Erin | 30s | she/her | currently writing for Tommy Shelby, Cillian Murphy, I might branch out to other Cillian Murphy characters in the future | I am an adult, I write for adults the contents of this blog are for mature audiences | minors DNI
WELCOME!
Hi there! I'm so happy that you've come here, make yourself a cup of tea (or whatever your poison of choice is) and get comfy!
CONTENT WARNINGS
I try to label my work appropriately, so make sure you read the warnings if they're there. I am an adult. I write adult themes. If you are not an adult, as much as I'm glad you found my blog, this is not the place for you - please DNI.
MY WORKS
Pre-War Birmingham - Masterlist
This is a peek into the world of Tommy and his girl pre-WWI.
Dream Trip - Masterlist
This is a story about Cillian in an AU where the reader goes to Ireland on a trip of a lifetime which starts off when she's upgraded to an empty seat beside our favourite blue-eyed actor.
What happens in Birmingham... - Masterlist
What started as a little one-shot, has quickly escalated to whatever this is!? A little time travel for your reading pleasure!
The Photographer - Masterlist
Another one-shot that took over my brain and won't let me go. This is a Modern Tommy story.
Summary: After a decade busting her tail and several tours, Lena is more than ready for some quality time back home in Texas with her family. Her brother, Jake just happens to be coming home for some much needed leave time after a high stakes mission… and bringing his wingman home with him to recoup. Little did she know her brother was playing wingman on the ground…
Word Count: 4955
Pairings: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x OC Elena “Lena” Seresin, Jake Seresin
Warnings: Fluff, slight angst (blink and miss it), Kissing, Jake being a matchmaker (it's a WARNING!)
A/N: I don’t own Top Gun Maverick characters but I do own reader OCs characters and original plot lines. I do NOT give permission to copy, translate, sell, repost to other sites, paste into an AI Generator, or any other forms of plagiarism. DO NOT STEAL MY WORK. Don’t be an asshole. Reblogs are welcomed. My blog is 18+ minors DNI.
Masterlist (and tag list if you want to join) Part 1
Lena’s POV
Nights were when Lena did her best writing… mostly because she struggled to turn her head off to sleep. Being back home, even though her spirit felt lighter, she was still finding it hard to shut off her head at night. The difference though, was that at home, under the Texas sky, she could breathe.
Lena sat outside on the patio, overlooking the lake. Everyone else had long since turned in for the night. She had a blanket around her and a fire in the firepit in front of her to keep the slight chill away. The days were still warm but nights were starting to get colder.
She was mindlessly strumming on her guitar, humming a melody and some lyrics that had been stuck in her head.
“Mind some company?” Bradley asked, stepping out to the patio. “I don't want to intrude.”
Lena looked up, smiling softly across at Bradley. Even in the firelight, she could tell he was struggling with whatever demons haunted his dreams.
“Not at all.” She said, “Can’t sleep either?”
“Sleep has been… a little rocky here lately.” Bradley admitted, sitting down next to her.
“Ribs bothering you?” She asked softly, her eyes conveying a gentleness in the glow of the fire. “Or… something else?”
“Little of both.” He replied, his eyes on fire, his voice barely above a whisper, “Less of one…more the other.”
“I know there’s probably a lot you can’t talk about,” She said, “But if you do want to talk… I’m a good listener.”
He looked over and gave her a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Thanks… I’ll keep that in mind.” He answered quietly, “I don’t know that I’m ready just yet. That song you were playing sounded really good… is it a new one?”
“It’s a work in progress.” She said, smiling, allowing the easy topic change. “The melody hit me first… then… after a conversation with my brother and my own inner brain noise… the lyrics started coming to me.”
“Can you play it for me?” He asked softly.
“It’s still rough around the edges.” She replied, adjusting the guitar again and offering him a soft smile, “But, yeah… I can play it.”
She started the opening chords, letting the music drift over the night breeze before she started singing.
“Tears are made to cry, rain was made to fall
Mornings turn to night, this big old world can make you feel small
Backs aren't made to break, but after years of work, they do
You're gonna wanna walk away, but you were made to make it through”
“Keep on going, your wheels were made for rolling, down the road, keep knowing there's better days ahead
Don't stop trying or quit the hill you're climbing, on the other side, that view will steal your breath
If your heart's still beating, you ain't got a reason to give up yet”
Lena sang, lost in the music, playing the chords flawlessly. Bradley sat in silent awe of her, the music and words washing over him. When she stopped, lowering the guitar again, she looked over at him.
