding across the room. You wish you looked half as graceful.
He glances over when she says his name, her voice swallowed up when some dickhead turns up the volume on the stereo.
You can't hear either of them over the music and the crowd, but you can see that Christy is saying something to him. You can also see she's leaning so close her lips practically brush his cheek.
To your utter dismay, his face goes bright red, his eyes averting to the floor. The attention embarrasses him, but an ugly, insecure part of you wonders if he might be enjoying it as well.
Something about the sight of it, something about knowing you're powerless to do anything about it makes your chest ache. You don't want to stand around watching it.
"I'm gonna grab another beer," you tell your friends miserably, to not waiting for them to reply before you're turning on your heel heading into the kitchen and away from Frankie and Christy.
You stumble onto the backyard porch swing, looking up into the velvet night and continuing to drink your shitty beer.
"I thought you might've left."
You glance up to see Santi approaching, at least you think it’s Santi, you're having trouble focusing.
"I just needed some air," you reply when the figure -yes, it is Santi- pops down next to you. "Too many people inside."
He pushes the swing lazily with his sneaker-ed feet, laughing.
"Tell me about it. Pretty sure Christy is on the prowl. Poor Frank looks like he's caught in her crosshairs tonight."
Fuck. This. Night.
"I don't get it," you reply tightly. "She's not that pretty.'
Your cousin swivels his head, thick brows pulling together.
"What the hell are you talking about? She's hot as fuck."
Thanks, Santi.
According to the casio on your wrist you see it's been about an hour since you got here and you're tired of waiting. You're two beers in, your eyes blurry.
You finish the last of your beer, wiping away the foam with the back of your arm. You wish that you were at home right now, you wish you'd never come to this stupid party.
"You doing okay?"
You look over to see your cousin giving you a concerned look, the big brother gaze that you've gotten used to over the years. The one he puts on when he knows that you're upset and just waits for you to confide.
But what's there to confide?
If girls like Christy are going to continue to pursue him what chance do you have? You'll be across the country with no chance for visits aside from letters and phone calls for years.
You thought that you knew how things stood with you and Frankie. But now you're not so sure. What if you're just a placeholder for while he's away? Someone to send him letters and maybe dirty photos. Someone for him to call when he's bored.
The thought makes you sick.
"I'm gonna go inside," you mumble.
You move shakily through the house, needing to talk to Frankie right now. There are some things that you need to discuss before the two of you part and it seems imperative that conversation happened now before he talks to Santi.
You remember Frankie's murmured request earlier. To meet him in Travis's parents room to use the waterbed. Only an hour ago you had been so delighted, so excited to do that with him. Now you trudge unhappily up the carpeted stairs.
It's fairly empty up here, all of the bedroom doors closed. Most of the activities happening down on the main level. You're pretty sure you can still hear the beer pong going on.
You stopped at the closed door at the end of the hall; Travis's parents’ bedroom. You take a deep breath, blinking away what you hope is most of the drunkenness. And for a moment you just let your body settle, thoughts going back to earlier of Frankie's arms around you in bed of his murmured promise that he likes you.
You're being silly. You realize it's idiotic to have ever questioned how he feels about you. Christy can flirt all she wants, you know that Frankie is loyal to you. And you want a future with him. Not in Florida, but maybe he would want to travel outside of this town. Maybe the two of you could start somewhere new, together.
All that matters is that the two of you will be together.
It's with that thought firmly in mind that you push the door opens crack, with an expectant smile on your face. Your eyes sweep across the dark room. To the large made waterbed, over to the small couch that sits facing the window. The place Travis's mom loves to do her reading.
But the two figures on that couch stun you into stillness. Neither of them has noticed that you're there, but it's clear you've caught the two of them in the middle of fucking.
The site arrests you, Christy with her head thrown back, low moans escaping. The man under her is muscled, broad shouldered. His arms are spread wide on the back of the couch, head tilting back.
You've never seen another woman naked before, not like this. Christy bounces in his lap, hair mussed and over her shoulders. Her breasts sway heavily as her hips roll, lower half hidden by the back of the couch.
She rides him quickly and he's making soft little groans under his breath, his head tilting back further as she rides faster.
"It's so good," she whines, head dropping into her sternum. Her fingers are gripping the back of the couch so tightly they blanch. "It's so fucking good!"
The man groans lowly once more, hands going to the pinch of her waist to help her bounce faster. And despite Christy 's nudity and the wet sounds their bodies create together, all you can focus on is the cap the man wears backwards, the logo facing you and seen faintly in the light.
Standard Heating Oil.
It takes you a moment but you hear all the blood rush to your ears when it finally lands.
No no no no no. He wouldn't.
But it's unmistakable. The dark blue of the rim, the perfect stitching around the logo. There's only one hat like that in the world and it belongs to Frankie Morales.
Your knees go weak and you feel a strong pull that makes your eyes blur as you close the bedroom door. You lurch into the bathroom across the carpeted hallway. You just manage to lock the door before you're turned back and puking into the sink.
You couldn't even make it to the toilet.
You empty your stomach into the enamel bowl before wiping your mouth with a hand towel. You hastily turn on the faucet, rinsing away the evidence of your repulsed devastation.
You raise your head up and see your defeated expression in the mirror. The girl who had only moments before been eager to tell Frankie that she wanted a future with him.
And this entire time he was playing you. You stand there a little longer at the sink, staring into space, trying to understand what just happened. How you could have read everything so wrong.
You stay in that bathroom until someone starts knocking on the door. A slurred voice asks you to hurry up.
The party still rages on downstairs, loud and overwhelming now that you're trying to leave. You move quickly with angry tears in your eyes.
You feel a hand at your arm, holding you in place and see your cousin.
"Where are you going?"
Santi's eyes are glassy from booze but troubled when he sees your anguish. He's standing with a beautiful girl who seems irritated that their moment has been interrupted.
"Home."
"What? It's barely eleven."
"I need to go home," you say, fighting the tremble in your voice.
Santi wrinkles his nose. "You okay?"
No. I'm not okay.
"I'm fine. I'll see you later."
The music gets louder before you can reply and some couples start to dance sloppily, starting to bump into you.
"Before you go, Frankie is looking for you," Santi says over the music, hoping that will change your mind. "I think he went upstairs."
An ugliness takes you over when he says that. A kind of hideous hatred that you didn't even know you possessed.
"Frankie Morales can go fuck himself."
When you see Hilary walking out through the airport doors you're surprised to find tears already in your eyes. Even moreso when you see there are tears in hers.
She carries a battered green duffel that she throws into the back cab of your mom's truck. When you hug her she feels like she's filled out a bit, like she's actually eating instead of existing on cigarettes and coffee.
The engagement ring she wears is too loose, spinning every time she points at something.
"Justin's parents are nice. I mean, they're Canadian so..." She shrugs when you ask her. "They have a lot of land we barely see them since our place is pretty far on the property."
"Are you guys working?"
"Justin is. I'm still only on a visitor permit."
The truck squeaks as it passes over a speed bump.
"You know when everything is settled, you're actually not that far from Seattle," you say airily. "I have a guest room and-"
"Let's not do this," Hilary interrupts.
"Do what?"
"Pretend like we're actually close. Like we're not just talking because we have a dying parent in common. We texting a few times a year and stay out of each other's lives."
You go quiet, eyes scanning the road as she begins rolling down the window. Humid air snakes in as she pops a lit cigarette into her mouth.
"After this you and I both know everything will go back to how it was," Hilary adds, taking a puff. "People never really change."
THEN
You push out of the house with a knot in your chest.
Frankie told you to come looking for him. He told you explicitly which means he wanted you to see what was happening. That's the part that hurts. To know that he wanted to have your feelings hurt.
You prepare to run down the stairs when you pause. Why are you running? Why are you acting like you've done the wrong thing? It's Frankie who fucked up. Frankie who did this.
You want to see him. You want to scream in his face. To let everyone know the kind of person Frankie is. But first you need something to calm you down.
You think I would have done that with just any girl? I wanted it because it was you, Pip.
You move to the side of the house, composing yourself with the pack of cigarettes you have in your pocket. Your fingers are shaking as you exhume one and light it. The shaking ceases just before you take that first drag.
You tilt your head back, holding and then releasing as the smoke dances between the seam of your lips. That feels good. That feels needed.
"I didn't know you smoked."
You look up, distracted from your thoughts to see Travis walking down the steps. You look at the cigarette as if you don't know how it landed there between your second and third fingers.
"Picked it up from Hilary."
"Sounds about right," Travis laughs softly, watching as you take a long, inhale.
The tobacco scorches your throat pleasantly and you manage not to cough.
"Frankie seems to be having a good time," he says, clearly trying to find topics in which to extend the conversation. "I think I saw him the beer pong table."
"I don't care what Frankie is doing."
"That's a first. You're always with Frankie. Wanting to be so perfect for him."
He gives a scoff, a roll of his eyes. His distaste of Frankie runs deep.
Your stomach heaves, cigarette held just out of reach of your mouth. It blazes at the end, a beacon to focus on as you collect your thoughts.
"Yeah, well, maybe I've grown up."
You watch Travis press his shoulder against the side of the tree trunk, his light eyes tracing your face.
"You sure have," he murmurs.
It’s in that moment that you realize his eyes are darkening. He looks at you hungrily.
You're still half drunk, heartbroken and after everything that happened with Frankie you find you want that reminder that you're still worth something, still alive. Because right now you feel like you started dying the second you saw Frankie and Christy.
Maybe this can get back to Frankie. He can have the same rude awakening you did. You hope he finds out in front of everyone and has to stand there, aware that he didn't get away with anything.
"You look good, Travis," you say smoothly. "The girls were saying that earlier."
"Oh yeah?" He's moving a little closer. Close enough that you can smell his shitty cologne and the scent of stale beer on his tongue. "And what about you? Do you think I look good, Pip?'
His eyes are heavy-lidded, trained on your mouth. You have a feeling you know exactly what he's imagining when he sees your lips circle the cigarette. You take another inhale, letting the smoke out slowly between your lips before speaking again.
"And if I do? Are you gonna do something about it?"
He doesn't hesitate. He slides a hand around your waist and moves until he's pressed you tightly against the side of the tree with his body. He stares at you ravenously before wetting his lower lip with his tongue. Then he kisses you with the same hunger his eyes suggested, hands moving to your hips.
But you're not there; you're still in the bedroom watching Frankie and Christy.
It could be Travis you kiss now. It could be that cute guy at the gas station you saw when you pumped gas. It could be Kevin. It could be any willing man with a mouth. You just want to forget. You don't want to be in that house anymore. You don't want to love Frankie anymore.
Your head feels fuzzy. You're not sure if it's from the booze or the shock of what you saw earlier. Travis starts to grind against you, his mouth moving over your neck. If you close your eyes and concentrate you can almost imagine its Frankie doing it.
"I've been dying to do this for years," Travis admits against your jugular. "But they told me they'd kill me if I tried."
You let him start to grope you over your dress, your eyes wide and unblinking over his shoulder.
"But I think it might be worth it. You're so fucking hot," he murmurs, tongue gently tracing yours.
You should be embarrassed considering you're doing all of this on Travis front lawn, but you don't really care. You don't care who sees you. You hope Frankie finds out about it. You hope he's devastated.
"My parents have a waterbed," Travis breathes against your ear. "Can I fuck you on it?"
All at once you stiffen. Your body goes cold when his lips trail over your jaw.
"I bet you make such pretty sounds when you come," he breathes.
This is Travis. You don't even find him attractive. What are you doing?
No. No no no no.
You want to leave. You want to be away from this party, from this night, from this boy who wants to paw at you. You want to be sober and showered and safe in bed. You want Hershey bars and your mom's fingers tracing your cheek.
You try to shrink back, but Travis follows, with his body unaware of your growing terror as he presses you tighter against the tree.
"C'mon Pip," he grins. "I know you're wet."
He grins, hand coming to squeeze your ass. You drop your head towards his shoulder, hands pushing him slightly away.
"I should go."
"Not yet," he croons, sticking his knee between your thighs to keep them open. "Just a little longer."
"No seriously Travis, I don't-"
You're shocked when a hand comes out of nowhere, pulling Travis sharply from you.
"Get off of her."
Travis lets out a soft grunt of shock as he's tugged back, stumbling into the figure who grips him by the back of the shirt.
"Frank- what the fuck!"
Frankie stands behind him, his broad chest heaving. He looks like he's run a marathon, his eyes burning, neck strained like he’s trying not to scream. And despite it being Travis that he grabs and throws to the ground, it’s you he's glaring at. It's the kind of heavy, furious look that makes you shrink back, pinned in place.
An utterly flummoxed Travis remains on the grass, stunned by what's just happened.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Some of the party goers have come outside, eyes wide as they look at the tableau. You pressed against the side of the tree, Travis on the grass, Frankie standing over him breathing heavily. As if just realizing what happened Travis pushes himself up. Grass stains litter his T-shirt and his hair is askew. Frankie is just standing there with a dead look in his eyes.
"Fuck you, man," Travis snaps, handsome face contorting into rage. "What the hell was that?"
Travis stares at Frankie as if he doesn't know him. A long, hard glare that tows the line between angry and hurt. He ends up shaking his head, looking disgusted before his eyes cast your way.
"Come on," Travis says reaching for you. "Let's g-"
"Don't touch her," Frankie roars.
It feels like the words rattle the windows of the home, dragged up from the very earth only to be expelled through Frankie's reddened throat. The sound stops Travis' hand from reaching yours. It hangs frozen in mid air before it's lowered to his side.
Everyone is silent for a full moment. It's like a sonic boom has gone off and you're all trying to get your hearing back.
"You don't tell me who touches me and who doesn't," you say, barely able to conceal your hurt. "Never."
Frankie is standing still as a statue, but you can tell he's vibrating inside. A string begging to be plucked. Travis is shaking his head now, the fury so clear on his face.
"I'm gonna kick your ass Morales."
He looks frenzied, a creature of adrenaline and anger. Spittle has landed on his chin, the sight still snatches the air from your lungs.
"Stop," you whisper.
You don't want this to happen. You're still in shock over Frankie and Christy. The last thing you want to see is a fist fight.
"Stay out of it. This is between me and Frankie."
"No. Just stop. This is stupid."
Air hisses out of Travis, like he's a deflating balloon. "Why the fuck are you defending him?"
"I'm not," you say firmly. "I just don't want a fight happening."
Travis is red-faced, furious that not only was he taken down, but that he wasn't able to fight back. His eyes move between you and Frankie with suspicion. His whole face changes, moving from frustration into disgust.
"Are you sleeping with him? Is that it?"
Quiet murmurs and giggles go around the watching crowd. Humiliation sets in when you see Christy there, a concerned look on her face. She's standing behind Frankie and the sight makes you want to retch.
You twist to face Travis, forcing a repulsed expression onto your face.
"Fuck, no," You bubble a strained laugh as you realize. "I'd never sleep with him. Give me some credit."
Laughter and giggles dance through the crowd like wind. You feel the air shift behind you, a chill indicating that Frankie has left. A look to your left confirms the sight of his tall frame scissoring over the grass and down the street.
"Pip!"
Santi is there, looking at you with a horrified expression. His hair is mussed and he's got a hickey starting on his neck. You'd bet money was just entangled with some girl inside.
"What the hell happened?"
"Nothing," you scowl. "I'm leaving."
Travis is still standing there, looking at you. He weaves slightly, the drunkenness obvious
"Want me to drive you home?"
Between the cigarette and mint gum you can smell the liquor. You shake your head. You got what you needed.
Summary: Joel Miller is a gruff as they come, the world having changed him for the worst. But settling in Jackson with his brother changed him for the better. He's known around town as someone to help, whether it be with home repairs, construction, and hand carved trinkets. An offhand comment from you inspires him to branch out and create helpful kitchen wares. And it seems everyone has been gifted one from him, except for you. It makes you rethink the casual friendship you had developed with the man that had just begun to expand beyond patrols.
Word Count: 57.8k - finished
Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, pining, unrequited feelings, joel a little mean in this, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, mild injuries, confessions, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, arguing, heated interactions, smut, p in v, unprotected p in v, oral (f and m receiving), jealousy, more to be added as the story develops!
A/N: now finished! this fic means so much to me, it's allowed to bare a bit of my soul with y'all and it's been received so well. thank you, from the bottom of my heart for the continued interaction with this, i love y'all
ao3 link || main masterlist || ko-fi
fic teaser || fic teaser no.2 || olive's song || artwork of olive and joel
-> the conversations we have -pre-series one shots:
first impressions || sweetening the deal || how we pass the time || weather permitting
WARNINGS: unplanned pregnancy; mentions of smut; kissing; swearing; slightly angsty Joel
.
You come back in pieces.
Light first—too bright, burning behind your eyelids. Then sound. Low voices. A chair scraping.
“—there she is.” His voice.
Your eyes open slowly, vision swimming before it settles. White ceiling. Rough wood beams. The clinic.
You turn your head—Joel's right there. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. Like if he lets go of something, it all falls apart. His eyes are locked on you, sharp and searching, taking inventory.
Maria stands a few feet off, arms crossed, watching him more than you.
“Easy,” she says. “You fainted.”
You swallow, throat dry. “Yeah… figured.”
Joel doesn’t say anything at first. His gaze drags—quick, almost involuntary—down to your stomach. Then back up to your face.
“How far along?”
No softness. No lead-in.
You hesitate a second. “Five months.”
His jaw tightens. You see it, the way it sets, like he’s bracing for something.
“Five months,” he repeats under his breath.
Silence stretches thin, fragile.
“And it’s…” He trails off, like the words don’t want to come out. His eyes flick away from yours, toward the wall, the floor—anywhere else. “It might be—”
You go still. A sharp, immediate sting cuts through the fog in your head.
“…Might be yours?” You finish for him, your voice quieter than you expect—but edged.
Joel’s gaze snaps back to you, defensive already. “I’m just sayin’—”
“No.” You sit up straighter despite the way your body protests. “No, you don’t get to ‘just say’ that.”
Maria shifts, sensing the turn, but doesn’t interrupt yet.
Joel exhales through his nose, frustration building. “I don’t know where you’ve been since—”
“Careful,” you cut in, sharper now.
That stops him for half a second. Then he doubles down anyway. “I’m being realistic."
Your chest tightens, heat rising fast. “Realistic? You think I’ve just been—what—sleeping my way across settlements?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The air in the room shifts, heavier now. Tense.
Joel stands, pacing once, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to scrub the situation off his skin. “Five months is a long time.”
“And you were the only person I was with,” you shoot back immediately. “So unless you think I’m lying—”
“I don’t know what to think,” he snaps.
That does it. Something in you cracks open—hurt flooding in under the anger.
“Okay,” you breathe, a short, disbelieving laugh escaping. “That’s really what you’re going with?”
Joel looks at you, and there’s something in his eyes. Not just doubt. Fear. But it’s buried under all that rough, defensive edge.
“I’m just tryin’ to make sense of it,” he mutters.
“No,” you shake your head, voice tightening. "You're trying to distance yourself from it.”
He sighs. “That isn't—"
“It is.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way the room tilts slightly. “You think if you make it uncertain, it’s not your problem.”
“That isn't fair.”
“What’s not fair,” you fire back, “is you standing there and implying I’d lie about something like this.”
“I didn’t say you lied.”
“You implied it.”
Maria finally steps in, her voice firm. “Alright—”
“Stay outta it, Maria,” Joel mutters, not taking his eyes off you.
She goes quiet, but she doesn’t leave. Just watches, ready. You push to your feet, steadying yourself on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t ask you for anything, Joel. Not then, not now.”
“Didn’t say you did.”
“But you’re real quick to question me.”
He exhales hard, frustrated, pacing again. “You show up outta nowhere with this—this news, and you expect me to just—”
“What?” you cut in. “Believe me?”
“Yes.”
The word hangs there. Simple. Heavy. He stops moving and looks at you. And for a split second, the fight drops. You can see it—raw and unguarded. That fear again.
Not of you.
Of what this means.
Of what he could lose.
Of what he might have.
But it’s gone just as fast, replaced by that hardened edge.
“I don’t get that luxury,” he says, quieter now. “Not anymore.”
Your anger falters for just a second—because you hear what he’s not saying. Loss. History. The things that made him like this. But it doesn’t erase what he just implied.
“So I pay for that?” you ask, softer—but it cuts deeper. “You don’t trust me because of things that had nothing to do with me?”
He doesn’t answer.
You scoff, “Trusted me enough to sleep with me, though.”
His silence stretches, which is answer enough.
Your throat tightens. “It’s yours,” you say, firm now. “But I can do this by myself.”
Joel looks away first.
That stings more than anything.
Silence crashes down between you.
Maria exhales quietly. “She needs rest,” she says, gentler now but still firm. “This isn’t getting solved right now.”
He walks out. The door shuts.
You stand there for a second, chest tight, anger and hurt twisting together in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
Maria steps closer, softer now. “He’s scared.”
You let out a bitter huff. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“He doesn’t do well when something matters,” she says plainly.
You swallow, blinking hard. “That’s not my problem.”
“No,” Maria agrees gently. “But it might still affect you.”
You don’t respond because you know she’s right.
.
Night comes slow. Sleep doesn’t.
The argument replays over and over, each time hitting that same sharp point—it might be yours.
By the time the knock comes, you’re already awake.
“Yeah?” you call, your voice tired.
The door opens just enough for him to slip in.
Joel.
He looks… different. Not softer, exactly—but worn down. Like he’s been turning the same thoughts over and over. He shuts the door behind him, slower this time. Keeps some distance.
“Doc said you’re both alright?” he asks.
“Mm.”
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward you, then away again.
“I…” He exhales, low and rough. “I shouldn't have said that.”
You cross your arms, leaning back slightly against the wall. “Which part?”
His jaw tightens. “You know which part.”
“Say it anyway.”
Then, quieter—
“Wasn’t right… implying it might not be mine.”
There’s something heavy in the way he says it. Not just guilt. Reluctance. Fear is still clinging on.
You study him. “You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
He huffs a breath, frustrated with himself now. “I’m trying', but I don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He looks at his hands. “You.”
You try to hide the way your eyes mist. "Well, I don’t know you either, but here we are.”
He finally looks at you fully.
“…This scares me,” he admits, rough and low, like the words are dragged out of him. “Alright? Happy?”
You blink. That was you weren’t expecting.
“I'm not… good with things like this,” he continues, quieter.
“Me either.”
Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Less sharp. More… fragile.
He shifts his weight, glancing at your stomach. Not avoiding it anymore.
“…Five months,” he murmurs again, softer now.
Then his eyes come back to yours.
“You sure you’re okay?”
And there it is. Under all of it.
You nod, slower this time. “Yeah.”
He studies you like he’s trying to decide if that’s enough.
.
Joel sits beside you. Not hovering, not crowding—just there, like he’s decided leaving isn’t an option right now.
You watch him for a second, the quiet stretching between you. It’s not as sharp as before, just… unfamiliar.
“So,” you say finally, tilting your head, “this is the part where we try to actually get to know each other?”
That earns the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thought we had that covered.”
You snort softly. “From what? One night and too much whiskey?”
"It was good whiskey.”
“That’s your takeaway?”
“Seemed important at the time.”
A small smile pulls at your lips despite everything. Some of the tension loosens.
You shift a little against the bed, then eye him. “Alright. Start simple.” A beat. “How old are you?”
He gives you a look. “That really where you’re going?"
“Absolutely.”
A quiet huff. “Forty-two.”
You blink. “…Forty-two?”
His eyes narrow. “Careful.”
You can’t help it—you smile. “I just didn’t realize I was dealing with that much life experience.”
“How old are you?” he shoots back.
“Twenty-six.”
He leans back slightly, studying you like that changes something. “Huh.”
You point at him. “No, you don’t get to ‘huh’ me. Explain.”
“You’re mouthy,” he says.
“And you’re grumpy.”
"The difference is mine comes with experience.”
“Your experience had you accusing me of lying earlier.”
That hits. His jaw tightens, gaze dropping briefly before coming back to you. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Still working on that part.”
It’s not an apology—but it’s close enough to take the edge off. You let it go, for now.
“Alright, Joel,” you say, shifting the tone. “Tell me something real.”
He squints slightly. “Somethin’ real.”
“Yeah. Something that’s not brooding, grunting, or interrogating me.”
“I don’t grunt that much.”
“You absolutely do.”
That earns a low huff—almost a laugh.
He leans forward a bit, forearms resting on his thighs. “Used to build houses,” he says. “Before all this. Remodeling', whatever paid.”
“Texas?”
“Mostly.”
You nod like that confirms something. “Yeah, that tracks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got that vibe.”
“Contractors have a vibe?”
“Grumpy, quiet, looks like he knows how to fix everything but refuses to explain how. And you sound Southern.”
That actually pulls a real, quick smile out of him before it disappears again.
"Are you always this annoying?" he asks.
“Only when people deserve it.”
A small pause, easier now.
He tilts his head slightly. “Your turn.”
You hesitate just a second, then shrug. “Ran supply routes. Trade between settlements. Some scouting.”
His expression shifts—something like respect settling in. “That isn't easy.”
“No,” you agree. “It’s not.”
“How long?”
“Couple years.”
He nods slowly. “Explains a few things.”
You groan softly. “You’ve got to stop saying that."
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Not wrong.”
“Still annoying.”
“Mm.”
You glance at him again. “What do you do here?”
“Patrol,” he says. “Keep things away from the walls.”
“Dangerous?”
“Sometimes.”
“You like it?”
He thinks about that. “…I don’t hate it.”
That feels honest enough.
Then you tilt your head, eyeing him. “So is this how you usually handle surprises?”
“Don’t usually get this kind.”
“Good to know I’m special.”
“Wouldn’t go that far.”
You scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still here, am I?"
That pulls a faint smile from you.
He shifts forward slightly again, gaze dropping—more openly this time—to your stomach.
“Doc says everything’s alright?” he asks, quieter.
“Yeah. Got to hear the heartbeat yesterday.”
He nods once, slowly. Then, a little rougher, like he’s not used to offering it—“You need anything?”
You blink. “Like what?”
He shrugs. “Help with… stuff.”
“I can handle myself,” you say.
“I know you can,” he says easily.
That settles something small in your chest.
"But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone,” he adds.
You look at him for a second, really looking this time. At the way he’s trying—even if it’s clumsy.
"Are you always this complicated?” you ask.
A faint huff. “You got no idea.”
You smile a little, then nudge the moment lighter again. “Alright, what else? You cannot just be grumpy and useful.”
“Worked so far.”
“Bare minimum effort.”
He shakes his head, but there’s that almost-smile again. “…Used to play guitar.”
That catches you. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“You any good?”
“Was.”
You lean back slightly, a small grin forming. “You should play for me sometime.”
He eyes you like he’s weighing it. “…Maybe.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Too late.”
The quiet that follows is softer now. Familiar.
He glances at you again, more open than before. “You got family?”
You shake your head. “Not anymore.”
He nods once. Doesn’t press when he notices the tears welling in your eyes.
After a second, quieter—“I have a daughter.”
The words land heavy.
Be still. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs, but it’s tight. “Long time ago.”
You let the silence sit, then gently tip it sideways. "Does she get your attitude?”
That pulls him back just enough. “Nah. She was better.”
“I bet.”
He looks at you again, studying you a little closer. “You always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Deflect.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You always analyze people like that?”
“Only the ones that matter.”
The words slip out before he can stop them.
You both feel it.
He looks away, clearing his throat. “…Didn’t mean it like that.”
You let a small smile tug at your lips. “Sure you didn’t.”
He gives you a look—but it’s softer now.
You shift, more comfortable than you’ve been since waking up. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What’d you expect?”
You think for a second, then smile faintly. “Less talking.”
That earns a low, rough chuckle.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Another quiet moment passes.
Then, softer— “You scared?” he asks.
It catches you off guard.
You hesitate, then nod. “Shitless.”
He nods too, no hesitation this time.
“Me too.”
You look at him, surprised.
He doesn’t explain it. Doesn’t try to soften it.
Just leaves it there. And somehow that honesty settles deeper than anything else. He stays where he is. Not pushing. Not leaving. And for the first time since you woke up—
It feels a little less like everything’s about to fall apart.
.
The next few days don’t shift all at once.
It’s small.
So small you almost miss it at first.
You’re halfway across the main stretch of Jackson, still figuring out which buildings are which, when someone falls into step beside you.
You don’t even have to look.
"Walking too fast,” Joel mutters.
You glance over. “Didn’t realize I had a pace limit.”
“You do now.”
You roll your eyes, but you slow a little anyway. "Are you following me?”
“Headed this way.”
"Are you always going to be ‘headed this way’ when I leave my place?”
He doesn’t answer that.
Just keeps walking beside you, hands shoved in his jacket, eyes scanning everything like it’s second nature.
You come back to your place later that afternoon, and the door sticks less.
At first you think you imagined it.
Then you notice the hinge—clean and adjusted.
You step back, frowning slightly.
“…You fix my door?”
Joel, leaning against the railing like he’s been there a while, shrugs. “Wasn’t closing right."
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Didn’t say you did.”
You stare at him. “You just go around fixing things now?”
“When they need fixin’.”
You narrow your eyes. “You break it first?”
That earns the faintest hint of a smirk. “Don’t need to.”
You try to stay annoyed.
It doesn’t quite stick.
Then it’s food. You open your door one evening, and there’s a small bundle sitting there—wrapped, simple. Inside—fresh bread. Something that smells like stew.
You look up immediately.
And sure enough, he's across the way, talking to Tommy like he’s got nothing to do with it.
You call out, "Are you planning on explaining this?”
Joel doesn’t even turn all the way. “You gotta eat.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Mm.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
He finally glances back, just briefly. “Didn’t say it was.”
It becomes a pattern. He doesn’t hover. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t make a big deal out of anything. But he’s there. Walking you places without calling it that. Fixing things before you notice they’re broken. Leaving food like it just… appeared. Always just enough distance to pretend it’s nothing. Always close enough that it isn’t.
.
And people notice. Jackson isn’t big enough for this kind of thing to go unseen. It starts with looks. A little too long. A little too knowing. Then whispers. You catch pieces of it when you pass by—
“—that’s her—” “—Joel’s been—” “—five months, you think—?”
You pretend not to hear.
.
“Alright,” you mutter one afternoon, dropping onto the bench beside him. “What did you do?”
Joel glances at you, mildly. “Nothin’.”
“Everyone’s staring.”
“They do that.”
“Not like this.”
He shrugs. “Town gets bored.”
You narrow your eyes. “Joel.”
“What?”
“This is your fault.”
That almost earns a smile. "How do you figure?”
“Because you keep—” You gesture vaguely, frustrated, “—appearing everywhere.”
“I live here.”
“You weren’t appearing everywhere before.”
He leans back slightly, studying you like he’s trying not to say something.
“…Circumstances changed.”
You blink at him.
That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does.
You recover quickly. “So now I’m a public service project?”
That earns you a look. "It ain't what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
He just looks at you—steady, quiet, like he’s weighing the words and not liking any of them.
“…I’m makin’ sure you’re alright,” he says finally.
Your chest tightens, just a little.
“I was alright before.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because now there are two of you.”
That stops you.
Something about the way he says it—low and certain—settles heavier than anything else.
You look away first.
“…People are talking,” you say after a second, softer now.
“People always talk.”
“About you. About me. About…” You gesture vaguely downward.
He follows the motion. His jaw tightens slightly—but not like before.
Different now.
More… resolved.
"They've got nothing better to do.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
He huffs a quiet breath, leaning forward, forearms on his thighs. “Lotta things bother me.”
“Not that, apparently.”
He glances at you sideways. “You want it to?”
You hesitate.
“…I don’t know.”
He nods once, like that’s a fair answer.
Silence settles for a second.
Then—
"What are they saying?" he asks.
You blink. “You really want to know?”
“Asked, didn’t I?”
You study him for a second, then sigh. “That you’ve suddenly taken a real interest in me.”
“Mm.”
“That it’s not subtle.”
He doesn’t look surprised.
“That it might be yours.”
You watch him carefully this time.
Old Joel might’ve tensed. Deflected. Shut down.
This time he just nods once.
“Yeah,” he says.
Your breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”
He glances at you steadily. “Yeah.”
That’s it.
No big speech. No dramatic declaration.
Just… acceptance.
Simple. Solid.
Your chest feels tight for a completely different reason now.
“…Are you going to tell them that? ” you ask quietly.
He leans back, expression settling into something familiar—something a little harder.
“They got something to say? They can say it to me.”
That sounds like a warning.
You raise an eyebrow. "That's your plan? Intimidation?”
“Works.”
You almost laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Been told.”
Another pause.
Then you nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “You know, there are easier ways to handle gossip.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Like talking. Reassuring people. Being normal.”
He looks at you like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
“I am being normal."
You stare at him. “…That’s concerning.”
That finally gets a real reaction—a low, rough chuckle.
And somehow between the quiet gestures, the steady presence, and the way he doesn’t run this time, the town can talk all it wants.
Because this? This is something else entirely.
.
A couple of weeks pass in a steady kind of rhythm you don’t quite know how to name yet. Joel becomes part of it without ever actually announcing himself into it. He’s just… there. He doesn’t hover, doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t make it a conversation. It just happens, over and over, until it stops feeling like coincidence.
Jackson is filled with whispers. It’s never outright hostile, just curious in that way people get when they think they’re watching something unfold that doesn’t belong to them yet. You ignore most of it. Joel doesn’t.
It comes to a head in the dining hall one evening. It’s louder than usual, with full tables, overlapping conversations, the scrape of chairs, and the clatter of plates.
You’re sitting across from Joel, halfway through your meal, when you hear it behind him—just loud enough to carry over the noise. Something about timing, about how things “don’t add up,” about how it’s convenient he’s suddenly attached at your side. You go still without meaning to. You don’t look up, but you feel it settle in your chest anyway.
Joel sets his fork down.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically. Just slow and deliberate, like he’s making a decision. The sound of metal against ceramic cuts through the room, sharper than it should. He turns slightly at first, then fully, enough to look over his shoulder at the table behind him. The noise around you starts to thin, like the room itself is realizing something is about to shift.
“Is that something you want to say to me?” he asks, calm and even.
The men behind him hesitate. One of them tries to brush it off, muttering that it’s nothing, just talk. Joel doesn’t move. He just watches them for a long beat, then repeats it quieter and firmer. “Yeah. I heard.”
The room has gone almost completely still now. Conversations have dropped off in patches, people slowly realizing where the tension is focused.
Joel stands, unhurried, and turns fully toward their table. He doesn’t rush them. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just steps closer, enough that it’s clear he’s not interested in pretending this is casual anymore.
“That’s my kid,” he says.
Then, after a pause, his gaze flicks briefly, just briefly, toward where you sit. “And she’s with me.”
He lets that hang in the air long enough for it to settle, then continues, voice low but carrying just enough to fill the silence. “You got a problem with that… you can take it up with me.”
No one answers right away. No one really knows how. The men shift uncomfortably, suddenly less interested in the conversation they were having. Joel doesn’t wait for a response. He gives them a look, measured and final, then turns back toward the table like nothing particularly important has just happened.
He sits down, picks his fork back up, and mutters, almost absently, “Food’s gettin’ cold.”
It takes a moment for the room to restart. Conversations pick back up slowly, lower now and more careful, like everyone’s recalibrating what they’re allowed to say. You just sit there for a second, staring at him like you’re trying to reconcile what just happened with the man who’s now calmly eating in front of you.
“You just threatened half the dining hall,” you say quietly.
Joel doesn’t look up right away. He takes another bite first, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Only the ones running their mouths.”
“You call that handling it?”
He finally glances at you. “Yeah.”
A beat passes. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, something between disbelief and reluctant amusement tugging at you despite everything. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Been told,” he says.
But there’s no tension in him now. Not like before. Just certainty. And when you glance around the room again, you notice it—how people aren’t looking at you the same way anymore. No whispers. No curious edges. Just distance, respect, and a new kind of understanding that settles in after Joel Miller decides something is not up for discussion.
.
Joel walks you home like he has every other night lately—no announcement, just falling into step beside you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“You didn’t have to come,” you say.
“I know,” he answers.
Of course he does.
The streets are quiet, warm light spilling from windows as you reach your place. You pause at the door just long enough for him to notice.
“Come in?” you ask, casual on purpose.
He hesitates a beat. Then nods. “Yeah.”
Inside, it’s softer. Quieter. You light the lamp while he stays near the table, not intruding, just there.
"Are you always this careful about thresholds?” you ask.
“Just your place,” he mutters.
You smile. “Right. Special treatment.”
He huffs under his breath.
A few seconds pass before he says, “Been building somethin’.”
That gets your attention. “Oh?”
“Crib,” he says.
You blink. “For the baby?”
“Yeah.”
“And a rocking chair,” he adds. “For when you are feeding'."
You study him a moment. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
He shrugs. “Just making sure it’s there.”
Something in you softens, but you keep it light. “That’s… surprisingly domestic of you.”
“Don’t spread it around,” he says.
Then you tilt your head. “So why haven’t you so much as hugged me since I got here?”
His eyes flick to you. “I didn’t want to… complicate things.”
“Aren’t they already complicated?”
You step a little closer. “Or is it because you’re forty-two and getting fragile?”
His brows lift. “Fragile?”
“Wouldn’t want your back to hurt or anything.”
“I'm not fragile.”
There’s a moment of quiet, and then he laughs, “You got pregnancy brain? Or you just are purposefully forgetting Utah?”
You raise your eyebrow at him. “Watch it.”
“What? Just saying, my back wasn’t hurting after that. I’m sure yours was…”
That stops you.
He looks at you for a second, a shit-eating grin spreading like wildfire.
“…So then why haven’t you done anything? ”you ask, quietly.
He exhales. “Didn’t think it was smart.”
“Smart?” you repeat.
“You’re carrying my kid,” he says. “And I'm not doing halfway things.”
That hits more honestly than you expect.
You step closer. “So I’m the problem?”
His eyes track you. “No.”
“Then what?”
A pause.
“…Just didn’t want to make it messier.”
You tilt your head. “Too late for that.”
A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Then you soften your voice. “You really think I forgot Utah?”
His gaze drops for a second, then comes back.
“No,” he says.
A beat.
“Good,” you answer.
.
His eyes flick down to your mouth, then immediately back to your eyes. The air between you feels thinner now, charged in a way that makes everything else fade out.
You tilt your head slightly, studying him. “You said you don’t do things halfway.”
His eyes flick to yours, guarded for half a second. “Yeah.”
“What does that mean?” you ask, softer now.
He exhales through his nose, like he wasn’t planning on explaining it. But you’re standing right there. Close enough that he can’t pretend it doesn’t matter.
“It means…” he starts, then stops, jaw tightening. His gaze drops briefly, like he’s choosing his words and hating every option.
Then he looks back at you.
“If I do something," he says, voice lower now, rougher, “I’m in it. Not halfway. Not just when it’s easy.”
You don’t move. He steps closer.
“It means I don’t start something I'm not willing to see through,” he adds.
There’s weight in that. Not just about you. About everything.
Your voice softens. “So this—” You gesture slightly between you, “—what is this to you?”
Something shifts in his expression. Like whatever line he’s been holding finally gives way.
His hand comes up to your waist, firm and decisive this time, not cautious. “This is me tryin’ real hard to do the right thing,” he mutters.
You raise an eyebrow slightly. “And?”
A beat. Then, quieter—honest in a way that hits deeper than anything else—
“…and gettin’ real tired of pretendin’ I don’t want you.”
Your breath catches. That’s all it takes.
