Mentions of pregnancy, references to one night stands and secrets
Summary: Cassie Miller makes the mistake of spending a night with Billy Hargrove, and something happens that changes her life forever
Chapter one.
It had been one stupid night and now she was paying for it. Cassie glowered at the stick infront of her. Pregnant. She was pregnant at 17, just like her mother had been with her. It was funny how it all passed down through the generations.
It was history repeating itself, she would laugh at how obsurd the whole thing was if she didn't realise how her life would be like her moms. One day she would stop taking care of the child, and rhen when that child was old enough they would be blamed for ruining her life at such a young age just like what happened with her mom. The saying like mother, like daughter never rang so true.
She even got pregnant with a guy she barely knew just like her mom did with her. That explains the lack of father figure in her life, and the resentment her mother held over her. And now she was stuck in the schools bathroom feeling sick to her stomach, a test gripped between her fingers and tears threatening to prick her eyes.
She didn't even know Billy hargrove. He had moved here a few weeks ago, and she barely said a word to the guy but all it took was a few drinks and a Halloween party before they were between the sheets. And now this was her consequence.
A door opening shifted her from her negative thoughts as she stuffed the test into her bag before opening the stall and bustling her way out of the door and intonrhe hallway, ignoring the confused glanced of the girls who had entered the grimy bathroom.
She stopped seeing the source of all her problems in the hallway. His arm around another girl as he whispered sweet nothings into her ear. She narrowed her eyes before turning on her heel before they could make eye contact, she needed to get the hell out of here and fast.
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader, Nancy Wheeler x Fem!Reader (Platonic)
Summary: You and Billy Hargrove are just friends now. At least, that's what you've been telling yourself. But when a quiet moment in the library turns into something you can’t ignore, you’re left alone with the truth you won’t admit.
Warnings: Teen Angst, Slow Burn, Cliché, Hurt/No Comfort, Emotional Repression, Slight Reference to Physical Injuries. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something
Word Count: 5.5k
A/N: Billy is backkkkkk. GUYS. We're almost at the end, can you believe it!?!? I'm amazed at how far this story has come and am truly grateful for each and every one of you all's support. It has truly meant the world to me and has helped me keep the motivation alive to finish this story. We have one chapter left before we say goodbye to Billy and Bambi, so brace yourselves now. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that you have a wonderful remainder of your day!
- Nebula
Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist
Chapter 8: Bandages That Stayed
The final bell rings — loud and tinny — echoing down the halls like it’s bouncing off every locker at once. The entire school seems to exhale at once.
Lockers slam. Voices rise. Sneakers squeak against tile. The hallway floods with movement.
You take your time.
Not because you’re trying to.
Just… because you are.
Books stacked carefully. Papers aligned. Bag zipped slower than necessary.
Dragging it out.
Like if you move slow enough, you won’t have to think about what’s waiting outside.
About who’s waiting.
You tell yourself that’s not why.
It doesn’t make it less true.
By the time you step into the hallway, the worst of the chaos has thinned out. Students drift toward the parking lot in loose clusters, laughter rising and falling in waves.
Nancy finds you near your locker, knowing exactly where you’d be.
“Ready?” she asks.
You nod, adjusting your bag on your shoulder.
You fall into step beside her, pushing through the last of the crowd. The late afternoon air hits cooler than it was this morning, carrying that faint metallic smell of coming rain.
The sky over Hawkins has gone darker — clouds thick and low, pressing down like they’re waiting.
Neither of you says anything at first.
But you can feel it.
Nancy thinking.
Watching.
Waiting.
“So,” she says finally, casual in a way that’s not casual at all. “Are we going to talk about whatever that was this morning?”
You don’t look at her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Right,” Nancy hums. “Because Billy Hargrove walking past three girls throwing themselves at him to follow you down the hallway is super normal.”
You huff a soft breath. “We have a project.”
Nancy hums a response, but you can tell that excuse has run its course.
“It didn’t mean anything, Nance,” you add, a little sharper than you intended. “He apologized and we moved on. And I guess you can say we’re friends now.”
Nancy’s brows lift slightly.
No argument. No pushback.
Just that look.
That thinking look — the one that means she’s already ten steps ahead of whatever you’re saying.
You shift your bag higher on your shoulder, suddenly restless.
The parking lot stretches out ahead of you — rows of cars, faded paint and chrome catching what little light breaks through the clouds. A few engines turn over, headlights flickering on early under the heavy sky.
You spot the Camaro immediately.
Of course you do.
You didn’t even have to search for it.
It sits slightly apart from the others, angled just enough to stand out. Like it doesn’t belong to the same world as the rest of the lot.
Billy’s leaning against it.
Same as always.
One boot crossed over the other, shoulders loose, like he’s been there long enough not to care who notices.
His head lifts the second you step into view.
Like he felt it.
Your gaze drops away just as quickly, stomach flipping in that same predictable, frustrating way.
Annoyingly consistent.
Nancy notices the interaction because of course she does. You feel her attention sharpen, taking in the shift, the timing, the way neither of you even pretends not to notice the other.
“Well,” she says lightly, “I guess it’s a good thing you two are friends.”
You grimace. “Don’t say it like that.”
Billy straightens when you get closer.
Not fully.
Just enough that it’s noticeable. Enough that Nancy notices.
“Hey,” he says.
It’s directed at you.
Then his eyes flick to Nancy.
“Wheeler,” he nods.
“Hargrove.”
Nancy’s tone is even. Neutral in a way that very much isn’t.
Billy pushes off the car, hands sliding briefly into his jacket pockets as his gaze flicks between the two of you.
There’s a second.
A small, almost imperceptible second where he looks like he’s trying to figure out what the right move is.
“You heading out?” he asks Nancy, landing on something safe.
Casual.
Normal.
Nancy studies at him for a second longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” she says. “I am.”
Another beat passes.
You can practically hear her thinking.
Weighing.
Deciding.
Then she looks at you.
Then back at him.
Then back at you again.
Slow.
Measured.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, but she doesn’t move right away.
She lingers just long enough to lean in slightly, her voice dropping just under the noise of the parking lot.
“Don’t let him drive like a maniac.”
You elbow her lightly. “Go.”
She smiles — sharp, knowing. Like she’s not done with this conversation.
Just postponing it.
She steps back, but not before giving Billy one last look.
Not unfriendly.
Not warm either.
Just… aware.
Then she turns, heading toward her car, keys already in hand.
You watch her go for a second longer than necessary. Long enough to pretend that’s what you’re focused on.
Because turning back means—
Him.
You exhale quietly and face Billy again.
He’s already watching you.
Of course he is.
There’s something quieter in his expression now. Less guarded than earlier. Less performative. Like he left that version of himself somewhere inside the building — under fluorescent lights and buzzing lockers — and didn’t bother picking it back up.
“Ready?” he asks.
Simple.
No edge.
No game.
Your grip tightens slightly on your bag strap. Just for a second.
Then you nod.
“Yeah.”
He reaches for the passenger door, pulling it open without thinking.
The gesture is so automatic it almost doesn’t register—
until it does.
You pause. Just for a fraction of a second.
Billy notices.
His hand stills on the door.
“What?” he asks.
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing.”
But it’s not nothing.
You slide into the seat, the familiar scent of leather and faint cologne wrapping around you as the door shuts with a solid click.
Billy rounds the front of the car, climbing into the driver’s seat a second later.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
The world outside hums — engines sputtering, voices fading, tires crunching over gravel.
Inside, it’s quieter.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
Billy starts the engine.
The car vibrates lightly under you, the low hum filling the small space. He flips the radio on; the static crackle before settling into a classic rock song — something steady, driving, faintly distorted through the speaker.
He glances at you once.
Quick.
Checking.
Then looks back at the road.
The Camaro rolls out of the lot, tires gripping the asphalt. The road ahead stretches out like it always does.
Familiar.
Predictable.
And yet, it feels… different.
-*-
The library is quieter than usual.
Or maybe it just feels that way.
The fluorescent lights hum faintly overhead, casting everything in that same dull, even glow. Rows of books stretch out in neat lines — worn spines, faded labels, the faint smell of paper and dust hanging in the air. Somewhere, a cart squeaks softly as it’s pushed along tile.