“Lena…” Bradley said softly, his voice low and still raspy. “That was…. incredible. I don’t know how you think that was rough in any way.”
“You’re sweet.” She laughed self consciously, “I’m still playing around with the last verse and bridge.”
“Well, in my humble, non-professional opinion… it’s already perfect.” He smiled.
“Well, from what my brother said…and from a video he sent me from… The Hard Deck I think it is?” Lena replied, smiling, “You are also a musician, so that makes your opinion hold some weight.”
Bradley chuckled, ducking his head.
“Of course he did.” He said, shaking his head as he looked back up. “One more layer peeled back, huh?”
“You know, Jake has never actually hated you…. Right?” Lena asked, tilting her head to look at him curiously. “He’s actually always been really impressed with you. Like I said before… Jake’s asshole persona is all a front.”
“It was very convincing.” Bradley admitted. “But… I’m starting to see he at least doesn’t hate me now.”
Lena laughed, shaking her head, “No, Bradley. He doesn’t…. Or you wouldn’t be here. This is Jake’s sanctuary. Javy is the only other person he’s ever brought home.” She paused, blushing before she looked back at him, “And… Jake’s never been quite so… obvious about his intentions to try to play matchmaker.”
It was Bradley’s turn to blush. He smiled sheepishly over at her, even though he’d had no knowledge of Jake’s plan when he’d been invited here.
“You picked up on that, huh?” Bradley chuckled, his voice sounding nervous. He rubbed the back of his neck, “He started dropping hints as soon as they got back from picking you up. I had no idea beforehand when he brought me here that this was his plan.”
“Truthfully, it was probably only an added side quest for him.” She smiled, “Knowing Jake, his first thought…was this is his sanctuary and place he heals best, so in offering it to you as a place to heal, it was his olive branch.”
He nods, a small smile on his face, “And…his side mission?”
“That…. Is just Jake…being Jake.” She smiled back at him. She felt butterflies flutter in her belly at the way he smiled. It was almost shy, boyish… It was endearing. “And honestly… I’m not mad about it.”
She’s not sure where the confidence to add the last part came from. She’d realized today though, while watching Bradley with her niece and nephew, that there was definitely something about him that drew her. She also realized that coming home…stepping away from everything for a while had been the best decision she’s made in a very long time.
“I’m going to try to get some sleep.” She said, getting up, smiling over at him, “Goodnight, Bradley.”
She walked past him, gently running her hand over his shoulder on the way by.
****
The next morning Lena comes downstairs to find Jake in the kitchen, making coffee. Their mom had already left for town, needing to go get last minute supplies for a barbecue, their dad out working.
“Morning, Jakey.” She said, yawning.
“Trouble sleeping?” He asked, turning to smile, winking, “It appears my feathered friend had the same problem last night. He’s still knocked out.”
“Too early, Jake… too early.” She groaned.
“It’s almost nine, Shortcake.” He teased, “Some of us have been up and accomplished things already today.”
“I will find every single embarrassing photo in this house and hand them over to Bradley to release to your squadron.” She threatened, glaring at her twin without any real heat.
“Ok…ok… truce.” He chuckled, putting his hands up in surrender, “Want some coffee?”
“Yes please.” She replied, “What are your plans for today?”
“Don’t have any.” Jake said. “Decided to give actual relaxation a try… no plans, just going with the flow.”
“Wow… that last mission must have been a real doozy.” She said, looking at her brother thoughtfully.
“Put some things in perspective.” He shrugged, handing her a mug of coffee, then moved to the fridge to grab the vanilla creamer he knew she loved. “But you’re home too, Shortcake… what happened on the last tour to make you decide you needed to come home?”
Lena sighed, pouring some cream into her coffee and taking a sip.
“It wasn’t just one thing.” She said, “It was… everything. I just felt like the walls were closing in. Like I was in a fishbowl and all the sides were coming in on me. I woke up in the middle of the night in a hotel in London just before wrapping the world tour and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. I called my manager and the record company the next morning.”
“You’ve been going for ten years, Lena…with practically no breaks.” He replied gently, “Even I was required to take a month every year… They just kept pushing you to tour more, record more… do more. It’s no wonder you finally found your wall.” He came around the island where you were seated and hugged you from behind, his chin resting on your head. “I’m glad it wasn’t over that asshole though. He was never worth it… never deserved you.”
“I love you, Jakey.” She said, leaning back into him, “I think I’m starting to see that maybe… it’s time to slow down a bit. I’ve done what I set out to do… now I can call the shots. And… for the record… breaking up with Carson was a relief. I was… pissed to find out he’d been cheating…. But honestly, the relationship died before that.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Jake said, smiling, sliding onto the chair next to her, “So you’re looking to slow down… take control over your career… and your heart is emotionally available. Is that correct?”