He exhales sharply, like that admission alone is enough to snap whatever restraint he had left.
“Fuck it,” he mutters.
His hand tightens at your waist, pulling you into him as his other hand comes up, sliding along your arm, your side—like he’s been holding back the urge to touch you and finally stopped trying.
The kiss isn’t careful this time.
It’s immediate. Certain.
All the restraint from before was gone in a second.
You don’t hesitate—you meet him there, your hand gripping his shirt as he pulls you closer, like he’s making up for every second he kept his distance.
His hands don’t stay still—one anchored at your waist, the other moving, settling at your back, then up again like he can’t quite decide where to keep them, like he just needs to feel you there.
It’s not rushed, but it’s not restrained either.
It’s wanted.
When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s only because he has to, his forehead dropping briefly toward yours, breath uneven.
“Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “That’s what I meant.”
.
He doesn’t let you go.
Not really.
The space between you barely exists as he guides you back a step, then another, until the back of your legs hit the couch. You let yourself fall into it with a soft breath, and he follows immediately—one hand braced beside you, the other still at your waist like he’s not ready to lose contact.
“Careful,” he mutters, but there’s no real warning in it.
“You’re the one pushing,” you shoot back, breath a little uneven.
That gets a faint, crooked, almost-smile out of him before he leans in again.
The kiss is slower this time, but no less intense—like he’s taking his time now that he’s finally crossed that line. His hand shifts at your waist, thumb brushing lightly, then settling more securely like he’s grounding both of you.
You tilt your head, meeting him easily, your hand sliding up into his shirt, fingers curling against the fabric at his chest.
“Thought you were trying to be responsible,” you murmur against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he mutters back. “That didn’t last.”
You huff a quiet laugh, and he catches it, pressing another kiss to your lips—softer, but lingering.
It builds again, easy and natural, the kind of pull that doesn’t need thinking.
Until it does.
Your hand hesitates.
Just for a second.
But he feels it.
Of course he does.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his brow furrowing. “What?”
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t buy it.
“Don’t do that,” he says, quieter now.
You exhale, looking away for a second before you can stop yourself. “It’s just—”
You hesitate.
He waits.
“…I’m not exactly the same as I was,” you finish, a little more guarded than you mean to be. Your hand drifts, almost unconsciously, toward your stomach.
Five months.
There’s no ignoring it.
For a second, he just looks at you.
Then his expression shifts—not confused, not distant.
Something softer. Grounded
Then his mouth twitches.
Just a little—but it’s there.
He reaches out, not hesitant this time, and lets his hand settle over yours where it rests on your stomach. Warm. Steady.
“Hey,” he mutters, softer—but there’s something lighter underneath it now. “You think that changes anything?”
You glance up at him, unsure.
His thumb brushes slow and absent-minded, like he’s already gotten used to the feel of you like this. “You’re still you,” he adds.
You huff faintly. “Yeah, just… more.”
That earns a quiet, low almost-laugh.
“More’s not a bad thing,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
His eyes flick over you—not quick, not avoiding. Taking you in like he means it.
“Not even a little,” he mutters.
Heat creeps up your neck despite yourself. “You’re just saying that.”
“Mm.” He shakes his head slightly. “If I were just saying it, I wouldn’t still be here.”
You look at him for a second, trying to read him—but there’s no hesitation in his expression now. No second-guessing.
Just that same steady certainty.
His hand slides from yours, back to your waist, a little firmer this time. “Besides,” he adds, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flip, “you think I’d have a hard time remembering exactly how you feel?”
Your breath catches slightly.
"Is that so?” you manage.
His mouth pulls just barely at the corner. “Yeah.”
Then, quieter—closer—“You’ve still got it.”
You roll your eyes a little, but you’re smiling now. “Wow. Real smooth.”
“Didn’t say I was smooth.”
“No, definitely not.”
That earns you a soft huff against your mouth before he leans in again—closer, slower this time, giving you every chance to pull away.
You don’t.
And when he kisses you again, there’s no hesitation left in it.
Warnings: implied smut; unexpected pregnancy; Joel left; angsty
.
The settlement is quiet in the way only places that have been burned before ever are. No laughter. No wasted movement. Everything is built low and tight, pressed into the Utah dirt like it learned early not to be seen.
You’re on watch when he appears.
One man, coming in from the west as the afternoon sun beats down. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t sneak, either. Walks straight toward the gate like he knows exactly how much attention that will draw. Like he’s done this a hundred times and survived every one.
You lift the rifle. Track him.
He’s broad. Heavy in the shoulders. He moves like his weight belongs to him. Not a drifter’s desperation, not a raider’s swagger—something steadier. More dangerous.
You signal.
The gate creaks open just enough for voices to spill out. Weapons trained. Orders barked sharp and short. He complies without complaint. Sets his pack down. Raises his hands. Let them disarm him piece by piece, eyes never stopping, cataloging faces, exits, and distances.
“Name,” someone says.
“Joel,” he answers.
They search him thoroughly, and he lets them, jaw tight, shoulders squared. He looks forty. Maybe a little older. Beard shot through with gray. Lines carved into his face by sun and regret and time that never let up. He’s not handsome in a clean way.
He’s rough. Strong.
Then he sees you.
You’re standing off to the side, not hiding but not posturing. Rifle slung, stance solid, eyes sharp. There’s a pale scar cutting across your knuckles. Another at your cheekbone, half-hidden by your hair.
Late twenties, maybe. But not soft. Not breakable.
Something in Joel’s chest shifts—unwelcome, instinctive. You’re a different kind of beautiful. The kind the world didn’t manage to grind down. The kind that survives long enough to become unmistakable.
You catch him looking.
You don’t drop your gaze.
Good, he thinks. But that’s a dangerous thought.
“He can stay for now,” someone decides. “Communal hall. No wandering.”
Joel nods once. “Appreciate it.”
You step forward before anyone else can. “I’ll take him.”
A few heads turn. No one argues.
You walk first, because you don’t need to prove anything. He follows, boots heavy behind you, presence filling the narrow space between buildings. Up close, he’s bigger than he looked from the gate. Solid. Carve d. The kind of man who learned long ago how to hold his ground and never quite let it go.
“You always travel alone?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
Not defensive. Not proud. Just a fact.
The lantern light catches his profile as you pass under a strung line of salvaged bulbs. Strong nose. Tight mouth. Eyes that have seen enough to stop expecting mercy.
“You don’t?” he asks, glancing around.
“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”
Something like approval flickers across his face before he reins it in.
You stop at the door to the hall and turn to face him. Up close, he smells like dust, leather, and old smoke. Like the road. Like survival.
“This is it,” you say. “Food’s rationed. The water’s clean. You cause problems, you won’t get a warning.”
Joel meets your eyes fully now. There’s weight in the way he looks at you—measured, curious, respectful in the way men only get after the world beats it into them.
“Wasn’t planning on causing any,” he says.
You hold his gaze a moment longer than necessary. Long enough to make a point.
“Good,” you reply.
As you turn to leave, you feel it—the pull of his attention, heavy as gravity.
Joel watches you walk away, jaw clenched, something old and dangerous stirring in his chest.
.
Sleep doesn’t come.
It hasn’t in years, not really—but tonight it’s different. Your mind won’t stop circling back to him. The man at the gate. The way he looked at you, like he hadn’t expected you to exist. It’s been a long time since you’ve noticed someone like that. Not in a passing, practical way. In the dangerous way.
He is handsome.
You give up before the restlessness turns sharp. Pull on your jacket. Slip out into the night.
The settlement is quiet, lanterns dimmed, and people folded into whatever passes for safety these days. You walk until the ground slopes gently down toward the lake, black and glassy under the stars. You sit near the edge, boots planted, arms resting on your knees, staring out at the water like it might give you answers.
You don’t hear him approach—you feel it. The weight of another presence. You turn, hand instinctively shifting.
Joel stands a few feet back.
He’s careful even now. Hands visible. Posture loose but ready. He looks like he never fully relaxes, like the world taught him that rest is borrowed time. The moonlight cuts across his face, catching the lines there.
“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says.
“You didn’t,” you reply. And it’s true.
He glances at the lake, then back to you. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
A pause settles between you. Comfortable. Heavy.
“You need anything?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m okay.”
You nod, turning your gaze back to the water. He doesn’t leave.
“How long have you been here?” he asks instead.
“Long enough to stop counting.”
He huffs quietly. “Figures.”
You look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you move like this place depends on you,” he says. Then, softer, like he didn’t mean to let it out, “Like you know how to keep things standing.”
The compliment lands deeper than expected.
Silence stretches again. Joel shifts his weight, boots scraping softly. He watches you in that careful way—like he’s reading, measuring, holding something back.
“How old were you,” he asks slowly, “when everything went to hell?”
You don’t hesitate. “Fifteen.”
The word hits him hard. You see it in the way his jaw tightens and the way his gaze flicks away before coming back to you. He does the math without meaning to. Sees you not as fragile—but as someone who had to become sharp too early.
Too young for that, a voice in his head says.
And the fact that the age gap doesn’t stop the pull he feels makes something sour twist in his chest.
“You shouldn’t have had to grow up like that,” he murmurs.
You shrug. “None of us should’ve.”
Your eyes trace him—broad shoulders, worn jacket, the quiet tension he carries like a second skin. Reserved. Brooding. Careful. A man who chooses every word because he knows what they cost.
You realize, with startling clarity, that you think all of it is hot.
“What about you?” you ask.
He exhales. “Lost something important. First day.”
You don’t push. You don’t need details to understand the weight of it.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
He nods once.
You stand, brushing dirt from your palms. “I should probably head back.”
You take two steps before you hear it.
“Hey.”
You turn.
Joel’s closer now. Hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he doesn’t trust them loose. His voice is rougher when he speaks again. “Didn’t want to end it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I didn’t want to keep talking’.”
Something warm curls low in your stomach.
You step closer—not into him, just close enough. “You don’t seem like the type who talks much.”
“Only when it matters,” he says.
Your gaze drops, just briefly, to his mouth. You catch yourself too late.
Joel doesn’t miss it.
Something snaps—quiet but final.
“You’re trouble,” he murmurs.
You smile. Not apologetic. “You don’t look scared.”
He steps into your space now. Heat. Solid. Real. His hand lifts, hesitates.
“Tell me to stop,” he says.
You don’t.
When he kisses you, it’s slow—controlled, like he’s testing himself. When you lean into it, that control gives way. The second kiss is deeper, heavier, his hand firm at your waist like it’s always known where to go.
It’s been too long since either of you let yourselves want.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath uneven. “This is a bad idea.”
You smile softly. “You’re still here.”
That’s all the answer he needs.
He kisses you again—slower, intent, like he’s committing something to memory. Eventually, his voice drops low near your ear.
“We should go somewhere warmer.”
You nod.
The lake stays silent behind you as you lead him back toward the settlement, the night swallowing the details of what comes next—leaving only the certainty that neither of you will get much sleep at all.
.
You wake to cold sheets and unfamiliar quiet.
For half a second, your body remembers before your mind does—the weight of him, solid and warm, and the low murmur of his voice close to your ear. Your hand shifts instinctively, searching.
Nothing.
The space beside you is empty. The door cracked open. Dawn bleeding thin and pale through the settlement.
You stare at the ceiling and let out a slow breath. Of course he’s gone.
Joel was passing through. Men like him don’t wake up and decide to stay just because the night was good. You knew that even as you led him away from the lake. You knew it when he kissed you like it mattered anyway.
You dress quietly. Step outside.
Someone mentions it in passing—the guy from last night left before sunrise. Took his pack. Didn’t make a fuss. Didn’t say goodbye.
You nod like it doesn’t touch you. Life goes on. It always does.
Days turn into weeks. Patrols. Repairs. The slow, steady work of keeping people alive. The world doesn’t pause for a man who stayed one night, no matter how his hands felt sure on your waist.
You tell yourself that.
Still— You catch yourself staring at the gate at dusk. You listen for boots that sound heavier than the rest. You wonder which road he took, and you hope it was kinder to him than most.
At night, when sleep refuses you again, it’s not the lake you think about.
It’s his lips—warm, deliberate. The way he kissed like he meant it, like he wasn’t in the habit of wasting moments. The way his voice dropped when he spoke close, words meant only for you, breath ghosting along your skin.
You can still hear it sometimes. Low. Rough.
You hate how easily it stuck with you.
You’ve known men before. You’ve wanted before. But Joel felt different. Because he saw you and didn’t look away.
Some nights, that’s worse than if he’d promised something.
You sit on the same rock by the lake weeks later, watching the water ripple under the stars, and you wonder if he thinks about you too. If some quiet stretch of road reminds him of a settlement tucked into Utah dirt. Of a woman who survived without softening, who met his gaze and didn’t flinch.
You don’t regret it.
That’s the thing that surprises you most.
You just wish—dangerously, foolishly—that the world had been kind enough to let him stay.
And somewhere out there, Joel walks with the memory of your mouth lingering longer than he wants it to.
Neither of you are sleeping quite right anymore.
.
The feeling starts small.
A wave of nausea in the mornings you brush off as bad rations. A sour taste in your mouth that won’t go away. You throw up once behind the mess hall and laugh it off when someone asks if you’re sick.
“You look pale,” they say.
“I’m fine,” you answer.
You are not fine.
The sickness doesn’t pass. It settles in. Morning. Midday. Night. Your appetite disappears, then comes back strange and sharp. Smells turn against you. Coffee makes your stomach roll. Smoke from the burn pit sends you gagging behind a wall, hands shaking as you try to breathe through it.
You know. You don’t want to, but you do.
The clinic is barely a clinic—two cots, a cracked sink, and supplies counted down to the thread. The woman running it watches you with knowing eyes as you explain the nausea, the timing, and the missed cycle you didn’t want to admit out loud.
She doesn’t waste words. Hands you a test like it’s a piece of fragile glass.
You wait alone.
The result is clear. Brutal in its simplicity.
Positive.
Your hands go numb. Your first thought is not panic, not fear—it’s Joel’s mouth against your ear, his breath warm as he whispers your name like it mattered.
Your second thought is: he’s gone.
You don’t tell anyone.
Weeks pass and you make yourself smaller. Skip meals. Wear looser layers. Volunteer for work that keeps you alone. You sleep poorly and wake with your hand pressed flat to your stomach like you can will this away, but you can’t.
Ruth notices anyway. She’s older, sharp-eyed, the kind of woman who’s buried more people than she’s willing to count. She brings you food sometimes. Asks real questions. Doesn’t push.
One afternoon she watches you struggle to pull a jacket closed that used to fit just fine.
She sighs softly. Not angry. Not surprised.
“You’re starting to show,” she says.
Your throat tightens. “I know.”
She studies your face. “How long have you been hiding’?”
“Long enough.”
Ruth sits beside you. Her voice drops. “You can’t do this alone.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” she says gently. “Just not here.”
You look at her then. Really look.
“Jackson,” she continues. “It’s a ways, but they’ve got doctors. Supplies. People who know how to bring a kid into the world without losing the mother.”
The word "mother" lands like a blow.
“And if I don’t go?” you ask.
Ruth’s expression hardens—not cruel, just honest. “Then you’re gambling with both of you.”
That night, you lie awake staring at the ceiling, one hand resting where your body has already begun to change. You think about a man passing through. A single night. A road stretching on without you.
You wonder if Joel Miller even thinks about you. What he would think about this.
And for the first time since the test turned positive, you let yourself cry—not because you’re afraid, but because somewhere deep down, you already know this is going to change everything.
.
Two weeks on horseback changes you.
Your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Your appetite comes and goes in strange waves, nausea curling low in your stomach every morning like a reminder you can’t outrun what you’re carrying. You keep one hand resting there as you ride, protective without thinking about it, whispering to the horse when the road feels too long.
When the valley finally opens up, you almost stop breathing.
Jackson doesn’t look real.
Fences that stand straight. Watchtowers manned by people who look rested. Smoke rising from chimneys instead of burn pits. It feels staged, like a memory from before that you’re not supposed to touch.
“Hold there.”
The voice is firm, but not cruel.
You slow your horse and lift your hands from the reins. Two men step out from the tree line—one older, solid, rifle lowered just enough to show he knows when to use it. The other, younger, sharp-eyed one is scanning you quickly.
“Name?” the older one asks.
You give it.
“Where are you coming from?” the younger adds.
“Utah,” you say. “Settlement near a lake.”
They exchange a look. Then the older man’s eyes drop—just briefly—to your stomach. You see the shift immediately. Guard easing. Concern stepping in.
“You alone?” he asks.
You nod.
“That’s a hell of a ride,” the younger man mutters. “Especially like that.”
You straighten your spine. “Didn’t have much choice.”
The older man exhales slowly. “I’m Tommy. This is Jesse.” He lowers his rifle fully. “You’re safe now.”
The gates open wide. No interrogation. No suspicion that lingers too long. Someone takes your horse without being asked. Someone else presses a canteen into your hands. People look at you and don’t look away. You don’t know what to do with the lump in your throat.
Maria meets you near the main building. Calm. Commanding. The kind of woman who doesn’t need to raise her voice to be listened to.
“I’m Maria,” she says, already guiding you with a hand at your back. “Let’s get you to the clinic.”
The clinic smells clean. Truly clean. There are shelves stocked with supplies. Real instruments. Fresh sheets on the exam table. You sit carefully, suddenly aware of how tired you are and how long it’s been since anyone treated you like something worth protecting.
The doctor smiles gently. “How far along are you?”
You swallow. “I’m not sure.”
“That’s okay,” she says easily. “We’ll figure it out.”
She works methodically, explaining what she’s doing, never rushing you. Maria leans against the counter nearby, arms folded loosely, watching without hovering.
“Where’d you come from?” Maria asks softly.
“Small settlement,” you answer. “Utah.”
“Long way.”
“Yeah.”
The doctor straightens at last. “Based on what I’m seeing, I’d say about five months.”
The number lands heavy in your chest.
“Five,” you repeat quietly.
She nods. “You’ve been carrying it for a while.”
Your hand drifts to your stomach. No wonder hiding it stopped working. No wonder your body has felt like it’s been holding onto something precious without asking permission.
“Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” the doctor asks.
Your breath catches. “Yes.”
Maria steps closer, standing at your side.
The room fills with a brief hiss of static—and then there it is. Fast. Strong. Alive.
Your eyes burn instantly. Tears spill before you can stop them. The sound fills you up, settles somewhere deep in your chest, undeniable.
“Oh,” you whisper, voice breaking.
“That’s a good strong heartbeat,” Maria says. Her hand rests on your shoulder.
You laugh softly through the tears, shaking your head. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
The doctor smiles. “It usually surprises people.”
When the sound fades, you sit there quietly, palm pressed over where that life is growing. Five months. A single night by a lake. A man who walked away before dawn.
Maria studies you—not unkindly. “You got a plan?”
You shake your head. “Not yet.”
“That’s alright,” she says. “Jackson’s a good place to make one.”
Later, alone in the small cabin they give you, you sit on the edge of the bed and breathe in the quiet. Real quiet. Safe and quiet.
.
The next morning you step into the town square, expecting Maria’s easy smile and her voice calling you over. You were supposed to meet her here.
Instead you see Joel. He is coming the other way, returning from a supply run. Boots crunching against the dirt. Pack slung over his shoulder. The sunlight catches the lines in his face, the gray threading through his hair, and the same wary, careful gaze you’ve never been able to forget.
He sees you.
His jaw drops.
His eyes drop to your stomach.
Everything freezes. You feel it before your mind does—the sharp intake of breath. The sudden halt in time. His shoulders stiffen, and the air between you thickens like static.
“—You…” he starts, voice low, rough, almost a whisper. “You’re…?”
The words hang there, incomplete, unfinished, but they hit you like a hammer. You can’t answer. Your throat closes. Your mouth opens, then shuts. You try to speak, and nothing comes out.
He takes a step closer, cautious, as if the world might shatter if he moves too fast. His eyes are wide—shocked, not angry. Just… stunned.
“You’re—” he says again. “You’re carrying—?”
He trails off, voice catching now, low and almost afraid to continue. His hands twitch, like he wants to reach but can’t. You can feel the intensity of him, all of him—the broad shoulders, the dangerous calm, the man who’s always in control—crumbling just enough that it terrifies you.
Your knees wobble. Your vision blurs.
“I—I…”
Your voice fails you entirely. You tilt forward, and the world tilts with you.
Joel freezes, eyes widening further, before you’re gone entirely.
The last thing you feel is the rough scrape of the dirt beneath you and Joel’s boot just a step too late, his hands catching nothing but air.
After getting matching daisy tattoos for my cousin Jackie’s thirtieth birthday, she is convinced it’s finally time to find her soul mate. Me on the other hand? I don’t buy into fate, matching tattoos or destiny shit. Across town Joel Miller doesn’t believe in soul mates either, until he wakes up one morning with a daisy tattoo behind his ear. A disastrous first encounter leaves Joel and I firmly in enemy territory. And when Joel meets Jackie at a party and they discover their matching tattoos, it seems like destiny has brought them together. And me? I’m going to keep my own matching tattoo to myself. Why complicate things? Jackie is happy with Joel and I've started dating his charming and sexy brother, Tommy.Plus, there’s no way the annoying Joel Miller could be my soul mate…. Right?
tags: soulmate AU, enemies to lovers (because that's all I write apparently), smut, yearning, wrong person right time, right person wrong time, cute moments, jealous Joel, angst, sexual tension, banter, happy ever after.
rating: 18+
Words: 12.1k
notes: I'm sorry this took so long. I re-worked it a bunch and I am still not really happy with it. But I hope y'all enjoy it for what it is! If I am feeling inspired maybe I'll do an epilogue, but in the meantime here is our resolution!
finale | you're a daisy if you do
4 MONTHS LATER
The scanner beeps a chirping heartbeat as my groceries move across the conveyor belt. Lettuce, chips, chicken, salmon... I watch it all passively, exhaling slowly.
This is my routine every Thursday after work.
After the unhappy looking teen with unkempt hair packs my groceries I will thank him and then I will move to my car. I will drive with the radio on, but I won't really be listening to it. I will return to my apartment - not the one I once shared with Jackie. A new one on the other side of town, closer to my work. I will unload my groceries, I will turn on a podcast or a playlist or the television to keep my mind loud and busy. I will eat my meal alone, scrolling my phone for the usual social highlights before I just give up and begin looking for any new hint of Joel online.
He never had social media, no Instagram or even Facebook. The only thing I find is a bare bones Miller Bros Construction website. A blank page with a little hard hat saying "pardon our mess."
The biography section is finished though. And along with Joel's brief bio there is a photo of him. It was taken by Tommy, I can tell. Joel's smile is authentic, but the lighting is bad, the exposure grainy.
It looks like he's on a job site, t-shirt neckline ringed with sweat, dark eyes squinting. He has that sexy little half smile I miss more than anything.
Joel hasn't reached out since the whole terrible day when I lost both he and Jackie in one foul swoop. I tried texting and calling a few times but of course I received no answer. I tried contacting Tommy too out of desperation, but he had already blocked me.
There are times when my feelings towards Joel can be unkind. When I think of how he turned away at the first sign of true conflict I want to hate him.
But then I remember the hurt in his eyes and know it wasn't just that I kept it from him, but that I lied. I did. I never mentioned it to him when he asked me point blank if I felt that pull to him. I could have put him out of his misery, but I was scared. Too scared to take a gamble on us. Too scared to hurt Tommy or Jackie.
Sometimes I want to blame Jackie for doing the exact same thing. I mean, she knew about the tattoo! She could have said something! But she thought Joel and I hated each other. What reason could she have for thinking the two of us were actually a match?
And even if I do blame Jackie it doesn't bring him back into my life. It doesn't take away the pain from anyone. It doesn't make my cousin reach out or make Tommy forgive me. It doesn't put me back in Joel's arms, which is the only place I want to exist.
I stroke Joel's photo on my phone screen, eyes glassy. His beautiful face stares out at me, eternally unmoving, turning into a watercolor blur as tears begin.
It heals my heart to see him.
It breaks my heart to see him.
Joel hammers the nail onto the soft wood loudly, a spare between his teeth. His body is tight, shoulders sore. He's got a stripe of sweat down the spine of his t-shirt and under the arms. The day is overcast, but he's been working steadily through his lunch, his focus on the task in front of him.
It helps that his job is so labor intensive, that his hands and his mind are always working together. It allows for very little down time, very little opportunity to sit around deep in thought.
The last thing Joel needs in his life is to have more time to think.
Pete Henderson approaches, marking something off his clipboard. He notes Joel's project and gives an appreciative whistle.
"Damn Miller, you do great work. Why in the hell aren't you running your own company again?"
Joel flinches, removing the nail from between his teeth so he can answer. "S'a lot of work for one person."
"Don't you have a brother?"
"You need any extra hands today?" Joel says diverting the topic. "Happy to stay late."
He's been working for ten hours already, but he'll stay for an extra two. Just as he has every workday with this project.
"You know me; I can always use extra hands if you got time to spare."
Joel straightens, licking his dry lips. "I do."
Henderson gives one final nod, clapping Joel on the shoulder before moving past to check on the work of another builder.
Joel is frustrated by the interruption; it'll take him a moment to get back in the rhythm he was previously in. He feels vulnerable, ready for attack because his mind is set free of its usual focus.
And just as it always happens when he's not laser focused on the task at hand, his mind drifts.
To her.
To the love of his life and her betrayal.
He exhales, taking a swig from his water bottle and pulling out the phone from his back pocket.
Don't do it. Don't.
He ignores that warning voice in the back of his head and immediately swipes up, finger tapping the Instagram icon.
Joel signed up for an account using some stupid name weeks ago. The cousin didn't have an account, but Jackie did.
He'd been able to limit his obsession with the cousin until then, but the thought that pictures, that evidence of her existed in the world made it impossible for him to stay away.
Jackie had always been one to document her life through social media and for the first time since he met her, he was thankful for it. This way he had a sneak peek into the life he was missing.
The cousin wasn't in any of the recent photos. Why would she be? It was clear that the two had had a falling out, much like he and Tommy.
Today he scrolls back to eight months ago. A post Jackie made of the she and the cousin out to dinner. The cousin is smiling across the table. She holds a set of chopsticks and the meat she was holding is mid-fall. There is a splotch of sauce on the front of her blouse.
She's mid-laugh in the way that swallows her eyes and makes her head tilt back. If he focuses really hard he can still hear echoes of it.
It's like pressing his thumb into a particularly deep bruise, the pain magnified, the mark never going away.
But he can't stop.
I always go shopping Thursday after work, but an extra article subject came in that I couldn't give up. Subsequently, it is Friday after work when I walk into my usual grocery store.
And that one small delay changes everything.
Unlike last week and the weeks before I'm in a very good mood. Well, as good a mood as I can be in considering the circumstances.
My last article on the soulmate housing crisis was so popular I was asked to do a follow up piece. Then another one. Then more independent pieces focusing on marginalized groups. For the first time in any job, I truly feel I am flourishing. Doing the things that I'm very passionate about. No more dishonest mayors or celebrity gossip. Now I'm meeting real people with real stories.
I grab my usual items with a bit of a lighter heart. I'm going to try focusing on that today. I won't go home and scroll my phone in a depressed funk.
I'm passing the floral section of the shop when I decide this and it is like the colorful blooms reach out my way, celebrating my decision.
Something about the sight of them stops me in my tracks. Happy little daffodils stare back at me, lovely and joyful. Such a stark contrast to how I feel these days. Pumpkin colored lilies beckon me with their plush petals and freckles. Peonies explode with beautiful layers of feminine detail.
But it's the oversized Gerber daisies in a rainbow of color that make me smile the widest. I finger the stem of the closest one - a pale maroon.
Today I will do something happy, I decide. I'm going to buy these flowers and put them in a vase. Then I'm going to go to drinks with coworkers or maybe see a movie. I'm going to do something that takes my mind off of -
"Aisle nine? Thank you, sugar."
I freeze in place, hand extending midway to the bouquet when that familiar low drawl bleeds from around the corner.
No. No no no.
My stomach drops completely when I hear boots coming my way. I'm frozen to the spot when a head of glossy black hair slides into view.
Tommy.
It feels like a betrayal that he should be here. I've moved away, I've changed the route I take to get to work; I've never gone back to his side of town ensuring that our paths wouldn't collide. And yet here he is crossing that invisible line I've set.
His eyes are scanning the selection of flowers and he bites his lower lip absently, focused. That familiar sweet look he used to have when he was trying to fix a problem whether in the home or between us.
There's a pang of longing there. Not for Tommy per se, but of being cared for. Being loved. Of the comfortable way I felt with him.
But then I feel a pang of guilt deep in my gut, because as I stare at Tommy all I can feel is deep yearning for Joel. Joel's kind eyes and the way they look when they're sleepy. The way his jaw shifts when he's frustrated. Everything about him.
My face is on fire as I feel Tommy slowly approach me. I watch from the corner of my eyes as he slowly acknowledges there's another person in the aisle, a polite smile on his face until he realizes it's me.
"Fuck."
Like a western standoff we stare at one another, bodies squared, hands at our sides. Like any second well draw pistols. At this point I might welcome that. Anything beats this brutal silence. He looks wonderful, face still handsome, body still muscular. He's dressed nicely tonight, a button down instead of his usual T-shirt. He looks lovely.
I realize I miss that. The way he could shine up so nicely for nights out. The way his glossy black hair caught the light. I loved laughing with him, the way he managed to make everyone love him.
Yet despite all Tommy and I have gone through, the length of time we were together, all I can think of is how Joel's neck smelled, how his arms felt around me, the timbre of his laugh.
"You don't live around here," I finally croak.
Tommy just stares at me, an unreadable expression of both anger and hurt. Or I think that's what it is. It might be disgust or disdain. I'm a bug, a smudge on his shoe, a bug on the windshield.
"Nope."
It’s a miracle I haven't dissolved into a depressed puddle of shame. The speakers drone out a crackling pop tune from the eighties, something so peppy it makes the serious moment obscene.
I need to think of something otherwise it feels like we're just going to stare each other down for eternity.
"So what brings you to the floral section?" I say in a pathetic attempt at levity.
I force my eyes to crinkle when I smile, hoping I appear authentic. But Tommy isn't moved, his face remains impassive before I watch his jaw clench.
"I have a date."
The way he says it is delivered for maximum damage. The way his brows rise, his voice crisp. He wants me to be wounded, but I'm strangely relieved at this turn of events.
It puts him in an advantageous position which takes the pressure off of me. He's doing well, I'm not. After how I ended things I accept that. I even welcome it.
"That's great."
"Is it," he says flatly. A question wrapped up as a statement.
"Of course. You deserve to be happy."
I watch the curl of his lip, my enthusiasm clearly unwelcome. "Yeah, I do."
It's clear that things are too fresh, too raw for us to have a pleasant conversation. Every sentence is loaded with potential pitfalls so I just forgo my plant purchase altogether.
"Have a good date."
I move quickly down the aisle, the plastic rim of the shopping basket bumping against my hip. I feel like I've just run a marathon, heart in my throat, legs burning. I just need to pay for my groceries and leave. I just need to make it to the till.
"Did it have to be my brother?"
I glance over my shoulder to see Tommy following me to the next aisle. There's a look of determination on his face, mingled with a tentative appearance of bracing himself. Like he doesn't want to know the answer but he needs to hear it.
"What?" I ask even thought I heard him perfectly.
Shoppers move through the aisles, weaving around our static bodies It's getting to be the busy time and we're in everyone's way.
Tommy steps closer so he can lower his voice. "Why did it have to be Joel?"
He looks like he's ready to start crying or screaming but hasn't decided which one. Both options chill me.
"I didn't go out of my way to choose your brother just so I could hurt you, Tommy. You must know that."
Tommy's body shifts and I see the glossy look his eyes have taken on.
"What I know is I was about to propose and you drop a bomb you've been cheating on me. And then I have to find out in a text from Jackie that it's been with my brother." He looks in pain, like it's happening all over again. "I just don't understand why you'd do it. I mean, you two didn't even like each other."
My head is starting to pound. "Haven't you talked to Joel about this?"
I watch the cloud cross his eyes, can feel the crackle of fury starting there in his body.
"I haven't spoken to him since that day."
"What about Jackie?"
The fist not holding the flowers is flexing and curling. His gaze hasn't broken from mine.
"Her neither. I wanted a clean break from everyone."
"How do you guys work together then?"
"We don't. I get enough gigs on the side to pay for my new place."
My new place.
So he and Joel aren't living together either. I think of the bare bones website. Of course it's defunct. How could there be a Miller Brothers Construction with the brothers not speaking to one another?
"But Miller Brothers Construction was your dream," I say, unable to hold back. "You guys wanted to do this together. To create your own legacy."
He gives an ugly laugh."Are you actually trying to give me life advice right now?"
"No, I-"
"Are you insane?" Tommy thunders. "You stand there telling me how to live my life when you blew it up by cheating on me with my own fuckin' brother!"
A woman shopping for laundry detergent nearby looks our way, eyes scanning me from top to toe before shaking her head in clear disapproval. It makes my face burn.
"I don't know how you can even look me in the eye after what you did," Tommy says shaking his head.
Something about his contempt makes my teeth clench. The sick churn of my stomach building.
"Why are you acting like this was some random thing I did just to hurt you?" I burst out.
"How wasn't it?!"
"He's my soul mate, Tommy. What other reason could there have been to do what we did?"
I see the moment my words connect because his body tenses up. He blinks slowly, long lashes fanning against his high cheekbones.
"What the hell are you on about?"
His confusion throws me for a loop. Something about it enrages me as well.
"Why are you acting like you don't know what I'm talking about?"
"Because I don't. What do you mean you're soul mates? Jackie is his soul mate."
I search his eyes with my own, taken aback to see the true perplexing grimace there. I hesitate for a moment before I take a step towards him, relieved when he doesn't move away.
My heart is pounding when I gather my hair into a low ponytail and turn my neck to the side, showing him the tattoo.
"Jackie and I got them the same night for her birthday."
I know he's seen it when I hear the hitch to his breathing.
"You never had that when we were together," he mutters.
I drop my hair and it moves back to fall over the tattoo, shielding it once more.
"I covered it up."
"Why would you cover it up?" Tommy asks. "That's insane."
I want to end the conversation, I want to pay for my groceries and I want to continue my depressing ritual of mourning the love of my life because seeing Tommy has set me back months.
"What does it matter? It's in the past."
“You owe me this. You owe me an explanation after what you put me through."
I sigh, shifting the basket into the other hand.
"Because all Joel and I did was fight at the start. You know that. Plus he and Jackie got on so well and she was so happy. I figured they were soul mates early on and I didn't want to complicate things by bringing up the tattoo. I figured there was no point."
"Why wouldn't you tell me?"
When I see his eyes are wet I expect that he might break down and cry. It makes me want to do the same. It makes me want to gather him in a hug and tell him how sorry I am, how much I regret leading him on.
"Honestly Tommy, because when I was with you, you made me so happy, I didn't want anything to fuck that up." I sniffle, good memories in the forefront. "I figured we were end game and I thought there was no point in saying anything if it wasn't relevant."
"What changed?"
How can I properly explain that?
"I don't know exactly. I guess Joel just understood me in a way I felt you didn't. He was interested in my work-"
"And I wasn't?"
No. You weren't.
"He cut out articles I wrote," I say softly. "He asked me about my writing. He challenged me. And it wasn't just that, our paths kept crossing, like fate. And I wanted to dislike him, Tommy, I really did. But in the end I just couldn't."
"You couldn't come to that conclusion before you fucked him?"
"I regret that. You know I do."
His chin is wobbly and he's blinking really fast. In all our time together I never really saw Tommy cry. He was always so upbeat, so joyful. Knowing I took a piece of that away makes the regret feel all the more acute.
"You never cared about me, I was a distraction. Or worse a way to get closer to him."
I shake my head, because that doesn't feel right or accurate.
"No that's not true. Why do you think it was so hard for me to end things? If you had been an asshole or if I hadn't loved you, truly loved you, it would have been easy to walk away."
I swallow, but it does nothing to push down the lump growing in my throat.
"I wanted it to be you for the longest time, Tommy. But with Joel it was just different. I knew I loved him so quickly. I felt it everywhere-"
I'm startled when Tommy seems to come to life, limbs jerking. He moves past me, his flowers dropped to the ground, petals crushed underfoot. He moves quickly, not even looking back or slowing a fraction when I call his name.
I stand there staring after him for a long time with my mouth hinged open. A part of me is furious that he could start a fight with me in the middle of a grocery store. But the other part of me knows there was so much left unsaid between the two of us.
Does Joel feel like this too? Does he sit at home hating me? Does he think of my betrayal, confused and with not enough information? Is it possible he is dating someone too? The thought makes me nauseated to the point where I have to lean against the shelving unit nearest me, holding my middle.
No. He wouldn't do that.
I can still remember the way he looked at me the first time he said he loved me. That desperate, perfect way he felt moving within me. The way we laughed and cried and made love in those perfect twenty four hours.
When I hear a rolling cart behind me it snaps me from my reverie and I lurch towards the check out till. I stand like a zombie and begin to load up my groceries onto the conveyer belt.
A voice is reaching out to me, soft and low. The man in front of me has turned around and is facing me. His voice is soft, but his confidence is clear in the way he stands.
"Pardon me," he says with a pleasant smile. "Mind if I snag that?"
The first thing I notice is that he's ridiculously handsome with perfect teeth. His dark hair is brushed back from his face and his angular eyes are a warm dark brown. He's dressed nicely in slacks and a light sweater.
It takes me a beat to realize he's pointing to the rubber separator near my elbow. I quickly nod, moving it to him.
He thanks me politely, separating our purchases and then turns back around. His short hair is shaved lightly at the sides, giving me a clear view of his neck.
And then I see it.
The daisy tattoo behind his ear.
I'm in so much shock at the revelation that I just watch passively as he pays for his items and leaves the store. I hear the woman giving me the price for my groceries and I throw the money at her.
I jog out the sliding glass doors of the store, devastated when I don't immediately see him. I silently curse myself for my lack of prompt action.
I'm dejectedly on my way to my car when I spot him behind the wheel of a pristine SUV. The same vehicle as Jackie down to the model. He's typing on his phone, looking concerned. When he yawns he brings his knuckle to his lips like he's hiding it. Something Jackie has done since we were kids.
My hands are sweaty around the plastic bag handles. I set the groceries into the trunk of my car quickly, heart still thrumming.
He's starting up his car now, giving another yawn as he begins to back out of his parking spot.
I feel insane as I throw myself into the driver's seat and start speeding off in the direction of the man. I'm terrified to lose sight of him.
I don't know what I'm hoping to accomplish with this. Jackie isn't talking to me; this man might think I'm insane. But I have to do something, have to make this happen.
We don't drive far. Maybe ten minutes before he turns the corner and to a high end apartment building. He sails into his underground parking and this is where I lose him. For all I know this could be his girlfriend's apartment, or maybe even his wife. I don't think I saw a wedding ring, but I wasn't really looking closely.
But something tells me it's his apartment. That he's single. That he's waiting for his perfect match, his love, his soul mate.
That he's waiting for her.
Joel sits on the sofa of his home with a forgotten beer bottle at his elbow. The house feels quiet, as it always does these days. As it always has since his brother moved out. The same day he gave Joel a bloody nose.
Pizza sits on the coffee table, a movie playing in the background. Curtis and Viper. The one they all saw in the theaters together.
That feels like age ago, lifetimes ago. The night his hand had found its way into her hair, stroking the soft strands without realizing it.
He aches for her. Not just physically, but her warm body pressed up against his watching television, for the way she used to duck her head when she gave a shy smile up his way, for the intense look of concentration she wore when they played air hockey.