A couple of students linger near the back, heads bent together, whispering over something that doesn’t sound important enough to carry.
It’s the same as always.
And not.
You step inside first.
Billy follows a half-step behind, the door clicking shut softer than he ever allowed it before. You can’t help the way your brows shoot up at his active choice not to be a menace. You don’t say anything.
You move toward the table in the corner — the one you always use. Tucked just far enough away to feel separate from everything else.
Safe.
Or it used to.
Something about it feels… closer now.
Not physically.
Just—
Smaller.
Quieter.
Like the space between you matters more here.
It’s stupid.
It’s just the library.
You’ve been here before. Sat at the same table. Had the same project spread out between you.
Nothing about this should feel different.
It does.
You set your bag down, pulling out your notebook, your pencil, your folder. Familiar motions. Repetitive. Something to anchor yourself to.
Across from you, Billy does the same.
Less precise.
But not careless.
Not anymore.
You tell yourself it’s nothing.
Same table. Same project. Same quiet.
You’ve done this before.
There is no reason for your chest to feel tight. No reason for your thoughts to keep snagging on small things—
The way he pulls his chair in slower than usual.
The way his hands rest on the table for a second before he reaches for his notebook.
The way he looks at you.
Not quick.
Not casual.
But like he’s trying to understand something he doesn’t have the words for.
You drop your gaze to your notebook, flipping open your notes a little too quickly.
For a second, you both just look at the page.
Not speaking.
The quiet stretches.
You clear your throat lightly. “We should probably go over the sources again.”
Billy nods once. “Yeah.”
A beat passes.
Neither of you moves.
You exhale softly through your nose, tapping your pen once against the paper.
Focus.
You turn the page toward him slightly. “I reorganized this section,” you say. “It flows better if we—”
“I saw.”
You pause.
Look up.
Billy’s already watching you.
Not your notes.
You.
Your chest tightens.
“You did?” you ask.
He nods, leaning forward slightly, forearms resting on the table. “Yeah. It’s better.”
Simple.
Direct.
No edge.
No sarcasm.
You don’t know what to do with that.
You look back down at the paper, tracing the margin with your pen like you need something to follow.
“Okay,” you say.
Your voice sounds steadier than you feel.
You shift slightly in your chair, angling your notes so he can see better. Your fingers brush the edge of the page—
—and his hand is already there.
Not touching.
Close.
Too close.
Your breath catches.
Just for a second, you feel it.
The space between your fingers.
The almost.
You don’t pull away.
He doesn’t either.
It lingers.
Long enough to notice.
Long enough to mean something.
Then you both move at the same time — subtle, almost imperceptible — like neither of you wants to be the one to acknowledge it.
You clear your throat again, softer this time.
“Number four,” you say, a little too quickly. “We should probably connect that back to the thesis.”
Billy nods, but his eyes don’t drop right away.
“Yeah,” he says, quieter now.
He looks down.
You both do.
The tension doesn’t go away.
It just… settles.
Lower.
Heavier.
Minutes pass like that.
Working.
Actually working.
Trading notes back and forth, quiet comments, small corrections.
It’s easier than it should be.
That’s the problem.
Because every time it feels easy—
You wait for it to break.
It doesn’t.
“You always this organized?” Billy asks after a while.
You don’t look up. “Yes.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Figures.”
You glance at him briefly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
He leans back slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “You read into things a lot.”
You still.
Just for a second.
There’s no bite in it.
No accusation.
But the words land anyway.
Because he’s not wrong.
You look down at your notes again, slower this time.
“Sometimes,” you admit.
It’s quiet.
Honest.
Billy doesn’t immediately respond.
When you finally glance up, he’s watching you again.
That same look from earlier.
Careful.
Like he’s trying to figure out where the line is.
Like he doesn’t want to cross it.
Your chest tightens.
Again.
You hate that it does.
The quiet stretches again.
But it’s different now.
Full.
Heavy.
You pick your pen back up, but your focus is gone.
Your thoughts drift—
Back to the car.
To the hallway.
To the way he walked away.
To the bandages still wrapped around his hands.
You glance down at them now.
Still there.
Still slightly crooked.
You feel it more than you see it.
That restless energy again — quieter than before, but still there. Like something under his skin won’t settle.
You glance up without thinking, studying the shape of his mouth, still split slightly at the corner. On the faint shadow blooming along his jaw. On the way his hair falls like it always does — careless in a way that isn’t actually careless at all.
He looks—
You swallow.
He looks beautiful.
Even like this.
Maybe especially like this.
There’s something raw about it. Unpolished. The edges of him a little more visible than usual.
Then he catches you staring.
Of course he does.
His mouth quirks automatically, something easy and familiar sliding into place like muscle memory. “What?” he says lightly. “You gonna keep looking at me like that or—”
“Number six,” you cut in quickly.
Heat spikes up your neck before you can stop it. You drop your gaze fast — too fast — pen moving before your brain catches up.
“We can probably cut it,” you continue, forcing the words out evenly despite the tightening in your chest.
Because he noticed.
Not just that you were looking—
but how.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment of silence.
You nod, crossing it out, pen pressing harder than necessary.
You try to focus on the simplicity of the action.
The line.
The control of it.
Not on the way your pulse hasn’t caught up yet.
Not on the way you can still feel his eyes on you, even after you’ve looked away.
But your thoughts don’t follow.
A few seconds pass.
Then Billy leans in.
Close enough that you feel it before you register it.
His arm brushes yours as he reaches across your paper, finger tapping near the margin.
“What if we flipped this?” he says, voice lower now, more focused. “Like— use this source first instead of second. It’d make the argument hit harder.”
You blink, tracking what he’s pointing at. You follow his thought process, piecing it together as he explains — quieter than usual, less sure of himself in a way you’re not used to seeing.
“And then it kinda… builds into the thesis instead of just dropping it,” he finishes, like he’s bracing for you to shoot it down. “I don’t know. Might be stupid.”
You look at him.
Really look at him.
“That’s not stupid,” you say.
He hesitates.
You shake your head slightly, more certain now. “That’s actually really good. I wouldn’t have thought to do it like that.”
Something shifts in his face.
Subtle.
His brows pull together just slightly, like he doesn’t quite trust what he heard. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A beat passes.
Then — there it is.
Not the smirk.
Not the swagger.
Something quieter.
Pleased.
It flickers across his face before he can cover it, and it does something strange to your chest.
You don’t look away fast enough.
Neither does he.
And suddenly—
You realize how close you are.
His arm is still near yours. His shoulder angled toward you, your chair turned just enough that your knees almost brush under the table.
You can feel the heat of him.
You don’t lean away.
The space between you is smaller now.
You’re aware of everything.
The table edge pressing into your ribs. The sound of your own breathing. The way his eyes don’t quite know where to land anymore.
This is a bad idea.
You know that.
You should move.
You don’t.
Billy exhales slowly.
Like he’s trying to steady himself.
Or talk himself out of something.
Your heart stutters.
“Bambi,” he says.
Quiet.
Not teasing.
A warning.
Or maybe a question.
You don’t know.
You don’t answer.
That’s the problem.
Because silence, with him—
It’s never empty.
It fills.
Fast.
Your eyes drop to his lips.
You don’t mean for them to.
But you don’t stop it either.
And he sees that.
You know he does.
Because his breath catches — just slightly.
Because his hand stills against the table like he’s bracing.
Because he doesn’t move away.
The space between you tightens, like something invisible just pulled it closer.
Your pulse is too loud.
You could stop this.
You should stop this.
You don’t.
Billy hesitates.
Actually hesitates.
And for a second it looks like he might pull back. Like he’s giving you one last out.
You don’t take it.
That’s all it takes.
He leans in — slow enough that you feel every inch of it.
And then—
He kisses you.
It’s not smooth.
Not practiced.
Not the kind of kiss you’ve seen him give other girls in passing like it means nothing.
It’s careful.
Like he’s still not sure you won’t stop him.
Like he’s waiting for you to.