“Oh my god, Jake!” Lena laughed, “Could you be more obvious?”
“I could actually.” He smirked, looking up as Bradley walked in. She looked up, following his gaze to a still very sleep rumpled Bradley. “Well good morning there, Bradshaw… up late last night? Trouble…. Sleeping perhaps?”
“Jacob Thomas Seresin, behave.” Lena said, kicking her brother’s shin. He yelped, looking over at her. “Get him some coffee since you’re so full of energy this morning. Bradley, you can have his seat. He won’t be needing it.”
“Damn you’re mean when you’re not caffeinated enough.” Jake grumbled playfully, getting up, winking at Bradley on his way by, “I have to go help dad anyway. When the two of you are more awake and sociable… feel free to come on out. Lena you should show Bradshaw the chickens… and Rooster.”
“Still not funny, man.” Bradley rasped, sitting down at the island next to her. Lena laughed softly, looking over at him.
“It’s a little funny.” She said, winking. “But we won’t encourage him.”
“Please don’t.” Bradley said, giving her a still sleepy smile that made her heart flutter.
Jake set a mug of coffee down in front of Bradley with a knowing smile.
“I’ll be out in the stables if you need me.” He said, “Rooster, take it easy on those ribs…”
Bradley waves him off with a mock salute, making him laugh.
“Are you hungry?” Lena asked Bradley once Jake had gone outside. “I can whip something up.”
“I could eat.” He said, giving her a half smile that absolutely should not be as cute as it was. “But you don’t have to cook for me, Lena.”
“I don’t mind.” She replied, getting up. “I like to cook.”
“At least let me help.” He insisted, chuckling, “I feel like a bum just sitting here.”
“You’re not very good at this whole leisure and vacationing thing, you know.” Lena teased him.
“So I’ve been told.” He smirked, standing carefully to avoid pulling any muscles around his ribs.
“Alright, if you’re going to insist on helping, you’re in charge of chopping veggies for the omelets.” She smiled, handing him the cutting board and a knife then setting some fresh peppers and tomatoes from her mom’s garden on the island next to him. He picked up a pepper and started to dice it.
“Do you want bacon to go with the omelets?” She asked, pulling the eggs and cheese from the fridge.
“Sure.” He agreed, “If you’re already planning to make some.”
“Bradley.” She paused, looking at him, giving him a soft smile, “Even if I weren’t making it for myself, I’d happily make it for you. You’re not used to having people to take care of you are you?”
He rubs the back of his neck, which Lena recognizes now as one of his nervous habits, and gives her an almost sheepish smile, shaking his head.
“It’s…been a while.” He admitted, “I’ve been on my own pretty much since I was 18, depending on myself.”
“Well… in case you haven’t realized it,” She smiled, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, “You’ve officially been adopted into the Seresin family so… you should maybe practice leaning on people every once in a while.”
“I’ll… work on it.” He replied, his voice more raspy than it had been moments ago.
She smiled warmly, her hand trailing over his shoulders as she moved around the island back to the stove. Lena worked quickly and efficiently to make the omelets and bacon, plating them and bringing the plates to the island where Bradley was now sitting, having finished his chopping duty.
“Eat up, Lieutenant.” Lena teased, “Gonna need all the energy you can get.”
Bradley smirked, picking up his fork and starting to eat.
“This is amazing, Lena.” He said, taking another bite.
“It’s hard to screw up an omelet.” She smiled, “But thank you.”
“You’d be surprised.” He chuckled, “The Navy serves some questionable food.”
After breakfast, Bradley insists on helping with dishes, despite protests from Lena. As they finish, Lena’s mom comes in with a basket of vegetables she harvested from the garden.
“Let me help with that, Momma.” Lena said, moving to take the basket. Before she could, her mom set it on the counter and winked.
“I’ve got it, Baby Girl.” She said, smiling, “It’s a beautiful day, why don’t you two get out and enjoy the sunshine? Probably too soon to be on a horse with those ribs, Bradley, but there are some beautiful trails for walkin’ by the lake Lena can show you.”
Lena blushed, giving her mom the same look she’d given Jake earlier, only her mom was immune. Bradley chuckled, then tried to cover it with a cough when Lena looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“A walk sounds good.” He said, smiling.