He can't help but miss her, even as the thought of her hurts. Even though she betrayed him in the most egregious way.
Ashley had done the same, keeping things from him, not letting him into her interior life. Hurting him in a way that made him swear off love. No the cousin hadn't done exactly the same, but it was close. The deception, the willful denial that had him reeling for months.
How is he ever supposed to recover?
He's not, he decides.
This will be his quiet life. A home, a job, a semblance of a life. Not a real one, but a decent one. One he can live with.
He's just landed on this thought when he hears the distant rattle of his door lock followed by the push of it open. He goes to stand, body tight with tension at the home invasion.
When the figure rounds the corner into the living room Joel can only stand, staring at him in shock.
"Tommy?" He blinks. "How in the hell-"
"Never gave my keys back," Tommy says, finishing Joel's unanswered question.
He sounds breathless; like he jogged the entire way over here from his place which Joel knows isn't possible because Tommy's crashing on a friend's couch almost a half hour away. At least that's what Joel thinks he heard from snatches of conversations with former co-workers who knew them both.
Joel eyes are burning with tears at the sight of his little brother. He's not mad at him, if anything the sight gladdens him. Everything in him wants to cross the distance and pull his brother into a tight hug, telling him how sorry he is, how he understands the feeling of betrayal, how he'll do anything to make up for it.
Joel wonders if Tommy's going to punch him again and if he would try to stop him this time. He decides he probably wouldn't. Sometimes he wishes Tommy had beaten him to a pulp that night because it feels like that's what he deserved.
"Why are you here, Tom? Everything okay?"
Tommy stands with his hands stemmed at his hips, a familiar stance that the Miller brothers share.
"Why in the hell didn't you tell me she was your soul mate?"
Joel deflates, flashes of the cousin going through his mind.
"How did you find that out?"
"Answer the question."
"What does it matter?"
He slumps back onto the couch, chest curved, head sagging. He looks like a man defeated which is appropriate because that's exactly how he feels. Defeated by life, defeated by love.
"It matters a whole helluva lot," Tommy snaps as he steps closer to the couch.
He stares down at Joel in a way that makes Joel feel like their birth order positions have changed, like Joel is the little brother being chastised.
"How do you figure?" Joel says, raising his chin. "Her being my soul mate makes what happened okay?"
"It explains it. Explains why my brother would do something like that."
Joel raises a shoulder, unable to offer more. "I tried to tell you. But..."
"I was already gone. Yeah."
Now Tommy comes to plop on the couch next to Joel at the very edge, so the two don't knock knees. The two brothers sit in silence for a moment. Tommy is wearing nice clothes, his hair brushed..
"Were you on a date?"
"Supposed to be." Tommy tilts his eyes Joel's way when the older Miller doesn't respond. "You wondering how I could be dating already?"
"I'm not wondering anything."
Tommy huffs through his nose, a tick to the corner of his mouth. "You know me, Joel. I love the thrill of the chase."
"I know you really loved her though," Joel says looking at his hands. "You were gonna propose."
"And you tried to warn me how many times not to?" Tommy straightens, kicking off his boots. They thud to the side of the couch. "Wish I'd listened to you."
"Wish I'd explained why." He takes a deep breath before exhaling. "It's just I didn't really understand it myself."
Tommy hums thoughtfully and Joel can feel his eyes are still fixed on his profile. He's still too ashamed to look at him though, keeping his eyes downcast.
"I think I wanted to marry her because she didn't want to marry me," Tommy observes, grabbing Joel's beer bottle from the table and taking a swig.
This capture Joel's attention, eyes snapping to look at. Tommy.
"What?"
"She was the first girl I really liked that didn't like me more than I liked her. It felt like a challenge. The way she didn't say I love you for so long. The way she kind of held me at a distance."
Tommy is smiling softly, the memories clear in his eyes. Joel is ashamed to feel a bubble of jealousy at the sight of it. Knowing that Tommy had so many more days, so many more hours. So many more seconds with her hurts. It makes him feel bitter and spiky.
"Plus she was so fucking smart it was insane. I couldn't talk to her about her job without feeling stupid. And I thought that was so damn sexy. And she was funny! And so beautiful."
He trails off, looking wounded for a moment.
"She encouraged me to grow up, too. She told me I had to be serious about the company and that I needed to be more responsible. But she did it in a way that felt like caring. She was just so easy to love," Tommy finally adds. "I mean, you know that better than anyone. You did love her, didn't you?"
Traitorous tears escape the corner of Joel's eyes now, sliding down his cheek until he abruptly rubs them away with the back of his hand. Joel can't talk. His throat feels sealed.
He drops his voice to a soft murmur when Joel doesn't reply.
"Still do, don't you?"
Joel can only offer his brother a brief nod, eyes closed.
Tommy shifts briefly, the couch groaning under him. Joel remains still, big hands folded between his knees, his face hot with shame at being seen in such a fragile state.
"I knew Ashley wasn't the one for you, Joel. I knew it on your wedding day. I knew it when you started dating." Tommy sounds anxious. "And I should've said something."
Joel flinches, twisting his body to face Tommy's on the couch. For a terrible moment, Joel thinks that this is some kind of confession, some admittance of fault on his brother's part.
"Tommy don't you dare start thinking you did me wrong in any way."
"I ain't," Tommy says with a wry grin. "You think you're getting off the hook that easy? Nah, what I mean is that Ashley, Jackie, all of em were great on paper but they weren't right for you."
Joel remains still, unblinking. His eyes just scan Tommy's face.
"But she is. I mean, I don't know how I didn't see it for so long," Tommy muses, taking another pull from the beer bottle. "But it was there the whole time. The air hockey, the squabbling, the irritation. You don't dislike someone that passionately without passion being a part of it."
Joel fights not to let his mind go back to the cousin. To the moment shared between them. He doesn't want that hurt right now.
The two brothers fall silent again, eyes fixed on different parts of the room. Joel's hands unlace, resting on his kneecaps. He squeezes them, attempting to ground himself when Tommy speaks again.
"I'm never gonna be okay with what the two of you did."
"You shouldn't be. What we did was disgusting."
"Yep. Sure was." Now Tommy's voice is thick, throat bobbing. "But I miss my big brother. I miss what we were starting together. I miss you."
Joel blinks furiously, refusing to let more tears fall. He wants to remain composed, wants to be the big brother that Tommy always looked up to.
"I miss you too Tommy. You have no idea how much."
"I have some idea," Tommy quips, scanning the depressing room. "When's the last time you cleaned this fucking place?"
Joel, smile is broad and authentic, his muscles are sore from it and you realizes it's because it's been months since he made the expression.
"You think we could try again? Build back that trust?" Joel asks this while trying to keep the waver from his voice. Trying to tamp down any expectations or hopes.
Tommy takes a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly before his gaze fixes to his big brother.
"Let's give it a shot."
I can't believe I'm here.
It's seven in the morning the following Monday and I'm parked outside the man's apartment. My coffee is forgotten in the cup holder, my eyes peeled on the building. I've been here for two hours staking out this poor man's apartment, my eyes searching for the SUV. Every time a vehicle exits the underground parking.
I don't know what I think I'm doing. Am I going to run up to him and tell him I know where his soul mate is? That's insane. And what if he doesn't believe in that stuff? He'll call the cops on me knowing my luck.
I think about Jackie and the last time I saw her. I was moving the boxes out of the apartment and she just stood there, watching as I slid the old apartment keys onto the kitchen counter. She didn't say anything to me. Didn't even look my way. She just took the keys and went back to her room without so much as a look behind her.
Betrayed, alone because the one piece of family she thought she could always depend on let her down.
Prison is worth it, I decide. If I can't have my soul mate at least she can have hers.
The whir of the underground parking gate sounds out and I lift my eyes, not really expecting to find the vehicle I'm searching for. When that same pristine SUV exits and I spot the familiar man behind the wheel I feel my heart lurch.
I make sure not to follow too closely; I don't want to tip him off. I stay a few car lengths behind him, sticking out slightly so that I can follow his route. It's about a twenty minute drive and I feel my blood pumping with every mile.
When he pulls into an elementary school I glide my car along the curb in front of it. I duck my head a bit, not wanting to be seen. He parks and exits in the allocated spot marked 'Principal', long legs carrying him swiftly to the front of the school.
He's an elementary school principal. Something I wouldn't have expected but I don't know exactly why. Maybe because Jackie is so over the top and colorful and this man is so quiet and muted. But maybe that's why they could make a perfect team. A potential ying and yang for one another.
A little girl in pink gumboots and missing front teeth speeds over to him, red hair flying out from behind her. He notices this and slows his gait.
"Hi Mister Park," she says with a wide grin up at him. "I found a ladybug in the playground See?"
I watch the man go to one knee, an enthusiastic edge to his voice as he looks at the shiny red insect crawling on her finger.
"That's fantastic Amara," the man - Mr Park- says with gentle interest. "But we don't move wildlife from its habitat right?"
Amara drops her head, lower lip pouting. She mumbles an agreement.
"So maybe you could gently go put him back somewhere safe?"
She nods. More children are streaming out from around the school to surround him, shouting excitedly about weekend plans or the games they've been playing. And he listens patiently to every single one, nodding and smiling. He's well liked, he's patient and kind.
I see the kids start to line up around their classes and Mr. Park stands, brushing the accumulated grass from his dress pants. He doesn't seem too upset by the mess.
I feel like I can't control my legs when I push out of the car. I don't have a real plan, I'm just going on instinct.
He's just reaching the front of the school, slender fingers moving to the handle when I call out.
"Mr. Park? Do you have a second?"
Joel makes his way through the record shop, his focus on one thing. There's a remastered Simon and Garfunkel album that's just released and he wants to make sure he acquires it for his collection.
He doesn't go to that same old record store he did before. The one where he ran into the cousin buying the Miles Davis album.
No, he's very intentional. He goes across town to a little place that not many people know about. From the outside it looks derelict, but on the inside it's got old posters glued to the walls, the sound of various indie artists taking their turn over the speakers.
Tommy's actually the one who mentioned the Simon and Garfunkel re-release over drinks at the pub last week, asking if Joel had gotten it yet. Joel realized his distraction, blown away by the fact that he could fall so behind on one of his biggest passions.
Things have been going really well with Tommy over the last few weeks though. So good that Joel actually offered him his old suite back if He wanted to stop crashing on his friend's couch.
Tommy declined, telling Joel that he actually had a viewing for an apartment coming up. There had been a flicker of disappointment in Joel, but a swell of pride that overtook it. That his brother was finally starting to put his adult life together.
He finds the lone album waiting on the shelf marked new releases. He snatches it up quickly, excited.
"The last copy," the girl with blonde hair and pink streaks says to him when he goes to pay, her green eyes rimed with smudged eyeliner. "Cash or credit?"
She chews gum obnoxiously, the scent of juicy fruit escaping her every time she speaks. But she's polite, wishing him a great rest of his day as she slips the album into a paper bag.
He thanks her, his attention snagging on some old records near the far wall of the shop. Looks like they got a new shipment of vintage albums and he's intrigued enough to go wandering to the corner of the shop.
The sound of the shop door squeaking open briefly draws his attention from between the crammed shelves. When he sees the familiar curve of the cousin's silhouette he feels his heart slam against his ribcage.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Without thinking he drops to his knees behind the nearest display, his breath coming out in short little huffs. He hears the soft click of her shoes as she enters more fully. He presses his eyes closer to the gaps between records on the shelf.
"Hi," she says warmly to the girl behind the desk. "Do you happen to have any more copies of the latest Simon and Garfunkel re-release?"
Just the sound of her voice causes Joel's body to throb with want. From his position he can see glimpses of her. The sweet shape of her mouth, the soft twist of her hips.
"Sorry babe," the girl says smacking her gum in an almost comical way. "Just sold the last one like five minutes ago."
"Damn," the cousin replies, looking disappointed. She taps her knuckles absently on the top of the counter. "Was really hoping to find it. Everywhere else is sold out too."
"I could put you on the wait list if we get more copies in," the girl says raising a pen and grabbing a Post-It note. "Just need your name and number."
The cousin nods giving the girl her information before politely thanking her.
Joel remains fixed on the floor, watching as she slowly walks out of the shop, looking dejected. His feet want to march after her, big hand sliding down her shoulder that turn her to face him. He wants to bury his face in her neck and inhale the sweet vanilla tinge of her and then he wants her tender lips under his, the sound of her whispered cry when she utters his name.
Instead he waits several moments after her exit before shakily standing.
He hates his body for reacting like this. For all the months of hard work to ignore her, to push her from his mind to be lost. Because just the sight of her has him undone completely.
He walks back up to the desk to see the surprised shop girl restocking the guitar picks by the register. She raises her left eyebrow which Joel now observes has two hoops through them.
"You need anything else?"
"Just realized I already have this one," Joel says, holding up the bag with the record in it. "You can give it to that lady that was just in here."
"Okay, sure," the girl says, holding out her hand for the album. "I can issue a refund or store credit."
"Nah. Just give it to her," Joel says as he passes the bag back to her. "A gift."
The girl behind the counter looks utterly flummoxed. As if the very thought of such a selfless act is beyond her. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Wow. The kindness of strangers," the girl muses, lowering her hand to graze the plastic sheathed album on the counter between them. "She'll be excited I bet."
She will be, Joel knows. She'll do that subtle little tippy tappy thing she does with her toes when she's excited. She'll flash that beaming smile that warms Joel just with the memory of it.
"Just do me a favor, wait for a few minutes after I'm gone before you call her?"
Understanding creeps into the girl's light eyes and Joel watches the softness that gathers there. She understands.
"Copy. Have a good day, sir."
I'm at home listening to my newest record, the Simon and Garfunkel re-release; the gentle strum of the folk see tunes puts me in an impossibly good mood as I make dinner.
Maybe my luck is turning around. I mean running into Tommy last month was a nightmare, but work's been going really well And not even five minutes after I left this old record shop, the employee called me to tell me that they found an extra copy of the re-release in the back.
I hum along to The Boxer, tossing the greens with my chicken as I glance around my kitchen. I've already been here several months but I haven't done much unpacking. The place is still pretty bare bones and many of my items still remaining cardboard boxes.
I glance over at a specific box in the corner that houses my coffee machine, heart sinking. I still haven't used it. Not since that weekend. Something about it reminds me too much of Joel.
A knock at the door startles me, breaking me from this maudlin thought. I wipe my hand on the dishcloth and go padding towards the front door. I tug it open without even looking through the peephole. It's been cracked since I moved in and a low rent means I don't feel like bothering my landlord.
"Can I come in?"
Jackie stands on the other side with a raised chin and a new haircut. It's sleek and cut into a severe bob that makes her look impossibly chic. Only Jackie could have a haircut like that and end up looking like a runway model.
"Oh my- of course," I stammer stepping back and encouraging her to come in.
She keeps her sandals on and I spot the pretty pink pedicure she must have just had done when she takes a seat at the kitchen table and crosses her long legs.
"Water?" I ask needing one for myself because my throat has suddenly gone dry.
She cocks her head. "Wine?"
"Coming right up."
I returned to the table with two chilled glasses, still kind of disoriented. What is Jackie doing here?
I take a quick inventory of her, staring at the way her skin looks so luminous, her eyes so clear. She looks amazing. By comparison I'm sure I look like something dragged from the local river. My hair is missing its usual monthly trim, my skin dull from late nights poring over articles, even my lips are chapped from not drinking enough water today.
She takes a delicate sip, and I noticed that her eyes haven't strayed from me the entire time. I wait for her to start the conversation, to explain why she's here but she offers nothing aside from her silence.
"Your birthday is coming up," I say desperate to fill up the air. "Doing anything fun for it?"
Her eyes bounce between mine before she leans back in her chair; head tilted slightly, an air of nonchalance around her.
"Going to keep it pretty low-key for the most part," she tells me. "Sho has offered to make me something at his place and then we're going to a club."
My heart clenches. "Sho?"
"Sho Park," she replies without a hint of previous knowledge. "My boyfriend. He came into the bank about a month ago."
I nod, my fingers twirling the stem of my wine glass. I watch the pale gold liquid slosh against the sides.
"He's my soul mate," she says flatly, like this is information I already know, which I do of course.
The smile on my face can't be contained no matter how hard I try. That's what looks different about Jackie, not just her hair, not just her pedicure. This glow that comes from the inside.
The glow of being in love.
She takes another sip of her drink, placing it back on the table between us. The glass clicks against the wood tabletop. She fixes me with a very serious look, thin brows dragging down.
"I know you sent him in that day."
My smile fades slowly, increment by increment. I second-guess myself as I look at her unhappy expression. Have I fucked up? Did I overstep? But wasn't it for the greater good? She found her soul mate!
"Yeah. I told him where you worked." I take a deep gulp of my water, the ice cubes clicking against my front teeth before I lower the glass. "I saw him at the grocery store one day. He had a daisy tattoo behind his ear."
"So you just burst out that you knew his soul mate and he wasn't terrified of you?"
I don't keep information anymore. I tell it like it is. Lying has done so much to ruin my life. It has no part in my future.
"Well, I didn't really tell him that specific day," I admit hesitantly. "I kind of followed him home to his apartment. Then I sort of did a stakeout and followed him to his job."
"He told me that you chased him into the school."
"That's not completely accurate," I say defensively. "I stopped him right before he went in."
I trail off, feeling humiliated. I sound insane! Jackie has every right to issue a restraining order against me. So I'm extra confused when she starts giggling softly.
I stare when her giggles turn into chuckles and then full out guffaws. Her eyes squint, tears starting at the corner as her laughter booms around my apartment.
"You stalked my boyfriend?" she says between wheezing chuckles. "And then accosted him in front of an elementary school?"
Now I'm laughing too, ugly snorting things that make my shoulders shake.
"Well, when you put it that way..." I offer, cheeks swollen as I continue to laugh. "At least he was nice about it!"
The two of us laugh for a few moments, more, the sound slowly ebbing into a comfortable and companionable silence.
Jackie is still looking at me but her gaze is much softer than it was when she came in.
"What's he like?" I ask, genuinely curious. "I mean he seemed really nice when I told him about you being his soul mate. I even showed him my tattoo and explained that we both had them."
"He's more than nice," Jackie says was a faraway look on her face. One that makes her pretty face even more beautiful. "He's perfect. He loves to go out dancing, he loves to party. But he can be serious too. He loves his job, kids love him. And from day one there's been no games. We're just honest with each other."
"Jack, that's amazing."
"The second I met him, it was like all the pieces suddenly came together," she says excitedly, large eyes bright. "All the things I thought I had with guys before are just so minimal compared to how I feel with Sho."
She looks like the cat that got the cream. Folding her arms onto the table and leaning forward before dropping her voice a fraction.
"Plus the sex is fucking incredible. Out of this world. Best sex I've ever had in my life by far."
I feel my face heat up, surprised at this information but delighted.
"I'm so happy for you," I gush enthusiastically.
And it's not a put on, it's not an act, I'm just genuinely overjoyed for my cousin. For the little girl picking daisies, wondering if she'd ever be picked herself.
Clarity comes back into her eyes, the distant look of lust and love leaving them. She squares her shoulders with mine and speaks very softly.
"Is that how you felt with Joel?"
The sound of Joel's name causes my lids to shutter for a moment. Caught up in all the excitement of Jackie's new love I didn't think of her former one. The reminder of our infidelity, of our casual cruelty makes my face crumple.
"Jackie, we don't-"
"Just tell me," She insists, interrupting me gently. "I won't be mad I promise. I just need to know."
She seems honest, her earnest face blinking back at me. How I've missed deep conversations with her, how I've missed her sweet little face.
"Yes. That's how I felt about Joel."
She nods, looking thoughtful. "From the start?'
"I think so, but I fought it. He was with you..." I swallow. "I didn't really know what I was feeling. Just that I was feeling it and that it was strong."
"Like lightening under your skin, right?" She says, eyes searching mine for confirmation. "Like you're on fire from the inside?"
I nod, forcing my twitching lips not to be the harbinger of tears.
She sobers and I can feel her scrutinizing me across the table.
"I get it now," she says. "It's like Sho and I were magnets being pulled together. I tried to ignore it for three days, sure that I wasn't over what happened with Joel. But then, there was this ache, this horrible empty feeling like I was missing a part of me and had never been aware before."
My heart throbs at this because I know exactly what she means. Like I was missing a lung or a kidney and only became aware that first time Joel and I touched. That hungry feeling that couldn't be sated by anyone else.
"I couldn't stand it for more than three days," she says when I don't respond. "I don't know how you managed it for almost nine months."
The dam is broken at these words as I recall the pain of those months, the time spent sobbing, the belief that I wanted a man who shouldn't be mine. I bury my face in my hands, voice muffled and raw.
"It was hard," I admit between little cracking sobs. "It was really fucking hard."
I hear sniffing and look up to see Jackie is crying too.
"Then be with him. Please." She brushes the tears from her cheeks. "No animosity. No guilt. You have my blessing if you feel that you need it."
Something about her genuine grace makes fresh tears slide down my cheeks like a waterfall. I don't deserve this kindness from her, not after all that I did to her and Tommy. I tell her this and she rolls her eyes with a smirk.
"Tommy's fine," She says waving her hand in the air dismissively. "That man has no shortage of women chasing after him. Trust me."
"How do you know that?"
"My friend at work saw him on Tindr and thought that it was Joel because of the last name." She rolls her eyes. "He's got a broken engagement from a woman who slept with his brother. He's drowning in pussy."
I flinch the way the relationship Joel and I shared can be so easily summarized, so minimized by our faults.
"You need to know that I'm so happy with Sho, I barely even think about Joel anymore," she adds. "And when I do it's like a long forgotten memory. Fuzzy and like... Inconsequential." She ducks her head. "No offense."
I give a wet laugh her way. "None taken."
"I'm glad I met him though," she adds. "I think I was supposed to meet him. Like, so he could help me grow. I always put myself first. Self involved, the Jackie show. I'm thankful to Joel for making me aware of that. For challenging me. I think it's helped me with Sho already."
I nod. Pride in my pain at the knowledge that Joel could be that for her. She reaches across the table, taking my hand in hers.
"I want you to be as happy as I am with Sho. I want you to be with your soul mate."
I pull my hand back slowly, the pain of her words hitting me. Soul mate. That'd exactly what it is and without him I feel torn in half.
"Even if I wanted that Jackie, I've hurt him. I lied to him for a really long time thinking I was doing the right thing. But I was being a coward."
"I don't think you were being a coward," she says. I can see that her big eyes are a little glossy now. "I think you were just scared. I think you did everything trying to save the feelings of Tommy and I think you were in love with a man you didn't expect to be."
"I don't know how to explain it to him," I whisper. "I hurt him too deeply."
"He's your soul mate," she says squeezing my hand once more. "You'll find a way."
"You need to call her."
Joel glances up from his fishing rod watching his brother from across the small boat they rented for the day. They've had a very successful outing, the bucket full of fresh fish and cold beer cans chilling in the cooler.
To Joel it's felt like old times with his brother. And he's happy, happier than he's been in a long time. But Tommy's sudden comment has him feeling tense.
"Huh? Who?"
His brother faces away from him, his focus on reeling in something from his rod, tone casual.
"You need to call Jackie's cousin," Tommy repeats, still unwilling to use her first name. "You need to talk shit out."
"Why?"
"Because you love her and she loves you." He props his rod against the lip of the boat, swiveling to face Joel. "And if you're worried about how it'll be for me it'll be weird at first but we'll figure it out."
A small twitch starts at the corner of his mouth. "My bed ain't exactly empty these days, brother."
Joel chuckles at this despite himself. "Jesus, Tommy."
The brothers continue to fish quietly, the rhythmic click of their casting meditative. There aren't many boats on the lake today, the scene placid. But Joel's mind and body are alive with images and feelings and memories of the woman he dreams of nightly.
The scent of her neck, the way she laughs, the sweet clench of her around him. He misses how she challenged him and made him laugh. He misses the excitement in her eyes when he asked her about work and the pride he felt when she asks about his.
But all of this can be erased with one sharp image of her anguished face knowing that she lied to him.
"So are you gonna?" Tommy asks, still affecting a casual tone.
"How could I trust her again, Tommy? When she kept something like that from me for so long?" He shakes his head from side to side slowly, the water below him turning blurry. "She lied to me. Just like Ashley."
"Oh hell Joel, she's nothing like Ashley," Tommy says groaning. "Ashley was a snake from the start. She was using you until she found her soul mate. But the cousin? She was doing it because she loves you."
Love.
I love you so much Joel.
He can still hear her hoarse voice whispering that to him, their bodies entangled, their hearts beating as one. "Funny way of showing it."
He doesn't expect Tommy to lean back in the boat, for his brother to fix him with a slight glower.
"Oh yeah? How come you didn't tell me about it then? Your kiss at the cabin? The... other stuff I never want to know about?"
Joel lowers his eyes, fingers curling along the edge of the rod. His cheeks burn.
"That was different," Joel says feeling wrong-footed. "I didn't want to hurt you like that."
A beat.
"You hear yourself right?" Tommy asks with an amused scoff. "You did the exact same thing she did."
"No, I -"
Joel's mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to rack his mind for how to explain the difference. Tommy is speaking again, evenly, calmly.
"You loved me so much you didn't want to see me hurt. Same for Jackie. You thought you knew best. Thought you were saving us from pain." Tommy blinks. "How can you be mad at her for doing the same thing?'
Joel's throat bobs, angry tears beginning at his lash line..
"Because she did it to me."
His voice frayed at the edges. Tommy lowers his shoulders, gaze steady.
"She was scared, Joel. I'm sure she was gonna tell you."
Joel gives a huff, maybe a laugh, maybe a cry.
"Oh yeah? How do you know that?"
Tommy nearly bangs his rod on the edge of the boat, frustration clear in his expression.
"Because she's your fucking soul mate, Joel."
I give a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, watching shadows creeping into the crevices of my apartment.
My conversation with Jackie went on for hours The two of us catching up, explaining everything that happened during those 9-months. There are tears. There is laughter. There is quiet hurt. The kind of pain that won't go away after a conversation, but the kind that might repair itself over months of connection and honest conversation.
We parted embracing, both are cheeks wet with tears. It was a reunion of more than just ourselves, but of our combined past. We promised to get breakfast with each other the next weekend. Jackie can't wait to introduce me properly to Sho and I can't wait to hear all about their relationship from him.
It's late though, my mind still buzzing. Not just about Jackie but about Joel. About
I'm just drifting off when I feel it, a small throb along my ring finger. It pulls me out of my semi sleep, jerking up in bed and turning on the bedside light. I start blinking rapidly against the bright light as the throbbing lessens.
I focus my gaze at the site of the pain, lifting my hand to the light. When I see it my breath hitches. It's on the inner side of my ring finger, barely visible but I can see it plain as day
It's a small, clear outline of a tattoo.
I raise myself up to a seated position and peer closely at the etching in my skin. Despite my eyes blurred with sleep I make out the small minimalist detail of a coffee cup and steam.
I sit there in my bed for who knows how long just staring at it, trying to absorb that Joel is somewhere in the world sporting the same thing. That he went somewhere to get this done.
Is it a sign? Is this him reaching out?
Or worse. Is he getting matching tattoos with someone else?
The thought sickens me. It makes my head spin just thinking about it. And I make up my mind in that very second.
I need to see him.
I need clarity. I don't care that it's after two in the morning. I don't care that this tattoo might be nothing to do with me. Or a goodbye.
I need to talk to him.
I throw on a hoodie over my sleep clothes, shove my feet into my slides and grab my purse on the way out the door.
I need him.
The drive to Joel's is longer now that I'm in a new place. But I know it by heart. I've traced it in my head over and over. I blow through a stop sign, thankful for the late hour.
When his house comes into view, I feel my heart jump into my throat. Both in anticipatory anxiety but also in a strange sensation of homecoming. I park and jog to the front door, heartbeat pounding so loudly I don't even hear the sound of my knock.
Be home. Be home. Please. Just be-
The door opens quickly, a whoosh of air sliding past my bare legs. And there he is, my Joel, big and broad with the gentlest eyes I've ever seen.
He's still dressed, his appearance making it clear that he wasn't sleeping and he's so beautiful standing there lit by the moon that it hardly seems fair.
For a moment we just stare at each other, eyes luminous, breathing elevated. Like we're charging up by being close. The sensation of lightning under my skin is back, like the hum of distant power lines.
"I hope you wanna come in," he says in a quiet rasp. I feel his eyes dragging over my face as he steps back.
I hesitate for a fraction before I step in, sliding past his broad body and standing there in the entryway of his home.
He closes the door and the two of us are left again in a quiet moment of uncertainty. He's standing close to me, near enough that I can simply reach out and touch him. But I won't even though that's all I want to do.
His face is soft, nothing about him harsh or unyielding. He doesn't seem angry. I look down at his hand, seeing that the matching tattoo is there along his finger.
Unable to say anything, I raise my hand between us, extending my ring finger forward so that my own little coffee tattoo is visible.
He takes my hand in his, looking at it with such fondness that I feel my insides ache with need for him.
"Someone really wise once told me that coffee is a great way to say thank you and I'm sorry," Joel says roughly.
He brings my hand up to his face, pressing soft kisses along my fingertips, then my knuckles. I tremble, body quivering as I gaze up at him.
"Which is this one?" I ask, voice wavering as I nod to my fingers still in his grasp. "Thank you or I'm sorry?"
He turns my palm over, thumb rubbing my wrist, feeling the life thrum under his digit. He takes a deep breath, everything in him escaping in a soft rush of air.
"Both."
He laces his fingers with mine, holding our joined hands against his sternum and taking a shuddering breath. I feel the rapid tempo with his heart beneath his warm t-shirt.
I know tears are starting, and I don't bother blinking them away. I'm so happy to see him, to be touching him again. I'm so happy to see him.
"I'm sorry," he says in a rush.
"No I'm sorry," I insist.
"I'm sorry I ran that night," Joel continues. "I'm sorry I ignored your calls and the pain you must've been in. I'm sorry for not giving you the benefit of the doubt"
"You had every right to be angry and hurt," I say almost falling over myself to make sure he understands how awful I've felt. "You thought you were being betrayed."
Joel shakes his head slowly, shame coloring his cheeks.
"I should've talked with you about it," he replies. "Instead of just walking out and ignoring you. I think I was so scared of getting hurt like I was before..."
I know that this is hard for Joel. The topic of Ashley and his first marriage is difficult. My free hand rises to cup his cheek, thumb tracing the dimple in his cheek.
"I get it," I say. "But Joel you need to know that I was going to tell you about the tattoo that morning when you got back. I had it planned but then Jackie was there and..."
I trail off, cringing as I recall that moment. Joel runs a hand down my side, fingers curling.
"And if I'd actually listened to you that day I would've known that, instead of spending 4 months in agony being away from you." He swallows. "I shouldn't have assumed the worst about the woman I love."
The woman he loves.
That kick-starts my heart so intensely that I almost whimper. Crystalline tears are forming along my lash line.
"You still love me?"
His eyes search my face and when he sees my crumpled face his brows saddle. He lurches forward, dragging me against him.
"Oh baby, I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that," he murmurs at my hairline. "I'm so sorry I let my stupid fucking pride and my fear keep me away. I've loved you so long and I never stopped, I swear."
I wrap my arms around his waist, face pressed into his neck. I inhale deeply, the scent of laundry and cedar. Of sunshine and wind and of love. So much love. And then I cry jagged little sobs for all the pain we caused each other. For the time we wasted being apart. Cries for my fear, for Joel's anguish.
He gingerly guides my face up to his and I stare into those deep brown eyes. With the gentlest press of his lips he kisses away my tears.
"I never stopped loving you," he murmurs lowly. "Never have, never will. You're it for me."
Kisses are pressed to the corner of my mouth, my cheek, between my brows, my eyelids. He maps my face with love, soft and sweet.
"Joel, I swear I will never keep anything from you again," I promise him.
"And I promise I'll listen next time."
Next time.
Never again.
These are forever terms. These are a rekindling of what we shared.
We're both beaming at each other like school kids. The dual realization that this reunion was so desired by both of us.
"I love you so much," I tell him, sliding my arms up around his neck and urging his mouth to mine.
And when we kiss, truly kiss; it's that same earth tilting sensation had the first time. One that has his arms banding around my waist, and tears in his eyes. One that starts an inferno inside and crackling electricity under my skin.
"I love you more than anything," he whispers between kisses to my mouth, my cheek and then back to my mouth. "You’re everything to me."
When we break apart moments later our bodies do the talking for us. Pupils blown wide, insides aching, limbs trembling.
"I need you," I whisper, eyes limpid.
He bends down, hooking his arm under my knees and supporting my back in a bridal hold. Then he walks us to his bedroom, his mouth at my ear.
"Not as much as I need you."
She's beautiful, Joel thinks as she gazes up at him. He has his soul mate gently pressed into the mattress, her body and heart open to him. She gazes up at him with such open adoration, such raw love that it takes his breath away.
He cages her in between his arms, lips grazing hers, his fingers laced with hers on the mattress. His hips flex, driving deep and slow into her, building the passion, reveling in the feel of her again.
"I missed you so much," he murmurs, lips almost touching hers as their bodies move together.
"I thought about you every moment," she replies, and the tender expression painted in her eyes lets Joel know the depth of her sincerity.
Not that he's surprised, he was the exact same way. Not one day passed where he wasn't yearning for her. Not one day passed where he didn't ache for her in body and heart. There were months of fantasy for him. Not just of this moment but snapshots of a life they would live.
Her moving into his place, the way he would propose to her, the day she would take him as her husband. And now it's here, it is real and tangible. That future can happen. Because she's his soul mate. He wants her to be his wife. He wants to share a life with her.
He wants it all because he's never loved this deeply in his entire life. And he's never felt so loved.
"You're so perfect," he tells her, voice thick. His mouth still hovers near her own, her warm breath buffeting against his plump lips.
He watches her frown in exasperation, the same expression she wore across the hockey table from him, across the table when he was helping her with her article.
Always across from one another, always separated. And now they are truly one. Bodies, hearts, minds.
"Joel if you don't kiss me this instant I'm going to scream."
He gives a slow grin at this and the agonizingly slow tempo of his hips pick up speed.
"Okay baby," he promises before his mouth finally finds hers. "Anything you want."
In bed a long while later, sweaty and sated we snuggle up under the covers with blissed-out smiles on our faces.
Joel drags his fingers along my arm, in a soothing gesture. When he does that I see flashes of the tattoo on his ring finger. It makes me smile.
"You said it was both."
Joel's brows quirk. "Huh?"
"You said it was both," I remind him, thumb tracing along his wrist. "What was the thank you for?"
He turns onto one side and cups one of my warm cheeks with his large hand. His voice is ragged, plucked from the strings of his heart.
"Thank you for loving me. Truly loving me. For showing me I'm worthy of it."
"You never have to thank me for that," I swear ardently, emotions crashing over me. "Loving you is no hardship, Joel."
He blushes, cheeks warm. I love the little pieces of him I notice that others might not. Little tics like how he holds his mouth right before he's going to say something hard. Or how he crosses his arms when he's trying to be tough. Or the sweet way he looks away when he's feeling shy.
And we have a lifetime together for me to catalogue even more. The thought of that makes me so deliriously happy I can barely comprehend it.
"Is it insane that I want you to move in with me?" He asks, his deep voice tentative. "That I want us to live together already?"
I smile to myself, delighted. It seems insane and with any other person in the world I would run in the other direction. But when I look over at Joel, at the perfect understanding in his eyes I know I'm all in.
"Is it insane that I want an air hockey table if we do?"
He gives a pleased little smile to himself before a teasing expression tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"Only if you promise not to cheat like last time"
"I never cheated!" I say indignantly.
He gives me a wink, chuckling lowly when I fake a frown.
"Guess we'll have to have a re-match just to make sure."
He brings me tight against him, the vibration coming through on the side of my face.
Tucked under his chin I inhale that sweet scent of his skin, revelling in the comfort of being in his arms and I knowing that I am loved for me. Knowing we can face anything together.
Plot summary: In 1870s Texas, Joel Miller loses his wife and son in childbirth, leaving him to raise his five year old daughter Sarah alone. Faced with losing her to his wife's grieving parents, or being forced into marrying her younger sister, he turns to you - the town's thirty-something spinster - and asks for your hand in a marriage of convenience.
Warnings: 18+only due to eventual explicit smut. Also references death and grieving.
[SUMMARY: Joel is depressed after your divorce is finalized.]
Angst and more angst, sorry this took me so long!!
The house was quiet but not the peaceful kind. The kind that pressed in on Joel Miller’s ears until he thought he might crack.
Cars passing and neighbors out on their porch talking hummed just outside the window, yet still it was too quiet. No clink of dishes from the kitchen. No soft humming when you folded laundry. No you.
The divorce papers sat on the kitchen table where he’d left them three weeks ago. He hadn’t had the heart to throw them out or even put them in a drawer.
He told everyone it was for the best.He told Tommy it was mutual.He told Sarah you just “needed some space.”
He lied.
The truth was that he still reached for you in his sleep. He dreamed of you waking him on a Sunday morning like you used to, wearing his shirt, a fresh cup of coffee you’d have made for him.
~~
He hadn’t shaved in days. Work helped..long hours, busted knuckles, something physical to drown out the ache in his chest but nights were brutal. Tonight was worse.
There was a picture frame turned face down on the nightstand. He’d turned it over the day the divorce was finalized. Sometimes he’d stop and stare at the small stupid box you’d left that you kept pushing off to pick up. Hell, he offered to bring it to you, happy that you said no because it meant there was one more reason for you to come by.
For some reason today he flipped the picture back.
You were laughing in it. Head thrown back, sunlight catching your hair, his arm tight around your waist like he was afraid the world might steal you.
Turns out he’d been right to be afraid. Just wrong about the thief. It wasn’t the world. It was him who pushed you away.
~~
That evening Joel went grocery shopping, driving the cart slowly his eyes roaming over frozen pizzas when he heard it. The sound of your voice, his chest tightened.
“Thank you” you must’ve mumbled to someone before you appeared walking out of the aisle. The second you looked up your eyes found him and you froze.
“Joel”, you stood still. He swallowed hard thinking of what to say, his mind going into overdrive. His hair longer than you had ever seen, he looked tired.
“Thought you were a mornin’ shopper” he muttered. You chuckled as your hands tightened on your shopping cart, knuckles turning white.
“Yeah, usually am. Just forgot something.” he stood silent for a moment, taking in the sight of you. It had been three months since he last saw you, you looked the same.
“How’s Sarah?” Your question distracting him.
“Good, she uh-“ just as he spoke he was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice, a voice he wasn’t familiar with. A tall man appeared beside you, casually placing something in your shopping cart.
“I couldn’t find the chips you wanted but I got the spicy version,”
Spicy.
You didn’t like spicy.
You stood awkwardly as you watched Joel stare at your friend, your friend hadn’t even noticed him. Joel swallowed hard as his eyes found you.
“Good seein’ you,” he muttered low, the hit to his chest too hard to bear, he quickly walked off. The thought of you being with anyone hurt him in a way he had never felt before.
“Joel-“ he had already turned into an aisle, not wanting to face the reality after the divorce. Hell he pushed the cart aside and walked out the supermarket, angry, angry with himself and how things turned out.
~~
It was a lonely Friday night, Sarah was sleeping over at a friend’s house while Tommy was out with a girl. Never really knew when he was coming back but he always did.