You don’t.
Your brain lags behind your body.
Because your first instinct isn’t to pull away.
It’s to lean in.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And that’s all it takes.
Something shifts.
His hand presses a little firmer against the table. Your breath catches, uneven, your fingers curling slightly against the edge of your notebook like you need something to hold onto.
It deepens — but not in the way you expected.
Not urgent.
Not overwhelming.
Just… real.
Too real.
A book slams somewhere in the distance.
The sound cracks through the moment like glass.
You pull back instantly.
Your chair scrapes harshly against the floor as you push away from the table, breath coming quicker now, your thoughts scrambling to catch up with what just happened.
What you just let happen.
“Oh my God,” you breathe.
Billy blinks at you, like he’s still there — still in it. “Bambi—”
“I have to go,” you say immediately, already reaching for your bag.
Your hands don’t feel steady.
You shove your notebook inside anyway.
“Wait— what?” he says, half-rising from his chair. “What are you—”
“I have to go home,” you repeat, too fast, too tight.
Because if you slow down—
If you think about it—
You might not leave.
And that’s worse.
“Bambi, hey—” he moves around the table, closer now, voice lower, trying to catch you before you slip past him. “It’s just—”
You shake your head quickly. “I can’t— I just— I have to go.”
You don’t look at him.
You can’t.
Because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll remember why you’re leaving.
You push past him, chair legs scraping behind you, the sound too loud in the quiet library.
“Hey—” he calls after you, louder this time.
A sharp “Shh!” cuts through the air from the front desk.
Billy stills for half a second.
“…Sorry,” he mutters automatically.
And then he’s moving again.
Fast.
The door swings open hard enough to hit the stopper behind it.
Cool air rushes in, sharp against your skin, but it doesn’t slow you down. If anything, it makes everything feel clearer. Too clear.
You move fast.
Across the lot — gravel crunching under your shoes. You weave between parked cars without really seeing them. You don’t look back. Don’t stop.
If you stop, you’ll think.
If you think, you’ll—
“Bambi—”
You move faster, grip tightening on your bag strap, fingers digging in like it might keep you from unraveling right here in the middle of the parking lot.
Footsteps close in behind you. “Hey—”
His voice hits you a second before his hand does.
Not grabbing.
Just catching your arm — enough to stop you.
You pull away immediately.
Not rough.
But firm.
Final.
Billy freezes for half a second, thrown off by it.
That’s new.
Your breath is still uneven, your chest rising too fast, and he’s right there — close again, closer than he should be after what just happened.
“Are you serious right now?” he asks.
Not angry.
Confused.
Like he missed something important.
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Because all you can feel is his mouth on yours. The way you didn’t stop it. The way you leaned in.
God.
Billy studies your face, trying to catch something — anything — but you’re not giving him anything to work with.
No anger.
No softness.
Nothing.
It unsettles him.
Good. That makes two of you.
You fold your arms across your chest, needing the barrier.
“I just—” you start, then stop.
Because what do you even say?
I didn’t mean to kiss you?
That would be a lie.
I don’t want this?
Also not true.
So instead—
“That shouldn’t have happened,” you say.
The words come out steady.
Clean.
Detached.
Like they don’t belong to you.
Like you didn’t feel every second of it.
Billy stills.
Not in a dramatic way.
Just… quiet.
Like the words landed somewhere deeper than you meant them to.
“Okay,” he says after a second.
Too easy.
Too controlled.
Like he’s already adjusting.
You nod once. “Okay.”
You move to step around him, but he doesn’t let you.
“Okay?” he repeats, sharper now. “That’s it?”
You shrug.
Minimal.
Dismissive.
“What do you want me to say?”
Billy lets out a short breath, something frustrated flickering under the surface now. “I don’t know— maybe anything that sounds like you actually meant it?”
Your grip tightens on your bag strap.
“I said it shouldn’t have happened,” you repeat.
Same tone.
Same distance.
It lands harder this time.
Billy runs a hand through his hair, pacing a half-step away before turning back to you like he’s trying not to push too hard and failing anyway.
“You kissed me back.”
You nod.
“Yeah.”
Flat.
No elaboration.
His brows pull together. “And that doesn’t — what, matter?”
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
But it’s enough.
Your throat tightens before you can stop it. Because you know how much it mattered.
How much it still does.
And that’s exactly why you shut it down.
“It was a mistake,” you say.
Careful.
Controlled.
Billy goes still.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Just… still.
Like he’s trying to figure out if you actually believe that.
“Didn’t feel like one,” he says quietly.
That almost cracks something.
You look away.
That’s the first real reaction you’ve given him.
And he clocks it immediately.
He steps closer.
Not touching.
But close enough that you feel it again — that pull you just barely got away from.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “Look at me.”
You don’t.
Your gaze fixes somewhere over his shoulder, jaw tight.
“Bambi.”
Still nothing.
The silence stretches.
And now—
Now he’s the one stuck in it.
The one filling it.
The one reaching.
“I’m not—” he starts, then cuts himself off, frustrated. “I’m not trying to mess with you, alright?”
A breath slips out of you. Almost a laugh.
But there’s nothing light about it.
“That’s kind of your thing,” you say.
It’s not cruel.
That’s what makes it worse.
It’s honest.
Billy flinches.
Small.
Quick.
But you see it.
“Not with you,” he says.
Too quick.
Too real.
Your chest tightens.
You hate that it does.
This is where things shift. Where it gets messy. Where you start to feel something you can’t control.
“I’m not—” you stop, shaking your head slightly. You start over, colder this time. “I’m not doing this thing where you decide it means something just because it happened.”
The words land sharp. Exactly where it hurts.
Billy stares at you for a second. No reaction.
Then—
“You’re seriously doing this right now?”
You finally meet his eyes.
And for a second—
There’s something there.
Too much of something you’re not sure you’re ready for.
“That’s what we’re doing,” you say, looking away again.
And the emotion is gone.
Billy exhales sharply through his nose, something frustrated and almost — hurt — bleeding through despite himself.
“Got it,” he mutters.
And you see it happen.
The shift.
Not all at once.
Piece by piece.
His shoulders pull back. His jaw sets. His expression smooths into something more familiar — something controlled, something guarded.
Something safe.
The armor.
Sliding back into place.
It hits harder than if he’d snapped.
Because this—
This is deciding not to reach anymore.
Your chest tightens.
You ignore it.
“I drove you, so—” Billy says, gesturing toward his Camaro across the lot.
Like it’s just logistics now.
Like that’s all this is.
You close your eyes briefly.
Right. Of course he did.
This just got worse.
You don’t say anything.
You just start walking again.
Toward the Camaro.
It’s quiet. And not the easy kind.
Not the kind you’ve started getting used to.
This one is—
Off.
You can feel it in the space between you. In the way neither of you looks at the other. In the way your footsteps don’t quite fall into sync this time.
Gravel crunches under your shoes, too loud in the silence.
Billy reaches the driver’s side first. Opens the door.
Doesn’t look at you.
Doesn’t say anything.
You circle around to the passenger side, fingers tightening briefly around the handle before you pull it open and slide inside.
The door shuts with a heavier sound than usual.
Inside, the air feels different.
Same car. Same worn leather seats. Same faint trace of cologne and something sharper underneath.
But it doesn’t settle the way it did before.
The engine turns over.
The radio clicks on automatically — some song already halfway through — but he reaches out and shuts it off almost immediately.
The silence that replaces it is worse.
Thicker.
You stare straight ahead. Hands folded too tightly in your lap.
Don’t look at him.
The car pulls out of the lot.
Slow.
Controlled.
Careful in a way that feels almost deliberate.
Your stomach twists.
Because this—
This is new.
Billy Hargrove doesn’t drive like this.
You risk a glance.
Just a quick one.
His hands are steady on the wheel. Grip firm. Not tense, exactly — but not loose either. His jaw is set, gaze fixed on the road like there’s something out there worth focusing on.
Like it’s easier than looking at you.
You look away quickly.
The silence stretches, pressing heavy against your skin. Every second that passes makes it harder to breathe normally, harder to sit still, harder to pretend this is fine.