******
Bradley’s POV
******
He couldn’t keep the smile off his face at Mrs. Seresin’s suggestion. The Seresin family wasn’t being subtle in their intent to get Lena and Bradley to spend time together. He wasn’t complaining. He enjoyed her company the night before when they were alone.
“Ok, let me go change quickly,” Lena said, smiling, shaking her head.
“I’ll be here.” He said, chuckling “Take your time.”
Bradley watched as she left the room, his eyes glued to her until she’d disappeared up the stairs. When he turned around Mrs. Seresin was smiling knowingly over at him. He could feel his skin heating, a blush working its way up his neck and to his cheeks. He ducked his head, trying to hide a smile.
“I know what my son is up to.” She said, continuing to separate and wash the produce she’d brought in from her garden. “And I don’t mind encouraging him… or helping him. He’s talked a lot about you over the years. He also brought you here… which tells me all I need to know. Lena’s been through it… but from what I hear, so have you. I reckon the two of you could be good for one another.”
“I’m liking getting to know her…” Bradley said, “She’s … not like any other woman I’ve met before.”
“Lena is one of a kind,” Her mom smiled, winking.
Lena walked back down, wearing cut off jean shorts and a Texas Longhorns T-shirt with sneakers. She’d pulled her hair into a loose side braid. Bradley felt his breath catch at how beautiful she looked. She walked over and stole a sugar snap pea from the pile her mom was going through, kissing her cheek before popping the stolen vegetable into her mouth with a smile.
“Love you, Momma.” She laughed softly, “Be back later. Keep Jakey outta trouble while we’re gone.”
“That’s a tall order.” Her mom teased, her eyes sparkling with humor, “Love you too. Have fun.”
Lena led the way out of the house, Bradley following. He was pretty sure at this point, he’d follow her anywhere.
They walked around the house, past the barn and then past where Jake was helping to fix a line of fence. He smirked seeing the two walk past, but thankfully, to Bradley’s relief, held his tongue.
Lena led him towards a trail that seemed to follow the edge of the lake.
“My parents call these trails…” Lena laughed softly, looking over at him. The small tendrils of hair that had escaped from the braid were blowing lightly in the breeze. “Really, they’re more like paths but I guess that’s just semantics.”
“Whatever you want to call it,” Bradley said, smiling as he looked at her then out over the water, “It’s peaceful… and the company is perfect.” He looked back at her as he said the last part.
She blushed, a smile playing on her lips. “I’m enjoying the time with you too.” She admitted, looking up at him. “Just let me know, though if it gets to be too much… I don’t want those ribs to be tweaked anymore than they already are.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughs quietly. “Although, I don’t think walking is going to do much to my ribs.”
They walked for a while in silence before Bradley looked over at Lena. She looked so relaxed…happy. She looked over and smiled.
“You’re staring, Lieutenant.” She said, her eyes sparkling.
“Can’t help it.” He chuckled, “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed, smiling over at him. He smiled back at her, their hands brushing as they walked. Lena slid her hand into his, pressing close as they continued down the path.
A while later they came to a clearing. Lena led Bradley over to the bank of the lake.
“This was always my favorite place to come on and think… to write… when I was growing up.” Lena said, sitting down on a large stump from a fallen tree. Bradley carefully sat next to her.
“I can see why.” He said softly, looking out over the water. “It’s peaceful… pretty.”
She looked over at him, smiling, “ So… Bradley Bradshaw… tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?” He asked, chuckling, “What has Jake already told you?”
‘I know all about your stellar flying abilities… your tendencies to play it safe,” She looked over and smirked, “Until recently it would appear.”
Bradley laughed, nodding. Lena continued, “I know you’re fiercely loyal to those you care about, you have questionable taste in music and fashion… Jake’s words, not mine… and I know you have deep rooted rivalry with my brother that I am sure was mostly his own doing.”
“My taste in music and fashion is fantastic, thank you.” He said, rolling his eyes playfully.
“I did say it was Jake’s words…” She pointed out smirking. “I personally love the Hawaiian shirts and I’m a lover of all music. I especially think the mustache looks good on you. Not many can pull that off.”