He ended up ordering out that night after not getting his frozen pizza from the market. An old movie playing in the background but he wasn’t paying attention to it, his mind continuously wandering off to the sight of you earlier that day.
He needed a drink.
Pouring himself a glass of scotch the sound of someone knocking at the door distracted him. His brows furrowed as he walked towards the door when he looked into the peep hole and saw it was you. He hesitated for a moment before taking a step back and opening the door.
There you were wearing that damn dress he always loved to see you in, he wondered if you were wearing it for that guy you had been shopping with earlier. The thought making his stomach turn.
“Hey..” you whispered hesitantly.
“Called you a couple times..” he looked back at where his phone sat silently on the coffee table.
“Damn thing always giving me trouble, never understand what the hell its doin’”
“Oh” you spoke softly, his eyes drifting back to you as yours lingered at his coffee table.
“Well what is it” his tone stronger than he meant it to be, you looked back at him slightly taken back by it.
“I uh…I came to pick up the box I had left” he took a step back without saying a word and let you in.
“Same spot ya left it in, I’m sure you remember your way around” he muttered, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. You walked in awkwardly, holding your purse close to you for comfort as you walked down the hall of a home you hadn’t stepped inside in months. He waited quietly by the kitchen as you walked to the bedroom, his scent stronger in there as it always was, it was something that once bought you comfort. Quickly you spotted the box and got down on your knees closing it when you looked up and noticed the picture of yourself on his nightstand. It had been moved closer to the edge as if he was taking a closer look at it while in bed.
“Found what you’re lookin’ for?” His voice making you jump. Clearing your throat you stood up with the box in hand.
“Mhm,” he stood at the edge of the doorway, you slowly moved past him, your arm brushing against his chest. Your touch only making it harder for him to let you go, harder for him to accept the new reality. Then he thought of you with that guy earlier and he couldn’t hold himself anymore.
“How long you been seein’ him?” His question stopping you in your tracks, you slowly turned with a puzzled expression.
“Seeing-oh, you’re talking about Max” you raised your brows.
“Oh no, he’s- no-“ you giggled as he stood serious staring at you from across the room.
“Max he’s a coworker of mine. He’s gay, his boyfriend had just dumped him and he just wanted to hang out for a bit and vent.” You noticed the relief look in his eyes, the breath he let out and you stood still. He didn’t say a word, not exactly knowing what to say but one thing he knew for sure was he didn’t want you to leave.
“Well, I uh..better get going-“
“Wanna have a drink?” He blurt out quicker than he meant to. He could see the hesitation in your eyes as he walked towards you, stopping beside the counter. Before you could decide he walked to the cabinet and pulled out your mug, slowly sliding across the counter to your side.
That damn cup.
That was one thing you left behind purposely.
You and him with your assigned mugs, having yours alone would only taunt you of a life you no longer had.
He filled your cup just enough, you watched him take a quick shot of the drink and pour himself another.
“I thought you were slowing down” you spoke softly, he raised his brows as he swallowed.
“Funny how things change, ain’t it?” He didn’t look at you, it almost hurt him to. This had been the first time the two of you were alone together in months, he never felt he had a real conversation about how things ended..the both of you avoiding the truth.
“Sarah’s asked about you” he crossed his arms leaning back as you took a slow slip of your drink. You were never much of a drinker.
“Oh yeah?” A sad smile on your face.
“She misses you” he continued, eyes down on the ground.
He missed you.
He replayed the day over and over in his mind, coming home to a letter on the nightstand, all your stuff gone. Yeah sure, the two of you had argued the night before but that wasn’t new. He remembered the sinking feeling he felt as he read your words.
I can’t do this anymore, nothing feels right anymore.
You could see in that moment his mind was elsewhere, you wondered what he was thinking of. His brows furrowed as he took a deep breath.
“Maybe I’ll see her around sometime” your voice made him suddenly look up, but he wasn’t focused on what you were saying. For the first time Joel had you in front of him, a few feet away, and all he could think of was how he let you down. How he pushed you away and how much you begged him not to.
“I miss you” he whispered as tears formed in his eyes. Your heart pulled at him, of course you missed him too.
“Joel…” you whispered, his body straightened as he began to walk towards you.
“I can’t- I can’t stop thinking about you, baby” his voice hoarse, he walked around the counter towards you.
“Joel, please” your eyes began to tear, his words held a weight on your heart you couldn’t bear.
“I really should go”
“Please don’t go, please” his eyes desperately searching yours. God he looked so broken, part of you just wanted to hold him.
He towered over you, you felt his breath on you as he spoke.
“We’re suppose to be together, we promised each other that-“
“Joel we-“ his hands were suddenly on your waist, delicate yet firm. Your breathing quickened as he leaned toward you.
“Tell me you don’t love me” your brows furrowed a bit confused.
“Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll leave you alone, I won’t say another word-“
“Joel..we’re already divorced-“
“I don’t care what a damn paper says” he snapped back.
“I never stopped lovin’ you, baby” his eyes now tracing your lips, you felt a flutter in you. A flutter in your chest, down to the pit of your stomach as he leaned in closer when reality set back in.
“No” you shoved his hands away taking a step back.
“You don’t get to do this now…not after everything, I’m still putting myself back together” your voice cracked as you spoke.
Joel could see the pain you felt and it crushed him.
“Not after how much I begged you..” you whispered, his eyes widening with tears.
God, you hate that it still hurts.
“I didn’t know how to…” He exhales, dragging a hand over his face. “Just tryin’ to keep up with the damn bills, Sarah, you-“
“And instead,” you cut in, voice tight, “you gave me nothing. No love, no anger, no anything. Just…emptiness.”
His gaze snaps back to you, something raw breaking through. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” Your throat burns, but you don’t stop. “Do you know what it feels like to beg your husband to let you in?”
Joel swallowed hard.
“You didn’t need to see that.” He whispered.
“Yes. Yes I did.”
“I tried, I swear I did” his voice cracked.
“Not enough,” you whisper. “Not when it counted.”
Joel steps closer, hesitant, like you might disappear if he moves too fast. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds different this time. Not defensive. Just…broken. “I’m so damn sorry. I didn’t realize I was losing you until you were already gone.”
Your chest tightens. Of course he didn’t. That’s always been the problem.
“There was a moment,” you say suddenly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your heart stutters as soon as they’re in the air. “Before I left.”
He stills. “What moment?”
You hesitate. You shouldn’t say it. It doesn’t change anything.
But it does.
“I thought I was pregnant.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Joel’s face drains, eyes widening like the ground just dropped out from under him. “You… what?”
“I missed my period. Took a test. It was positive.” You shrug, but it’s forced, brittle. “False positive. I even went to the doctor to double check.”
Joel fights the urge to step forward.
He’s staring at you like he doesn’t recognize you. Like he’s trying to piece together a version of reality he never saw. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A laugh escapes you, sharp and humorless. “Seriously?”
“I would’ve been there, positive or negative.” he says quickly yet slowly stepping closer again. “You didn’t need to go through that alone”
You meet his eyes, and whatever softness was trying to creep in hardens into something colder. “You weren’t there for me, Joel.”
“I was living with you, sleeping next to you, and I felt completely alone. Why would I tell you something like that when you’d already shut me out of everything else?”
His mouth opens, then closes. There’s no easy answer. There never was.
“You shouldn’t have had to try,” you fire back. “You were my husband. You were supposed to already be there.”
The words hit, and you see it…see them land, see the guilt settle deep in his chest.
For a second, he looks like he’s about to fall apart.
“If you weren’t, I would’ve stood beside you, held you if you needed me to…if you wanted me to. And if you were….I would’ve loved that baby,” he says, voice rough. “I would’ve-“
“I’m glad I wasn’t pregnant.”
The sentence slices through everything.
Joel freezes.
You swallow, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, even as your chest feels like it’s caving in. “Because bringing a child into what we had back then?” You shake your head slowly. “That would’ve been worse.”
His face crumples in that quiet, devastating way that makes it hard to look at him.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Your voice is softer now, but no less firm. “I wasn’t going to raise a kid in a house where love felt like something we had to dig for.”
Another silence. Longer this time. Final.
Joel exhales shakily, eyes glassy but refusing to let anything fall. “I can fix it,” he says, like he’s clinging to the last piece of hope he’s got. “We can fix it. I’ll do better. I know I can. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” Joel just wanted you back, in his life, in his arms, in his bed. He couldn’t take it. Your lips parted just as you were about to respond when the sound of the door being unlocked made you both stiffen. You took a deep breath straightening yourself as Tommy walked in humming to himself when he looked up and noticed you standing a few feet away.
“Oh-“ he knew he had just walked in on something.
“Hey Tommy,” you smiled looking away, you bent down to grab the box you had, avoiding any eye contact with either. Joel watched silently.
“Finally came to get this last box” you chuckled as you walked towards the door before you stopped for a moment and turned to Joel.
“Tell Sarah I’ll see her around, take care.” You turned back as you took a deep breath, smiled at Tommy and let yourself out.
Tommy turned back to see his brother staring at the door you had just walked out of. Watching as a piece of his heart had just walked away from him.
“What was that about?” Tommy’s voice distracted Joel, he looked at his little brother as if he had just realized he stepped into the room.
“Nothin’, your timin’ is always just right” Joel whispered sarcastically before grabbing the bottle of liquor that sat on the counter and walking back to his bedroom..
[SUMMARY: When you and Joel find out you’re expecting twins, the weight of it all begins to take over him.]
Angst, fluff
Joel stood beside you anxiously waiting for the doctor to walk in. You sat on the edge of the paper-covered table..his hand hasn’t left you since you walked in.
The sound of the door opening makes you both take a deep breath as the doctor walks in.
She smiles happily introducing herself and proceeds to what you both have been waiting for.
“Alright, let’s take a look…”
You glance at Joel, already catching the way his jaw tightens,like he’s bracing himself for something, even though everything’s been fine so far. His thumb rubs slow circles against your hand.
The doctor moves the wand around a bit then slowly pauses.
“Hm.”
Joel straightens instantly. “What?” His voice is low, sharp. “What is it?”
“What’s wrong?” You ask practically sitting up.
The doctor chuckles softly. “No, no it’s not bad. Just… unexpected.” She tilts the screen slightly toward you both. “Do you see this?”
You lean forward, trying to make sense of the grainy shapes.
“Looks like blobs?” You say with a confused expression.
Joel narrows his eyes. “Yeah. That don’t clear much up.”
The doctor points. “This is one baby.” Then she shifts slightly. “And this… is the second.”
Joel doesn’t move.
“Second…?” you repeat.
Joel lets out a quiet breath, almost like it’s been knocked out of him. His grip on your hand tightens just a little. “You’re sayin’… there’s two?”
The doctor nods, smiling now. “You’re expecting twins.”
You let out a short laugh half disbelief, half amazement. “Oh my god.”
Joel just stares at the screen, like if he looks hard enough it might rearrange itself into something more manageable. But it doesn’t.
You glance at him, a grinslowly spreading. “Well…guess this means you really won’t let me do anything anymore.”
That pulls him out of it..just barely. His eyes turn to you, brows knitting together. “You weren’t supposed to be doin’ much before this.”
“Can’t keep me off my feet for too long” you chuckled.
“Growin’ 2 babies..,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, like the math of it all doesn’t sit right with him. His hand slides protectively over your stomach, gentler than anything else about him. “That’s…that’s double.”
You raise a brow. “Pretty sure that’s how twins work.” A nervous laugh escapes your lips.
He huffs, but there’s no real bite to it. His focus is already back on you,on your stomach, like he’s trying to shield it from everything all at once.
The doctor continues talking, something about measurements, heartbeats, next steps but Joel’s gone quiet.
You know that look.
“Hey,” you murmur, nudging his arm. “You okay?”
He nods too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
You tilt your head. “Joel.”
He exhales slowly through his nose, eyes still on the screen. “Just…wasn’t expectin’ that, is all.”
“Me neither,” you admit, softer now.
“I can’t believe there’s gonnna be two, I’m gonna push out two? How does that even work…?” You stare off into space thinking of all the scenarios. Joel can hear the panic in your voice begin to appear. He instantly puts his worries behind and moves closer to you, his arm coming around you instinctively as he leans into you.
“Hey don’t you start fillin’ up your mind with too much at once.“ He kisses the side of your head gently.
“You’re gonna take it easy,” he continues .
You roll your eyes lightly. “There it is.”
“I mean it.” His gaze finally meets yours, firm but not too harsh. “No more ‘light work,’ no more helpin’ out with things that ain’t your responsibility. You rest. You eat. You let me handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
He doesn’t smile right away. His thumb brushes your knuckles again, slower this time.
“He’s right you know-“ the doctor intrudes.
“I had twins, you’re going to be exhausted before they even get here. So rest all that you can hun,”
“…We’ll figure it out,” he adds quietly. “All of it.”
You catch a quick glimpse of something in his expression…worry, maybe. The kind he won’t say out loud. The kind that’s already running through numbers, supplies, space, safety.
Two babies.
Double everything.
But his hand never leaves you.
You squeeze it gently. “Hey. We’ve got this.”
He looks at you for a long second.
Then he nods.
“Yeah,” he says, voice rough but certain. “We do.”
~~
You and Joel had barely stepped through the door before Tommy caught on. He was leaning in the doorway like he always does, casual at first, then sharper when he saw your faces.
Sarah was the one who figured it out first. Her eyes widened before anyone said a word.
“Wait… are you serious?”
Joel didn’t answer right away. He never does when it matters most. His hand stayed lightly at your back, steadying you more out of instinct than necessity.
“Twins,” he finally said.
That was all it took.
Sarah practically launched forward, laughing while completely stunned. Tommy let out a low whistle, grinning like he couldn’t help it.
“Damn, Joel,” Tommy said. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you?”
There’s laughter after that, questions, excitement, plans already being thrown around..names, room space, how much trouble two babies are going to be around the house. For a while, it feels warm and exciting.
But you notice Joel doesn’t quite step into it the same way.
He’s there. Even smiling when Sarah grabs his arm and starts talking over him. But his eyes drift a little too often, like he’s already thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.
When things finally quiet down, he says it plain.
“You two are gonna help out when I can’t be around.”
It isn’t a question.
Tommy raises a brow. “Yeah, obviously.”
Sarah nods too, softer now. “Of course.”
“I mean it, I’m gonna be puttin’ in more hours and I’m gonna need your help with her”
You glance up at Joel. “I’ll be fine, you know that.”
His hand tightens slightly at your waist, just for a second.
“I know,” he says. But it doesn’t sound like he believes it fully. Or maybe it’s not you he’s unsure about.
It’s everything else.
That night, you drift off beside him, warm and safe, his arm heavy across your middle like an anchor he refuses to let go of even in sleep.
But when you wake, the space beside you is empty. You find him in the kitchen.
He’s sitting at the table, elbows resting on his knees, head slightly bowed. The room is dim, lit only by the weak glow of the stove clock. He looks like he’s been there a while…too still, too far inside his own head.
“Joel?”
The sound of your voice makes him move instantly. Like he was caught somewhere he didn’t mean to be.
He straightens, pushes a hand through his hair, already standing halfway before you take another step in.
“You ok?” You ask gently as you took his face in your hands.
“Course, darlin’. Just came out for a drink of water” yet there was no cup in sight. You could see it in his eyes, he wasn’t being truthful.
“You know you can talk to me right? I won’t break” you whispered. Joel took a deep breath, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he took your hand and kissed it.
“I’m fine, baby. Don’t need you worryin’ about anything, alright?” He leaned in and kissed your forehead before putting your arm to hold onto him as he walked back to the bedroom. You walked silently, you knew he wouldn’t say how he really felt. Of course he wouldn’t. He was never really good at that.
~~
The next morning you woke up once again alone in bed. The sun had just come up, you yawned walking out the room to see Joel grabbing his keys off the coffee table.
“Where are you going this early?”
“Wasn’t trynna wake you, got called for a job a few hours away just for the day” he grabbed his backpack.
“But you’re off today and you barely slept” you responded with slight disappointment in your tone. Joel looked up at you somewhat in a rush, leaned in and kissed your forehead.
“I’ll be home tonight, you get your rest, baby. I’ll call you in a bit” he walked out without giving you much of a chance to respond.
You watched as he pulled out of the driveway, Tommy stepped out of the room and noticed the way you looked out the window.
“Early bird gets the worm huh” Tommy chuckled before noticing you seemed upset.
“You alright?”
You sighed before looking at Tommy.
“Yeah, probably gonna go back to bed” Tommy watched as you looked back in the direction Joel had just been in. He didn’t say anything else but he already knew what you were thinking.
~~
Joel was suppose to be home that evening, you expected him home for dinner until he called you and told you not to wait up for him. The job taking longer than he expected but he seemed ok with it, he liked being distracted.
“Don’t come back too late” you whispered, he could hear the disappointment you felt.
~~
You’ve got your hands braced on the counter, staring at nothing in particular, like if you focus hard enough you can steady the nausea in your chest instead of just your body. It’s still sinking in….twins. Yesterday’s appointment replays in flashes you didn’t ask for,the doctor’s smile, the two heartbeats, the way your hand went cold before you even processed what she said.
Joel had gone quiet after. His mind had stepped a few feet out of the room and hadn’t come back yet. Your thoughts distracted by the sound of the back door opening with a soft creak.
“Hey,” comes Tommy’s voice.
Tommy steps in like he owns the space but doesn’t try to take it over. He instantly notices, your posture, your face, the way you’re holding yourself together a little too tightly.
“You alright?” he asks, slower now.
You try to nod. It doesn’t land convincingly.
That’s all it takes.
He leans against the counter across from you. “Joel comin’ back late?”
“Yeah,” you say, but it comes out thin.
Tommy watches you the way he always does when he’s trying to figure out what someone’s not saying out loud.
Finally, you break.
“I think he’s not happy,” you say, voice cracking before you can stop it. “About the babies. About…all of it.”
Tommy’s brows pull together immediately. “No. That’s not—no.”
You shake your head, eyes stinging. “He’s different. Since yesterday…like he’s already somewhere else.”
“That ain’t Joel being unhappy,” Tommy says. “That’s Joel being Joel. He…processes things like he’s chewing on a nail until it breaks.”
“It doesn’t feel like that,” you whisper. “It feels like I did something wrong..like he’d rather be away from me.”
Tommy pushes off the counter a little. “Hey. Look at me.” When you don’t, he softens his voice. “He’s happy. I’m telling you that straight.”
You laugh once, broken. “Then why does it feel like I’m alone in this?”
That’s when the tears finally give in, slipping fast and hot down your cheeks. You hate it, hate how fast it comes out of you, hate that you can’t stop it.
Tommy doesn’t panic. He just exhales like he expected this part.
“It’s two babies,” he says quietly. “You think he’s not thinking about every way the world could try to take that from him? From you? That man doesn’t do ‘light feelings.’ He does ‘carry it all and pretend he’s fine.’”
“He was scared,” Tommy corrects gently. “That’s different.”
“I’m scared too” you whisper.
“But it’s even scarier to feel this way alone while he decides to process his feelings away from me-“
“He ain’t trynna add stress, he’s tryna hold it together for you two-“
“Well it’s not working” you snap back a little harsher than you meant to.
“Sorry” you quickly whisper, Tommy shakes his head assuring you it’s fine.
“Why don’t you get some sleep, it’s late.” You feel his hand at the center of your back as if he’s guiding you in the other direction.
“Yes, I’m gonna sleep. Been feeling extra tired already. Thanks for hearing me”
“Anytime, Uncle Tommy’s always here”
You smile at that before walking off to the bedroom.
~~
It’s almost midnight, Joel walks in exhausted, he drops his backpack at the door before noticing Tommy up in the kitchen.
“What’s got you up?” He asked as he walked past him to the fridge for something to drink.
“Waitin’ for you” Tommy responds with a matter of fact tone. He stands up with an open beer in hand and leans back on the counter.
“Listen, I was talkin’ to your lady earlier and she got real upset-“ Joel instantly turned to him, brows knit together.
“Why? What happened?” An almost defensive tone.
“Look I know you’re scared-“ he looks away as he talks not wanting to face what might’ve been Joel’s reaction.
“Two babies is a heck of a scary thing but she’s scared too man-“
“What she tell you?” Joel puts his drink down, takes a quick glance back at your bedroom door before looking back at Tommy.
“You know I don’t get in the middle, Joel. But she thinks you ain’t happy, that you’re somehow upset with her and-“
“No” Joel instantly began shaking his head.
“I know brother I told her but she ain’t convinced. Look I know you ain’t one for talkin’ but you’re gonna have to.” Joel stood silent, he knew his brother was right. Tommy walked past him and patted him on the shoulder, a touch of assurance, he had faith in his brother.
~~
He pauses outside the bedroom door, hand hovering over the knob. For a second, he considers turning around…’giving you space, waiting until morning,but the thought of you going another night feeling like that… thinking he doesn’t want this… it settles wrong in his bones.
Tommy’s words are still sitting heavy in his chest.
She cried, Joel.
That alone is enough to make something twist deep inside him.
So he opens the door slowly.
You’re asleep, curled slightly on your side, one hand resting unconsciously over your stomach. Even in the low light, he can see the faint tension still lingering in your face, like whatever upset you earlier hasn’t fully let go.
He steps closer, quieter now, like he’s afraid of disturbing something fragile. You look..peaceful. Finally. After days of morning sickness, of barely keeping food down, of exhaustion clinging to you no matter how much you sleep.
He exhales through his nose.
He should wake you. He wants to. Wants to fix it now, explain everything, make sure you never doubt him like that again.But you need the rest.
So instead, he carefully pulls off his boots, sets them aside, and slips into bed behind you.
The mattress dips slightly, and for a moment he freezes,..watching to see if you wake but you only move slightly.
Joel moves closer, slowly, until he’s right behind you. One arm slides around your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer as he pulls you gently against his chest. Protective as if he’s trying to make a point without words.
You make a small sound, barely awake, instinctively leaning back into him. Your hand shifts over your stomach, brushing against his arm.
“…Joel…” you mumble, voice soft and thick with sleep.
His chest aches.
“I’m right here,” he whispers, voice low, close to your ear.
He pulls you in a little closer, pressing his forehead lightly against the back of your head.
“Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
You relax fully after that, your body melting into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your breathing evens out again, deeper this time.Joel stays awake a while longer, just holding you.
~~
Tommy had already gone, Sarah’s off at school. You’re in the kitchen when Joel walks in, slower than usual, like he’s unsure how to start.
He took the day off. That alone tells you something’s up.
You glance at him, noticing the hesitation in the way he leans against the counter, arms crossing and uncrossing like he can’t settle.
“Everything okay?” you ask gently.
Joel exhales, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“…Tommy told me what happened yesterday.”
There it is.
You look down slightly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the counter. “Oh.”
“I didn’t mean to-“you start, but he cuts you off.
“Hey. No.” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You ain’t gotta explain bein’ upset.” His voice softens.
“I should’ve seen it.”
That makes you look up.
Joel meets your eyes now, fully, no avoiding it.
“I’m happy,” he says, slower this time, like he needs you to really hear it. “About the twins. About…all of it.”
You search his face, trying to reconcile that with how distant he’s been.
“That don’t mean I ain’t thinkin’,” he continues, voice tightening just slightly. “Means I’m thinkin’ more than ever.”
He starts pacing a little, restless energy building.
“Three kids. You. This house. Bills. Food. Safety…” He exhales sharply. “That’s on me. It’s supposed to be.” He nods firmly as if he’s expected to take it without a reaction.
“I gotta make sure you’re all taken care of. Everythin’. That’s my job.”
You step closer to him, your expression softening.
“Joel…”
He shakes his head again, quieter now.
“I know I ain’t been sayin’ much. But that don’t mean I don’t want this.” His voice drops, more vulnerable than usual. “It just means I know what it costs.”
You reach for his hand, grounding him.
“We’re in this together,” you tell him gently. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”
He looks at your hand holding his, then back at you.
“You’re already carrying two babies,” he says, almost immediately. “That’s more than enough.”
There’s an edge of protectiveness there, but also something softer…like admiration, even if he’d never call it that.
You smile just a little, squeezing his hand.
“These babies are going to have the best daddy,” you reply. “And we will both make it work however we need to.”
Joel nods although he isn’t fully convinced but willing.
He pulls you into him after that, one arm wrapping around you carefully, mindful of your stomach.
“I do want this,” he murmurs, quieter now, more certain. “All of it.”
15 years ago, you begged Joel Miller for a favour, receiving only silence in response. You left Boston thinking he wasn't interested in your lame bargain. You found out, too late, that Joel Miller actually did do you that favour, fulfilling his end of the bargain, leaving you indebted to him. Now, all these years later, he arrived in Jackson, and you found yourself living your life wondering - will he collect?
WARNINGS:
Non-Canon Compliant, Ellie and Joel are Good, The Hospital Thing Happened but with a Twist, Ellie is a Menace, Ex-Raider Joel Miller, Ex-Smuggler Joel Miller, Joel Miller is a Man of Not So Many Words, Joel Miller is a New Dad All Over Again, Reader has Low Self-Esteem, Reader has a Facial Scar, Reader is a Recluse, Reader is in her mid-40s, Slow Burn, Longing, Yearning, Loneliness, Miscommunication, Jealousy, Joel Needs to Learn to Speak, Bullies, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Period Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault.
Let me know if you want to be tagged or taken off the tag list!
MASTER LIST
Part 13
*DISCLAIMER - I don't beta my work, and English is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.
You were lying in the darkness, further back from the sidewalk. Alone. Shivering. Your body was shaking uncontrollably. From cold, pain, fear, you had no idea.
You were so confused. Who was that? Where did they come from? Were you imagining this? Were you just… manifesting? You screamed, but no one came, and then out of nowhere this… bear of a person, complete with growls came and pulled Dean off you.
Oh God, you should thank this person. Right? You should thank him, right?
But… he seems busy.
Your sight was blurry. Your ears were ringing. Blood and saliva were filling your mouth. Your nose… there was liquid trickling out. Whether it be blood or snot, you had no idea.
Ouch… your thighs… it felt like your bones were crushed there. Oh, right, he kneeled on your thighs. Ow…
You pushed yourself up, blinking a few times, trying to see. You could hear footsteps coming. Barely, that is. What you heard the most was the sounds of grunting, growling, of fists hitting something hard.
A little further up, closer to the sidewalk, a man - a large, bear of a man - was straddling Dean, punching the living crap out of him. You could see Dean’s legs struggling, the man trying hard to get out of under his aggressor, in vain.
Men started arriving.
“Joel, stop! What the hell are you doing?”
“Joel! Let him go!”
“Joel, you’re gonna kill him! Stop Joel! What did he do?”
Oh. It’s Joel Miller?
Someone tried to pull the man off Dean, only to be shrugged off like he weighed nothing, and the pummelling continued.
“Joel for God’s sake!”
He didn’t stop. Dean had stopped struggling, his legs laid limp, but twitching.
Oh, fuck, he’s gonna kill the man. You can’t let him do that. Not for you.
Ah shit, you really owe him now, don’t you?
“Joel?” you called out, your voice coming out weak, shaky, more of a mumble than a call out, a lot more garbled than you’d like. Fuck your cheeks were so sore. Could he even hear you over all that pummelling he was doing?
His raised fist stopped, his body immediately turning towards you.
Even though you were hidden in the dark, you could almost feel his eyes on you. He knew where your eyes were exactly, no hesitation whatsoever.
“Jesus, who’s that?” you could hear the men ask, unaware you were there, hidden in the shadows.
“Is that Elena? Elena? Are you okay?” some one else gritted.
“Oh my God, did Dean… What the fuck have you done to her, you asshole?”
There was more scuffling, you could see the silhouette of a man advancing towards Joel Miller and Dean, other men stopping him, whoever he was.
Joel Miller, seemingly ignorant of the happenings around him, immediately got up, coming straight towards you. “Are you okay?” he whispered, kneeling before you, is voice surprisingly gentle despite the growls you heard he emitted mere moments ago, his hands, wet for some reason, gingerly cupping your face.
You hissed, and he pulled his hands back.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, his hands moving towards the buttons of his flannel, undoing them. He took his flannel off and placed it around you, gently helped you put your arms in one by one, clumsily buttoning the shirt back up for you, covering you up.
“My pants, he took my pants…” you started blubbering, looking around, feeling the ground to get your pants back. He did too, squinting in the dark.
“Here Joel,” a man’s voice came forth, stepping closer to hand him your pants.
You flinched, hiding behind Joel Miller. He reached an arm behind him to tell you he understood, that he would protect you, and reached out for the pants, handing them to you, quietly asking you if you need help to put them back on.
You immediately said no, mortified at the idea that he would have to help you put your pants back on. With much difficulty, you managed to get your feet in the pants and pulled them back up. All the while, Joel Miller sat right in front of you, his back on you, letting you use his body to brace yourself while taking care of yourself.
When you were done, you touched his back, letting him know.
He immediately turned.
“Did he… did he…?”
You shook your head. “No. You pulled him off me in time.”
You could finally hear him breathe, relief all over his aura.
“Can you stand?”
“Yeah,” you answered, trying to get up. But fuck, your thighs were so sore. You felt as if you’d been climbing the steepest stairs for hours. You tried a few times but gave up rather quickly. “No. He… he knelt on my thighs… they’re really sore.”
“Okay, I’m gonna help you up, okay? You okay with that?”
You nodded, putting your arms around his neck. He lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. The other men made way for him, someone telling him they had called for Dr Richards.
“I’ll take you to the clinic, okay?” he gently asked.
“No, no clinic. I don’t want to see anyone. People will come and see.”
“Okay,” he said. “Tell him to come to my place,” he instructed the man who spoke to him.
He let you hold onto him for dear life, walking steadily towards his place. He didn’t say anything, but held you close to his body, his warmth giving you comfort.
“Joel? Is she okay? What happened?” you heard your best friend’s panicked voice ask.
“She doesn’t want to go to the clinic. Dr Richards is coming to my place. I’m taking her there.”
“You can take her to my place, I have the extra room…”
“Benjy is there. I want her to rest. Crying baby…” Joel Miller explained.
“Right, of course… I’ll go get her stuff,” Maria conceded, placing her hand on your arm, telling you she would be right there.
Ellie was already waiting with Tommy. News travelled fast. People were milling around on the street, the ladies looking horrified that such an attempt would happen in the safety of Jackson.
Things were a blur from then on. Joel Miller placed you on a bed that was, for some reason, the most comforting bed you had ever had the pleasure to lie in. So firm yet so soft, so warm, so… slept in, there was something about the strange familiarity of it all. You felt safe there. Just like you did in his arms.
Funny. You were just assaulted. You flinched at the man coming forward to hand you your pants, yet, you didn’t pull away from him. You didn’t pull away from Joel Miller. There was a strange safety for you in his arms, even without his shirt on. His bare skin brought you comfort. His warmth, his smell, his breathing, his well-worn flannel surrounding your body. You just wanted to snuggle in and sleep right there in his arms. You found yourself fighting sleep as he laid you on the bed.
You could hear Maria give instructions to people – she was beside herself. Tommy was huffing like a bull when people told him what happened. The couple was awakened by hasty knocks, people telling them Joel Miller attacked that man from that cabin. They were not aware of your involvement until Maria saw him carry you to his place. Ellie had to be held back from going after Dean herself, Pero’s butterfly knife in her hand. Maria dragged her to her place and shut the door behind her, telling the teen with a firm voice that Benjy was her responsibility until things were settled, you later discovered.
Hank was beside himself. Word had it that he had a cleaver hidden on his person when Jesse pulled him aside just before he got to Dean, the man blaming himself to no end for what happened to you. “I told her to wait for me,” he kept saying. “This is my fault. I gave her the Bailey’s. This is my fault. Is she okay? Where is she? Why didn’t she wait for me? Oh God, Miller’s going to kill me. Tovar’s going to kill me. I didn’t protect her. I should have protected her. Where is she?”
Maria and Tommy left when Dr Richards arrived, going to the town to deal with your attacker. Even the usually calm elderly doctor looked as if he was about to turn around and give Dean a lethal injection himself upon seeing your swollen cheeks, your cut lips, your bloody nose, calming down only at the behest of his protégé, his daughter Eve.
Joel Miller stood up when Dr Richards and Eve walked in, wanting to give you some privacy. But he found himself unable to move, his hand held captive in yours, your eyes pleading with him to stay. So he did, sat right back near your head, his other hand caressing your hair, averting his eyes when your clothes were taken off so the two doctors could check your body for other injuries and possible intrusions.
It was strange. This man who was sitting by your head was not the same man you saw in that alley. Of all the people in your life who had come round to check on you, he was by far the calmest. It was as if you clicked on the reset switch when you called out to him – the beast was gone, the man came back. And he was calm, the source of your calm. He was a safe space for you. You knew he was never going to hurt you.
As Eve checked you under the blanket, you distracted yourself, lifting your hand to try to stretch a bit, lifting Joel Miller’s hand by accident. That was when you saw it. The battered state his large, calloused hand was in. His knuckles were bloody, skin torn and caked with dried blood. You could see some fresh ones blooming in a knuckle or two. You forgot your own pains then, surging up to take a closer look, looking for his other hand to see if they were injured as well. The man gently held you down, telling you that you needed to lie down, that you needed to rest, look after yourself first. He was alright, he said.
“No, your hands… you injured it already, it was already shaking before, you injured it before… and now… oh God… Dr Richards…” tears began to pool in your eyes. You kept looking at his hand, your cut lips wobbling. “You need to look at his hands… please…”
“I will take a look at them after, Elena. Let’s take care of you first, okay?”
“No… look at them, please… he’s injured…”
“Elena, I’m fine, I promise. I will ask him to take a look, okay? But only if you let him and Eve take care of you first. Okay?”
You calmed down then, nodding, your chest heaving from trying to control the sobs that were definitely coming.
After what felt like hours of inspection, Dr Richards told you that you had some minor injuries, maybe some bruised bones and sore muscles, a tear inside your cheek, a small cut on your tongue, a few cuts and bruises on your person. But other than that, you should be okay. He and Joel Miller waited in the room while Eve helped you clean up and change into a massive pair of sweats and t shirt.
When you were back in the warm bed, Joel Miller placed a blanket on you, his hand back in your searching one, while Dr Richards injected something in your arms, telling you in such a fatherly voice that you needed to rest. You didn’t even manage to squeeze Joel Miller’s hand before everything went dark.
You woke up alone in that bed, your body feeling like it had just been run over by a car, not that you would know how that must have felt.
The curtains were drawn, the room dim even though the sun seemed to have been up for quite a while outside. Your face felt thick, sore, yet numb at the same time. How that could have happened, you had no idea.
You felt like you were lying in a cocoon. All wrapped up, safe and protected, the whole room feeling like a nice, warm, bowl of soup. A bowl of chicken soup that could keep you feeling full and comfy. You were surrounded by a familiar smell. A comforting smell. A smell that made you want to curl right up and go back to sleep. What smell was that? Where had you smelled it before?
You gingerly sat up, taking the room in for the first time.
There were side tables on either side of the bed, the right one had a couple of books on it, along with a pair of reading glasses. There was a table near the window, silhouettes of statues on them, a chair neatly tucked in under it.
And a familiar looking flannel draped on the back.
You were in Joel Miller’s room.
Huh.
You got up, gingerly trying to walk, your thighs screaming from pain. You made your way to the bathroom, walking past the slightly opened door.
You heard voices from downstairs, your name mentioned again and again. You leaned on the wall where the light switch was and listened.
“You can’t do that!” you heard Joel Miller say, his voice raised, but obviously controlled. “This is her home. She belongs here! You can’t take her away from her home Pero! You’re being unreasonable!”
“Am I?”
“You are, Pero,” you heard Maria say. “I get you are worried for her, but things like this, it can happen anywhere. In the 20 years Jackson had been here, this is literally the first time this has happened. You can’t judge our whole town for this one incident.”
“This town is no good for her. People bully her, people attack her, say things about her. That poor woman has been through so much, and you want her to stay?”
“Pero, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to say this. I am grateful that you are looking out for her. Really, I am. But the truth of the matter is, we don’t know you that well, and you don’t know her as well as we do. She’s our family. We take care of our family. And I can tell you this with confidence, for every one person who bullies her here, we have ten who would do anything to protect her. This is a community. We can’t control what bad habits people have. People gossip. People get mean. People talk. We deal with it, move on like adults do. I can bet there are people like that in your commune too.”
Pero kept quiet. You could feel the tension from upstairs.
“Look, you see Elena as this person who needs protecting…” Maria started to continue her rant.
“She is,” both Joel Miller and Pero chimed in, and you can feel Maria’s eyes roll. You found yourself rolling your eyes too.
“That woman is a lot stronger than you know. Takes strength to turn a deaf ear. She has been bullied all her life, and yet, here she is, still standing. If we hide from everyone who talks behinds our backs we would never leave our houses at all. And let’s not forget, even with what’s happened to her, she was still worried about Joel’s hands instead of herself. That woman is as selfless as they come. We will take care of Dean, make sure he gets what’s coming for him, that much I can promise. But you cannot whisk her away and promise bad things won’t happen in your commune. She spent the last 15 years here without things like this happening. There are bad eggs everywhere, and there’s nothing you could do to stop that.”
Silence.
“I know you have good intentions, but you don’t get to march in here and tell us what to do, you don’t get to make decisions for her. In fact, you don’t even know her as well as we do. However much you care about her, I can tell you for a fact that we care about her a whole heck of a lot more. I would die to protect her, as I know she would for me and my family. Look me in the eye and tell me the people in your commune would do that for her.”
Another silence.
“Look,” Pero said, his voice calmer. “I know that I am no one to tell her what to do. I know I overstepped. I just… I feel bad that I wasn’t here to protect her.”
You heard Joel Miller sigh. “No, Pero, she’s not your responsibility. I shouldn’t have gone out on patrol last night. You warned me about Dean. I had that same feeling you had. I should have changed slots with someone. I should have stayed.”
“Then you would have been at home sleeping instead of passing by in time to save her,” Pero said.
Silence again.
“We’re all emotional here,” Maria said, her voice calm. “Hank is out of his mind with guilt. Kept saying he shouldn’t have entertained her request. Tom and Liz are wrecked with guilt from bringing him in here. And as for myself…” she stopped talking.
You could hear Joel Miller comfort her, telling her this was not her fault.
“I let him come in here. I should have insisted only Tom and Liz stay. There was no need for him to be here too.”
“You didn’t know…” Pero said, his voice comforting.
“But, she shouldn’t have to relocate just to get away from things like this, Pero.”
“I know. I was emotional. I’m sorry.”
Your painful, tired legs almost gave out. You held on to the door to stop yourself from falling. It creaked.
You could hear heavy footsteps run up the stairs before you could even straighten yourself, your legs betraying you and not letting you move as fast as you’d like.
Joel Miller appeared on the landing, his face the definition of panic.
“You okay? How long have you been up?” he asked, a tinge of panic still escaping in his gentle tone.
“I’m okay, I just… I need the bathroom,” you said, your voice garbled from lack of use, from your swollen tongue and cheeks. You turned around and started walking to the bathroom, your legs giving way a little.
“Hey, wait,” he said, coming into the bedroom. “Can I please help you? Just… to get to the bathroom. I’ll get Maria to help you after.”
“Oh, okay.”
You thought he was going to guide you to the bathroom. Instead, he lifted you up and plopped you inside the ensuite in four large steps, busying himself with his chest drawer, taking a towel out for you, giving you the toiletry bag Maria had taken from your place along with it.
“Call out if you need anything,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Maria came up not long after, just to make sure you didn’t fall face down in the shower. You did everything yourself, just needed to hold on to things. Who knew having someone kneel on your thighs could cause so much pain? Other than a few hisses and cringes as you brushed your teeth, you were fine.