Because it’s not.
Your fingers curl slightly against your jeans.
The memory of the kiss replaying in your mind.
The way he hesitated.
The way he gave you time to pull away.
The way you didn’t.
Heat creeps up your neck again, sharp and unwelcome. You swallow hard, keeping your eyes on the windshield.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t—
Your brain doesn’t listen.
It replays the shift in his breath.
The way it deepened, slow and careful, like he wasn’t trying to take anything — just meeting you where you already were.
You press your lips together.
Hard.
Outside, the sky darkens further. Thick clouds rolling in, the first faint drops of rain starting to tap against the windshield.
Soft.
Uneven.
Billy flips the wipers on.
They sweep back and forth in a steady rhythm. It fills the silence just enough to make it almost bearable.
You glance at him again.
You shouldn’t.
You do.
There’s something different about him now.
Not angry.
Not exactly distant.
Just…
Closed.
Like what you said settled somewhere deep and he decided not to touch it.
Not to push.
Not to ask again.
And that—
Feels worse.
Because you almost wish he would.
Say something.
Push back.
Give you something to react to.
Instead, he just drives.
Quiet.
Careful.
Like nothing happened.
Like it didn’t matter.
Your chest pulls tighter at that.
Because it did.
It did.
You should say something.
Anything.
But every option feels wrong the second it forms.
Sorry?
No.
That opens something you just shut.
It wasn’t a mistake?
Too late.
It’s too messy. Too real.
Your throat feels dry. So you say nothing.
And the silence keeps building.
By the time the car slows in front of your house, it feels like something stretched too thin — like one wrong move could snap it.
Billy puts the car in park.
The engine idles.
Neither of you moves.
A beat passes.
Then another.
You think he might say something.
He doesn’t.
His hands rest on the wheel.
Still.
You reach for the door handle.
Pause.
Just for a second.
“Thanks for the ride,” you say.
It comes out flat.
Polite.
Like none of this happened.
Billy nods once.
“Yeah.”
That’s it.
No “see you.”
Just—
That.
Your chest dips.
You push the door open before you can think about it, stepping out into the cool air. The rain has picked up slightly, light but steady, dotting your skin almost immediately.
You don’t look back as you close the door.
You don’t give yourself the chance to.
Because if you do, you might see him looking at you.
Or worse—
You might not.
And you’re not sure which one would hurt more.
-*-
Your room is quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind that settles in your ears the second the door shuts behind you, cutting off everything else — the car, the rain, him.
Just… silence.
You don’t turn the light on.
You don’t need to.
You drop your bag by the door. It hits the floor with a dull thud.
You don’t move after that.
Just stand there.
Like your body hasn’t caught up to the fact that you’re home.
That it’s over.
That you left.
Your chest rises slowly.
Falls.
Doesn’t settle.
You press your lips together, stepping further into the room, each movement feeling slightly off — like you’re not fully in control of it.
Your bed is right there.
You sit down on the edge of it without thinking. Hands braced beside you, staring at nothing.
It fully hits you then.
Not dramatic.
Just… quiet.
Insistent.
The memory slips back in before you can stop it.
The table.
His voice too close.
Your breath catches.
You close your eyes.
That was a mistake.
You said it so easily.
So clean.
Like it didn’t matter.
Like it didn’t—
Your fingers curl against the comforter.
Because that’s not what it felt like.
Your jaw tightens.
You try to push it away.
Focus on something else.
Anything else.
It doesn’t work.
Your brain goes right back to it.
The hesitation.
That’s what gets you.
Not the kiss itself.
Not even the fact that it happened.
It’s that he—
He waited.
You swallow hard.
Your chest tightens again, sharper this time.
He gave you time to pull away.
And you didn’t.
You didn’t.
Your hands press harder into the mattress, grounding yourself.
Because that part you can’t twist.
You can’t rewrite it into something accidental or careless or meaningless.
You leaned in.
Even if it was just a little.
It still counts.
It still means—
You shake your head quickly.
No.
Don’t do that.
Don’t turn it into something bigger than it is.
You’ve done that before. You know how that ends.
Your throat feels tight.
You exhale slowly, forcing your shoulders to relax.
“It was a mistake,” you murmur to the empty room.
The words sound wrong the second they leave your mouth.
Too flat.
Too rehearsed.
Like something you said because you needed it to be true.
Not because it was.
Your stomach drops.
You look down at your hands.
They’re not steady.
You flex your fingers once.
Twice.
It doesn’t help.
Your mind drifts again. Not to the kiss this time. To after.
The car.
The silence.
The way he didn’t push.
Didn’t argue.
Didn’t try to twist your words or turn it into a joke.
He just—
Accepted it.
Your chest tightens.
Because that’s not what you expected.
That’s not what you prepared for.
You thought he’d fight you on it.
Push.
Tease.
Make it easier to dismiss.
But he didn’t.
He just pulled back.
And somehow that made it worse.
You let out a shaky breath, dragging a hand over your face.
“God,” you whisper.
Because now you’re stuck with it.
With what you said.
With the way he looked at you after.
With the way something in him just… shut off.
Your eyes sting.
You blink hard.
No.
You’re not doing that.
You lean back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Think.
You need to think.
This is simple.
It has to be.
He’s Billy Hargrove.
You know who he is.
You know how he is.
This is what he does.
Gets close.
Says the right things.
Makes you feel like it means something.
But that doesn’t mean it actually does.
Right?
The thought hangs there.
Weak.
Unconvincing.
Because if that were true…
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Why did it feel different?
The question lands heavy.
You don’t have an answer for it.
And that’s the problem.
You lay there for a long time.
Long enough that the rain picks up against the window, steady now, filling the silence with a soft, constant rhythm.
Long enough that your breathing finally starts to even out.
Long enough that the moment should fade.
It doesn’t.
It lingers.
Sharp around the edges.
You swallow, staring at the wall across from you.
It wasn’t a mistake.
Your chest tightens immediately because accepting it changes something.
Makes it harder to hide from.
Harder to take back.
Your fingers curl into the fabric beneath you again.
If it wasn’t a mistake, what was it?
And worse—
What does that mean now?
Your gaze drops to the floor.
To your bag by the door.
To everything you didn’t say.
Your throat tightens.
Because you could go back.
You could fix it.
Say something different.
Tell him—
You stop the thought before it finishes.
Because that’s where it gets dangerous.
That’s where you start stepping into something you’re not ready to stand in.
You exhale slowly.
Shaking your head once.
No.
You made your choice.
You said what you said.
And now—
Now you have to live with it.
Even if it doesn’t feel right.
PLEASE NOTE: I am no longer doing a tag list for this series. If you want updates, PLEASE follow the trouble-with-bambi tag. (P.S. It’s the last tag on this post)
Billy had mainly been put on prep duties, for which he was coached by Fran whilst Ella had been manning the tills and sorting out the hot baked goods.
She had tried to be friendly to Billy. Giving him small waves or throwing a smile in his direction, but he either ignored her or gave her a blank look. One afternoon it all changed.
"Billy, I'm gonna switch you to the baked good with Ella" she stated.
Ella had been manning the regiater, not that the bakery was very busy on a Thursday afternoon. She had almost chocked on her own spit when she heard that.
"What about the register?" Ella blurted wanting to avoid being with the blonde.
Franny gave her a blank look. "I'm sure I'll manage since were so swamped" she replied sarcastic.
Ella sighed. "Okay" she muttered making her way to the oven. Billy followed suit standing beside her.
"Have fun you two" Franny stated shutting the door.
Ella sighed, figuring if she explained it quickly she could leave.
"There's not that much to remember" she started. "We only have four hot baked goods; sausage rolls, pizza slices, jacket potatoes and cheese puff pies" she added. "The cheese puffs go at 280 for forty minutes" she started turning the dial. She looked to the side noting Billy looking up at the ceiling bored as ever. "Are you even listening to me?" She scoffed folding her arms.
Billy flitted his eyes back to her, half lidded. "No" he replied bluntly.
Ella huffed. "I don't think there's any need to be rude" she chastised him. "I've been trying to welcome you and be nice, but you just act so ignorant" she shot out.
Billy shot her a smirk. "Be nice to me? I thought you were flirting with me" he stated.
Ella's mouth hung open in shock. "F-flirt with you?" She spluttered with a faint blush.
Billy shrugged. "All those waves and doe eyed looks you threw at me, was trying to show you I wasn't interested" he stated.
Ella huffed. "Well, you can get that idea out of your head" she stated. "With that out the way, and me declaring I was not flirting with you, will you pay attention?" She asked.
Billy huffed. "Sure" he replied sounding bored.
Ella continued on with her tutorial, even making the blonde demonstrate how to turn the oven on and asking him questions, until he got the right answer.
"You take this way to seriously" Billy stated in a bored tone.
Ella shrugged. "You don't know when the rush may come" she replied.
Billy scoffed. "Cos its so busy in here" he drawled.
"Well, what do you suggest?" She threw back at him.
Billy smirked. "I got ideas trust me" he replied.
"Care to share?" Ella asked.
"That's a surpise" he smirked.
Ella huffed, she wondered if this surpise was worth waiting for.
Friday had rolled around quickly. Billy had been nearing the end of his first week, and to Ella's surpise he hadn't been an ounce of trouble.
That was until he showed up half an hour later than usual, dressed in a lifeguard tank top with matching shorts. Franny had put her in charge as she was off for the morning at an appointment.
Ella had to resist the urge to gaupe at his tanned muscles, which were spectacularly on show.
"Umm" she coughed trying to look at his arms. "You're not supposed to wear short sleeves, or lounge wear" she stated.
Billy pulled down his sunglasses, giving her a blank look. "Its hot as balls out there" he stated.
Ella blushed. "Right but-" she stated.
"And two, this is part of the plan" he stated smug. " Watch and learn kid" he added.
Kid? How dare he? She was only at least three years younger than him. She remembered hearing about him in middle school and how all the girls went gaga over him. He had to be in high school then.
Ella opened her mouth to retort, the bell chiming interrupted her thoughts.
Karen Wheeler came in with a bright smile on her face. "Good morning Ella" she chirped.
"Good morning Mrs Wheeler, the usual?" She asked.
"Yes please, my Ted loves your donuts" she replied.
Ella smiled. "I'm glad to hear that" she chirped grabbing a bag of donuts. "That'll be two do-" she stated.
"Mrs wheelerrr" a voice sang out.
Karen grinned. "Billy, is that you?" She asked.
Ella turned her head, noting Billy walking out of the back.
"The one and only" he purred. "You're looking good" he added with a wink.
Karen blushed, letting out a giggle. "Not too bad yourself" she replied.
Unfucking believable. Ella gauped at the scene playing out infront of her.
"Well, can I interest you in a cherry pie? I'm sure the family would like one" he gestured to the large cherry pie in the display cabinet.
"Oh I-" Karen started.
"I know you must like sweet things Karen" he purred leaning forward. "A sweet fox like yourself would love the taste of my pie, baked it all myself" he lied. The pies were pre packaged and Ella had put them in whilst waiting for him this morning.
Karen giggled. "Well, I'm sure my arm can be twisted if you made them" she flirted batting her eyelashes.
Ella coughed. "Anything else?" She asked.
Karen coughed. "No thank you Ella, just the donuts and the pie" she stated politely fishing out her purse.
"That'll be seven dollars" Ella replied with a smile.
"Keep the change sweetie" Karen replied hanging her a ten dollar bill.
"Thank you" Ella chirped, moving the screen glass and removing the pie.
"I knew you were a good kid Billy" Karen stated. "All those damn rumours, I didn't believe them I thought not the guy who taught my Holly to swim" she stated.
Billy paused. "Appreciate that Mrs Wheeler, how's Holly doing?" He asked.
"She's very good, growing up too fast" she smiled as Ella handed her the bag. "Thanks honey, I'll see you both around" she waved.
"Bye now" Billy waved.
"Have a good day" Ella chirped as Karen exited the store.
Billy turned to her with a grin. "That's how you upsell" he stated.
Ella opened the stiff door, barging her shoulder to get it open. Frannies bakery really had seen better days, but this was her sanctuary and an escape from her home. After another argument with her dad, she decided to get to work half an hour early.
Ella flicked on the lights, squinting as the light assaulted her eyes for a mere moment. She huffed shutting the door behind her as the clock read 7:30am she didn't need to clock in for another half an hour.
Ella huffed. "May aswell do some prep" she muttered shrugging off her coat and hanging it up. She paused noting the ugly bruise on her arm, pulling her cardigan sleeve down to cover it.
She opened the fridge, deciding to start prepping and bagging the donuts for the day. They were the bakery's best sellers even on a random Tuesday.
Ella ensured she put the donuts in a large box and added plenty of icing sugar before shaking them all together.
"One..two.. three" she counted the bags.
She just opened a new bag, when the sound of the bakery door opening interrupted her.
"You're pretty early ain't you honey?" A family voice drawled.
Ella turned around, a small smile on her face. "Just fancied getting an early start" she replied.
Franny raised a brow. The older and much stockier woman placed a hand on her hip. Franny was an old school woman who had inherited the bakery from her father after he passed, she was pushing lated 60s but still refused to give up the place. Her grey hair scraped back in a low pony tail and her blue beady eyes studied Ella.
"Another fight I'm guessing?" She queried.
Franny knew all about Ella's troubles, well half of them. Ella had managed to convince the elder woman it was a one time fluke and it would never happen again.
Ella scoffed lightly. "No, I couldn't sleep so thought I'd come in early" she replied.
"Really?" Franny enquired.
"Yes Franny" she sighed. "Look, even got started on the donuts" she stated holding up her sleeve which was covered in flour.
Franny squinted. "Pretty big bruise you got there" she stated.
Ella paused, pulling down her sleeve. "I hit my arm" she excused.
Franny sighed. "Ella if you need-" she stated but was interrupted by a knock on the back door.
Franny huffed, moving towards it as Ella stared puzzled by who would should up at eight in the morning. They hadn't even opened yet. Franny opened the door stepping back to reveal Chief Hopper and a blonde male in tow.
"Franny" Hopper greeted tipping his hat.
"Chief Hopper" Franny nodded, her eyes dragging to the blonde. "Take it this is Billy?" She asked.
Hopper pushed at the blonde shoulder, encouraging him to step forward. "Billy Hargrove, mam," he introduced, holding out his hand. Ella thought his voice sounded like honey.
Franny shook it. "I'm Franny owner of this place and that's my assistant Ella" she stated thumb over her shoulder.
Ella paused studying the male. He was tall, and from what she could tell he was built well. She gathered this from the leather jacket that clung to him and his jeans that looked painted on. His blonde hair frame his face in curls, hair shaped into a mullet. His eyes were the stand out, they were the bluest she had ever seen.
"Beautiful," she muttered under her breath, catching the attention of all three adults.
Ella spluttered awkwardly. "Hi" she waved awkwardly.
Billy gave her a curt nod, not gracing her with a greeting. God, what a fool she made out of herself.
"Mr Hargrove is here to undertake his community service" Hopper stated.
Ella's eyes widened. Community service? Wasn't that for criminals? She pondered what Billy had done.
Franny smiled. "Day one out of six months" she quipped.
Hopper nodded. "I'll leave him in your hands Fran" he stated. "Any issues call me" he added.
"Will do, Chief," Franny replied giving him a curt nod. She turned to Billy as soon as the chief left. "Come on, young man we'll get you started on bagging the donuts" she stated, giving Billy a tap on the shoulder.
The blonde nodded, passing Ella as the pair went to the back. Ella gave him a small smile but Billy didn't even grace her with a look.
Ella sighed. This was going to be a long six months.
Ella Jacobs is a sweet, clever and naive 19 year old with not much life experience. She's spent most of her life sheltered by her controlling father, whilst undertaking work and finding sanctuary in Frannies Bakey located in downtown Hawkins.
22 year old, Bad boy Billy Hargrove has gained a reputation in Hawkins, a known ladies man who will bite your head off if you look at him wrong. His anger has come back to bite him, when he is convicted of a crime and forced to undertake community service for six months at Frannies Bakery.