Once you were showered and dressed, you started packing the tote Maria had brought over, looking around to see if you’d left anything behind as Maria watched you, arms crossed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, looking at you as if you’d gone mental.
“Home,” you said, your hand touching your cheek. The cut inside bled a little as you brushed your teeth, and speaking stung a bit.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” she said, taking the tote away from you, guiding you back to bed. “You’re staying here one more night. You’re not moving today.”
“What? Why?”
A knock on the door delayed her answer. She opened the door, Joel Miller standing outside with a tray in his hands.
“You’re staying here, your legs don’t even work properly right now, and I don’t imagine your body is feeling 100% either. Dr Richards left some meds for you. Eat. Take them, sleep. You can go back when you can climb that stupid loft of yours again. Until then, you’re staying here.”
“Maria…” you started, before realizing Joel Miller was still there. “Sorry, Joel, thank you, for letting me stay, but this is his room, Maria. I can’t take over his room.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch. Don’t worry about it.”
“But then your body will hurt. You need to be okay for patrol.”
“I’m not going on patrol until I know you are 100%.”
“Joel…”
“Elena, for fuck’s sake, shut up and get into bed. Jesus!” Maria snapped. “For once in your life would you please listen and let us take care of you?”
There was something in her tone and body language that made you cower. So you did what she asked you to do. She got the tray from Joel Miller and sat next to you in his bed. She waited until he left before spooning the congee Hank had sent over and holding the spoon before your mouth, her face unreadable.
“Maria, I can feed myself. My hands work just fine.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Maria…”
“Just… please, Elena. Open your mouth.”
You did, and she gently fed you the congee.
“Hank said to leave it for a while before feeding you. Dr Richards said you shouldn’t have anything hot yet. The cuts in your mouth…” she managed to say before stopping. She looked as if she was chewing her own tongue before feeding you another spoonful. “He sends his love.”
You didn’t say anything, you kept taking the spoonfuls she fed you, your eyes on hers, your gaze unreturned.
“He said to tell you how sorry he was.”
“For what?”
“For giving you that drink. For not walking you home.”
“I asked him for that drink. And he watered it down. And I didn’t wait for him. I left alone on purpose.”
Maria slammed spoon back into the bowl.
“Why did you? He said he made you promise to wait for him to walk you home. Why didn’t you?”
“It was down the street, Maria. This has never happened… I didn’t think it was that big a deal. People could literally see me walk down the street.”
“But they didn’t. You got attacked. If anything else had happened… if Joel hadn’t found you when he did…” she burst into tears.
You hugged her. Tight.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your own tears falling. “I know it’s stupid. I just… I wanted to sleep. I was impatient. But hey…” you pulled away, looking in her red, wet eyes. “I’m okay. See?”
“I’m sorry I let him come in here. I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, hugging you once more. Her body shook as her sobs continued.
“You didn’t know…” you coaxed.
“I should have. I should have known!”
“What are you, Professor X? You’re not a mind reader, Maria. How could you have known?”
“I was so scared when I found out. You cannot get hurt, you hear me? I cannot lose you. You are my sister. You are my best friend. You are very important to me. You cannot get hurt. Promise me!” she sobbed some more.
“I promise. I promise. I’m sorry I scared you.”
The two of you hugged for a long time before she let go, wiped her face with her shirt and continued feeding you. She gave you the painkillers and lay next to you while they took effect.
“I have to leave in a bit, Joel will be here. So will Ellie when she comes back from school. Will you be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah… where are you going?”
“To deal with Dean. They’re calling a meeting to decide what to do with him. technically he’s not a citizen, he doesn’t live here, but he did attack one of us. He’s still unconscious, cuffed to his bed at the clinic. Joel did a number on him. He’s lucky Joel stopped when he did. I can tell you, if he had died, no one would have batted an eyelid.”
You were waiting for the fear, the trauma to come. But it didn’t. Not really. You just felt anger. At him for attacking you, at yourself for being so stupid and vulnerable.
Shit. Were you going to be haunted by this forever?
You knew you were that person. Eddie told you so. You block things out when you need to. You always had. You needed to. If you didn’t, you would be traumatized forever.
You remember Eddie telling you about that time you fell off your bike when you were younger. You were crossing a massive drain. There was a wide-ish plank of wood placed across it for people to cross. You were following Eddie on your bike, but he got delayed from crossing because of some kids before him. You absent mindedly placed your foot down to stop, forgetting you were in the middle of a drain, and the next thing he knew you were no longer behind him, finding you in the drain with a broken wrist.
He swore up and down it happened, but you couldn’t remember it, for the life of you. You remembered having a splint on your hand, but the accident? Nope. And that was not the only thing Eddie had sworn happened either.
And then of course, there was that thing Joel Miller said.
You couldn’t remember outbreak day fully. You couldn’t remember what happened after Eddie took you away from your place. You remembered Daniel attacking you, the next thing you knew Eddie was holding the cast iron skillet and Daniel was on the floor. You couldn’t even remember what his body looked like, Eddie made sure you didn’t.
Those three weeks Joel Miller mentioned? You had no idea what he was talking about. You went straight to Boston, right? That was the next thing you remember. Your place, Daniel, Boston. You didn’t even remember the ride over. You must have been very tired.
But ever since Eddie passed, you hadn’t done that. You remember everything that happened on the journey over. You remember Esther’s gift. You remember the pain you felt when Dr Richards set your ankle when you got to Jackson. You remember the cry you let out when you saw your stitched up face for the first time. You remember every vile thing the newcomers said to you. You remember every bullying incidents, every snarky comments, every sly looks.
The only thing that changed, was the fact that you hid from them in the safety of your warehouse and laundromat. Out of sight, out of mind.
So were you going to be traumatized by what happened last night?
“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll find out, I guess.”
Maria stayed with you until you fell asleep. When you woke up, Ellie was sitting on a chair next to the bed, her feet propped up on the bed near your own, reading a book and listening to the Walkman. You fell back asleep before she even realized you were awake.
When you woke up again, you were alone. The chair Ellie was sitting on wasn’t there anymore. You sat up, groggy as all hell, your throat parched. You saw a glass and a jar filled with water sitting on the night stand and inched towards it. You poured yourself a glass and brought it to your lips, your thirst overwhelming you.
The door, ajar when you woke up, opened with a slight creak.
You jumped, splashing water down your front and on the bed.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you heard Joel Miller say. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was outside the door, I thought you needed help. I’m sorry,” he kept apologizing, his face and half of his body hidden behind the door. “I have you lunch with me, should I bring it in?”
“Yes please.”
He placed the tray on the bed, turning to leave.
“You’re leaving?”
He stopped, looking unsure.
“I don’t know if you would feel comfortable…”
“Please stay.”
He smiled, nodding. He picked the tray up and sat cross-legged on the bed across from you, placing the tray on his lap.
“Hank sent over some nice chicken soup, some bread, some vanilla cake, and some orange juice,” he said, pointing to the dishes on his lap.
“More soup?” you almost groaned.
“I can make you a sandwich…”
“No, it’s okay. What did he serve at the hall today?” you asked, taking the bowl from the tray.
“Some nice chicken soup, some bread, tomato salad. He made the cake for you. didn’t even give me or Ellie one.”
You almost sprayed chicken soup all over him. The man looked extremely pleased with himself for making you laugh, his smile contagious.
“Is chicken soup a full lunch?”
“It is today. The man was in no mood to hear complaints. Stood on a chair and told everyone that his good friend can only eat soft food or liquids for the day, so everyone else will too, in solidarity. No one tried to argue, let me tell you that.”
You laughed, cringing a little when the healing cut on your lips split back open. He stopped laughing then.
“How do you feel?”
“Better,” you lied. Your body was on fire, your muscles were screaming.
“Painkillers don’t work as well… they’re 20 years old. But you should feel okay after a few days rest,” he said, tearing the bread into small pieces for you, placing them in the cold soup.
You took his hand in yours, placing the bowl down and examining it. The skin on his knuckles were shredded, some yellow and purple ointment slathered on it. Same on the other hand. Your tears came shooting up to your eyes, your lips wobbling.
“I’m okay, you should see the other guy,” he joked. But neither of you were laughing.
“I’m scared to go home. To be alone.”
“So stay here. I’ll take care of you. You can go to the laundromat during the day and come home, here.”
“Joel…”
“I’m serious. We have another room downstairs, it’s storage now, but it has a bed, no mattress. But I can get one. I’ll move my stuff down there. You stay here. I promise I won’t bother you. At least I know you’ll be safe. You’re not alone. We don’t have to do the laundromat, weren’t you saying how we should be saving resources? Stay here. Ellie would love that. Please?”
“Joel… I can’t stay here forever. What if…” you fell silent.
“What if what?”
“What if you meet someone?”
He sighed, took the bowl from you and placed it back on the tray, taking the tray off his lap and on the bed. He offered you his hands, palms up. You took them, confused.
“You need to listen to me, Elena. Are you listening?”
You nodded.
“Okay. Good. Listen well. Listen properly,” he said, enunciating every word. “I have met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Met her 20 years ago. Now, there is a problem, she doesn’t remember me. But I will wait until she does.”
“IF she doesn’t, then I will do everything I can to win her heart. If she doesn’t want me like that, I am content just being her friend, a shoulder to cry on, a protector. I will have her in any capacity she will allow me to have. Right now, all I ask of her is to consider moving in with me. Separate room. Separate everything. Because I cannot stand to see her living alone in that wonky, poor excuse of a loft in that laundromat. I know I said I will fix the place for her. But if she moves here, it’ll save me a month of work. So please, Elena, love of my life, consider moving in with me and my daughter Ellie. Please.”
You were stunned into silence. Love of his life? You searched his face for lies. Exaggeration. You found none.
“But…” he continued, his face now a bit crestfallen, “If you are interested in someone else… and you wish to be with him, go with him, then I will coax my heart into being okay with that too. Anything you want. Just please, don’t go back to that laundromat.”
“If I’m interested in someone else? Who?” What the hell was he talking about?
He kept his head down, looking forlorn. He finally looked at you, rolling his eyes, his face contorting into a cringe, “Parrot. I mean Pero.”
You snorted. “Did you just say Parrot?”
He sighed, his eyes still at the back of his head. “He never shuts up!”
You laughed, and this time, he laughed with you. “Joel, Pero is my friend. I don’t see him like that. I don’t think he sees me like that either. I only like…”
You stopped talking, your face feeling hotter than it’s ever been. You took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, okay?”
His face, which had a glimpse of hope on it for a moment, morphed into a reluctant smile. He nodded, mouthing a soft okay, squeezing your hands a little.
He gave you the bowl back and kept you company as you ate your lunch. You even fed him some of the cake, which he happily ate, his eyes never off you.
Once you had taken your painkillers, he put the tray away and helped you settle back in bed, standing up to leave once you were tucked under the blanket, your stomach full, your eyes drowsy.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
He sat next to your head, gently caressing your hair.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“Don’t mention it. I would do anything for you.”
“I owe you.”
“No you don’t.”
“You saved me. I owe you one. A big one.”
He bent over and gently kissed the top of your head. “No charge. Sleep.”
You felt a lot better the next morning. Ellie slept in bed with you, letting Joel sleep on her bed. She was worried for the man, his back wasn’t exactly in the best shape, she told you.
You decided to go to the hall for breakfast that day. Tommy made sure Joel would only stay in the compound for the week, the man refusing to leave you until Dean was dealt with. Your attacker was still cuffed at the clinic, unrecognisable, apparently, not that you wanted to go visit the man. Maria told you the committee wanted to wait until he was able to speak before taking him to trial.
You walked with the Millers to the hall, the townsfolk silent as you walked by, one hand wrapped around Joel Miller’s arm in case your legs gave out again. There was something strange in their mannerism, you felt, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
It wasn’t until you arrived at the hall that you realized what it was.
It was the lack of judgment. No one sneered. No one gawked. No one was curious. No one was focusing on the fact that your face was still a bit swollen. Or the fact that you were holding on to Joel Miller.
They all just looked happy to see you. Happy to see you were okay. Even the Jackson Five and their husbands, though Melissa wasn’t around.
Maria sat down, Benjy strapped on her chest. Tommy and Joel went to get food for the two of you, Ellie beelined to the kitchen for her coffee duties. You got up and told Maria you were going to the kitchen, you needed to see Hank. The man had been so ashamed of himself for not realizing you had gone home by yourself he didn’t dare come see you at all.
You walked into the kitchen, the man immediately clocking you, taking a chair for you to sit on. He sat across from you, head down.
“Elena…” he began. He couldn’t continue, bursting into tears. You leaned forward and hugged him crying along with him.
“Hey, none of that, it’s not your fault.”
He hugged you back, mumbling over and over how sorry he was. It took you a while to be able to form words from how upset he was, this teddy bear of a man, sobbing into your shoulder.
“Well… you know what to do to apologize…” you finally said.
He let you go, wiping his face. “Anything. Name it.”
“Make me some pancakes? Hungry. Only had soups yesterday.”
He burst out laughing, “Your wish is my command,” he said. “You want cake? I have cake for you.”
You nodded vigorously, happy to see him laughing again. You wiped your own wet, salted face, deciding to go to the bathroom to splash some water on it before going back out. You went straight to one of the seemingly unlocked doors and pushed.
Melissa was on the counter, Tony between her legs, playing tonsil tennis. Both of them shocked to see you.
“Sorry,” you muttered, going to the next bathroom instead. You splashed some water on your face, wiping off any excess water as best as you could before walking back out, wanting to leave that area before you could hear anything. You sat down, flustered as fuck, to the point that Maria noticed.
“What’s wrong? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
“Nothing,” you said, eyeing the corridor to the bathrooms. You saw Mr Aldridge go into the bathroom you had just vacated, closing the door behind him.
Uh oh.
Alice walked up to the bathrooms, her hands held out in front of her, fingers splayed as if soiled with something, waiting for one of the bathrooms to be vacated.
No…
One of the bathroom doors opened, Mr Aldridge walked out, and Melissa went in, the door left opened. The other bathroom door opened, Tony peeking out, looking around before emerging, Melissa following close behind.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
Alice’s voice rang clear through the hall, the sounds of cutlery on plates and chatters stopping.
“Alice, it’s not what it looks like,” Tony stuttered.
“Melissa? You’ve been fucking Melissa?”
“Alice,” Melissa began, but whatever she was about to say was drowned by Alice’s screeching. She found herself being pulled out to the main hall by the hair by a very angry Alice.
“My husband, Mel? My husband? MY HUSBAND? I knew you were desperate but MY HUSBAND? I took you in! I was nice to you! I treated you like a sister and you fucked my husband?”
It took Tony and the rest of the Jackson Five to restrain Alice, who was clawing her way to Melissa, trying to scratch her eyes out. Melissa cowered by the coffee urns, newly placed there by a shocked Ellie, who ran back into the kitchen to get out of the like of fire.
Alice was pulled out of the hall by her husband and friends, still screaming profanities at her former friend.
All eyes were on Melissa, the woman now standing in shame, looking around the hall, finding no friendly eyes on her whatsoever. She made to leave but before she could, her eyes landed on you.
“You told her, didn’t you?” she seethed, advancing on you. “What is your problem with me, Quasi? This is all your fault! You took Joel Miller away from me. You even took Dean away from me! I don’t even have a chance with Pero because you had your claws all over him. I was left begging for scraps from whoever would have me! I did what I had to do! But you’re not happy until I become a pariah, are you? You want to run me out of town, don’t you?”
“Melissa! Stop it! Leave! Go settle this with Alice!” Maria stood up, Tommy putting himself between the deranged-looking Melissa and his family. Joel Miller stood in front of you, a hand keeping you behind him.
Melissa scoffed. “Of course you would back her up. I don’t see what you all see in her. Am I the only one not blind to the real her? She’s vile! She hides behind her hoodies and that fucking laundromat, and now she hides behind all of you! She can’t stand to see me happy, can she?”
“Melissa, that’s enough. It’s not her fault you did what you did. You made your bed, lie in it,” Joel Miller’s voice rang clear, shocking the woman.
Melissa looked deflated. “I don’t get it, what do you see in her that you want her so much? She’s a fucking whore, dating men after men, going through the town like a lawnmower. And you still want her. I bet you anything she trapped Dean in that alley that night. She knew Dean was interested in me, and she would do anything to stop him. Just like she did with you,” she snarked.
“Last warning, Melissa. Leave,” Joel Miller spoke once more, a tone of finality in his voice.
Melissa gave you one final glare before huffing and running dramatically towards the kitchen, possibly to leave via the back door.
Joel Miller turned around and checked on you, “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said.
“Stay here, okay? I’m gonna get your food.”
“It’s okay, Hank is making me pancakes, you go get your food.”
He nodded, looking around to see if Melissa was still around. She was not. He and Tommy went back to the line, satisfied that you, Maria and Benjy were safe.
Maria raised her brows at you, looking shocked and relieved at the same time, asking you if you were okay. You simply nodded before shaking your head in disbelief.
“Hey, Quasi,” a familiar, unwelcomed voice called out.
You looked up in time to see Melissa approaching with a steaming pot in her hand, lines of steam clearly wafting from it.
“Maybe you need to be put in your place a bit better,” she seethed, before swinging her hand back, ready to throw a pot full of piping hot water on your face.
15 years ago, you begged Joel Miller for a favour, receiving only silence in response. You left Boston thinking he wasn't interested in your lame bargain. You found out, too late, that Joel Miller actually did do you that favour, fulfilling his end of the bargain, leaving you indebted to him. Now, all these years later, he arrived in Jackson, and you found yourself living your life wondering - will he collect?
WARNINGS:
Non-Canon Compliant, Ellie and Joel are Good, The Hospital Thing Happened but with a Twist, Ellie is a Menace, Ex-Raider Joel Miller, Ex-Smuggler Joel Miller, Joel Miller is a Man of Not So Many Words, Joel Miller is a New Dad All Over Again, Reader has Low Self-Esteem, Reader has a Facial Scar, Reader is a Recluse, Reader is in her mid-40s, Slow Burn, Longing, Yearning, Loneliness, Miscommunication, Jealousy, Joel Needs to Learn to Speak, Bullies, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Period Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault.
Let me know if you want to be tagged or taken off the tag list!
MASTER LIST
Part 13
*DISCLAIMER - I don't beta my work, and English is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.
You were lying in the darkness, further back from the sidewalk. Alone. Shivering. Your body was shaking uncontrollably. From cold, pain, fear, you had no idea.
You were so confused. Who was that? Where did they come from? Were you imagining this? Were you just… manifesting? You screamed, but no one came, and then out of nowhere this… bear of a person, complete with growls came and pulled Dean off you.
Oh God, you should thank this person. Right? You should thank him, right?
But… he seems busy.
Your sight was blurry. Your ears were ringing. Blood and saliva were filling your mouth. Your nose… there was liquid trickling out. Whether it be blood or snot, you had no idea.
Ouch… your thighs… it felt like your bones were crushed there. Oh, right, he kneeled on your thighs. Ow…
You pushed yourself up, blinking a few times, trying to see. You could hear footsteps coming. Barely, that is. What you heard the most was the sounds of grunting, growling, of fists hitting something hard.
A little further up, closer to the sidewalk, a man - a large, bear of a man - was straddling Dean, punching the living crap out of him. You could see Dean’s legs struggling, the man trying hard to get out of under his aggressor, in vain.
Men started arriving.
“Joel, stop! What the hell are you doing?”
“Joel! Let him go!”
“Joel, you’re gonna kill him! Stop Joel! What did he do?”
Oh. It’s Joel Miller?
Someone tried to pull the man off Dean, only to be shrugged off like he weighed nothing, and the pummelling continued.
“Joel for God’s sake!”
He didn’t stop. Dean had stopped struggling, his legs laid limp, but twitching.
Oh, fuck, he’s gonna kill the man. You can’t let him do that. Not for you.
Ah shit, you really owe him now, don’t you?
“Joel?” you called out, your voice coming out weak, shaky, more of a mumble than a call out, a lot more garbled than you’d like. Fuck your cheeks were so sore. Could he even hear you over all that pummelling he was doing?
His raised fist stopped, his body immediately turning towards you.
Even though you were hidden in the dark, you could almost feel his eyes on you. He knew where your eyes were exactly, no hesitation whatsoever.
“Jesus, who’s that?” you could hear the men ask, unaware you were there, hidden in the shadows.
“Is that Elena? Elena? Are you okay?” some one else gritted.
“Oh my God, did Dean… What the fuck have you done to her, you asshole?”
There was more scuffling, you could see the silhouette of a man advancing towards Joel Miller and Dean, other men stopping him, whoever he was.
Joel Miller, seemingly ignorant of the happenings around him, immediately got up, coming straight towards you. “Are you okay?” he whispered, kneeling before you, is voice surprisingly gentle despite the growls you heard he emitted mere moments ago, his hands, wet for some reason, gingerly cupping your face.
You hissed, and he pulled his hands back.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, his hands moving towards the buttons of his flannel, undoing them. He took his flannel off and placed it around you, gently helped you put your arms in one by one, clumsily buttoning the shirt back up for you, covering you up.
“My pants, he took my pants…” you started blubbering, looking around, feeling the ground to get your pants back. He did too, squinting in the dark.
“Here Joel,” a man’s voice came forth, stepping closer to hand him your pants.
You flinched, hiding behind Joel Miller. He reached an arm behind him to tell you he understood, that he would protect you, and reached out for the pants, handing them to you, quietly asking you if you need help to put them back on.
You immediately said no, mortified at the idea that he would have to help you put your pants back on. With much difficulty, you managed to get your feet in the pants and pulled them back up. All the while, Joel Miller sat right in front of you, his back on you, letting you use his body to brace yourself while taking care of yourself.
When you were done, you touched his back, letting him know.
He immediately turned.
“Did he… did he…?”
You shook your head. “No. You pulled him off me in time.”
You could finally hear him breathe, relief all over his aura.
“Can you stand?”
“Yeah,” you answered, trying to get up. But fuck, your thighs were so sore. You felt as if you’d been climbing the steepest stairs for hours. You tried a few times but gave up rather quickly. “No. He… he knelt on my thighs… they’re really sore.”
“Okay, I’m gonna help you up, okay? You okay with that?”
You nodded, putting your arms around his neck. He lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. The other men made way for him, someone telling him they had called for Dr Richards.
“I’ll take you to the clinic, okay?” he gently asked.
“No, no clinic. I don’t want to see anyone. People will come and see.”
“Okay,” he said. “Tell him to come to my place,” he instructed the man who spoke to him.
He let you hold onto him for dear life, walking steadily towards his place. He didn’t say anything, but held you close to his body, his warmth giving you comfort.
“Joel? Is she okay? What happened?” you heard your best friend’s panicked voice ask.
“She doesn’t want to go to the clinic. Dr Richards is coming to my place. I’m taking her there.”
“You can take her to my place, I have the extra room…”
“Benjy is there. I want her to rest. Crying baby…” Joel Miller explained.
“Right, of course… I’ll go get her stuff,” Maria conceded, placing her hand on your arm, telling you she would be right there.
Ellie was already waiting with Tommy. News travelled fast. People were milling around on the street, the ladies looking horrified that such an attempt would happen in the safety of Jackson.
Things were a blur from then on. Joel Miller placed you on a bed that was, for some reason, the most comforting bed you had ever had the pleasure to lie in. So firm yet so soft, so warm, so… slept in, there was something about the strange familiarity of it all. You felt safe there. Just like you did in his arms.
Funny. You were just assaulted. You flinched at the man coming forward to hand you your pants, yet, you didn’t pull away from him. You didn’t pull away from Joel Miller. There was a strange safety for you in his arms, even without his shirt on. His bare skin brought you comfort. His warmth, his smell, his breathing, his well-worn flannel surrounding your body. You just wanted to snuggle in and sleep right there in his arms. You found yourself fighting sleep as he laid you on the bed.
You could hear Maria give instructions to people – she was beside herself. Tommy was huffing like a bull when people told him what happened. The couple was awakened by hasty knocks, people telling them Joel Miller attacked that man from that cabin. They were not aware of your involvement until Maria saw him carry you to his place. Ellie had to be held back from going after Dean herself, Pero’s butterfly knife in her hand. Maria dragged her to her place and shut the door behind her, telling the teen with a firm voice that Benjy was her responsibility until things were settled, you later discovered.
Hank was beside himself. Word had it that he had a cleaver hidden on his person when Jesse pulled him aside just before he got to Dean, the man blaming himself to no end for what happened to you. “I told her to wait for me,” he kept saying. “This is my fault. I gave her the Bailey’s. This is my fault. Is she okay? Where is she? Why didn’t she wait for me? Oh God, Miller’s going to kill me. Tovar’s going to kill me. I didn’t protect her. I should have protected her. Where is she?”
Maria and Tommy left when Dr Richards arrived, going to the town to deal with your attacker. Even the usually calm elderly doctor looked as if he was about to turn around and give Dean a lethal injection himself upon seeing your swollen cheeks, your cut lips, your bloody nose, calming down only at the behest of his protégé, his daughter Eve.
Joel Miller stood up when Dr Richards and Eve walked in, wanting to give you some privacy. But he found himself unable to move, his hand held captive in yours, your eyes pleading with him to stay. So he did, sat right back near your head, his other hand caressing your hair, averting his eyes when your clothes were taken off so the two doctors could check your body for other injuries and possible intrusions.
It was strange. This man who was sitting by your head was not the same man you saw in that alley. Of all the people in your life who had come round to check on you, he was by far the calmest. It was as if you clicked on the reset switch when you called out to him – the beast was gone, the man came back. And he was calm, the source of your calm. He was a safe space for you. You knew he was never going to hurt you.
As Eve checked you under the blanket, you distracted yourself, lifting your hand to try to stretch a bit, lifting Joel Miller’s hand by accident. That was when you saw it. The battered state his large, calloused hand was in. His knuckles were bloody, skin torn and caked with dried blood. You could see some fresh ones blooming in a knuckle or two. You forgot your own pains then, surging up to take a closer look, looking for his other hand to see if they were injured as well. The man gently held you down, telling you that you needed to lie down, that you needed to rest, look after yourself first. He was alright, he said.
“No, your hands… you injured it already, it was already shaking before, you injured it before… and now… oh God… Dr Richards…” tears began to pool in your eyes. You kept looking at his hand, your cut lips wobbling. “You need to look at his hands… please…”
“I will take a look at them after, Elena. Let’s take care of you first, okay?”
“No… look at them, please… he’s injured…”
“Elena, I’m fine, I promise. I will ask him to take a look, okay? But only if you let him and Eve take care of you first. Okay?”
You calmed down then, nodding, your chest heaving from trying to control the sobs that were definitely coming.
After what felt like hours of inspection, Dr Richards told you that you had some minor injuries, maybe some bruised bones and sore muscles, a tear inside your cheek, a small cut on your tongue, a few cuts and bruises on your person. But other than that, you should be okay. He and Joel Miller waited in the room while Eve helped you clean up and change into a massive pair of sweats and t shirt.
When you were back in the warm bed, Joel Miller placed a blanket on you, his hand back in your searching one, while Dr Richards injected something in your arms, telling you in such a fatherly voice that you needed to rest. You didn’t even manage to squeeze Joel Miller’s hand before everything went dark.
You woke up alone in that bed, your body feeling like it had just been run over by a car, not that you would know how that must have felt.
The curtains were drawn, the room dim even though the sun seemed to have been up for quite a while outside. Your face felt thick, sore, yet numb at the same time. How that could have happened, you had no idea.
You felt like you were lying in a cocoon. All wrapped up, safe and protected, the whole room feeling like a nice, warm, bowl of soup. A bowl of chicken soup that could keep you feeling full and comfy. You were surrounded by a familiar smell. A comforting smell. A smell that made you want to curl right up and go back to sleep. What smell was that? Where had you smelled it before?
You gingerly sat up, taking the room in for the first time.
There were side tables on either side of the bed, the right one had a couple of books on it, along with a pair of reading glasses. There was a table near the window, silhouettes of statues on them, a chair neatly tucked in under it.
And a familiar looking flannel draped on the back.
You were in Joel Miller’s room.
Huh.
You got up, gingerly trying to walk, your thighs screaming from pain. You made your way to the bathroom, walking past the slightly opened door.
You heard voices from downstairs, your name mentioned again and again. You leaned on the wall where the light switch was and listened.
“You can’t do that!” you heard Joel Miller say, his voice raised, but obviously controlled. “This is her home. She belongs here! You can’t take her away from her home Pero! You’re being unreasonable!”
“Am I?”
“You are, Pero,” you heard Maria say. “I get you are worried for her, but things like this, it can happen anywhere. In the 20 years Jackson had been here, this is literally the first time this has happened. You can’t judge our whole town for this one incident.”
“This town is no good for her. People bully her, people attack her, say things about her. That poor woman has been through so much, and you want her to stay?”
“Pero, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to say this. I am grateful that you are looking out for her. Really, I am. But the truth of the matter is, we don’t know you that well, and you don’t know her as well as we do. She’s our family. We take care of our family. And I can tell you this with confidence, for every one person who bullies her here, we have ten who would do anything to protect her. This is a community. We can’t control what bad habits people have. People gossip. People get mean. People talk. We deal with it, move on like adults do. I can bet there are people like that in your commune too.”
Pero kept quiet. You could feel the tension from upstairs.
“Look, you see Elena as this person who needs protecting…” Maria started to continue her rant.
“She is,” both Joel Miller and Pero chimed in, and you can feel Maria’s eyes roll. You found yourself rolling your eyes too.
“That woman is a lot stronger than you know. Takes strength to turn a deaf ear. She has been bullied all her life, and yet, here she is, still standing. If we hide from everyone who talks behinds our backs we would never leave our houses at all. And let’s not forget, even with what’s happened to her, she was still worried about Joel’s hands instead of herself. That woman is as selfless as they come. We will take care of Dean, make sure he gets what’s coming for him, that much I can promise. But you cannot whisk her away and promise bad things won’t happen in your commune. She spent the last 15 years here without things like this happening. There are bad eggs everywhere, and there’s nothing you could do to stop that.”
Silence.
“I know you have good intentions, but you don’t get to march in here and tell us what to do, you don’t get to make decisions for her. In fact, you don’t even know her as well as we do. However much you care about her, I can tell you for a fact that we care about her a whole heck of a lot more. I would die to protect her, as I know she would for me and my family. Look me in the eye and tell me the people in your commune would do that for her.”
Another silence.
“Look,” Pero said, his voice calmer. “I know that I am no one to tell her what to do. I know I overstepped. I just… I feel bad that I wasn’t here to protect her.”
You heard Joel Miller sigh. “No, Pero, she’s not your responsibility. I shouldn’t have gone out on patrol last night. You warned me about Dean. I had that same feeling you had. I should have changed slots with someone. I should have stayed.”
“Then you would have been at home sleeping instead of passing by in time to save her,” Pero said.
Silence again.
“We’re all emotional here,” Maria said, her voice calm. “Hank is out of his mind with guilt. Kept saying he shouldn’t have entertained her request. Tom and Liz are wrecked with guilt from bringing him in here. And as for myself…” she stopped talking.
You could hear Joel Miller comfort her, telling her this was not her fault.
“I let him come in here. I should have insisted only Tom and Liz stay. There was no need for him to be here too.”
“You didn’t know…” Pero said, his voice comforting.
“But, she shouldn’t have to relocate just to get away from things like this, Pero.”
“I know. I was emotional. I’m sorry.”
Your painful, tired legs almost gave out. You held on to the door to stop yourself from falling. It creaked.
You could hear heavy footsteps run up the stairs before you could even straighten yourself, your legs betraying you and not letting you move as fast as you’d like.
Joel Miller appeared on the landing, his face the definition of panic.
“You okay? How long have you been up?” he asked, a tinge of panic still escaping in his gentle tone.
“I’m okay, I just… I need the bathroom,” you said, your voice garbled from lack of use, from your swollen tongue and cheeks. You turned around and started walking to the bathroom, your legs giving way a little.
“Hey, wait,” he said, coming into the bedroom. “Can I please help you? Just… to get to the bathroom. I’ll get Maria to help you after.”
“Oh, okay.”
You thought he was going to guide you to the bathroom. Instead, he lifted you up and plopped you inside the ensuite in four large steps, busying himself with his chest drawer, taking a towel out for you, giving you the toiletry bag Maria had taken from your place along with it.
“Call out if you need anything,” he said, closing the door behind him.
Maria came up not long after, just to make sure you didn’t fall face down in the shower. You did everything yourself, just needed to hold on to things. Who knew having someone kneel on your thighs could cause so much pain? Other than a few hisses and cringes as you brushed your teeth, you were fine.
Once you were showered and dressed, you started packing the tote Maria had brought over, looking around to see if you’d left anything behind as Maria watched you, arms crossed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked, looking at you as if you’d gone mental.
“Home,” you said, your hand touching your cheek. The cut inside bled a little as you brushed your teeth, and speaking stung a bit.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” she said, taking the tote away from you, guiding you back to bed. “You’re staying here one more night. You’re not moving today.”
“What? Why?”
A knock on the door delayed her answer. She opened the door, Joel Miller standing outside with a tray in his hands.
“You’re staying here, your legs don’t even work properly right now, and I don’t imagine your body is feeling 100% either. Dr Richards left some meds for you. Eat. Take them, sleep. You can go back when you can climb that stupid loft of yours again. Until then, you’re staying here.”
“Maria…” you started, before realizing Joel Miller was still there. “Sorry, Joel, thank you, for letting me stay, but this is his room, Maria. I can’t take over his room.”
“I’ll sleep on the couch. Don’t worry about it.”
“But then your body will hurt. You need to be okay for patrol.”
“I’m not going on patrol until I know you are 100%.”
“Joel…”
“Elena, for fuck’s sake, shut up and get into bed. Jesus!” Maria snapped. “For once in your life would you please listen and let us take care of you?”
There was something in her tone and body language that made you cower. So you did what she asked you to do. She got the tray from Joel Miller and sat next to you in his bed. She waited until he left before spooning the congee Hank had sent over and holding the spoon before your mouth, her face unreadable.
“Maria, I can feed myself. My hands work just fine.”
“Open your mouth.”
“Maria…”
“Just… please, Elena. Open your mouth.”
You did, and she gently fed you the congee.
“Hank said to leave it for a while before feeding you. Dr Richards said you shouldn’t have anything hot yet. The cuts in your mouth…” she managed to say before stopping. She looked as if she was chewing her own tongue before feeding you another spoonful. “He sends his love.”
You didn’t say anything, you kept taking the spoonfuls she fed you, your eyes on hers, your gaze unreturned.
“He said to tell you how sorry he was.”
“For what?”
“For giving you that drink. For not walking you home.”
“I asked him for that drink. And he watered it down. And I didn’t wait for him. I left alone on purpose.”
Maria slammed spoon back into the bowl.
“Why did you? He said he made you promise to wait for him to walk you home. Why didn’t you?”
“It was down the street, Maria. This has never happened… I didn’t think it was that big a deal. People could literally see me walk down the street.”
“But they didn’t. You got attacked. If anything else had happened… if Joel hadn’t found you when he did…” she burst into tears.
You hugged her. Tight.
“I’m sorry,” you said, your own tears falling. “I know it’s stupid. I just… I wanted to sleep. I was impatient. But hey…” you pulled away, looking in her red, wet eyes. “I’m okay. See?”
“I’m sorry I let him come in here. I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, hugging you once more. Her body shook as her sobs continued.
“You didn’t know…” you coaxed.
“I should have. I should have known!”
“What are you, Professor X? You’re not a mind reader, Maria. How could you have known?”
“I was so scared when I found out. You cannot get hurt, you hear me? I cannot lose you. You are my sister. You are my best friend. You are very important to me. You cannot get hurt. Promise me!” she sobbed some more.
“I promise. I promise. I’m sorry I scared you.”
The two of you hugged for a long time before she let go, wiped her face with her shirt and continued feeding you. She gave you the painkillers and lay next to you while they took effect.
“I have to leave in a bit, Joel will be here. So will Ellie when she comes back from school. Will you be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah… where are you going?”
“To deal with Dean. They’re calling a meeting to decide what to do with him. technically he’s not a citizen, he doesn’t live here, but he did attack one of us. He’s still unconscious, cuffed to his bed at the clinic. Joel did a number on him. He’s lucky Joel stopped when he did. I can tell you, if he had died, no one would have batted an eyelid.”
You were waiting for the fear, the trauma to come. But it didn’t. Not really. You just felt anger. At him for attacking you, at yourself for being so stupid and vulnerable.
Shit. Were you going to be haunted by this forever?
You knew you were that person. Eddie told you so. You block things out when you need to. You always had. You needed to. If you didn’t, you would be traumatized forever.
You remember Eddie telling you about that time you fell off your bike when you were younger. You were crossing a massive drain. There was a wide-ish plank of wood placed across it for people to cross. You were following Eddie on your bike, but he got delayed from crossing because of some kids before him. You absent mindedly placed your foot down to stop, forgetting you were in the middle of a drain, and the next thing he knew you were no longer behind him, finding you in the drain with a broken wrist.
He swore up and down it happened, but you couldn’t remember it, for the life of you. You remembered having a splint on your hand, but the accident? Nope. And that was not the only thing Eddie had sworn happened either.
And then of course, there was that thing Joel Miller said.
You couldn’t remember outbreak day fully. You couldn’t remember what happened after Eddie took you away from your place. You remembered Daniel attacking you, the next thing you knew Eddie was holding the cast iron skillet and Daniel was on the floor. You couldn’t even remember what his body looked like, Eddie made sure you didn’t.
Those three weeks Joel Miller mentioned? You had no idea what he was talking about. You went straight to Boston, right? That was the next thing you remember. Your place, Daniel, Boston. You didn’t even remember the ride over. You must have been very tired.
But ever since Eddie passed, you hadn’t done that. You remember everything that happened on the journey over. You remember Esther’s gift. You remember the pain you felt when Dr Richards set your ankle when you got to Jackson. You remember the cry you let out when you saw your stitched up face for the first time. You remember every vile thing the newcomers said to you. You remember every bullying incidents, every snarky comments, every sly looks.
The only thing that changed, was the fact that you hid from them in the safety of your warehouse and laundromat. Out of sight, out of mind.
So were you going to be traumatized by what happened last night?
“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll find out, I guess.”
Maria stayed with you until you fell asleep. When you woke up, Ellie was sitting on a chair next to the bed, her feet propped up on the bed near your own, reading a book and listening to the Walkman. You fell back asleep before she even realized you were awake.
When you woke up again, you were alone. The chair Ellie was sitting on wasn’t there anymore. You sat up, groggy as all hell, your throat parched. You saw a glass and a jar filled with water sitting on the night stand and inched towards it. You poured yourself a glass and brought it to your lips, your thirst overwhelming you.
The door, ajar when you woke up, opened with a slight creak.
You jumped, splashing water down your front and on the bed.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” you heard Joel Miller say. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was outside the door, I thought you needed help. I’m sorry,” he kept apologizing, his face and half of his body hidden behind the door. “I have you lunch with me, should I bring it in?”
“Yes please.”
He placed the tray on the bed, turning to leave.
“You’re leaving?”
He stopped, looking unsure.
“I don’t know if you would feel comfortable…”
“Please stay.”
He smiled, nodding. He picked the tray up and sat cross-legged on the bed across from you, placing the tray on his lap.
“Hank sent over some nice chicken soup, some bread, some vanilla cake, and some orange juice,” he said, pointing to the dishes on his lap.