Can these two opposites co exist or will they rip each other's hair out before the six months are over?
The door slams open, the force of it rattling the cabin walls.
"Lydia Westbrook! Up. Now!"
The voice - gravelly, sharp, and way too fucking loud for this early in the morning - rips me out of sleep like a gunshot. My body jolts before my brain can catch up, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I blink rapidly, disoriented, my vision swimming as I register the silhouette standing in the doorway. One of the camp leaders. Female. Middle-aged. Stern face twisted in irritation.
I groan, rolling onto my back, rubbing a hand over my face. The light spilling through the grimy cabin window stabs at my eyes like a knife. How the hell did I manage to sleep through everything again?
It's not like I'm new to this. Foster homes had a strict 'get-up-early-and-contribute-to-society' policy. I'd been shaken awake, yelled at, even had cold water dumped on me once. You'd think I'd have learned by now.
Apparently not.
No wonder I got on so many foster parents' nerves. That, among other things.
"You're late," the camp leader snaps, arms crossed, foot tapping against the wooden floor in irritation. "Breakfast is over, and everyone else is already at the field. You've got three minutes to be out that door, Lydia."
Jesus. Overkill, much?
I sit up slowly, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." I mutter, voice still thick with sleep.
The leader doesn't wait for an answer. She spins on her heel and stomps off, leaving the door wide open behind her.
I stare at it for a second. Rude.
A heavy sigh escapes me as I finally force myself to move. My body feels like lead, sleep still clinging to me like a weight. I stretch my arms over my head, my joints popping in protest, before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
The cabin is empty. Everyone else is already out, probably halfway through whatever morning torture session they've been assigned.
I drag a hand through my tangled hair, groggy frustration settling in my chest. First morning in this camp and can tell I'm already in there bad books.
I grab the first clothes I can find - a pair of worn-out shorts and an old black t-shirt that I've long outgrown. I yank them on quickly, my fingers fumbling with the hem of my shirt as I shove my feet into my sneakers.
Still half-asleep, still half-pissed, I step outside.
The heat hits me instantly. Heavy. Stifling. The kind that clings to your skin and makes you sweat before you've even done anything.
By the time I make it to the field, the others were already gathered in loose rows, some stretching, others standing around in bored clumps, waiting for instructions. The grass underfoot is dry and brittle, flattened by the weight of countless sneakers that came before mine.
My gaze scans through the crowd, picking apart the familiar divides. The 'goodie-goodies' stood proudly near the front, with their backs straight and faces alert and ready. They have something to prove - eager to excel, to gain whatever reward the camp dangles in front of them. Meanwhile, the rest of us screw-ups linger in the middle and back, moving with the kind of lazy indifference that came from knowing we're here against our will. Some look half-asleep, rubbing at their faces, while others - the more 'spirited delinquents' - are already prepared to torment and provoke in their own recklessness, fuelled by a sense of chaos that never seems to run dry.
And there's Rachel.
I spot her near the middle, one leg bent as she lazily ties her shoelace, completely unbothered by any of it. Once she notices me, she smiles and teases sarcastically, "Nice of you to join us."
I shoot her a warning glare, but the amusement in her eyes makes it clear she's joking. My expression eases.
"Shut up," I mutter, half-smirking as I fall into line beside her.
My eyes slide to the front, locking onto him - Mr Hargrove. Of course, he's here. Typical. I could go the rest of my time here without seeing him again. Clipboard in hand, arms crossed over his chest, he stands tall and imposing, radiating that same rigid authority from last night. His expression is unreadable, but his gaze flicks over to me, sharp and assessing. I meet it head-on, throwing him a slow, cocky grin, as if I'm daring him to make the first move.
'Late, but still here.'
If he has an opinion on my late arrival, he doesn't voice it. Maybe I've gotten away with it... this time.
"All right, listen up!"
His voice cuts through the scattered conversations, yanking everyone's attention toward him. The air around us shifts - postures straighten, murmurs died. Even the rowdier ones fell quiet, sensing the silent gravity in his tone.
"Today, you're doing a 5 mile cross-country run. The course is marked by signs, and your goal is to make it back here. Fastest runners get privileges." He let that sink in before adding, "Slowest ones... well." A pause. A knowing look. "Don't fall behind."
A few kids exchange glances.
I barely hear the rest. My mind already focusing in on one thing. A race.
My fingers twitch at my sides, as I feel the anticipation curling in my chest. Running is the one thing I've always been good at - the one thing no one can take from me. I have spent years outrunning social workers, foster parents, cops, and anyone else who thought they could put a leash on me. It's instinct, something wired deep in my bones.
I'm fast.
And judging by the slight narrowing of Mr Hargrove's eyes, he knows it. Or... is about to find out.
The second I hear the whistle shriek, I lunge forward, my body reacting before my mind even catches up. I see the dirt path stretch out far ahead, winding into the dense woods like an open door - an invitation, or maybe even a dare. My legs pump hard, muscles tightening as I push past my limits, the camp shrinks to nothing behind me.
The cool morning air whips against my skin, sharp and fresh, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat from just seconds before. For a long while, I allow myself to sink into the feeling - the rush of speed, the burn in my calves, the rhythmic pound of my feet against the earth. The world around me blurs, the trees streaking past like I'm breaking through something unseen, something bigger than just this stupid run.
I'm faster than them.
The other kids are already struggling, their breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps as they fall behind. I hear their footsteps faltering, curses muttering under their breath, the slap of sneakers dragging against the dirt. They're used to structure, to rules. But me? I'm used to running.
This is the only time I feel free.
The signs marking the course are spaced out along the path, leading deeper into the trees. I keep my eyes sharp, dodging above-earth roots and weaving between low-hanging branches as though I've followed this exact path a thousand times before. The woods close in around me, thick with the scent of earth and pine, swallowing the sounds of the camp, of people, of everything.
I pick up the pace.
Wind rushes past my ears, and my heartbeat thumps in time with my steps. The further I get, the easier it is to pretend. To imagine I'm not here. That I'm not some delinquent stuck in the middle of nowhere under the watchful eyes of camp leaders who think they can 'fix me'.
'I could just keep going'.
The thought hits me all at once, so abruptly that I can't help but laugh at my own stupidity for not seeing it sooner.
I should just run. Ignore the signs, push further into the trees, vanish into the endless stretch of green. No fences, no locked doors, no bullshit rules keeping me in place.
I wonder if I can make it this time, but then I remember all the times I've tried running from my problems before. I know how it always ends.
Still, as I fly down the dirt path, leaving everyone else in the dust, I let myself have this - just this. A stolen moment where I don't belong to them. Where I'm not stuck in this place.
Just me and the trees.
It starts as an itch, crawling up the back of my neck, sinking into my ribs. The longer I run, the harder it is to ignore. That thought. That pull. It gnaws at me, tempting, reckless. What if I don't go back?
The course stretches ahead, twisting deeper into the woods, marked by those stupid little signs telling us where to go. But beyond them, just off to the side, the trees stand untouched. No footprints, no rules, no one watching. A different path entirely.
I slow down, letting the sound of the others' footsteps fade behind me. My heart is pounding, but not just from the run. This is something else. A different kind of adrenaline, one I know too well.
I can do it.
Slip away now, disappear into the trees before anyone notices. They'd be too focused on the run, too busy gasping for air and keeping up. No one would see me go.
One last glance at the track - then I'm moving.
I veer off, cutting into the thick brush. Branches whip at my arms, my legs, but I push through, barely feeling the sting. The ground shifts beneath me, uneven and unpredictable, but I keep going, lungs burning, breath sharp. This could work. I could slip through the cracks of this place, vanish into the trees, run until there's nothing left behind me but empty space.
The thought is electrifying.
But something is wrong.
The forest closes in fast, the air turning sharp and cool, thick with damp earth and the scent of pine. The further I go, the darker it gets, the canopy overhead swallowing the light. I barely notice it at first, too caught up in the high of escape, but then the ground beneath me changes - softer, unsteady. My footing slips.
I try to adjust, but the trees here are different. Taller. Denser. The branches weave together in a way that steals the sky. Everything looks the same.
I slow to a stop, chest heaving.
Where the hell am I?
A glance over my shoulder. Nothing but trees. No path. No way to tell which direction I came from.
My stomach knots.
I turn in a slow circle, scanning the woods, trying to find something familiar. A broken branch, a scuffed patch of dirt - anything to tell me how to get back. But the more I look, the more everything blurs together, shifting like a puzzle I can't solve.
I take a step, then another, retracing - I think - my own path. But every move forward just seems to pull me deeper, dragging me further into a place I don't recognize.
My breath quickens, the last traces of adrenaline curdling into something colder.
I'm well and truly stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Not the kind of lost that's fun. Not the kind you can laugh off. The real kind. The kind that turns your blood to ice, that makes your pulse hammer in your ears, that sinks its teeth in and doesn't let go.
Notes: okay, this is the final ever chapter in this series. Thank you all in advance and if you think I should write a sequel let me know! Enjoy 😉
THREE MONTHS LATER
Hannah awoke bright and early, too early for a Saturday she concluded. She had barley slept all night, that's the first unusual thing she had noticed, lately she had been sleeping like the dead always tired and lethargic. It didn't help that Billy had been like a furnace all night and she didn't need that in April.
The second thing she noted was nausea. She had been feeling nauseous the last few weeks, particularly on a morning. She put it down to stress, her job hadn't been getting any easier and not since she had been promoted.
The third unusual thing she noted was how tight her jeans had become, she could barely zip them up anymore. She figured Billy and herself had been eating a little bad this week, but surely she couldn't have put on weight that quick.
The fourth and final thing she noted was how late she was. She had never been late before, her periods were always like clock work. It had to be down to stress, she had read somewhere that stress can delay periods.
She knew Billy and her had sex a few times since she moved back in, but she made him use protection. There had only been that one drunken time when-
"Oh my God" she gasped in realisation, her stomach churning bile rising up her throat. That one time she couldn't even remember if they had used protection. "How could you be such an idiot?" She muttered to herself forcing the bile back down. She needed to do a test she thought.
The bedroom door opened, those thoughts shoved themselves away. She closed her eyes taking a deep breath, as she felt a pair of arms wrap around her and a pair of lips land on her neck.
"Morning" Billy grumbled sleepily into her neck.
She reached back to pat his curls. "Morning" she replied trying to sound normal.
"You're up early" he mumbled landing a kiss on her neck, before losing one of his arms to open the cupboard.
"Couldn't sleep" she murmered. "Coffee?" She asked.
Billy took out the cereal and shook his head. "Naa, gives me the shits" he smirked.
Hannah rolled her eyes. "Billy, that's gross" she grumbled.
Billy smirked, pouring the cereal into the bowl. "You love my filthy mouth" he winked as he opened the fridge.
Hannah blushed. She did and that's what got her into this possible mess. "I have something to tell you" she blurted without thinking.
Billy paused, shoving some cereal into his mouth. "You okay?" He asked chewing his cereal.
Hannah fiddled with her hands. "I think we should sit down" she stated gesturing to the small dining table.
Billy raised a brow. "Okay" he replied sounding nervous, putting his cereal to one side as he sat down. Hannah followed suit.
She took a deep breath. "I um-" she chocked.
Billy reached out and held her hand. "If this is about the toilet seat, it was an accident I swear" he stated. "Were okay right? I've been trying-" he rambled.
"I think I'm pregnant" Hannah blurted.
Billy paused, mouth hanging slightly open. "What?" He asked.
"I may be pregnant" Hannah repeated. She furrowed her eyebrows at Billy who was still looking shocked. "Are you okay?" She asked.
Billy nodded. "Uh huh" he stated eyes still wide.
"You're acting very calm" Hannah stated worriedly.
"I'm freaking out inside" Billy admitted. "But I'm trying this new thing, where I don't react straight away" he added.
"Right" Hannah stated. "I'm going to do a test to make sure" she added.
Billy nodded. "Yeah, probably for the best" he replied cooly.
"I want you to know if I'm pregnant, I intend to keep it" she started. "I don't want to have an abortion, no matter if your with me or not I won't force you into anything" she stated.
Billy sighed. "Jesus Han" he started. "I know what it's like to be left by a parent, I couldn't do that" he stated holding her hand.
Hannah nearly cried. She was so sure he'd get up and walk away, she felt bad for judging him. "Okay, I'll go and get a test" she replied trying to hold back a sob. Damn hormones.
"I'll go, you stay and rest" Billy stated standing up. "I'm gonna get changed" he nodded squeezing her hand.
"Thanks" she replied feeling tears brimming her eyes.
Billy paused. "To be honest I'm relieved" he admitted.
"Why?" Hannah asked.
"Thought you were gonna break up with me" he stated, turning back around and walking into the bedroom.
"How longs it take?" Billy called out through the closed door.
Hannah finished up, popping the cap back on the end. "Says two minutes" she called back out.
"Mind if I come in?" He asked tapping his knuckles gently on the door.
Hannah opened the door, throwing her arms around him as she let out a few tears. He tightened himself around her. "Sorry" she chocked wiping her tears away.
Billy held her cheek in the palm of his hand. "It's okay" he murmered reassuringly as he rubbed circles on the base of her back. "You set a timer?" He asked.
Hannah nodded. "Yeah, can we sit?" She asked nodding to the floor.
"Sure whatever you want" Billy stated.
The pair slunk down to the floor, choosing to sit opposite each other.
"I'm scared" Hannah admitted quietly.
"Me too" Billy agreed arms on his knees. "Scared I'll be like my dad" he added.
"You won't" Hannah defended.
"How do I know?" Billy asked shrugging. "I've never know anything else, other than him" he added.
"I know, because I know you Billy" Hannah stated reaching forward to grab his hand. "You're nothing like him, you're gentle and kind" she added.
"And sexy" he smirked.
Hannah giggled. "That too" she replied.
Billy sighed. "I just wanna be good" he stated. "I never thought about kids before" he stated.
"Me either truthfully" Hannah added. "I was always all about my career, figured kids could come into it way later if I wanted" she stated.
"Were gonna need a damn parenting manual" Billy muttered just as the timer rang out. "You ready?" He asked looking at Hannah.
She felt nervous. Her palms sweaty and her heart beating rapidly, she walked over to the test and picked it up. Her eyes widened before she let out a sob.
Billy raised a brow. Was it a good or a bad sob?
"8 weeks" she croaked up holding the test up.
Billy looked. Pregnant, 6 to 8 weeks it read.
"Holy fuck" he swore under his breath. He reached out to Hannah. "Hey baby, were in it together okay?" He asked.
Hannah nodded through tears. "Together" she repeated.
Holy cow. They were going to be parents, their whole lives would change forever as they knew it.
Billy felt like he'd been driving for five hours, when in reality it had probably only been five minutes. He was glad he knew where the beach was, twenty minutes and just outside of San Fransisco. He just hoped she would be there and he would find her, the only clue he really had was a lighthouse.
It was getting towards dusk now. The sun beginning to set over the bay, casting shadows along the peer. He thought about what he wanted to say as he drove along, scared she wouldn't want to hear him out. Now he knew what he'd done he hoped they could fix things. He was sick of being tortured by the quiet atmosphere of the apartment.
He felt stupid truthfully. He didn't know if he loved Hannah, had never really been in love to know what it was. He knew he missed her cooking, and the annoying way she would chew his ass out. He also missed the way she stuck up for him with his Dad, she didn't back down or cower away and he admired how feisty she could be. Overall, he realised he missed her and probably had done for a while.
Billy was lost in thought, he didn't realise he had arrived at the beach until he nearly drove passed it.
"Shit" he swore to himself, swerving into a space and cutting off the car behind him. He threw his finger up as the driver honked before rushing out of his car.
He ran to the beach cursing himself for being dressed in jeans and boots. He figured finding the lighthouse would be a good place to start.
He walked up and down the beach for what felt like hours, but was probably minutes. He paused and furrowed his eyebrows as he spotted it up ahead, the lighthouse situated at the end of the beach.