“More soup?” you almost groaned.
“I can make you a sandwich…”
“No, it’s okay. What did he serve at the hall today?” you asked, taking the bowl from the tray.
“Some nice chicken soup, some bread, tomato salad. He made the cake for you. didn’t even give me or Ellie one.”
You almost sprayed chicken soup all over him. The man looked extremely pleased with himself for making you laugh, his smile contagious.
“Is chicken soup a full lunch?”
“It is today. The man was in no mood to hear complaints. Stood on a chair and told everyone that his good friend can only eat soft food or liquids for the day, so everyone else will too, in solidarity. No one tried to argue, let me tell you that.”
You laughed, cringing a little when the healing cut on your lips split back open. He stopped laughing then.
“How do you feel?”
“Better,” you lied. Your body was on fire, your muscles were screaming.
“Painkillers don’t work as well… they’re 20 years old. But you should feel okay after a few days rest,” he said, tearing the bread into small pieces for you, placing them in the cold soup.
You took his hand in yours, placing the bowl down and examining it. The skin on his knuckles were shredded, some yellow and purple ointment slathered on it. Same on the other hand. Your tears came shooting up to your eyes, your lips wobbling.
“I’m okay, you should see the other guy,” he joked. But neither of you were laughing.
“I’m scared to go home. To be alone.”
“So stay here. I’ll take care of you. You can go to the laundromat during the day and come home, here.”
“Joel…”
“I’m serious. We have another room downstairs, it’s storage now, but it has a bed, no mattress. But I can get one. I’ll move my stuff down there. You stay here. I promise I won’t bother you. At least I know you’ll be safe. You’re not alone. We don’t have to do the laundromat, weren’t you saying how we should be saving resources? Stay here. Ellie would love that. Please?”
“Joel… I can’t stay here forever. What if…” you fell silent.
“What if what?”
“What if you meet someone?”
He sighed, took the bowl from you and placed it back on the tray, taking the tray off his lap and on the bed. He offered you his hands, palms up. You took them, confused.
“You need to listen to me, Elena. Are you listening?”
You nodded.
“Okay. Good. Listen well. Listen properly,” he said, enunciating every word. “I have met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. Met her 20 years ago. Now, there is a problem, she doesn’t remember me. But I will wait until she does.”
“IF she doesn’t, then I will do everything I can to win her heart. If she doesn’t want me like that, I am content just being her friend, a shoulder to cry on, a protector. I will have her in any capacity she will allow me to have. Right now, all I ask of her is to consider moving in with me. Separate room. Separate everything. Because I cannot stand to see her living alone in that wonky, poor excuse of a loft in that laundromat. I know I said I will fix the place for her. But if she moves here, it’ll save me a month of work. So please, Elena, love of my life, consider moving in with me and my daughter Ellie. Please.”
You were stunned into silence. Love of his life? You searched his face for lies. Exaggeration. You found none.
“But…” he continued, his face now a bit crestfallen, “If you are interested in someone else… and you wish to be with him, go with him, then I will coax my heart into being okay with that too. Anything you want. Just please, don’t go back to that laundromat.”
“If I’m interested in someone else? Who?” What the hell was he talking about?
He kept his head down, looking forlorn. He finally looked at you, rolling his eyes, his face contorting into a cringe, “Parrot. I mean Pero.”
You snorted. “Did you just say Parrot?”
He sighed, his eyes still at the back of his head. “He never shuts up!”
You laughed, and this time, he laughed with you. “Joel, Pero is my friend. I don’t see him like that. I don’t think he sees me like that either. I only like…”
You stopped talking, your face feeling hotter than it’s ever been. You took a deep breath. “Let me think about it, okay?”
His face, which had a glimpse of hope on it for a moment, morphed into a reluctant smile. He nodded, mouthing a soft okay, squeezing your hands a little.
He gave you the bowl back and kept you company as you ate your lunch. You even fed him some of the cake, which he happily ate, his eyes never off you.
Once you had taken your painkillers, he put the tray away and helped you settle back in bed, standing up to leave once you were tucked under the blanket, your stomach full, your eyes drowsy.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
He sat next to your head, gently caressing your hair.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for saving me.”
“Don’t mention it. I would do anything for you.”
“I owe you.”
“No you don’t.”
“You saved me. I owe you one. A big one.”
He bent over and gently kissed the top of your head. “No charge. Sleep.”
You felt a lot better the next morning. Ellie slept in bed with you, letting Joel sleep on her bed. She was worried for the man, his back wasn’t exactly in the best shape, she told you.
You decided to go to the hall for breakfast that day. Tommy made sure Joel would only stay in the compound for the week, the man refusing to leave you until Dean was dealt with. Your attacker was still cuffed at the clinic, unrecognisable, apparently, not that you wanted to go visit the man. Maria told you the committee wanted to wait until he was able to speak before taking him to trial.
You walked with the Millers to the hall, the townsfolk silent as you walked by, one hand wrapped around Joel Miller’s arm in case your legs gave out again. There was something strange in their mannerism, you felt, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.
It wasn’t until you arrived at the hall that you realized what it was.
It was the lack of judgment. No one sneered. No one gawked. No one was curious. No one was focusing on the fact that your face was still a bit swollen. Or the fact that you were holding on to Joel Miller.
They all just looked happy to see you. Happy to see you were okay. Even the Jackson Five and their husbands, though Melissa wasn’t around.
Maria sat down, Benjy strapped on her chest. Tommy and Joel went to get food for the two of you, Ellie beelined to the kitchen for her coffee duties. You got up and told Maria you were going to the kitchen, you needed to see Hank. The man had been so ashamed of himself for not realizing you had gone home by yourself he didn’t dare come see you at all.
You walked into the kitchen, the man immediately clocking you, taking a chair for you to sit on. He sat across from you, head down.
“Elena…” he began. He couldn’t continue, bursting into tears. You leaned forward and hugged him crying along with him.
“Hey, none of that, it’s not your fault.”
He hugged you back, mumbling over and over how sorry he was. It took you a while to be able to form words from how upset he was, this teddy bear of a man, sobbing into your shoulder.
“Well… you know what to do to apologize…” you finally said.
He let you go, wiping his face. “Anything. Name it.”
“Make me some pancakes? Hungry. Only had soups yesterday.”
He burst out laughing, “Your wish is my command,” he said. “You want cake? I have cake for you.”
You nodded vigorously, happy to see him laughing again. You wiped your own wet, salted face, deciding to go to the bathroom to splash some water on it before going back out. You went straight to one of the seemingly unlocked doors and pushed.
Melissa was on the counter, Tony between her legs, playing tonsil tennis. Both of them shocked to see you.
“Sorry,” you muttered, going to the next bathroom instead. You splashed some water on your face, wiping off any excess water as best as you could before walking back out, wanting to leave that area before you could hear anything. You sat down, flustered as fuck, to the point that Maria noticed.
“What’s wrong? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost!”
“Nothing,” you said, eyeing the corridor to the bathrooms. You saw Mr Aldridge go into the bathroom you had just vacated, closing the door behind him.
Uh oh.
Alice walked up to the bathrooms, her hands held out in front of her, fingers splayed as if soiled with something, waiting for one of the bathrooms to be vacated.
No…
One of the bathroom doors opened, Mr Aldridge walked out, and Melissa went in, the door left opened. The other bathroom door opened, Tony peeking out, looking around before emerging, Melissa following close behind.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
Alice’s voice rang clear through the hall, the sounds of cutlery on plates and chatters stopping.
“Alice, it’s not what it looks like,” Tony stuttered.
“Melissa? You’ve been fucking Melissa?”
“Alice,” Melissa began, but whatever she was about to say was drowned by Alice’s screeching. She found herself being pulled out to the main hall by the hair by a very angry Alice.
“My husband, Mel? My husband? MY HUSBAND? I knew you were desperate but MY HUSBAND? I took you in! I was nice to you! I treated you like a sister and you fucked my husband?”
It took Tony and the rest of the Jackson Five to restrain Alice, who was clawing her way to Melissa, trying to scratch her eyes out. Melissa cowered by the coffee urns, newly placed there by a shocked Ellie, who ran back into the kitchen to get out of the like of fire.
Alice was pulled out of the hall by her husband and friends, still screaming profanities at her former friend.
All eyes were on Melissa, the woman now standing in shame, looking around the hall, finding no friendly eyes on her whatsoever. She made to leave but before she could, her eyes landed on you.
“You told her, didn’t you?” she seethed, advancing on you. “What is your problem with me, Quasi? This is all your fault! You took Joel Miller away from me. You even took Dean away from me! I don’t even have a chance with Pero because you had your claws all over him. I was left begging for scraps from whoever would have me! I did what I had to do! But you’re not happy until I become a pariah, are you? You want to run me out of town, don’t you?”
“Melissa! Stop it! Leave! Go settle this with Alice!” Maria stood up, Tommy putting himself between the deranged-looking Melissa and his family. Joel Miller stood in front of you, a hand keeping you behind him.
Melissa scoffed. “Of course you would back her up. I don’t see what you all see in her. Am I the only one not blind to the real her? She’s vile! She hides behind her hoodies and that fucking laundromat, and now she hides behind all of you! She can’t stand to see me happy, can she?”
“Melissa, that’s enough. It’s not her fault you did what you did. You made your bed, lie in it,” Joel Miller’s voice rang clear, shocking the woman.
Melissa looked deflated. “I don’t get it, what do you see in her that you want her so much? She’s a fucking whore, dating men after men, going through the town like a lawnmower. And you still want her. I bet you anything she trapped Dean in that alley that night. She knew Dean was interested in me, and she would do anything to stop him. Just like she did with you,” she snarked.
“Last warning, Melissa. Leave,” Joel Miller spoke once more, a tone of finality in his voice.
Melissa gave you one final glare before huffing and running dramatically towards the kitchen, possibly to leave via the back door.
Joel Miller turned around and checked on you, “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said.
“Stay here, okay? I’m gonna get your food.”
“It’s okay, Hank is making me pancakes, you go get your food.”
He nodded, looking around to see if Melissa was still around. She was not. He and Tommy went back to the line, satisfied that you, Maria and Benjy were safe.
Maria raised her brows at you, looking shocked and relieved at the same time, asking you if you were okay. You simply nodded before shaking your head in disbelief.
“Hey, Quasi,” a familiar, unwelcomed voice called out.
You looked up in time to see Melissa approaching with a steaming pot in her hand, lines of steam clearly wafting from it.
“Maybe you need to be put in your place a bit better,” she seethed, before swinging her hand back, ready to throw a pot full of piping hot water on your face.
15 years ago, you begged Joel Miller for a favour, receiving only silence in response. You left Boston thinking he wasn't interested in your lame bargain. You found out, too late, that Joel Miller actually did do you that favour, fulfilling his end of the bargain, leaving you indebted to him. Now, all these years later, he arrived in Jackson, and you found yourself living your life wondering - will he collect?
WARNINGS:
Non-Canon Compliant, Ellie and Joel are Good, The Hospital Thing Happened but with a Twist, Ellie is a Menace, Ex-Raider Joel Miller, Ex-Smuggler Joel Miller, Joel Miller is a Man of Not So Many Words, Joel Miller is a New Dad All Over Again, Reader has Low Self-Esteem, Reader has a Facial Scar, Reader is a Recluse, Reader is in her mid-40s, Slow Burn, Longing, Yearning, Loneliness, Miscommunication, Jealousy, Joel Needs to Learn to Speak, Bullies, Eventual Smut, Mentions of Period Blood, Attempted Sexual Assault.
Let me know if you want to be tagged or taken off the tag list!
MASTER LIST
Part 13
*DISCLAIMER - I don't beta my work, and English is not my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.
“Are you okay, leona? You seem very quiet. Everything is okay, yes?” Pero asked after an entire lunch passed by without you saying a word.
Pero had visited a few days weekly for about two weeks now, sharing his knowledge on greenhouse farming and weapons training with the town in exchange for some supplies for his commune for future days. His Mama was not doing too well, he said, so he didn’t feel comfortable enough to take her back just yet. There were days he didn’t visit due to her condition, but for the most part, he was in town for a few hours a day, taking over Jimmy’s duties on top of his own.
On your part, you had spent almost every meal he joined in on with him, sometimes with Maria, Tommy, Benjy the heartbreaker, Ellie and even Joel Miller joining. Everyone got along well, Pero became a well known face in town, people seemed to get over the scary first impression he gave pretty quickly once they interacted with him.
Joel Miller and Pero, well, they got along as well as you could hope them to. Grunts and looks, mostly, a nod here and there. But when they were required to work together, they did open their mouths for each other well enough to communicate.
Although, you could clearly feel a positive shift in Joel Miller’s attitude whenever Pero didn’t show. There was just an extra bounce in his steps whenever that happened.
You had been quiet today. Melissa’s words from the previous evening still playing in your head. You couldn’t get it out, no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. Tina’s words that day she came for her final fitting kept coming back to you. She was trying to warn you. Something about a superstition. Was this what she was talking about?
Melissa had told you that the men in town saw you as a rite of passage. Date you, the ugly Quasi, and their love will come. Go on a date with you, and they will meet the lady of their dreams and live happily ever after.
So many scenarios were playing in your head. All those dates you went on. All the looks and smiles you received. All the excitement the ladies showed you when they found out you had a date. All the ‘interests’ the men were showing you when they arrived in Jackson. Some of the men even started asking you to ‘show them around town’ as early as their collection day. Some waited a week or two. But they always asked you out.
You couldn’t help but wonder if they were given a pamphlet upon entry, ‘In search of love? Find Elena, the Quasimodo of Jackson. Buy her a drink and your wish will come true!’
Was that why the whole town was so invested in your meal with Joel Miller that one morning? And that date? How many of the people in the Bison that night were really there for a drink? Was it to see the freak take Joel Miller through the rite of passage? They wanted to see who Joel Miller would end up with, who the lucky lady he will inevitably meet now that he had gone on a date with you?
Was that why Joel Miller asked you out in the first place? Had he been lying all this time?
You didn’t tell Pero, obviously. You didn’t need to trouble him with idle gossip and your silly little troubles. He wasn’t the type to be interested in these things anyway. But deep down, you knew he would somehow ‘punish’ Joel Miller for it if his interest in you turned out to be what Melissa said it was, and you didn’t want that.
Much as you enjoyed seeing Pero put the man in his place, you didn’t want to be a bully. You told Pero this, and the man had pretty much stayed off that bit of his promise to you, mostly leaving Joel Miller alone and focusing on his deal with Maria.
So you just told him you were tired. Didn’t get enough sleep the night before. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, if you’re being honest. You knew he didn’t believe you, his eyes boring deep into your own, so deep you felt as if he was searching your mind looking for answers.
You told Maria about it when you went over to babysit later that evening. She listened with horror in her eyes, horrified that Melissa would even dare create such fiction about you.
“Don’t believe it Elena, you know how desperate she is. She’s bitter that Joel hasn’t bent to her will. She’s trying to crack your spirit. She used to mock your looks, but now that you stopped hiding under that hood she needed something else to break you. She just couldn’t stand that you have men’s attention. Don’t pay her any mind,” she tried to coax.
“What about what Tina said to me? She was desperately trying to tell me something that day, Maria. She looked so guilty too. What if it was this? What if it’s true? Think about it. Every time I went on a date, even if it’s just drinks with a man, they find someone. They even joked I’m a matchmaker at their weddings, Maria. What if Melissa’s not lying?”
Maria didn’t answer, her eyes looking at you while her mind clearly was somewhere else.
“I’m gonna go for a walk. You stay here with Benjy, okay?”
Tommy came in at that moment, looking as if he was about to topple over. The man hadn’t gotten enough sleep from his son’s antiques the night before but got up and went about his duties in Jackson anyway at the break of dawn. From the looks of it he was just with Pero for a training session, mud and hay plastered all over his face and body. The man literally looked dead on his feet.
But whatever dreams of a hot shower and a warm meal followed by a good night’s sleep he had was gone the instant he opened the door. Maria pulled his hand and shut the door behind them, the poor man’s body following, obviously screaming to protest but didn’t have the energy to. You could hear them talk in hushed whispers outside the door, Tommy’s indignant ‘she said what?’ his voice rising before being hushed by your best friend.
They left. And you spent a glorious hour entertaining and being entertained by a gurgling, happy Benjy who had made it his personal mission to keep you busy and distracted. By the time he fell asleep, you realized you hadn’t thought of Melissa’s poison at all.
Maria returned an hour into Benjy’s nap, her face the epitome of sternness. She held the door open and in walked Tommy, who beelined for his son and carried the woven bassinet up the stairs with him, leaving you and Maria alone.
Maria left the door open and sat next to you, that sternness suddenly morphing into that look you didn’t want to see.
Pity.
No. Please, no.
“What are you waiting for?” Maria called out. “Get in here!”
Four of the Jackson Five came in, all looking rather meek and subdued. Melissa was the only one not there.
“Shut the door and sit down,” Maria instructed.
Alice, the oldest of the Five did as she was told and did not protest. The rest waited for her and squeezed themselves on the three seater, facing you and Maria on the love seat. For what felt like the longest of time, no one spoke.
“Well?” Maria barked, causing the four to jump a little.
“Elena,” Tina spoke, her eyes teary. “Remember when I tried to tell you something before? At my fitting? About a superstition?”
You didn’t answer, not even physically. You didn’t even know if you wanted to hear this.
“We got interrupted. Believe me, I didn’t want to tell you like this. But you were so nice to me, despite what I did, despite what all of us did, and I thought you deserved to know. I chickened out after, I never told you. I avoided you. But what Melissa said is true. That is the superstition. They said if men go out on a date with you, they will find their love. If a woman gets the attention of a man who was out on a date with you, then he will be hers for life. You’re Jackson’s good luck charm for men. Taking you out on a date makes them seem…”
Tina stopped, her eyes full of tears, looking so guilty you almost wanted to comfort her.
“…noble. The fact that they would…” she wiped the thick, fat tears falling off her eyes, “The fact that they would…” she started heaving, “…deign to date you, it makes them look like some dashing white knight who would lower himself to date the Quasi.”
She burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry, Elena,” she sobbed as Lisa and Nadia, the other two of the Jackson Five comforted her, themselves looking guilty.
Wow. Just… wow.
“Elena,” Alice said, “We need you to know we didn’t start this. We know we can be bitches sometimes, but we didn’t set out to do this. I was told about this by some of the older ladies when I first got here. They told me about a few couples, all established, married with children even then. They romanticized their meet cutes so much it felt like some romantic love stories I’ve read in novels. How their eyes met across the room, how they felt like they were struck by lightning, and they just knew that they had met the one. And the one thing they all had in common? You. The men were on dates with you.”
You couldn’t even hear her anymore. You felt like your heart was in your ears, beating so hard there might as well be a drum in there.
“I remember thinking that’s not very nice of them, to take men out from under you like that,” she continued, looking at her hands, her voice shaking. “But then I saw Tony. God, I had such a huge crush on him. I wished so hard that he would ask me out. He didn’t notice me, I guess. I heard that he had been asking you out, so I didn’t make a move. I swear I didn’t think anything of the superstition then. But when I saw the two of you having drinks, I thought… what if the superstition was true? What if this was my only chance to get him? So… I went and said hi, you know this. I don’t know what came over me. I just remember thinking I had to give it a try. And he just turned away from you and paid attention to me instead.”
Her voice broke a little.
“I swear Elena, the look on your face at that moment is still the last thing I see when I go to sleep at night. I’ve been wrecked with guilt ever since,” she continued, her voice disappearing into a whisper as she went on. “But I supressed that feeling. I got the man, I am happy, I don’t want to lose him.”
“Me too,” Lisa chimed in, her head down. Nadia nodded.
“Melissa, she was so convinced that she was next. That it was her turn. She set her eyes on Joel and didn’t let go. And we backed her up. We never thought that she would escalate to this point. We tried to tell her to give it up. Joel is clearly not interested in her. Anyone with eyes could see he’s so smitten by you. But she’s so sure that he was only pretending with you, that it was only a matter of time. I swear, that time at the laundromat, that was the last time we were consciously in cahoots with her. She said you insulted her, spread rumours about her, and we believed her. That night on your date with Joel, she asked us out for a drink, we didn’t even know Joel had asked you out. Tina tried to stop her, but she was so stubborn. We’re so sorry, Elena,” Alice went on, looking very much regretful.
And then, her face changed, as if that remorse turned into a realisation.
“I… I haven’t told anyone this, but…” she said, her voice low, looking at her friends, “I think Tony’s hiding something from me. He’s been distracted, for quite a while now. He’s been coming home later and later, sometimes not until dawn. He said he was on night patrol, but I found out that he wasn’t. Maybe I’m being punished for what I did to you, for how I got him.”
Maria suddenly spoke, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Jackson’s a small town, Alice, surely someone would have known if he was doing anything unsavoury, you know how fast gossip runs here,” she coaxed.
The vision of Melissa and Tony on your doorstep the morning after the wedding came into your mind.
Lisa and Nadia looked uncomfortable, eyeing each other, but never said anything.
You decided not to say anything about Tony. After all, all you knew was they were at your doorstep together that morning. It wasn’t as if you saw them going at it or anything. So you kept that little info to yourself.
Once the ladies left, Maria sat with you, a cup of tea in your hands. She placed a hand on your back as you sipped your tea, tears flowing freely down your cheeks.
You had never felt that low. It was one thing to be called ugly, but quite another to be a running joke, to be used as a ‘good luck charm’, to be treated as if that scar on your face somehow meant your heart was impervious to hurt and ridicule.
Maria asked you to stay but you declined. You stayed for one more cup of tea, leaving to go back to your duties.
You ran into Joel Miller and Ellie on your way back, the teen looking as if she wanted to say something to you but changed her mind when she saw your swollen face and red eyes. Joel Miller quietly asked Ellie to go on ahead home without him, turning around to walk you back to the laundromat, not saying anything as he did. He waited as you unlocked the door, mumbling a quiet good night to you as you went inside, reaching out to pull the door closed behind you, still not saying anything.
“Did you know?” you asked before he could pull the door closed.
He stilled, looking as if he couldn’t decide to feel curious for your question or to feel elated that you talked to him without prompting. “Know about what?”
“The superstition.”
“What superstition?” he genuinely looked as if he had no idea what you were talking about.
“Apparently there’s a belief among the townsfolk that if you ask me out on a date, you will find the love of your life and live happily ever after.”
He looked at you, shocked, but confused.
“I’m a rite of passage. Date me, find the woman of your dreams.”
His shock intensified.
You bent your head, looking at your own hands. “Is that why you asked me out? So you could find the love of your life?”
The shock on his face turned into one of mortification.
“Elena,” he said, closing the door behind him, surging forward to you. “Baby, no. I asked you out because I wanted to. Because I’ve been in love with you since forever. Please believe me,” he pleaded, taking your face in his hands, his thumb stroking your cheek.
You looked into his eyes and found no lies there. You nodded, thanking him.
“Elena, I plan on asking you out again one day, and if you say no, I will ask again another time. If you say yes, then I will definitely ask again and again, for the rest of our lives. But please know that the only woman I hope life would bring me is you. It will always be you. You’re not a rite of passage to me, Elena, you’re the woman I love. I won’t ever force you. But you have to let me keep trying. So, let me ask you now. May I keep trying? Not because of some superstition, but because you are the woman I’ve been dreaming about since we met. Please?”
You smiled, nodding.
“I might take a long time to say yes again, I have a lot of things to figure out,” you admitted, and he simply nodded and laughed, looking happy.
“Take all the time you need,” he assured you.
“I heard about the superstition Elena is supposedly the centre of,” Pero said as he was correcting Joel’s stance as he held the wooden broadsword he was holding. “I promised Elena I would not pick on you again, but I need to know, are you involved with this silliness?” he asked as he corrected Joel’s one handed grip.
“No. I only found out when she told me.”
“Good,” Pero said, taking a stance opposite the man, a stick in his hand. “I know you really like her, I just wanted to be sure.”
The two men started the practice, both taking turns advancing on one another, four steps forward each. Pero made comments about Joel’s movements every now and again, stopping to correct him once or twice.
“You are a fast learner,” Pero remarked, “I am pleased to see this.”
“Thank you,” Joel said, shocked the Parrot would compliment him at all.
“At least I know you will keep her safe, yes?” Pero asked, his motions and steps unbothered by his talking.
“Okay I gotta ask,” Joel fended off Pero’s light attacks with the stick, making sure his steps were solid. “You haven’t seen her in years. Why do you care so much about her? Why are you acting so protective of someone you knew as a child, and hasn’t seen in years?”
“Her brother, Eddie, you know him, yes? Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“I was a small child. I looked funny. I liked black clothes. I speak funny, I still do. I was bullied a lot. But Eddie took care of me. Made sure I was alright. Walked with me to school, waited for me when I had activities, made me wait for his, just so I will not get bullied again. I owe him this. I found her again. I will protect her in any way I can. For Eddie.”
“So why are you so hard on me?”
“Because, Joel Miller, I will not be around here forever, I will go home one day, and I need to know she will be taken care of. You have failed so far. You have allowed that woman to bully her.”
Joel stopped, looking guilty. “I know. I won’t let that happen again,” he said, his voice low, full of regret.
“Prove it,” Pero said, touching the stick to Joel’s knee, asking him to take the stance again. “That man,” he pointed with a tilt of his head, “That man believes in the superstition, I think,” he said.
Joel discreetly followed Pero’s lead, seeing Dean walk with a basket full of clothes towards your place.
“Watch him,” Pero said, “I do not like the way he looks at Elena. He seems to believe in that superstition a lot,” he continued, watching as Melissa approached Dean, walking alongside him. “And that woman, Melissa, she seems very desperate for a man. She might do something to get one faster. And those two seems to like each other a lot. I do not trust this.”
Joel eyed those two. Much as he was annoyed at the Parrot for being so observant and mostly correct, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy at what he was seeing. The Parrot had a point. Melissa was not trustworthy, he knew that. And Dean, that man made him feel weirded out. He was good looking, the kind of man who puts on all the best charms he could muster for the ladies, but he was… something. The definition of a player, in his opinion. Joel didn’t miss the way his eyes travelled all over a woman’s body whenever he was in the vicinity of one, not even bothering to hide it.
Right now, for instance, even from afar, neither Joel nor Pero could miss the way his eyes were leering at Melissa’s cleavage, even going so far as licking his lips so openly. Melissa, however, didn’t seem to notice, or maybe didn’t mind? Her body language didn’t show discomfort, practically peacocking her chest as she walked, the front of the small shirt she was wearing even purposely cut out down low to showcase them more prominently.
“I think she will make sure he asks her out, no? Like she did with you? She must be hoping she will catch him, yes?” Pero asked, swiping the stick he was holding onto Joel’s wooden broadsword.
“I don’t know, maybe?”
“You need to be more vigilant, Joel Miller. I will not be here always. When I leave, I need you to make sure she is safe. I do not get a good feeling from this man. I am worried.”
Joel advanced, swiping his sword, Pero fending it off, “You always think badly of everyone?”
“What world are you living in that you do not? It is safer to be careful, no?”
Joel didn’t answer. He tried a new move he had seen Pero practiced with Tommy, hoping to catch the man off guard, but Pero simply dodged it and stabbed, stopping the stick just shy of Joel’s right eye.
“If you refuse to make sure she is alright, Joel Miller, maybe I should take her home with me. This place,” he said, gesturing with the stick generally around the clearing, “Is not kind to her. I know not everyone is mean to her, but the younger people, they sneer at her. The men take advantage of her, the ladies are jealous of her and therefore treat her like a leper. Maybe a change would do her good. Maybe it’s time she tries a new experience.”
Joel could feel the blood in his system swirl in his eardrums.
Was he hearing right? This Parrot wanted to take you away from here? You? The love of his life? He was just going to whisk you away from the place you had known for 15 years and then what? Was he never to see you again?
Who did this man think he was? He just came in and took over, and you, you just… trusted this Parrot over him, the man who had been pining for you, silently protecting you from afar back in Boston, the man who had done everything he could to ease your burden, to take care of you in his little ways, who loved you with all his heart?
Anger consumed him, his head filled with blood, and he charged. He attacked Pero with all his might, every single move from every sword related movie he had ever seen came naturally to him, charging at the Parrot with everything he had. Pero took a step to the side and hit him with the stick on his back, causing Joel to almost tumble. He turned around, took a stance that felt most natural to him and held the sword with both hands, a growl escaping him, his head hot, his face red, his eyes sharp.
“Beautiful stance, very Star Wars,” Pero egged, and Joel lost his sense of decorum, taking a run to slice this Parrot into two with his blunt, wooden, toy broadsword as if it was a lightsabre.
Once again, Pero simply dodged, but Joel wasn’t stopping. He was going to kill this annoying, snide, pompous, self-important motherfucker if it was the last thing he did.
This time, he managed to stay on his feet, and a spar ensued. Joel was actually holding his own, dodging and sidestepping and stabbing and slicing, but Pero was clearly the more comfortable of the two, each move calculated, pre-planned, each attack foreseen, dodged and avoided before Joel could even finish his moves, unable to hit the man even once.
Joel charged one final time and Pero took a small step to the side, this time going low and swiping the broomstick he was holding to slice Joel in the knee. Joel fell over, and found himself breathing heavily on his back, without a sword, Pero looming over him, breathing evenly, the stick poised at his exposed neck.
“You have a noble heart. I know what you were thinking. But never, EVER, fight with anger in your heart. It blinds you. You will use too much energy and get tired very easily. The more power you use, the easier for the enemy to use it against you. I hardly tapped you, and you fell over. You must learn to watch, to anticipate, to plan ahead. You need a calm heart for this,” Pero said, not out of breath at all, offering Joel a hand.
As Joel got his bearing back, Pero picked up the wooden broadsword off the ground and threw it at him. Pero twirled the broomstick and took a stance.
“Again.”
You couldn’t sleep still that night. Partly because you were too tired. You worked non stop that day, trying to get the negative thoughts out of your head, but alas, that wasn’t to be. The townsfolk had heard of the malice Melissa had decided to share with you, and the innocent half of Jackson, the half that was kind to you, were swarming your laundromat trying to let you know how disgusted they were with what they had come to learn, and to see if you were alright.
“Jealous people will do anything to bring you down, dear. Pay no attention to them. Plenty of us love you and appreciate you for who you are, we see the real you,” Mrs Erikson had cooed, hugging you tight, a container full of her marvellous scones thrust into your hands.
Those scones really did make things a little bit better.
Your lethargy was moot after all the coaxing, though. Your mind was swirling with the superstition still, and what happened later that day did not help with your problem.
Dean had come in, a basket full of laundry in his hands, placing them on the counter, a dazzling smile on his face.
“Thought I’d help ease things a little for Tom and Liz, she’s hardly able to move these days. Didn’t want Tom to leave her alone. I was gonna go get dinner and bring some for them, would you join me?”
You didn’t pause sorting the clothing, taking notes as you usually did, “Uh, no, thank you though. I already have dinner plans.”
“With Miller? He’s on patrol, right? Tommy and Maria already went. Tovar already left. Come on, it’s no fun eating alone.”
You gave him a hesitant smile, “No, really, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll just get dinner to go.”
He sighed, “You know, at the cabin, it’s just the three of us now. I have to do a lot of things alone, Tom is always busy with Liz. I don’t want to be the tagalong, you know? But it’s hard. Doing your chores alone. Sleeping alone. Even when we are all together, you just know you’re alone, they would have these inside jokes you don’t know about, little giggles, things only they understand. And not to mention at night, I’m there, alone in my room, they’re next door, and you can only be so quiet when you’re… doing things, you know what I mean?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I thought now that we’re here, it’d be easier, you know? Not so lonely. But it turns out, people here are rather… what’s that word? Clicquey. Everyone belongs to someone. Some group. And I’m still alone.”
You didn’t say anything. You finished sorting and placed all the laundry back in the basket, taking the key chain and clipped one of them on the basket. You handed him the other, telling him he could come get his laundry the next day.
He took your hand into his instead and you felt a cold shiver crawl up your spine.
“Come on, come have dinner with me. Maybe after we could have a drink or two?”
You pulled your hand back, not without some fight from him.
“Like I said, I’m busy,” you reiterated, taking his basket and placing it in the line.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re alone here. I know you sleep alone in that rackety loft, keeping to yourself. Why not join me? Have some company? Who knows? You might enjoy it,” he said, an easy smile on his face.
“Really, Dean, I’m okay. Go on ahead and have your dinner.”
He tapped the key chain on the counter and turned around.
“Well, you know where I’ll be if you change your mind,” he said before leaving.
You openly shuddered after he left. That man… the fact that he knew Joel Miller was out on patrol, that Pero had left, that Tommy and Maria had gone out to dinner… it just didn’t sit right with you. And the way he drawled and smiled… he just… ugh!
As you were lying on your mattress that night you couldn’t get the conversation out of your head.
He must have heard of the superstition, right? Why would he even mention his loneliness and all that… bedroom stuff of Tom and Liz’s and ask you out? He must have heard about it, right?
After an hour of tossing and turning, you decided you needed some help to fall asleep. You hadn’t had a proper sleep in two days, you were not gonna make it three. You needed to sleep, or you would go nuts.
In less than 5 minutes after deciding, you found yourself at the Bison, heading straight to the bar. You didn’t miss how the room fell silent for a few beats, the customers mostly in shock to see you there at that hour.
“Wow, did the world end?” Hank joked when you plopped yourself on a stool. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence, your Highness,” he curtseyed, making you laugh. “What can I get you sweetie?”
“I need to sleep. Any suggestions?”
“Warm milk?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Honey, you don’t really drink. That wine you had with Joel was the first time I saw you drink in what… five years? I don’t want him or Maria, or God forbid, Pero to take my head off for getting you drunk.”
“Please Hank? I need to sleep. Please…” you begged. “If this was the before I would have taken a sleeping pill, cough medicine at the very least. But I can’t do that now, not without wasting precious resources. Please Hank… I’m so tired… please…”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m watering it down. And You’re not going anywhere without me. Wait for me to walk you home.”
“I live down the street. Let’s not be dramatic, I’m not that bad,” you protested.
He shook his head, one hand on the bar top and another on his waist. “You promise me, or I am heating up some milk for you. Take it or leave it,” he said.
You sighed. “Fine. Hit me.”
“That’s… not what you say,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so lame,” he laughed, taking a glass.
A few minutes later he placed a glass in front of you, white, chocolate-ish liquid swirling inside.
“What is this? Is this chocolate milk?”
“No, it’s not. Trust me, it’s alcohol. Just drink it. Slowly. Just remember, wait for me to walk you home. Don’t down it, you’re a lightweight, whether or not you admit it.”
He turned his attention to the customer next to you. You took a small sip, eyebrows raised at what you tasted. Hey, this was not bad. You took another sip. And another. And another. At that point you thought, hey, there’s left than half left, might as well finish it. So you did.
Hey… you finished a drink and did not immediately get drunk. Yay you!
Oh, problem. You wanted to sleep. So, maybe ask for one more?
But in the few minutes you waited to get Hank’s attention, now at the other end of the bar, you felt your eyelids droop. Your insides felt… gooey. Your head started to feel light. Oh, it’s working. Okay. Time to go.
“Hank?” you called out, but he couldn’t hear you.
“Hank!”
Nothing.
“Hankie Pancakey!”
God, this man must be deaf. Not surprising, since he was always in here. It’s so noisy!
Oh well, it’s really just down the street. You could walk down the street. It’ll be fine. Hank’s just being dramatic.
So you got up and left. The cool night air hit your face, and for a moment, you didn’t feel affected at all. See? You could do this. Walk home. It’s not a big deal. Just… put one foot in front of the other. Get home. Go to sleep.
You walked on, arms around your body, fending off the cool night air. You heard the gates open, turning around to see, hearing the hooves clip clopping into town, distant voices of men talking. You turned back around and continued walking. You could see your laundromat in the far distance. You stepped down from the raised platform that made the sidewalk in front of the stores and walked the few steps on solid ground before climbing back up to the next row of shops.
You were one row away from your block when someone pulled you into the alley, pushing your body against the wall.
“So, you decided to come out for a drink after all, huh? And I thought you had plans, busy, so much work!”
Dean.
*WARNING – ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT COMING*
You could smell the alcohol on his breath. His eyes were unfocused but still roaming about your body. You tried to push him away but found your arms feeling light. He pushed you further into the wall, his body pressing against yours.
“You know, people think you’re ugly, but I think you are just…” he let out a huge sigh, leaning in to lick your exposed neck.
You didn’t know what happened, you wanted to scream but you were paralyzed.
“You have such a beautiful neck, I’m glad you decided to get out of that horrible hoodie you kept putting on,” he mumbled against your neck, his hips grinding into yours.
You pushed him again, but his tightened his grip on your shoulders.
“Let me go,” you gritted.
“Oh, you want to be choosey now? You think you can do better than me?”
You managed to push him off a little, but he pushed you back, harder this time. He leaned back in and spoke against your mouth.
“You want to fight me, old maid? Huh? You should thank your lucky stars I’m even interested. I know all about you, no one wants you, Quasi, you’re just someone men date to get to their love. But you think you’re so high and mighty now, huh? You think because Miller and Tovar protects you, you’re untouchable? Well, they’re not here now, are they? And your friend the mayor and her husband? They’re sound asleep. No one can help you now, Quasi. You made a big mistake turning me down, lady, no one says no to me. But it’s okay, you won’t date me? I don’t need to date you. I have no interest in finding love. I will take what I need from you nonetheless,” he snarled.
You felt his hand move from your shoulder to your collarbone, and he yanked. Your shirt ripped right down the middle, exposing your bra and stomach. You felt that same hand move down to the top of your sweats, fingers coming inside the elastics.
No. No. Not today. Not like this. No.
You mustered up all your energy and screamed, but it came out muffled, the other hand that was still on your shoulder now on your mouth. He pulled your sweats down, and you somehow came to your senses and struggled as hard as you could, biting his palm.
He released your mouth, and you screamed. You saw his hand rise up, and a resounding slap hit you in the cheek. You felt the insides of your mouth tear, the salty, iron-like taste of blood filling your mouth.
You fell to the ground, and he was on you in no time.
“You dare fight back, huh? You stupid bitch,” he seethed, slapping you one more time. He pushed your shoulder back down, his knees on your naked thighs, ripping your sweats off the rest of your legs, his hands busy trying to tear your underwear off and unzipping his own jeans at the same time.
You were doing everything you can with whatever energy you had left, scratching, clawing, punching, kicking, but he wasn’t budging. One more hard slap and you were rendered almost motionless, your head spinning, your mouth filling with more blood.
You couldn’t do anything anymore, he was on you. You were in a dark alley, there was no one around. All you could see was him, darkness, a shadow.
Fuck, you were going to pass out. You had no energy left. You could feel his fingers wedge itself between the sides of your panties and your hips.
Oh God.
Please no.
There were footsteps, and then a growl.
Did a bear get into town?
You must be imagining things.
And then your attacker’s entire weight was yanked off your body and thrown against the wall.
You move back to your childhood home in Florida to care for your ailing mother, only to find the past waiting for you in every room. Your always kind older cousin Santiago refuses to let you disappear into the sadness, pulling you into his world without hesitation. But Santi's world involves Frankie Morales; your cousin's best friend and the boy who broke your heart decades earlier. Thrust into each other’s orbit again old memories make their way to the surface, blurring the line between hatred and desire.Because the boy you learned to despise is the man you can't seem to forget.rated 18+ for later chapters
THIS STORY IS ON A03
tags: Friends to Enemies, First Love, Childhood Friends, Brother's Best Friend trope kinda, Angst, Smut, Flashbacks, First person POV, Protective Frankie, First kiss, parent with terminal illness, HEA.
notes: Happy Frankie ... Wednesday! It's funny, when I started this story I had no idea how much it would come to mean to me. I think the formatting, the storyline, the characters, it all just fell together. Like this is a story waiting to be told in the universe and I happened to be the one putting it into words. A vessel if you will. It is quickly climbing the ranks as being my most beloved story to write. I might take a little break after this - my fingers are tired writing two intense stories at once!
This is my favorite chapter so far and for reasons I think you'll see. Don't forget to comment!
Your mother doesn't get out of bed the next day. She's exhausted, likely from last night's ordeal that she does not remember, even as she flexes her bandaged hand.
She's always a bit more lucid in the mornings, so you take the opportunity to ask her what she needs, making sure she's comfortable enough.
"I'm fine, honey," she says patting your hand, trying to hide a wince. She's in a lot of pain today. You know you'll have to prepare the morphine tablet soon. You give her a sponge bath and brush her hair.
"Is Hilary coming to visit?" She asks as you wipe under her arms. "I feel like she hasn't been here lately."
"Maybe soon."
No point telling her it's been about two months since your sister took off for a new life in Canada.
After the sponge bath you give her a cup of tepid tea when she refuses breakfast.
"I wish there was vodka in it," she jokes when you pass it her way.
You can't really smile back when she says that. Jokes of her alcoholism aren't funny to you. Not when they dominated most of your childhood.
You feel the first twist of the knife in your gut.
"I was just remembering when you got sick as a little girl. You were always so sweet," your mom says, holding the cup.
Her teeth are yellowed at the top when she smiles your way. The same hue as the former whiteness of her eyes.
"I used to love when I was sick and you took care of me," you admit quietly.
The simpering look she shoots you only serves to increase your ire. That she could lay there and pretend your childhood wasn't a blur of screaming at Hilary and drinking until she passed out.
"My friends would talk about how horrible their kids were when they were ill," your mom says with a fond look your way. "But not you. You never kicked up a fuss. Just thanked me over and over for taking care of you."
You shouldn't rise to the anger that storms within you. Shouldn't let that sweet comment from her be twisted.
Let it go. Let it go.
But you can't.
"That's because it's when you felt like a real mom."
It goes quiet for a second, the room stuffy. You study the marked walls; you note the edge of the curtain looks dingy, that you should change her pillowcase. Anything that distracts you from what you've said, but more importantly, what your mother hasn't.
"I was always a real mom," she finally says. Her voice is ragged, and her narrow chest wheezes with the effort. "I was always a real person too. It’s my first time on earth too, honey. I made mistakes just trying to figure it out. Same as you."
"You made a helluva lot more mistakes than I did," you snap back, unable to stop yourself.
And she flinches, hurt. But no satisfaction comes from that. No closure, no acceptance. It's just a cold cruelty you've thrown at a woman too weak to fight back.
It makes you feel sick to your stomach.
"I hope one day you forgive me," she says, eyes on the window.
"I do forgive you," you say with a sigh.
Her face turns your way, creased and so old. You don't remember her ever looking this old. She's not angry. Just quiet and sad. It makes you hate yourself for not controlling your temper.
"I don't know that you ever will. But you need to know that no matter what, I always loved you and your sister. I will until the day I die."
THEN
Frankie is twenty one when he returns from the army to attend his parent's funeral. He stands at the front of the church in one of his father's old suits, looking everywhere but people's faces.
Frankie's parents were in a plane crash coming back from Argentina. Their first international trip alone together since they got married. Santi relayed all of this information to you the second he got back into town.
You stare at Frankie from the pews, both taken aback at his physical change and devastated to see your friend so broken.
His hair is shorter now, his curls shorn into a slightly grown out buzz cut. It makes his face look so angular, so mature. It's taken away that sweet, soft appearance you always equated him with.
Gone is the lanky boy with long legs. Now he's muscled, solid. His shoulders have always been broad but now they fill out properly with bulging arms. Like he's a puppy who finally grew into his oversized paws.
He turns now as his aunt approaches. She's a wreck, sobbing into his shoulder, her mascara smudging on his white shirt collar. It looks like a mournful spider nearing his throat.
"¡Oh, mi dulce Francisco, el mundo es tan injusto!
She is loud and draws the attention of many attendees. Frankie doesn't seem to notice, his eyes look far away.
Of course you, Santi and and Travis are in attendance along with Hilary. Your mom is at work, unable to pass up the shift. Santi's dad is out of town. You wear a black sweater over a long black skirt you found in your mom's closet. It's too warm for a day like this, but it was the only thing that seemed appropriate.
Despite being eighteen and starting college in the fall, you feel even younger watching this display of grief. You can't help wondering how Frankie is going to manage this all himself.
You sit several pews back with your family, watching the boy - now a man - give the eulogy for his parents. You've never seen Frankie cry and even now as he stands speaking of his parents virtues, his eyes remain dry.
"My parents taught me the value of loyalty, of being brave. They showed me that love conquers all."
It's a surprisingly sweet sentiment considering the complicated relationship he had with his father.
The elder Morales often used fists instead of words while his wife sat by, ignoring it all. Frankie never spoke about it much. Not to you anyway. He always was more of a private person.
He only talked about wanting to be like his dad and joining the army. That his mom made him his favorite cake every birthday from scratch. That his dad played football with him in their backyard.
He stuck with idyllic memories and judging by the eulogy, clearly lives in them now. You can understand that.
Afterwards the reception is held at the Morales home, now solely Frankie's, you realize as you walk up the driveway with a casserole your mother made the night previous.
It's not too busy, just as the funeral wasn't. A few of his mother's friends from bridge are scattered around refilling sandwich plates and replacing beer cans.
Some of his dad's army buddies are there too, but they're really just there to drink free booze and reminisce about basic and dumb army shit.
His aunt welcomes people in, taking their food with thanks and adding it to the long table they brought in.
She kisses your cheek and says something in Spanish that you don't catch. Her floral perfume is cloying, fighting for dominance over the bouquets that line the space.
Santi is talking with Travis by the food table, their faces drawn. You move slowly through the line, grazing on sandwiches and pickles. They're sour on your tongue, the crunch satisfying.
You move to an empty spot on the wall, spine pressing against the cool stucco. You don't want to be drawn into conversation with strangers. You've always been more comfortable people watching.
You glance up, and can see where Frankie's mom stenciled some green flowers around the arch of the kitchen. Something about that personal touch makes your heart hurt.
"The mortgage is paid off, but I worry how he'll get on," an elderly woman says to another. "How will Francisco afford the taxes?"
She's got crumbs on one downy cheek, speaking softly as to not be overheard. She doesn't notice you clinging to the wall holding a cup of lemonade, your ear tilted to hear better.
"I mean, he just finished his flight training," she says. "He's still got years of service ahead of him."
The other woman is a tall slender thing with eyes like Frankie's. She must be a relative. And she looks concerned.
"Do you think he'll actually go back?"
"Of course he will."
"I'm not so sure." Her voice gets even softer. "I mean, with his father gone he doesn't have to worry about impressing him anymore."
You want to listen to more but Hilary arrives at your side, the scent of cigarettes clinging to her clothes. She has a rumpled look about her, like she slept in her clothes. For all you know she did - she's barely at home anymore.
She comes to stand beside you, both your backs pressed against the wall. She surveys the space along with you, sighing.
"Damn, this is bleak."
"It's a funeral, Hil."
"Still," she mutters, shaking her head before she looks your way. "You ready to go?"
Your eyes move around the room, landing on Frankie. He's sitting on his lumpy couch, nodding shallowly at some relatives. He looks broken.
You turn to your sister. "I'll meet you at home."
She doesn't seem surprised. She just gives a nod, murmuring that she's going to grab dinner on the way home. You wave in her direction but your focus is on the defeated looking man across the room. His eyes lift briefly, catching yours before moving back to the floor. Your heart cracks at the sadness in his expression.
You stay long after everyone else files out, helping to clean empty bowls, wiping down tables with Santi.
Eventually only you, Santi and Frankie remain at the Morales home tidying the place and moving furniture back into place. His aunt wanted to stay as well but Frankie was firm in needing space.
"You guys don't have to do this," Frankie says, voice tired. He's not wearing that suit jacket anymore, the tie loosened at his neck.
"It's fine," Santi insists, handing you a plate to be placed into the dishwasher. "We're almost done here. You go take a load off."
You focus on the task at hand, listening to Frankie's receding footsteps. When he's safely out of the room Santi speaks under his breath, his eyes bloodshot.
"I have to go to a meeting downtown, but do you mind sticking around for a bit longer? I'm worried about him."
His gaze is over your shoulder and your eyes follow. From where you stand in the kitchen you can see into the living room. Something about Frankie's downturned face, the way he sits on the couch backlit by the dying sun is heartbreaking to watch.
"I can stay," you murmur to Santi as he grabs his car keys.
"You sure?"
You nod, giving him a tight hug.
"Try to get him to eat," he murmurs. "He didn't touch anything today."
You wave him off before preparing a small plate of leftovers. You grab a beer from the fridge and carry both over.
"You're still here? I thought I heard the door close."
"Santi had to go." You place the plate on the coffee table along with the beer. “But I still have time to hang out.”
He takes only the drink, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He makes no attempt to touch the food on the plate. He just sits there staring at it with a distant look on his face, rubbing his fingers on his black dress pants
"You need to eat, Frankie."
"Not hungry."
You slide next to him on the couch, fixing him with what you hope is a leveling look.
"I'm not leaving until you eat something. So either choke down a sandwich or set up the futon."
A twitch of his lips, a resigned huff. He shifts forward, taking a sandwich half and bringing it to his mouth. You watch his jaw flex, bare of facial hair, shaved for the army. Your eyes travel the expanse of him now that you're actually sitting next to him. He's gotten so much bigger since his time away.
"I miss your hair," you murmur. Your fingers twitch, eager to run themselves through the shorn curls even though you know better.
"Me too," he says ruefully running his palm along the top of his head. "I feel naked."
"It's because you don't have your hat either."
He smirks. "I miss being able to wear my own shit."
He manages the other half of the sandwich and some pasta salad before he gives up, telling you that he's not taking another bite. You play with your keychain, feeling the hemp braid rasp under your fingertips while he finishes. His eyes cast to it briefly.
"Still got that."
"Mhm."
You don't have a car of course. Those cost money, money you don't have since everything you've earned while at part time jobs is going towards school.
He tilts back the beer bottle and you watch his plump lips rest against the rim as he takes a long lingering sip.
"So you're officially flying huh? Is it everything you wanted it to be?"
"Better," he replies, lowering the bottle to the table. "When I'm up there it's like everything makes sense."
"I wish I could ride in one," you offer, leaning back into the couch as you imagine it. "It must be amazing."
"There's flight places around here that offer rides."
"Expensive," you remind him. "And besides I only want to ride if..."
You stop yourself before it slips out. The admission that makes your heart throb in your chest.
You only want to ride if Frankie's the one flying.
You've had fantasies of exactly that, of seeing Frankie in his element. You have imagined him taking you over mountains, soaring through the sky.
And sometimes you even fantasize that he'll take you somewhere quiet, landing in gorgeous empty fields with flowers and soft grass. You picture him declaring his long hidden love for you, of taking you right there in the open, his muscled body over yours as he groans your names between sweet promises of forever.
"I'll take you up one day," he says and not because he's in love with you. He says it because you're his friend and that will have to be enough.
You hum thoughtfully in response.
The years without him have been hard. His sporadic visits, his poor communication. Despite your heated assurance that you'd never write to him you tracked his address down from Santi a week after Frankie boarded that flight to Texas.
You sent him letters for a full three months, well wishes, catching him up on developments back home, sincere hopes that he was flying happily. You asked him question upon question about his time in basic.
His replies were inconsistent, full of smudged ink and short replies. You don't know why you were that surprised, it's not as if he'd been a loquacious person before. So you stopped. He never mentioned it. Never sent another letter your way.
"You must be eager to get back to base," you say tightly.
"Not really."
Your face betrays your surprise, a lift to the corner of your mouth in delight. He doesn't want to go back. Maybe his aunts were right.
"So you won't be heading back for more training?" You ask, hands folded over your belly.
"Of course I will. It's just I've got a few weeks of furlough on account of, well," he makes a vague motion to the house. "You know."
You try to hide your disappointment behind a weak smile. A large part of you had been hoping that he was returning for good. That was his father out of the picture he wouldn't feel the need to remain over there.
But he's always wanted to fly, always wanted to escape this town, this house. And now he's been dragged back in the worst possible way.
"Your first year of college is coming up in a few weeks, right?" Frankie asks, looking a little more upbeat as he intentionally changes the topic.
You give a genuine smile in your response. "Yep. I can't wait."
Mom. Hilary. Drinking, fighting, screaming. Thoughts of living on campus a few hours away brings you peace of mind knowing you'll be escaping it all.
He goes quiet, nodding his head. His fingers tap tap tap against his thigh, he's deep in thought.
You like this quiet moment with him, you enjoy the familiar peace his presence brings. Your anxiety immediately goes to the question of when it will end. When will he be tugged away from you again?
"Santi told me your mom had some rule about not letting you date until you were eighteen." Frankie laugh is low and rumbling like distant thunder. "Is that actually true?"
He gives you a tired smile, clearly thankful to talk about something light, something not about dead parents and mortgages and what he's going to do with the rest of his life.
"Uh huh."
"So are you gonna go out and find a boyfriend then? Or are you gonna wait to find yourself a college boy in September?"
"I've dated before Frankie," you say with a roll of your eyes. "I'm not a total loser."
"Since when?"
"Since last year when my mom started drinking in the morning." You scowl. "She's too wasted to remember her own name most days, let alone get mad at me for dating."
His brows rise. "How am I just learning about this now?"
"You haven't been here for years," you remind him. "Been off flying helicopters, remember?"
It's said breezily, but there is a weight to the edges. The words you think but never say out loud. That you miss him, that no boy kissing you even comes close to how you feel with Frankie just sitting on a couch.
"Guess I'll have to knock off my v-card before September, though" you joke, feeling your face heat up. "Don't want to start school the only virgin."
He blinks slowly, a beat passing. "I thought you just said you dated."
"I have."
"And you've never slept with anyone?" Frankie asks in a husky whisper, gaze skipping to your mouth and back to your eyes.
"No."
You think of Hilary only last week laughing herself silly over the fact that you're still a virgin. She herself lost her v-card the day after her fifteenth birthday. She thinks it’s hilarious that you're still a virgin at the ancient age of eighteen.
"Really? No one?"
"Jesus, why is that such a big deal?" You say, rolling your eyes. "I'm sure you've slept with a ton of girls but-"
"No."
You pause at the interruption, brows knitting together. "Huh?"
"I haven't slept with a bunch of girls. Who told you I slept with a bunch of girls?"
"I...I guess I just assumed. I mean, Santi isn't exactly at church every night."
You stare at him, mapping his dark eyes glassy from the beer, his full lips he keeps swiping his tongue over.
"How many girls have you slept with?"
You watch as Frankie's chest and cheeks begin to flush.
"Like, one. One time."
This pulls you up short. You know for a fact that Santi has slept with at least four girls already. He doesn't go into details, but you've heard rumblings of it when he talks to Travis.
"But... You're twenty one."
"I'm aware."
Frankie is not an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination. He's also kind and patient and... How has he only slept with one girl? And only once?
"So many girls at school had crushes on you."
Frankie groans, sliding a hand down his face. "No they didn't."
"They did. And I know plenty that still do."
"Well even if they do I can't exactly do anything about it," Frankie mumbles.
"Why not? You have your own place now."
You cringe as you realize what you've said. But Frankie doesn't seem to notice because if he was pink before he's absolutely tomato red now.
"It's not that. It's... "
"It's what?"
"It's just; I can barely talk to girls."
"You talk to me."
"You know what I mean," he grumbles.
Yeah, you know what he means. You're not romantic interests to one another. You're just one of the boys.
"But, that one girl," you offer gently. "You must've talked to her."
Frankie gives a dark huff of amusement through his nose, voice taking on a bitter quality.
"She only came to talk to me because she saw my uniform. I could've been anyone, she just wanted to fuck someone in service."
He begins flinching as if it's happening that very moment.
"I couldn't even enjoy it. I was so paranoid I was doing it wrong and that she'd tell all her friends."
"You really think a person would do that?"
"Of course they would. But I just wanted to get it over with. I didn't want to be the only virgin at basic anymore."
You feel yourself starting to falter. You never considered that possibility. Frankie is smart, he's good at everything he tries from electronics to driving. You bet he's good at sex too.
"I'm sure you didn't have anything to worry about. I'm sure you were great," you tell him, because you believe this to be true.
"Yeah but what would you know, virgin?"
He grins wider when you laugh in surprise. The two of you lapse into quiet, eyes on the near darkening room. The sun has started to set, the space growing dim.
"So are you gonna sell this place?"
He shakes his head, his own eyes moving slowly around the room, landing on pieces of furniture, photos on the wall.
"No. It doesn't feel right to do that. This is the only home I've lived at for more than six months."
You nod and remain silent even though you want to pepper him with questions. How will he afford it? Will he actually want to live in the house by himself? Doesn’t it feel like living with ghosts?
You want to just be present and comfort your friend, but something he said earlier won't leave your mind. Something that needles your insides until you can't help but turn to face him.
"Do you think a guy would do that too?"
"Do what?"
"Like, do you think he'd tell his friends if the girl was bad at sex? Or a bad kisser?"
Frankie looks at you skeptically. "I dunno. I wouldn't but..." He shrugs, "you never know I guess."
A fear you'd never even considered starts to play in the back of your head. An ugly thought that makes your stomach drop.
Was I a good kisser?
You return to your mother's room that afternoon to open her windows so she can enjoy the sunny day and feel the balmy breeze that teases the trees.
You position a TV tray over her lap, putting a few crackers with peanut butter on a plate in hopes it will whet her appetite, but to no avail. You bring her another tea and a glass of water which she thanks you for. You hope that the bitterness of this morning has faded.
You sit by her bed, watching her sip the tea and listen to the birds that chatter outside. As you do this your eyes blur, mind on last night.
Frankie's patience with your mother, the way he tidied the kitchen for you. And before that, the way he apologized. Frankie has never apologized like that to you.
It makes something in your stomach shift. This acknowledgement of his kindness. It's been so long since you've seen that from him. It unnerves you.
"I've thought about my funeral and I don't want one."
You drift back into alert focus, brows knitted. "Huh?"
"I don't want one," she repeats firmly. "Just scatter my ashes and be done with it."
Something about her firmness makes you feel queasy. The thought that one could think about their own mortality with such a detachment boggles your mind.
But she is your mother, she has told you what she wants. And it would be arrogant of you to assume you know better. So you sit up straight, voice soft.
"Where do you want them scattered?"
"Anywhere," she says, about to shrug when she suddenly stops herself.
"Wait, actually, I know where."
Her eyes go bright, something within them reminding you of youth. She's traveling through time; you can see it in the way her face softens, as if the lines are disappearing before your eyes.
"I used to go camping at this really beautiful spot in the keys," she says with the kind of breathless excitement you can imagine she had as a girl. "My mother took me every year."
"Grandma camped?"
You can barely recall her from your youth, who passed when you were barely 6 years old. The memories that you do have of her are of severe woman who didn't like to get dirty.
"Yes. My father was away working so often and we didn't have much money. Camping was free and we'd go with other families in the neighborhood."
She swallows, throat dry. You pass her a cup of water which she drinks greedily. You wipe the small trickles that escape at the corner of her mouth with a bundled bit of tissue.
"Most of my summers were spent swimming and eating hot dogs, telling scary stories around a campfire."
She gets a shy look on her face, eyes dropping to her teacup.
"It's where I had my first kiss."
You sit there trying to imagine the aged woman in the bed as a young girl with pigtails and a blush across her cheeks as she kissed the boy she fancied. It makes a soft smile overtake your expression, heart swelling.
"It sounds amazing," you finally say, fascinated by the change in your mother's voice. "Why didn't you ever take us?"
"They did some renovations to it. Made it more privatized so I couldn't afford it."
She winces again, hand drifting to her belly. She doesn't have to say anything, you give her the morphine tablet, watching her chase it with a cup of water.
"What was the name of it?" you ask, curious.
She purses her wrinkled lips in thought, eyes bleary.
"It was called ... Oh goodness...What was it?"
You wait patiently, noting when she finally recalls and her eyes twinkle.
"Blue... Blue Bird....Heron! Blue Heron campground. Yes. That's right." She looks your way with a serious expression, her mind clearly settled.
"That's where I want my ashes to be scattered. Blue Heron campground."
"Okay, Mom," you say, trying to swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "I can do that."
Hey. How's Canada?
HIL: cold.
HIL: also Justin is a fucking asshole. Being married sucks, I don't recommend it.
Noted.
HIL: how's Mom?
Still dying.
HIL: that tracks.
She told me she wants to be buried in some old campground she went to as a in kid.
HIL: Blue Heron?
How the fuck do you know that??
HIL: she mentioned it a couple years ago. We were talking about camping and she told me about it.
She never mentioned it to me.
HIL: you weren't around.
Do you think you might come back to see Mom?
HIL: not sure. . kind of feel like I did my daughterly duty keeping her alive until you got there.
Right...
Look what I did. [nose.jpeg]
HIL: Fuck off is that a nose ring?? 😲😲😲😲
HIL: it looks infected.
It might be. I took it out this morning. It wasn't really me.
HIL: couldn't agree more. I'm the rebel remember? 😈 You were always the good one. 👼
Look how that turned out. I just had a fight with a woman about to die.
HIL: about time!!! you always had to play good daughter when we were kids.
I didn't really have a choice. You had the bad daughter title firmly in your grasp. haha
Sorry that came out wrong.
HIL: it's fine.
HIL: someone had to be the family fuck up. 🤷
You were never a fuck up, Hil.
HIL: Sure I was.
No. You were the one who had to grow up too fast. You were the one who took care of me even though you had your own shit going on. I don’t think I ever said thank you for that.
HIL: ew stfu don’t thank me.
HIL: it’s just what sisters do.
THEN
"Frankie, was I a good kisser?"
It bursts out of you; the thought playing on loop the last five minutes is unable to be silenced any longer.
Frankie tilts his head to the left, frowning at you. The eleven lines between his brows deepen.
"Huh?"
"You remember that party you had at your place years back? You kissed me, remember? In the kitchen. Was I a good kisser?"
For a moment he appears deep in thought, like he can't remember what you're talking about. And then suddenly recognition flashes in his eyes and he starts to chuckle softly.
"Pip, that barely counted as a kiss."
"Still."
"You didn't even kiss me back," Frankie says gently. "You just stood there."
"I didn't have time," you mumble, embarrassed.
"I didn't want you to kiss me back," Frankie corrects. "You were thirteen."
You feel like you're thrown through time, transported back into your awkward 13-year-old body. You remember the way Frankie had looked at you then, a mixture of piteous disdain.
But tonight he's not looking at you that same way. His look is inscrutable, impossible to read and so you just shrug.
"I'm eighteen now."
He takes a slow measured breath.
"I know."
The way Frankie's eyes rake up and down your body let's you know the barely three years that always seemed to separate the two of you has faded.
He lowers his half full beer bottle to the coffee, fingertips grazing it to ensure it stays upright.
It's like a thick tension has settled over top the two of you, your breathing synchronizing before Frankie stands abruptly.
He carries his mostly empty plate to the kitchen and you're thankful for the reprieve. Blood is roaring so loudly in your ears that you're having trouble hearing anything aside from the running water of the sink.
When he returns your face is so warm it makes your eyes water. Frankie settles in next to you on the couch, closer than before you notice.
His shoulder rests against yours, his body warm next to you. His hands rest on his legs, the dress pants stretched taut over his muscular thighs.
You shift on the lumpy couch that you've spent countless days on watching movies or playing games with the guys when Frankie's parents were out of the house. You're convinced that you could point out every bumpy spot from memory alone.
"You ever do other stuff with guys?"
Your head snaps up to see Frankie staring at you with an open look.
Something in the husky way he says it makes your insides quiver. "Other stuff?"
"Yeah. Third base?"
Your cheeks flames as you hide your face against your shoulder, wishing you had another topic of which to divert him. But another part of you, a hungry part deep in your belly wants more. More of Frankie's eyes burning black, more of his shoulder pressing against yours.
"Yeah," you mutter, unable to look at him when you answer.
He looks surprised, eyes narrowed on you.
"Who?"
"Some guy I met at a party Hilary threw with Poppy. Kevin." You clear your throat. "And you? You do any of that stuff with other girls?"
Even if Frankie has only had sex with one girl, that didn't mean that he hadn't fooled around with plenty. That thought makes your nose flare, vision blurry.
"Of course."
"A lot of girls?"
His full lips purse, brows knitted. He looks like he's really taking your question to heart.
"About six?" He looks into the distance. "Yeah. Six. At least I know I do that stuff right."
White hot jealousy surges through your body at the comment. Images of Frankie with faceless women, his mouth between their legs, his wide fingers knuckles deep as they keen his name invade your thoughts.
Your hands curl in your lap, nails digging into the fleshy part of your palm. They leave little angry crescents in your flesh.
"Did you like doing stuff with Kevin?"
You keep your eyes on your hand, watching the crescents go from blanched white to a rosy pink.
"Yeah, it was fine."
"He make you come?"
The two of you don't have conversations like this. You talk about flying and play cards and go swimming. You don't talk about sex. That's stuff he saves for Santi and Travis.
You suck in a sharp breath, tripping over your words.
"Um. No, I don't- no... No he didn't."
Kevin was perfectly nice, but he was lazy. He didn't pay attention to the signals your body was giving. His fingers just jabbed as he asked you if you were close.
When he spread you out in his bed his mouth was sloppy, too wet and his tongue was as sharp and clumsy as his fingers.
You'd wanted to get the experience, tired of hearing Hilary talk about her dalliances, giving you a piteous look when you didn't understand and couldn't relate.
But now sitting next to Frankie you can feel arousal pooling between your thighs, the hot flames that go up your neck, that deliciously deep pull below your navel.
And he hasn't even done anything but talk.
He's quiet for a long time. You still can't look at him for too long; especially since you’re not sure you could avoid staring at his mouth.
"I bet I could make you come."
He says this with a casual nonchalance, as if he's mentioning the two of you should get ice cream tomorrow afternoon. Instinctively your thighs clench. Thoughts of Frankie's mouth between your legs has you jumping out of your skin.
Your voice comes out breathy and wobbling. "What?"
"I bet I could make you come" he repeats, not embarrassed at all. "Can I?"
You're on fire both from intense embarrassment and even more intense arousal. There's fear there as well, of the unknown.
"I don't think I can..." You pause, feeling mortified. "I can only do it myself. Uh, alone."
Frankie shoots you a smug look now, brow arching. "I could do it."
You take in how his eyes travel down the length of your body, moving between your legs and settling.
You feel your panties dampening further, humiliated that you're so eager. He just lost his parents and you're sitting here getting turned on.
"I guess I want the distraction," he explains when you don't respond
Guilt suffuses you. You're supposed to be here to help your friend, to distract him from the ugliness of today.
"You don't have to do that Frankie. We can distract you in other-"
"I like doing it," he interrupts. "A lot."
Fuck. Your breath leaves you when he shifts closer to you, big hand coming to rest on your kneecap.
"I miss doing it."
You can't quite breathe evenly; it's coming out in short little huffs. He removes his hand, moving back.
"Only if you want to," he adds, his eyes looking worriedly to your face. "You don't have to say y-."
"Yes."
It comes out quickly, expelled from your lungs like a scream even though it's barely a squeak.
"I want it," you say clearly to avoid any misunderstanding.
I've wanted it for years. I've dreamed about it. Touched myself to the thought of it. I want nothing more than for you to make me come.
He grins a soft, shy thing that makes him look boyish and gentle. The Frankie you've always known.
And then it begins.
Still seated beside you, Frankie's leans forward and his wide fingers go to the hem of the long black skirt you wore for the funeral. The fabric bunches up slowly and you watch the ascent, face slack as it ends in wrinkled layers across your hips.
He suddenly pauses, brows knitting.
"You can't tell Santi," he says, dark eyes wide. "You can't tell anyone."
"Duh."
No one can know what's about to happen. Not just for Frankie's sake but for yours. Travis' mockery would be relentless. Santi would feel betrayed by both of you.
No, tonight is for you and Frankie alone.
"You tell me if you need me to stop."
You're shivering when his palm slips under the fabric, warm skin on your legs, squeezing gently before tracing slow lines along your inner thighs.
"Don't stop."
He bites back a smile. The dimple in his cheek pops out, making you swoon.
Warm fingers tickle along the outside of your panties gusset, surely feeling the heat and the damp there. You bite down harshly on your lower lip to hold in the whimper building in your throat.
He doesn't look away from your face when he does it, if anything he looks closer. It makes you feel studied and you flush as you duck your head, embarrassed. Those same searching fingers curve around, slowly inching themselves inside the cotton, finding the slick seam of your sex.
You gasp, eyes going huge as dinner plates as you gaze up at him. You're taken aback to see the open desire on his face.
"Just relax," he murmurs voice soft.
You go to nod, mouth dropping open when you feel that first swipe of his fingers dance along the seam, grazing your clit. Your hips jump and Frankie grins.
"Easy there, Pip."
You give a breathless laugh, giddy and terrified. You've wanted this for so long and you don't know how to act now that it's finally happening. Your hands are at your sides, loosely placed on the cushion. Your thighs are spread and Frankie's hand is hidden under the thick fabric of your skirt.
When his fingers finally breach you, you feel your eyes blow wide, stuck on Frankie's face as your jaw drops. It feels intense, so much more intense than it was with Kevin.
Frankie's fingers are long and thick and they move within you slowly. They don't force themselves, they take their time as they stretch your honeyed walls. You savor the steady work of the two fingers that sink into you, curling as his thumb circles your clit.
You're barely able to focus on anything outside of Frankie's hitched breathing and the way he's tucked you up close to him. He's warm; his shirt damp from sweat and it makes your head spin.
You can't help but make soft little noises, and when Frankie leans closer, head tilted you realize it's because he wants to hear them. This realization makes the throb between your legs intensify.
When he curls his fingers into a come hither motion, your back bows, stomach clenching before everything in you turns liquid.
"Oh fuck," you groan, grabbing him by the collar as he works at you. "Fuck fuck."
He's smiling, you can hear it when he breathes your name, your real name, not Pip. But you're too focused to open your eyes, hips rutting, chasing after the pleasure that suddenly bursts behind your eyes in white sparks.
"F-Frankie," you gasp, eyes flying open as you come on his fingers, your core spasming as he continues his steady thrusts, the tempo never changing.
"C'mon, c'mon," he chants under his breath over and over like a mantra watching as you shatter for him.
It feels like it goes on forever. Your hand is still fisted in his shirt, holding tight as your voice cracks and you finally flop back, spent.
His hand shifts back from under your skirt, glossy fingers leaving a shiny trail down your inner thigh. Your eyes track them, mouth going dry when Frankie pops his glossy digits between his lips.
You can only stare as he closes his eyes, savoring the flavor of you on his tongue. Your body burns for him in that moment, shocked and needy, speechless when he removes them from his mouth and his eyes are pitched black.
You surprise yourself by leaning forward and slanting your mouth against his - curious to see if you can taste yourself, eager to feel his warm lips properly. A proper kiss.
He doesn't pull back, doesn't even flinch. He just remains in place, mouth parting, tongue brushing yours. You taste only him.
The kiss is deep, slow and tender. He doesn't rush it, he just moves to hold
your face and lets you discover him. Shivers run the length of your body.
This was the kiss you wanted all those years ago. The searching kind, the gentle type. The kind where a man holds you gently and kisses you like you mean something to him.
You do this for a while, until your lips are swollen and the sun has started to set. Only then do you pull apart, shocked to find that somewhere in the process you ended up half in his lap.
His eyes flutter open, pupils still dominating his lusty gaze.
"Did you like that?" He murmurs, face dangerously close to yours.
"Yes," you breathe quietly. Your heart flutters.
He grins, teeth gleaming like sunshine and then it's him who moves forward to capture your mouth. He begins making soft little groaning noises when you crook your arms around his neck.
Suddenly he's pushing you backwards on the couch before following after. The kissing moves to groping you over your clothes, hilariously chaste considering he had his fingers buried within you only minutes before.
Your thighs are around his hips, whimpering as you feel him swollen between the layers of fabric.
"Frankie," you moan between kisses, "I want you to fuck me."
He gives a dry laugh, assuming you're joking. But when you're face remains fixed his breathing elevates.
"You don't want to do that with me," he says, chiding. "I barely have any experience."
"I know."
"You might hate it."
"I know."
"You might not come."
"Frankie!" You snap, getting angry. "I just want to lose my virginity okay? Stop making it such a big deal."
It is a big deal. It's a very big deal, but you have a feeling if Frankie knows how big a deal it is he won't even consider it.
But this is something you've wanted for a long time. The only boy in the world that you'd feel comfortable doing this with.
He takes his time to survey you, likely going over an internal tally of why this is a good idea and why it's a terrible one. He must settle on the former though.
"We should do it in my bed," he says huskily. "What do you think?"
You stand eagerly, nodding.
"Yes. Let's go."
"You’re really sure?"
“Yes.”
You've always been sure of Frankie.
Rosalita arrives for her overnight shift, giving you a small hug as she sees you. She's smells like coconut, her hair tied back from her face.
She hangs up her jacket, looking over her shoulder to see you placing a tea for her on the table along with some recently purchased cookies.
"How lovely," she says with a genuine smile.
She moves to you slowly, her movements soundless. Despite her age she moves like a young woman, silent and delicate. She settles herself across from you, taking a cookie and breaking it in half then gives you a conspiratorial wink.
"Shouldn't have too much sugar."
You warm your hands with your own tea, watching the steam move lazily above the water. She chews quietly, taking stock of the cleared table the two of you sit at.
"You cleaned."
You glance around the tidied area, thoughts of Frankie in your head. His actions last night haven't left your mind.
"How are you?" You ask, looking at her with a strained expression. She returns it with a serene look, one shoulder rising.
"Completely fine."
"I kind of thought you might not want to come back."
She gives you a chirpy laugh; shaking her head and placing a hand overtop your own.
"My dear, this is my job. I have seen much worse. I have been through much worse."
"Like what?"
She looks thoughtful up at the ceiling, lips pursed.
"One woman pushed me down the stairs. Another sprained my wrist. I had a gentleman that threw his feces once. But that was an extreme case."
You can't understand it. How a woman can be treated so terribly day after day and still rise with the sun, still smile as if the world isn't a cesspool of miscreants.
"How do you stay so... Kind? So positive?"
"I think of myself as very fortunate to take care of the elderly." She takes another sip of tea from her mug. "Your mother has lived a long life and she deserves to end it with dignity."
You're suddenly aware that your cheeks are getting warm. The kinder she is the worse it gets.
"How do you not get angry? I feel so... Angry."
You haven't admitted that out loud to anyone. The very sentence makes you feel drenched with guilt.
"Because I know they react out of fear or frustration. It's never cruelty for the sake of it."
For not the first time, you think Rosalita might actually be an angel. An honest to goodness cherub sent to earth because who else could approach it that way?
You think of last night. Of Rosalita's stressed expression, of the blood on her cheek.
"I just..." You feel your brows saddle. "I'm just so humiliated that it happened. Which is so dumb because I know she didn't do it on purpose. I know she was just genuinely afraid but... I'm just so embarrassed she did it."
"Please don't be," Rosalita says. "I care for your mother. I hold nothing against her. It's the disease, not her."
You've heard this before. During a group therapy session that Greg suggested when you were together. A chance to talk with other children of alcoholics.
"Alcoholism is a disease," a thin woman leading the meeting said. "Just like diabetes or heart disease."
Your fingers curled in your lap, teeth gnashing.
How can it be a disease when she chose to pick up the bottle time and time again?
You'd left at the smoke break, not even bothering to finish the meeting. When Greg asked you that evening how it went, you'd shrugged and said you didn't get much out of it.
Rosalita finishes her tea, pushing it slightly back.
"How is your mother today?"
"Really good," you say and now you find it possible to smile. "Like, she was so lucid this morning."
"Wonderful."
"We talked about her life as a kid and... It's like she's getting better. I mean, I know that's insane. Like, dementia doesn't go away, but-"
Rosalita lightly shakes her head, the look in her eyes heavy. You feel a flutter start in your chest. A bad one.
"My dear we are nearing the end and you must prepare yourself."
You know. You know that. But maybe, just maybe, a silly part of you wondered if the doctors got it wrong. If she wasn't as sick as they thought.
"She was just so with it today," you say, chin quivering. "Talking about her childhood and...I only had to give her one morphine tablet."
You trail off when you're voice starts to shake. Rosalita looks like she hates herself for having to reply.
"Have you ever heard the term terminal lucidity?"
"No."
Your mom makes a moaning noise from the next room and Rosalita's attention is immediately diverted. She stands giving you a soft smile and then she moves into the hallway to check on your mother.
Terminal lucidity.
You bring up your phone, typing the words into Google and reading at an intense speed.
"Terminal lucidity is the sudden, unexpected return of mental clarity, memory, and cognitive alertness in patients suffering from severe dementia, brain damage, or other terminal illnesses shortly before death. Known as "the last goodbye," this rare phenomenon allows nonverbal or unresponsive individuals to communicate clearly, often lasting from minutes to hours."
You don't know why this but this has your fingers shaking so hard that you drop your phone onto the table. It clatters loudly, the sound setting you on edge. You push yourself up from the table, suddenly needing fresh air. Needing to breathe.
You need to leave.
THEN
You've never really been in Frankie's room before. Frankie's parents never really liked him having friends over and definitely not in his bedroom. His hand is sweaty holding yours, so warm it feels like he's on fire. You stare at his profile, noting the way his throat bobs nervously.
As he leads you inside you can't help but survey the clean and neatly stacked shelves, the model planes made with such attention to detail.
He releases your hand as he moves over to bed made up so tightly you could bounce a quarter on it. He pulls back the sheets, plumping his pillow before walking back over to you.
His eyes trail along your collar, down over your breasts, lingering at your skirt. He's drinking you in like water.
"Can I undress you?"
You feel shy at that, hesitating. You don't know about Frankie seeing your body with all its imperfections. You thought you might do it with all your clothes on.
"I'll go first?" He offers, fingers fumbling at his belt. "Maybe that would help?"
You give a half shrug, still not sure.
You watch in quiet fascination as Frankie strips down, stepping out of his pants, socks and unbuttoning his white shirt. He tosses it all in the corner of the room.
His cheeks are pink, his chest flushing as well. You see the extent of it when he removes his undershirt and tosses it into the same corner.
He's breathing a little more heavily now, and you can see his arousal bulging in his blue boxer briefs. It's intimidating as much as it is exciting.
"Now you," he says, indicating you should do the same. You figure he's abandoned the idea of undressing you, sensing it's too overwhelming.
You glance around at the room, feeling like the light is vivid despite the setting sun outside his window.
"Can we close the curtains?"
"Sure."
He moves across the room, tugging the pale grey fabric across his bedroom window. Its better, the light dimmed but everything is still visible.
"That okay?"
"Yeah."
"Do you want me to turn around?" He offers gently. "You can get into the bed and under the covers?"
Relief nearly makes you dizzy.
"Yeah. Don't turn around until I say."