"Hannah!" He called out running towards it. No answer and he couldn't see signs of anyone. This was fucking dumb he swore to himself as he called out her name to no avail.
"God damn idiot" he swore coming to a stop at the lighthouse. No answer or sign of her. The hell was he evening thinking he thought as he heard the sound of waves hitting off the rocks. He heard a plop sound as if someone threw a rock in the water.
He turned to the sound, a figure sat on a rock as they threw a stone in the water.
"Hannah?" He asked tentive.
The figure looked up. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. "Billy?" She asked. She looked sad, eyes red as if she'd been crying. "What do you want?" She scoffed.
Billy huffed. "To talk to you obviously" he stated.
"Whats there to talk about Billy?" She sassed.
Billy wiped his brow. "I want to explain what happened with Jason" he started.
"You mean how you tried to set him up with me?" She stated standing up and folding her arms.
Billy sighed. "Look, at first I was thinking about the money" he started. "I saw Jason in a bar, didn't even know it was him till he started talking smack about you" he added.
"Wow, so you thought I know let's set them up?" She threw at him.
Billy groaned. "Are you gonna let me finish?" He asked.
Hannah nodded. "I'm listening" she huffed.
"I figured I'd try and set you up, if you went off with him I'd keep all the money" he started. "I saw him at your works thing the morning after and I told him to stay away, he overheard about yoga I never told him" he finished.
Hannah sighed. "You hurt me Billy" she stated.
"I know, look we both wanted that money and I'm not proud of what I did okay" he stated. "I'm sorry" he apologised. "Like really sorry" he added.
Hannah sighed. "I know I tried to set you up, but I'd have never contacted your ex and not if she hurt you the way Jason hurt me" she threw out.
"I know okay, I felt like shit when I saw him that day. It's why I told him to back off" he stated.
A pause was held between the pair. "Billy, why are you really here?" Hannah spoke up.
"Because I missed you" he mumbled.
"Sorry, what?" Hannah asked.
"I missed you, okay" he added louder.
"Do you love me?" She goaded hiding a smirk.
Billy huffed, she was insufferable. "Jesus" he grumbled wiping his hand on his brow. "I don't know okay, I just know I wanna kiss your lips off every time you open ya damn mouth" he stated.
Hannah smiled. "Well, I've not missed putting the toilet seat down" she mumbled.
Billy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well I don't miss your terrible shakes you make in a morning" he grumbled.
Hannah giggled, before sighing. "I know I've hated being alone these last few weeks" she confessed.
"Me too" Billy admitted. "Look, I don't know what this thing is between us, but I'm willing to find out if you are" he bargained waking towards her, placing his hand on her hip.
"Are you also willing to put the toilet seat down?" She asked.
"That damn toilet seat again" he grumbled pulling her towards him, their noses touching.
"It's an important subj-" she started, gasping as their lips met and cut her off.
She looped her arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as Billy cupped her jaw and deepended the kiss. The pair continued for a few minutes before Billy broke it.
"Yeah, I'll put the seat down" he breathed. "If you'll move back in" he bargained.
"And what? Marry each other?" She asked.
"Get to know each other, see what this thing is" he breathed.
"Deal" Hannah stated pecking his lips.
"Deal" Billy replied landing a slap on her backside. "Go get your stuff" he stated..
Hannah nodded with a grin, turning on her heel and walking off.
Billy watched her excitement and apprehension flowing through his veins. He hoped this would work out.
Note; sorry for the lack of updates, I've been celebrating my birthday and I've been on holiday. Not many more chapters to go now thanks to all who are reading and liking.
A few days later....
"Come on man, we haven't even celebrated your winnings yet" Tommy urged swigging another beer whilst leaning against Billy's counter.
Because it didn't feel like a win Billy thought, shaking his head. "I don't feel up to it" he replied swigging his beer.
Tommy shook his head. "This is not the Billy I know dude, come on your a millionaire now, chick's are gonna be all over you" he declared.
"That's the problem" Billy grumbled.
"Come on man, we go to one club and if you hate it we go home" Tommy bargained with a grin.
Billy sighed. "You aren't gonna shut up are you?" He asked.
Tommy shook his head. "Not even for a second" he replied with a grin.
The bar was crowded. The pair had to push their way past sweaty bodies to even get to the bar, Billy knew he would hate this but he needed Tommy off his back. The last thing he wanted him to know was that he was thinking about Hannah, and that he had been for a while.
Tommy let out a whistle. "Hey girls" he purred as Billy rolled his eyes, already dreading the interaction.
"Hi" they chirped.
Billy looked round to see two girls standing beside Tommy. If he blinked, he could swear they were almost twins. One blonde and one brunette, hair in tight curls and dresses that were far too short.
"I'm Tommy and this is Billy" Tommy introduced putting his arm around Billy's neck.
"Hey" Billy grunted unenthusiastic.
The blonde eyed him. "Hey" she winked. Billy hid a grimace.
"My boy here is a millionaire" Tommy boasted.
"Really?" The blonde asked coming to Billy's side. "How about you get me a drink handsome?" She purred.
"What do you want?" Billy asked robotic. He hated all the fakeness.
"Martini please" she stated. Billy nodded ordering himself a beer and paying for the drinks. "The names Stacey" she introduced.
"Billy" he nodded taking a sip of his beer.
"What brings you here Billy?" She asked.
Billy shrugged. "I'm only here because my friend bugged me" he stated.
"Ouch" Stacey replied before smirking. "Aren't you glad you came out?" She asked putting her hand on his arm.
Billy snorted, shaking his head. "Not really" he answered truthfully.
Stacey halted, her eyes flashing to his hand. "You're married?" She asked with a hint of judgement.
"Divorcing" Billy stated bitterly swigging his beer.
"Let me guess, you still love her?" She asked.
Billy paused. "I don't know" he answerd not wanting to explain the situation. "I guess I just miss her" he admitted quietly.
"Then you need to get her back" Stacey suggested.
"Don't think she wants me" Billy replied sipping his beer.
Stacey patted his arm. "Well if I was you id-" she started.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in" a voice stated.
Billy furrowed his brows, turning around to see Heather glaring at him. A case full of empty glasses in her hand. "You work here?" He asked.
Heather rolled her eyes. "Like you care" she spat. "See you already moved on" she stated.
"Oh no, I'm actually telling him how to win his ex back" Stacey piped up excitedly.
Heather scoffed. "Like she'd want you back after what you did" she accused.
"What did I do? Huh?" Billy asked.
Heather sneered. "Two words, Jason Carver" she replied.
Billy furrowed his brows. "Jason Carver?" He murmered before widening his eyes realisation crashing down. "Oh shit, no its not what it looks like" he rushed out.
"I'm gonna go and leave you two to talk" Stacey replied walking away.
"Yeah sure" Heather replied.
"Look, I was pissed off to start with she just got under my skin, it was a stupid petty act. But I told him to leave her alone" Billy rushed out explaining.
"She was really hurt" Heather huffed.
Billy ran a hand down his face. "I need to talk to her, do you know where she's gone?" He rushed out.
Heather shrugged. "She wouldn't tell me, just said she needed a quiet place" she stated.
Billy paused, digging in the back of his Jean pocket. He grabbed the picture and shoved it at Heather. "Recognise this place?" He asked.
Heather furrowed her brows. "Not sure maybe Thornton State beach" she shrugged.
Billy nodded. "I gotta go" he stated.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Tommy asked. "Oh hey sweet thing" he purred at Heather.
"Literally, die" Heather scoffed.
"Come on, you weren't saying that last week when I had my tongue down your throat" he flirted.
Heather blushed. " I warned you not to bring that up!" She shouted.
Tommy smirked. "I can show you again" he winked.
"Dude, you and her?" Billy asked.
Tommy waved him off. "Long story, where have you been?" He asked.
Billy swallowed. "I gotta go" he stated.
"Where?" Tommy asked.
"Thornton state beach" he called back.
"You're giving up one million dollars man!" Tommy shouted.
Billy waved at him dismissive. He was going to get his wife back, for good.