He turns and you tear the clothes from your body, curling them into a ball. You don't want him to see your panties or bra. Something about the thought too intimate despite the fact that he's going to see you naked in mere moments.
You place them on the chair beside his desk, looking over your shoulder to make sure he's still not looking.
He isn't. His body faces away from you, his hands flexing at his sides. You scurry back over to the bed sliding under the covers and plumping up the pillow behind your head.
"Okay."
He turns around, eyes trailing over you in bed. You have the blankets held up under your chin, your eyes wide. You hope you look sort of appealing and not like a scared mouse.
He moves over to his desk, pulling a small wood box from the shelf overtop it. You watch as he produces a small foil packet from inside. A condom.
He stares at it for a long time, not looking your way.
"You can say no any time," he reminds you.
"I know."
He gives a relieved exhale, coming towards you. He's still wearing his boxers and your curiosity is overwhelming. Kevin's dick had been nothing to write home about, fairly normal, no weird marks.
But you want to see what lies between Frankie's thighs. You've thought about it more times than you care to mention.
He's still standing beside the bed, about to climb in next to you when you hold up a hand. Interpreting it as you needing to slow down or stop Frankie immediately jumps back.
"Sorry, too fast or?"
"It's not that," you whisper, voice hoarse. "It's just, can I see you first?"
Frankie isn't as shy as you are. He nods, tugging down his boxers and kicking them behind him. Then he stands there, chest puffed and lets you take him in.
You stare at his stiff member, utterly fascinated. His is so... Pretty. Bigger than Kevin’s. So perfectly proportioned, the color golden with a pinkish tip. It makes you bend forward on the mattress, tongue extended.
His cock twitches aggressively at the sight and Frankie nearly jumps out of his skin, stepping back with a shaky laugh.
"You can't do that."
You cock your head, puzzled at his reaction.
Kevin loved blow jobs. He couldn't be more enthusiastic enough about them. And you've read enough magazines to know that no guy turns down head.
"Do you not like blow jobs?"
Frankie flushes, shaking his head.
"I like em too much."
You shrug. Whatever.
You re-position the pillow behind your head and lean back, watching Frankie slide the condom over his erection. He's panting through parted lips, eyes fixated on his fingers. When it's secured he glances over at you.
He's going to see all of you now, the thought making your body tingle. He was brave enough to show you his naked body, so you lay your hands palm down on the mattress.
He peels back the sheets slowly, as if he's savoring the sight. You watch his eyes rake down your naked form, lingering over the curves and valleys of your body and you tense up when he just blinks.
"Holy shit," he finally whispers.
You remain watching his reaction, only fully relaxing when you see the hungry look in his eyes intensify.
"Get into bed," you say plainly. You don't want to wait anymore.
Frankie is flushed, his ears a bright pink when he crawls in next to you. His body is warm, the hair on his legs rasping against your calves.
"Ready?"
You grin widely. "Yeah."
He pushes himself to his knees, clumsily positioning himself between your legs. He looks like he's going to explode out of the condom.
You take in a deep breath, letting your thighs fall open, indicating to him that you're ready when he is. His eyes immediately move to your glistening sex fully bared to him and his brows saddle.
"Jesus, Pip," he groans, covering his eyes.
You snap your thighs together, mortified. What did you do wrong?
He looks in pain. Kevin never looked at you like that. Are you ugly down there? It's always looked normal to you. But maybe to Frankie it's repulsive. He's seen a lot of vaginas. At least six.
This was a huge mistake.
You go to roll away, off the bed and he peels his fingers from his face, holding you by the shoulder.
"Wait, what are you doing?"
"Just forget it okay?" You snap, one arm covering your bare chest. "Clearly I fucked up and you don't want to do this anymore."
He frowns. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You covered your eyes," you say, tears turning him into a watercolor blur. You wipe them away, jerking your head to the side.
"I told you I didn't know what I was doing," you sniffle. "You didn't have to be an asshole about it."
You pause when his big hands come to cup your face, forcing your eyes to his. He looks surprisingly amused. The sight infuriates you enough to attempt and jerk your head away. But he holds you in place, waiting for you to settle.
"Pip. It wasn't a bad thing," he breathes. "You just looked so damn good I was worried I wasn't gonna be able to last."
Oh.
"You don't need to know what you're doing," he continues, voice soft. "I'll take care of you."
Then he moves forward and presses a kiss to your mouth. Sweet, tender and innocent. A kiss that conveys that he's got you, you're safe. You kiss him back, sighing softly.
"Let me see again," he whispers against your mouth, voice husky. "Please?"
He leans back, eyes on your lower belly in anticipation.
You swallow, thighs falling open once again. He sucks in a breath, eyes fixated between your spread legs. You know the pose must be lurid, but now you like how it makes Frankie go all pink.
"Can I go down on you first?" he asks raggedly. "Please?"
You can only nod, too eager to feel embarrassed when he shimmies down the mattress, laying on his belly and, urging your thighs to part for him.
They relax, unhinging to spread widely for him. Your face burns but you don't let yourself look away from his reaction. He gives a low groan when he peers between your legs, face going slack as he sees the mess you both created there earlier on the couch.
You watch, fascinated as he moves forward, inhaling deeply before groaning again.
His eyes move lazily up your body, meeting your steady gaze with his own. Before you do or say anything more, his mouth descends.
What happens feels quick despite Frankie tasting you at his leisure; licking and making obscene noises that make your body break into goose bumps.
When you come in an absurdly quick fashion he raises his head as you go limp on the mattress, breathing raggedly. He looks absolutely ruined and you wonder if you appear the same.
"That was so fucking hot," Frankie pants, his mouth glossy as he crawls back up next to you on the bed.
You pull him towards you and he kisses you feverishly, excitement palpable as he nestles between your thighs, notching himself at your entrance.
"Ready?"
You nod, holding your breath.
"Tell me if you need to stop,"
Now he holds his breath, watching your face as he feeds himself into you slowly. You feel the first sting of it when he's halfway in, sucking in a lungful of air. He immediately stills, eyes searching your face.
"It's okay," you assure him. "Keep going."
You smell the old spice of his deodorant, the soapy laundry scent of his skin. For the rest of your life those scents combined will take you back to this moment.
It will take you back to Frankie working his way inside you with a delicate balance of arousal and tentativeness. It will take you back to that first moment his body settles within you to the hilt. To the blown out black of his pupils.
It will take you back to the gentle, rhythmic rocking of his body over yours, to the gentle creak of the mattress, to the building pressure that began to morph into pleasure when Frankie begins to kiss your neck.
It will make you smile at the sweetness of your combined youth, at the clumsy way your teeth clack when he starts to kiss you during it. Or the way your leg cramps partway.
"Fuck," Frankie grunts, his face buried in your neck. His hands fist in the blankets, his shoulders rolling. "Fuck, baby, you feel too good."
You smile to yourself, perversely proud of something you didn't even know you were doing.
But then you parse his words, eyes blowing wide.
Baby.
He called you baby.
He's never done that before. In the decade you've known him Frankie has never called you anything but your name or Pip. Something about this makes your skin burn in the best way. Like you want to run around the block with the sudden glory you feel.
Sex is nothing like you read about in cosmopolitan, nothing like the porn you've giggled over while watching on the school computers with your friends during free period.
This is sweet and slow, punctuated with soft grunts and moans as the mattress creaks. Frankie doesn't look away from you for a moment. He checks in with you periodically if you've been too quiet for too long or if he thinks he's hurting you.
He never is.
His left hand goes to find yours on the bed, fingers lacing. He presses it down into the mattress, mouth on yours as he slowly thrusts.
And when you finally climax it isn't some big, loud screaming thing. It's your body arching, voice a cracked moan of his name.
The words, his touch, and the way his mouth finds yours. It's all so good, your hips rolling against his until you’re sweaty and spent, trying not to give a disbelieving laugh.
Now it's Frankie's turn and you watch in fascination as his brows saddle when you grab his middle.
"Harder," you insist, wanting to feel just how powerful he can be. "Deeper."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
Frankie could never hurt you.
You feel the weight of him pressing down on your pelvis, reveling in the way he moans your name. And then you watch his eyes squeeze shut, his thrusts pounding into you as you feel him release.
Your magazines prepared you for pain, for blood on the sheets and some out of body pleasure. None of that occurs. There is no blood, no intense pain. The pleasure you felt was good, but not the kind you read about. You don't even know if that kind of pleasure is realistic.
No, it's nothing like you read about or prepared yourself for and you couldn't be more thankful. It was real and it was Frankie and that makes it perfect.
He licks his lips, eyes bouncing between yours before he extends his neck and kissing your mouth. Its so feather soft, so perfectly sweet.
He pulls himself from you slowly, gauging when you wince. It feels a bit sore between your legs but nothing overwhelming. Frankie rolls off of you to land onto the mattress beside you. You both breathe heavily, shoulders touching.
"Was that okay?"
You give a satisfied hum, nodding. “Yeah.”
You’re not a virgin anymore.
"Be right back."
You don't glance after him as he throws the blanket off of him, for modesty's sake. You hear running water, the sound of rustling.
You remain laying there so uncertain of yourself. Frankie gave you what you wanted, so should you leave? You tense up, uncertain as you glance around for your clothes.
Your panties are beside the bed and you tug them on quickly. You're still glancing around for your t-shirt but throw yourself back when you hear the bathroom door in the hallway creak open.
Frankie pads back into the bedroom pulling on fresh pyjama pants. You remain laying there, totally thrown. Why isn't he saying anything? You watch him pull a T-shirt from the dresser before he's crawling back into the bed next to you.
"Here."
He hands you the soft shirt with some obscure band on the front. You stare at it for a moment, figuring perhaps he thinks you'll need it for the walk home. You sit up, curling forward as you hurriedly tug it down over you. Now that you both have finished, the thought of him seeing your bare chest makes you shy.
The shirt is oversized on you of course, and it smells like his laundry detergent. You notice he's watching you, one arm behind his head, the other between the two of you.
You wait for him to ask you to leave now that you've had sex. When he doesn't you worry he's extending this to be kind, maybe he thinks you need this emotional aftercare.
“Thanks for that.”
You prepare to take the blankets off from over your legs but you stop when you see the concerned look in Frankie's eyes.
"You don't have to leave," he whispers. "You can stay over if you want."
His vulnerability touches something in you. That big strong Frankie who has always been the one to save you now needs saving. The affection you've always held for him seems to multiply, making the answer you give him instinctive.
"I'll stay."
You slowly lower yourself back down beside him, watching him settle into the bed with a soft exhale. It sounds like relief.
Your shoulders touch his and you think that this is how you'll sleep, side by side, breathing slow. But his hand is sliding over your belly to tug you towards him. He urges you onto your side, pulling your spine against his front.
You feel as he curls around you, long legs and arms holding you like a sentry before tucking you under his chin. You've never been held like this. Not with one's entire body, with this warm calm that floods your body. When he kisses the top of your head you believe you might actually melt.
"Night, Pip."
"Night, Frankie."
The night air is a welcome balm to the burning despair in your chest. You propel yourself along the cracked sidewalks with tears in your eyes.
You forgot your phone back at home and you don't want to go back for it. You just want to be free, away from all of this, away from the pain.
Santi is too far away and you can't call him. Payphones don't exist anymore. So much of your youth has been decimated, revamped, killed off. Gentrification of the nearby homes, the local bodegas gone, all to make way for a city you don’t recognize anymore.
You turn the corner and realize the only home nearby is the one you've unconsciously been walking to this entire time. The house you can never forget. Its still in the quiet of night, the distant sound of buzzing insects the only sound.
You're not actually expecting him to be home. It's not even seven - he's probably out with the guys or –
"Pip? What're you doing here?”
The door opens abruptly and his eyes widen when he takes in that it's you. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt. When you see the Standard Oil hat perched on his head your lower lip starts to wobble.
“Is your mom okay?" Frankie's voice isn't hard and neither is his gaze. He's genuinely curious.
"It's... It's...I needed to be away..."
He doesn't wait for you to finish trying to find the words. He just gives you an inscrutable look and then steps backwards motioning behind him.
"Do you want to come in?"
You hesitate. The thought of going inside Frankie's house right now seems too overwhelming. You want to remain here on his step, still able to breathe the fresh air.
“I don’t know.”
He nods, not rushing you, not upset. He folds his arms over his chest but not in a defensive mode, more like he's holding himself, like he's bracing himself for something you're going to say.
"My mom..." You manage to whisper. "It's... She doesn't have..."
You can't say the words. Can't commit then to the air. If you don't say them out loud then maybe they won't come true. She can't leave. Not when things looked like they could be changed. Not when forgiveness feels possible.
And suddenly the words are getting trapped in your chest, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to think, making it hard to do anything other than gasp for lungfuls of air. You struggle, eyes frenzied, brows shooting to your hairline when it doesn’t come. You’re stuttering, unable to stop.
“Breathe, Pip.”
Frankie's hands are there at your shoulder, broad and gentle. They ground you as he squeezes his fingers into your skin lightly. He crouches slightly, trying to catch your eyes with his.
"Take a breath.”
He models this, slow and deep, making you copy him.
In.... And out.... In.... And out.
His hands are gently removed from your shoulders only when you're breathing grows even.
"Okay. Try again. What’s going on?"
Your face crumples, and you're not sure how you can say the words. But his steady voice and the way he stands there, waiting with such openness, makes it possible to answer.
"My mom doesn't have much time. I thought she was doing better but that's just something that can happen right before the end."
And for once you want that familiar comforting feeling Frankie used to bring you. Whether it was pulling you from trees or holding you in bed. You want him to chase away all the ugly fears that you can’t.
And like some kind of miracle he nods like he knows this, somehow he senses it and he holds out his arms to you. It's a simple gesture, soft and welcoming. His arms, strong and golden remain there, waiting.
You go willingly, the action natural, easy, familiar. And the second you hit his chest and inhale that familiar old spice and laundry scent you feel a ragged cry cleave from your throat.
"She can't leave me."
One of Frankie's big hands cups the back of your head, the other holding you against him. He murmurs your name, that he's got you. You sob quietly into his chest, tears soaking the soft fabric of his t-shirt. He rocks you slowly, soothingly.
"I'm here, I've got you," he rasps when your sobs quiet. "I've got you, baby."
18+ only mdni. You and Joel are neighbors who can’t stand each other, but you’ve found a way to quickly get over it. My tag list and inbox are always open and available so please ask. Thanks everyone🌻💛 master list
“God I can’t fucking stand you.” Joel angrily whispered in your ear. His hands gripping your cheeks as he bounced you up and down on his erect length. Your arms wrapped around his neck holding on as tightly as you could. Your skirt around your waist, and Joel had his pants pulled down just enough.
“I can’t fucking stand you either.” You said out of breath as you tried not to moan out loud. Pressing your face into the crevice of his neck and biting down, a growl escaping his lips, as he smacked a hand on your backside in warning.
Joel currently had you pinned against the wall in his closet, while his wife was downstairs continuing to host the party that they were throwing. Joel was your next door neighbor that you couldn’t stand. He was rude, vile and incredibly annoying, and you two never saw eye to eye about anything. Constantly exchanging harsh words and comments to each other all while doing it with a smile, and a middle finger behind your back.
But the sexual tension between you both was just boiling over at this point. You could feel his heated gaze on you the entire time as you walked through the house. Giving him a cocky smirk before next thing you know you felt a rough hand grab you, and drag you upstairs and shove you in his closet.
“Yet you’re letting me fuck this tight, wet and juicy cunt while my wife’s downstairs.” He mocked you and all you could do was whimper at his word choice. “Such a greedy whore.”
His words hitting you right between the legs as you clenched tightly him making him groan. He knew right then and there his words held the complete truth. You were wanting him, as shameful as it was to admit, he was married and you couldn’t stand him, but yet the thought of him being touching you or being inside you had you aching between your legs.
“I know you’ve been wanting this for so long.” He cooed in a teasing tone, and you tried not to roll your eyes, but he was telling the truth.
You had spent so many nights awake thinking about him, touching yourself to thoughts of what he could do to you, and then feeling absolute guilt that morning, like you had done something wrong. It was wrong. He’s a married man and here you were imagining him fucking you on the bed, but now he’s fucking you in a closet.
“Oh, you’re gonna be such a good girl for me aren’t ya?” He said more to himself than you, but regardless hearing him say it as if he didn’t want this to be the last time he was inside you. “You’ll do anything for me.”
A cry left your lips as he hit that sweet spongey spot, and a hand closed around your mouth. “Shhh darlin’, don’t want my wife to hear us fuckin’.”
“Just shut up and fuck me harder.” You spit at him through his hand, and all he did was grin mischievously, and turn around and cleared some stuff off a bench and placed your back on it. He remained inside you the whole time, not once losing his grip or letting you slip.
“Oh I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you darlin’. Don’t you worry about that.” Grabbing your legs and placing them on his shoulders, as he started plunging in a different angle, and hitting even deeper and harder, you could hear the bench creaking beneath you as you quickly gripped the edges. The plush cushion felt soft against your skin like you were lying on a cloud.
Trying not to focus on the laughter that you could hear downstairs, but the handsome and devilish face that was staring down at you. Grunting each time he thrusted into you, and hands running up and down your thighs like he couldn’t get enough of touching your skin. You could already feel your release knocking at the door, and you didn’t know how much longer you were going to last.
“Joel, I’m gonna—“ you started to whine, and Joel knew by the look on your face you were close.
“Fuck let me hear you.” Sneering through his teeth as the sounds of his skin smacking against yours echoed around the room bouncing off the walls. Little whimpers and moans slipping out of your mouth like a faucet that was leaking.
Reaching a hand down to between where you two were connected. His thumb rubbing rapid circles on your puffy and swollen clit like he was scratching off a lottery ticket. He was desperate to get you there so he could feel his release as well. He had been holding it for a minute now, and was waiting for you to come first.
“Come for me darlin’, wanna feel the sweet cunt squeeze my cock.” He encouraged you and you bite down on your arm as you felt your legs shaking, and the unbelievable pressure in your lower stomach.
Joel wasn’t far behind as you could feel him squirting his warm and sticky load inside of you. Cock twitching as he panted heavily into your neck kissing the skin like a secret lover. The air in the room was foggy and moist, and smelled like scandalous sex. You couldn’t believe what had just taken place, and let alone in a closet while a party was going on downstairs.
“Fuckin Christ.” Joel grumbled as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and kept his other hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles like he’s done it before and it felt comforting to him.
“Joel. Baby.” A soft voice called outside of the closet door. Both you and Joel looking over and then to each other, your eyes wide in panic but he looked cool as a cucumber. “Are you coming back down to the party?”
“Yeah babe, I’ll be right down.” He responded his voice steady, as he looked at you and grinned placing a quick kiss on your lips waiting for her to walk away.
“And do you know where Y/N is? There’s someone I wanted to introduce her to.”
summary: co-parenting with joel has its ups and downs.
wc: 4.4k
tags: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, pre/no outbreak, reader isn’t specified as sarah’s mother/stepmother (you decide!), sarah is about 5 in this, infidelity (reader is seeing someone), jealous joel, joel is a pro yearner, lots of tears, handjob, joel miller the pussy eater, joel makes you answer a phone call when he’s eating your pussy, unprotected sex (be safe gang), hair pulling, vaginal fingering, oral (fem receiving), save a horse ride a cowboy, not beta read
note: this was originally supposed to be hateful make-up sex but i’m a big believer in subby pathetic joel so it turned out a lot sweeter. enjoy!😋
-
You’d always assumed Joel Miller would be your forever person. Together, you built a family, a home, a sanctuary, one that you thought was indestructible. As it turns out, forever wasn’t in the cards for you and Joel. You knew from the start that Joel was a workaholic. Towards the end of your relationship, you would only see Joel if you happened to be awake when he finally trudged through the door, grimy and sweaty from a hard days’ work.
Work drained Joel. The only thing he had energy for was Sarah. For all his faults that showed in your relationship, Joel continued to be the best father to that girl that he possibly could be.
Joel worked himself to the bone through unspeakable hours from Monday to Friday, so he got Sarah at the weekends. Sarah loved her weekends at her dad’s. She would excitedly relay stories to you when she came back about all the adventures they got up to.
So, in short, you and Joel made it work. You were civil to each other during pick-ups and drop-offs. You’d both told Sarah that mommy and daddy weren’t together anymore, but that you were still friends. But the truth was, you never wanted to be friends with Joel. You couldn’t be his friend. Gazes and touches lingered a little too long to be friendly, but for your sake, for Sarah’s sake, you pretended like you were okay with the new norm.
Sarah had been at Joel’s all week. He’d put in a holiday request with his firm so he could spend some more time with her. She had been buzzing with excitement when you dropped her off. You made the drive up towards Joel’s house, the one you’d once shared with him. You missed having more space, but missing the house meant missing Joel, and that was something you weren’t prepared to think about yet.
You knocked on the door, waving to the neighbours a few doors down who were sat on their porch enjoying the sun. The front door opened, and there was Joel. You did a double take. Something about him was different. He looked well-rested, the dark circles under his eyes from the unsociable hours he worked looked like they had long cleared up. He was clearly fresh out of the shower, his hair still damp and slightly curly the way it always was when he’d just showered. His muscles were bigger, his shoulders seemed somehow more broad. He wore a simple navy t-shirt and black sweatpants. It was strange seeing him without a belt of tools around his waist. A week away from his gruelling job had clearly been what he needed.
“Hey,” Joel greeted you with a polite smile, one hand still on the door and the other in his pocket. “You can come in, but she’s asleep. I think I wore her out this week.”
“I can come back,” you suggested. “Call me when she wakes up-“
“No, I insist. Come in,” Joel held the door open wider, stepping aside to allow you space to step inside.
“Are you sure?” you questioned. It didn’t seem like a good idea. It had been six months since you’d split, and the two of you were yet to spend more than five minutes together without Sarah. Hell, you were seeing someone new. Sitting in what had once been your family home with Joel, when he looked like this, for however long it took for Sarah to wake up could reopen old wounds. “I don’t wanna put you out.”
“Don’t put me out at all,” Joel insisted. “It’s hot out, come in for a drink or somethin’.”
You smiled at Joel and stepped past him into the house. It was like stepping back in time. Everything was just how you remembered it. “Want a beer?” Joel asked as he shut the door behind you.
“Sure,” you replied, distracted as you took in the photos on the walls. They were the exact same as when you’d left. Some of the photos still had you in them, holding baby Sarah and smiling out at the camera back when you thought this family would be a forever-thing.
Joel crossed to the fridge and took out two bottles of beer, twisting off the caps and throwing them in the trash before holding one out to you. You took it with a word of thanks, your fingers brushing against his. You blatantly ignored it. Joel leant against the kitchen counter, arms folded like he was trying to be casual as he sipped his beer.
“You look real nice,” Joel told you sincerely.
You smiled, the compliment igniting the same warm feeling inside you that his compliments always had when you were together. You ignored that, too. “You look nice, too, Joel.”
The silence between you should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was the way it always was: comfortable. The idea of that somehow made you feel more awkward. You cleared your throat and asked, “So how was your week?”
“Good,” Joel confirmed. “She had fun. I forget how much energy that kid has.”
“Tell me about it,” you grinned. “It’s like she’s on speed dial constantly. She was always like that, I guess.” You stopped yourself abruptly. Reminiscing was a dangerous game. You took another swig of beer to shut yourself up.
“How are you?” Joel asked.
You hesitated before answering. “Not bad,” you shrugged. “I’m, um… seeing someone.”
Joel’s eyes darkened. His jaw tensed. “I know,” he replied, his voice low.
You frowned. “How do you know?”
Joel sipped his beer, but you noticed he was holding the glass bottle tighter than he had been before. “Sarah told me.”
You stared at him for a moment. Sarah had met your boyfriend a few times, just in passing. You weren’t quite there with letting him take on the role of her father figure just yet. He was okay with her. That was it. Just okay. The guy clearly wasn’t used to being around kids. He wasn’t effortless with Sarah the way Joel was. But you knew that comparing any man you dated to Joel was a risky game, so you swallowed your pride and kept him around. Whether it was for your benefit, for Sarah’s, or so you could pretend he was the man stood in front of you, you couldn’t say.
“What did she say?” you eventually bit the bullet and asked.
Joel looked hesitant to reply, but he eventually let up, “She doesn’t like him.”
Your heart sank. You slammed the beer bottle down on the kitchen counter harder than you’d intended to and instantly turned your back on Joel. “I’m waking her up and then we’re leaving.”
Joel didn’t move. “It’s what she told me.”
You were halfway up the stairs before you turned back, pointing accusatorially at Joel, hissing through your teeth to not wake the sleeping child upstairs. “You’re full of shit, Joel Miller. You invite me inside, offer me a beer, family photos still on the walls, just to tell me our daughter doesn’t like the new guy I’m seeing?”
“You seem awfully touchy ‘bout it,” Joel responded, setting his bottle down, standing up to his full height and taking a step towards you. Arms still folded across his chest. Muscles bulging. Jaw clenched. “How serious is it?”
You glared at him. Months worth of anger towards Joel was bubbling up to the surface now. The late nights home, how he was such an incredible father that you felt your anger towards him as a partner was unjustified. How it still hurt you to see his face because losing him was the biggest mistake of your life. It was simmering dangerously inside of you and threatening to burst. “You have no right to ask me that.”
“If it involves my kid, I think I do,” Joel replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. “She said it makes her sad. Said you don’t seem happy with him.”
You felt appalled that Sarah felt that way, but your anger that you had to hear it from Joel of all people overrode that emotion entirely. “That’s for her and I to discuss.”
“Are you happy with him?” Joel took another step closer to you.
“That’s none of your fucking business.”
“Are you happy with him?” Joel repeated his question like you hadn’t spoken. He was so close to you now that you could feel his breath on your face. “Or are you just pretendin’ that he’s me?”
The nerve of the question almost struck you down. You let out a cruel laugh, demanding, “Why don’t we talk about you, Joel? How’s your moving on going? How come this place looks exactly like it did when I left it? You wanna talk about pretending, why don’t you do a little introspection?”
You’d expected the deflection to anger Joel. It was the reaction you wanted. Instead, he uncrossed his arms, his scowl changing to a hurt, dejected frown. “You really wanna know the answer to that?” he asked, his voice more vulnerable than you’d heard it in months. “What’re you gonna do if I tell you? You gonna leave him and come back?” You said nothing. You just stared up into his eyes, the eyes you’d missed so much, and watched as they filled with tears he didn’t even try to fight. “No. So there ain’t no fuckin’ point me even sayin’ it. So we should both just go back to pretendin’, right?”
Joel stepped back, studying your face through his watering eyes for any kind of response. You tore your eyes away from his, willing yourself not to cry with him. When Joel realised you weren’t going to give him anything, he nodded and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.
“I should go,” you squeaked, impatiently brushing away the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “I’m gonna drive around… call me when she wakes up.”
Before you could take a step out of the kitchen, Joel’s hand reached for yours. You froze at the contact. “Joel-“ you croaked his name, the tears threatening to spill past your waterline.
“Wait.” Joel’s voice cracked as he spoke. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. You didn’t remember him stepping closer again. “Please… just wait.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, though you made no attempt to remove your hand from his grip. “I need to leave.”
“Don’t,” Joel breathed, both hands now cupping your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “Please don’t leave again.“
You didn’t have time to tell Joel that you regretted leaving every day, before he was kissing you like he’d die if his lips weren’t on yours for one more second. Your hands grasped at his broad shoulders, welcoming the familiar feeling of Joel’s lips against yours.
Joel pulled away for air, where he whispered against your lips, “I’m sick of pretendin’ I’m okay with not bein’ yours anymore.”
“Joel,” you whined his name, “we shouldn’t. I can’t-“
“Tell me to stop and I will,” Joel’s tone was deadly serious, his eyes darker yet more sincere than you’d ever seen them.
You said nothing. Instead, you tugged him back down by the shirt and crashed your lips onto his once more. You knew it was wrong. You weren’t single anymore. But in that moment, what felt more wrong that you had gone so long without this. Without Joel.
Your hands tangled in Joel’s still damp hair, tugging gently, but hard enough to feel him groan against your mouth as he backed you into the wall, one hand pressed against the wall beside your head while the other rested on your lower back, pulling your body closer to his. One of your hands travelled from his hair to his face, running your thumb over the rough stubble that lined his jaw, then down his chest, under his shirt. You ran your hand over his soft stomach, before you undid the drawstring of his sweatpants and dared to move your hand towards his cock.
Joel gasped against your mouth when he felt your thumb swipe over his tip, dick twitching and already beginning to harden in your hand. “Is this okay?” you asked, slowly pressing kisses to Joel’s neck.
You felt his Adam’s apple bob underneath your lips as Joel tried to keep his composure, nodding slowly. “Y-yes. Please, darlin’.” A raspy moan left his mouth as you used your thumb to spread the precum leaking from his tip down and around his shaft. The hand that had been resting flat against the wall beside your head balled up into a fist as Joel leaned forward to kiss you again, breathing heavily against your mouth as you stroked his cock from the base to the tip.
Joel missed this. Not just your delicate fingers wrapped around his thick cock, but you, your scent, your presence, you. His chest rose and fell heavily as he chased your lips once more, groaning into your mouth as a way to regulate the volume of the moans he so desperately wanted to let you hear at full volume - Sarah was still asleep upstairs. He involuntarily bucked his hips into your hand, the nails on your free hand digging into his shoulder through his shirt to keep him stable.
“Fuck, baby ‘m close,” Joel whimpered into your mouth, and you could feel it. Years and years of memorising his body and the sensations that came with it wasn’t easy to forget. His body was tense against yours, his legs shook underneath him as he came into your hand with a throaty groan, the sound music to your ears as you continued to slowly stroke his cock as his orgasm passed, reduced to broken whimpers and quiet whines against your lips.
Joel took a few moments to catch his breath as you tucked his softening length back into his sweatpants. He kissed you softly and you felt him grinning against your lips. “Is she still asleep?” you muttered between kisses. Joel pulled away and was silent for a second so you both could listen out for any sounds from upstairs. When you heard none, Joel pulled you flush against his body again and kissed you like his life depended on it, backing you out of the kitchen, pulling away to steer you around the coffee table in the living room so you wouldn’t fall. The back of your legs hit the couch and you made to pull Joel down with you, but he grabbed you and pulled you back up before you fell.
“Not here,” he breathed against your lips, “we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ this right. Not gonna fuck you on my couch like you’re some meaningless hookup.”
“We can’t do this upstairs,” you said, but a gasp punctuated your words when Joel’s lips trailed down your jawline to your neck, all while he backed you up towards the stairs. “Sarah’s still asleep.”
“I can be quiet if you can,” Joel said, his voice slightly muffled as he continued to nip and suck at the tender skin of your neck.
You nodded, the entire situation hitting you as Joel picked you up in his strong arms and carried you up the stairs. What was supposed to be picking up your daughter had turned into making out with and jerking off your ex-boyfriend in his kitchen. Your actual boyfriend would be sitting in your apartment wondering where you were. But when Joel closed and locked his bedroom door as quietly as he could behind you and then gently laid you down on his soft grey bedspread that reminded you of lazy mornings and countless nights being fucked stupid into this very mattress, you forgot about him all over again, and all that clouded your mind was Joel Miller.
Both of Joel’s hands rested on a space of the mattress either side of your head as he hovered over you on all fours, one knee between your thighs and the other on the other side of your right leg. He leaned down to kiss you again, his beautiful nose nudging your cheek. His lips peppered kisses over every inch of your face, eventually trailing down your jaw and latching onto a sweet spot on your neck. You hummed contentedly, one hand in Joel’s hair and the other on the back of his neck, dragging your nails along his skin gently but teasingly. Joel continued to suck and bite at your neck like he had all the time in the world. ‘Rush’ was not even in his vocabulary right now.
The hand on the back of Joel’s neck moved, sliding underneath his shirt and resting on his chest. Joel disconnected his lips from your neck for just a second, long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head and discard it on the ground without a second thought. He raised his eyebrows at you, not expectantly, but checking wordlessly that this was still what you wanted. You had known each other so long that the two of you just spoke each other’s language; communicating without words. You nodded, and felt Joel’s hand slip under your shirt, gliding over your stomach and down to the button of your jeans, popping it open effortlessly. The zip followed, and he yanked your jeans down and threw them away like they were irritating him.
Joel leaned back down and pressed wet open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, the hairs of his moustache tickling your soft skin. His index finger hooked around the waistband of your panties. “Missed this pretty pussy, honey. Got myself off thinkin’ about ‘er every night since you been gone. Lemme eat you out, gorgeous. Please. Need to taste you again.”
Your pussy was already soaked by the time you nodded and Joel peeled your panties off. “Fuck, look at you,” Joel groaned, teasing your entrance with his index and middle finger. He slipped his two fingers inside of you with ease, and you had to bite your lip to stifle your whimper of pleasure. “Forgot how fuckin’ beautiful you are when you’re soaked f’me like this.” He slipped a third finger inside you. “Bet your fuckin’ boy-toy don’t make you feel like this.”
The shrill ringing of a phone disrupted the rhythmic pumping of Joel’s fingers inside of you. He removed his fingers and leaned over the side of the bed towards your discarded jeans, pulling your ringing phone out of your back pocket. He flashed the screen in your direction. Your heart dropped when you saw your boyfriend’s name on the screen. “Speak of the fuckin’ devil,” Joel grinned mischievously, and before you could think of what to do next, Joel accepted the call.
“Yep,” Joel grumbled into the phone. “It’s Joel. Sarah’s dad. Yeah, she probably mentioned me.” You gasped in surprise when Joel shoved his fingers back inside your soaked pussy, upping his rhythm to an almost brutal pace. “Yeah, she’s right here.” There was a devilish smirk on Joel’s face as his eyes met yours, twinkling darkly. He held the phone out to you with one hand, still finger-fucking you with the other one.
You snatched the phone from him, and breathed into the phone, “Hey.” You sounded like you’d just ran a marathon. Joel watched you with a satisfied smirk and removed his fingers from your cunt once more. He leant back down, his nose nudged your inner thigh. You glared warningly at him, but that seemingly spurred him on.
“Why is he answering your phone?”
“I was checking on Sarah, he picked up the call so it wouldn’t ring-“ You cut yourself off with a strangled moan as Joel began to eat your pussy like a man starved, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” you gasped as Joel’s nose bumped against your clit, tongue mercilessly swiping between your folds. You ran your free hand through Joel’s hair and tugged hard, the motion making him groan into your pussy as he devoured it.
“When are you and Sarah coming back?”
“Soon,” you answered far too quickly, biting the back of your hand to stop yourself crying out. Joel laughed at your answer, the sound sending vibration through your core causing you to shudder. It made you forget yourself for a second and you whined, “Fuck, Joel.”
Your boyfriend clocked the situation immediately. “Are you fucking him right now?” he demanded.
Joel’s nails dug into the meat of your thighs as he fucked you on his tongue. Your heels dug into his back as you lifted your hips against his mouth. The pleasure overrode the need for damage control in this situation and the phone dropped from your hand, abandoned on the bed beside you so both hands could pull roughly at Joel’s hair. You could hear your boyfriend calling your name and a slew of profanities down the phone but you were too far gone to care, so close to your orgasm.
Joel removed one of his hands from your thighs and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer to him so your boyfriend could hear every filthy noise coming from you, from his tongue on your wet pussy, and from Joel himself, the sorry ex-boyfriend. Joel remembered every sensation that came with your body, and grinned into your cunt when he felt your whole body begin to tremble. “That’s it,” Joel mewled, his voice raspy, dripping with arousal, but loud enough to be picked up on the phone call. “Cum on my face. That’s my fuckin’ girl.”
“What the fuck?! Yo, what the fuck?! I’ll fucking kill you, man!”
The sounds of your relationship falling apart were masked by your moan of pleasure when your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave and you came on Joel’s tongue. He continued to lick you through it, catching every drop of your release as breathy moans escaped your lips and your boyfriend screamed and swore through the phone speakers.
Your chest rose and fell as you recovered from the euphoric pleasure that had just ripped through you. Joel sat up onto his knees, his dick was hard in his sweats and his moustache was slick with your wetness. He picked up the phone and hung up the call in the middle of another scream of ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you!’ “Problem solved,” Joel shrugged like it was nothing and tossed the phone back down onto the pile of clothes beside the bed.
You laughed breathlessly, sitting up onto your knees to mirror Joel, grabbing him by the face and pulling him into another desperate kiss. “He’s gonna kill us,” you giggled against Joel’s lips, tasting your own juices on his mouth.
“Let him fuckin’ try,” Joel practically growled, and with that, it was forgotten about. You ached with the need to feel Joel inside you again. You climbed into Joel’s lap, feeling his hard cock against your naked core through his sweatpants as Joel pulled off your shirt and threw it on the floor with the other discarded items of clothing. He unclasped your bra with one hand and quickly turned his attention towards your tits, sucking and licking and swirling his tongue around your nipples. Joel Miller was unlike any other man you’d ever been with.
Joel kicked off his sweatpants and grabbed you by the hips, lining himself up with your entrance and helping you sink down onto his length. You both moaned at the sensation. You didn’t know how you’d forgotten how good he felt inside you, how well he filled you up. Joel sank his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder to stifle his groans, one hand steadying himself on the bed and the other resting on your lower back.
Joel began to buck his hips upwards, the tip of his cock already hitting your cervix, and before you knew it he was fucking you hard and fast to make up for months and months of lost time. You raked your nails down his broad shoulders, unable to control the whines and moans Joel was fucking out of you.
“Baby,” Joel groaned, his face hidden in your neck as his teeth grazed your earlobe, “gotta- fuck- gotta keep it down.”
“Just feels so fucking good,” you whimpered as Joel continued his unrelenting pace.
“I know, baby, just be a good girl and keep quiet f’me,” Joel encouraged you, and then he shoved his fingers into your mouth to muffle the pretty sounds he was pulling out of you. He muffled his own moans by burying his face between your tits, his low groans sending vibrations to your chest as your walls fluttered around his dick, the feeling causing Joel’s head to fall back in pleasure.
“Fuck- this pussy’s fuckin’ perfect, honey. Can’t believe I ever let you go.” He was pussy drunk beyond belief and it was the sexiest thing ever.
You clenched around his cock, moans muffled by Joel’s fingers that still tasted of your slick. Joel continued to fuck you as your second orgasm washed over you, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he neared his own climax. “‘M gonna cum, baby, fuck… Missed you so fuckin’ much, oh, fuck-“
You slapped your hand over Joel’s mouth to stifle his cries as he spilled thick ropes of his cum inside you. You continued to ride him slowly, coaxing him through it until the bliss subsided. Both your hearts thumped in unison. It felt like you were well and truly one again.
Joel flipped you over so you were on your back and he was on top of you, propped up on his elbows. His dick was softening inside of you, but he did not pull out. “You’re beautiful,” he said, pressing his lips gently against yours. “I missed bein’ able to tell you that.”
You ran a hand through his hair, the other running over the already forming scratch marks over his shoulders from your nails. “I missed hearing you say that.”
He grinned down at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, pushing your hair off your sweaty face. “I ain’t lettin’ you go again.”
You smiled back at him, wondering how you could be so stupid to lose him in the first place. “Good.”
You heard shuffling next door from Sarah’s bedroom. Joel pulled out and handed you your discarded clothes. You both dressed and made your way into your daughter’s room.
Sarah was lying on her back underneath her pink sheets, rubbing her eyes and yawning as you and Joel entered the room. “Mommy,” she exclaimed when she saw you. “Did you and Daddy make up?”