“My dad loved Hawaiian shirts.” Bradley smiled, blushing. “He had a large collection. My mom kept them all and as soon as I remotely fit into them I remember starting to wear some to see her smile. After she died… it was a way to feel even closer to my dad. Over time it just became part of who I am. Same with the music. And to some extent the mustache I guess?” He paused, looking over at Lena, “When I say it out loud it starts to sound like maybe I’ve leaned too far into trying to have some connection with my dad and lost who I would be in the process…”
“Not necessarily.” She replied gently, “It’s possible that you just incorporated pieces of your dad into who you already were… do you only listen to the older music your dad liked? Do you only wear Hawaiian shirts? You are who you are because of everything you’ve gone through, Bradley. All of the people that came in and out of your life shaped who you are. It sounds like your Captain… may have also been a huge part of that life at some point. Your mom… your dad for the time you had him… but also all of your experiences and the people you’ve met since leaving home… all of that goes into shaping who we are. So… I would argue that your identity is not just made up of you trying to be like your dad.”
Bradley sat for a moment digesting everything Lena said. He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat before looking over at her and giving her a small smile.
“Thanks.” Bradley said, softly, “For the record I do wear more than just Hawaiian shirts and listen to more than just the music my dad liked… but it’s fun to annoy Jake so I load the jukebox with songs that I know he’s sick of and even though I have more in my repertoire than Great Balls of Fire, I always lead with that one at The Hard Deck. It was my dad’s thing and it made my mom happy when I played it… and it is a crowd favorite… but it’s also one I know annoys Jake. Petty yes… but before the mission… I was using everything in my arsenal.”
Lena laughed, shaking her head. She leaned closer to him, placing her hand on his arm.
“Bradley, I love my brother but he has a big ego and needs people to keep him in check so I fully and completely support that level of petty.” She chuckled, her eyes meeting his, “Also, I demand that you play for me while you’re here.”
“Any requests?” He smirked, his heart skipping a beat at her hand on him and the way she was looking at him.
“Great Balls of Fire of course.” She smiled, mischievously. “One, because I genuinely love the song but also because I love messing with my brother too.”
“I’ll happily make that happen for you then.” He laughed.
“So… are things…better?” She asked, her smile softening, “With your godfather?”
“It’s… complicated.” Bradley sighed, “But the lines of communication are at least open now… and I think when I get back I’ll take him up on his offer to sit down and talk.”
“Can I ask what caused such a huge rift in your relationship?” She asked gently.
“Being an aviator is all I’ve ever wanted… going to the Naval Academy is all I’ve ever dreamed of.” He said, his voice quiet as he looked out over the water, “Like my dad… like Maverick…Iceman… all the great aviators I grew up admiring. Mav had always encouraged me. He stepped in and helped to raise me after my dad died. He even helped me with my application…which makes it even more messed up. My mom got cancer at the end of my junior year of high school. She ended up passing away just after Christmas my senior year. I waited and waited for a letter from the academy that would never come. Before the deadlines for other colleges, Mav finally came clean. He admitted he’d pulled my papers to the academy. I felt like my entire world got yanked from under me. I didn’t have any family left. My mom had just died and my godfather betrayed me. I was so angry. I packed up everything I could and stayed with friends until graduation and then left. I wouldn’t return any of Mav’s calls, wouldn’t answer any of Ice’s calls or anyone connected to him. I enrolled at UVA for the fall and threw myself into a political science degree then I commissioned to Officer Training and then flight school. He set my career back by 4 years.”
“Wow…” She whispered, her hand sliding into his, squeezing gently, “Shit, Bradley. I’m sorry. That’s a lot for someone to go through so young… and to not have family to fall back on.”
“I spent every minute since finding out working my ass off to prove him wrong.” Bradley said softly, squeezing her hand back, warmth spreading through him at her gesture. “To show him… and myself that I am meant to be in the sky… that I’m good enough.”
“I have no doubt that you’re right where you belong, Bradley.” She smiled, leaning into him, he looked down into her eyes, “You could have given up and studied literally anything else when your papers got pulled, but instead you found a way around the obstacle he’d thrown in your path and in the end you got to the same damn spot. Bradley, I’ve never met your parents or any of your family but I have no doubt they’d have been so damn proud of you. I also can assume because this Maverick guy is your godfather… he was probably someone your parents loved very much… and they wouldn’t want you carrying around a lot of anger. They’d want you to at least hear the guy out.”
“My mom would definitely smack me upside my head for being so stubborn and make me sit down and listen.” He chuckled softly, “We are going to talk… and I am ready to listen. He’s all I have left. I almost lost him on the mission… something in me snapped.”
“Better late than never.” She smiled, her thumb softly tracing patterns over his hand. “But you’re wrong. You have more than him. My momma has already claimed you.”
“I think I can handle that.” He smiled, nudging her affectionately with his shoulder. “Your turn… tell me more about you.”
“What do you want to know?” She laughed
“How’d you get into music?” He asked, his full attention on her, wanting to know everything there was to know.
“I’ve always been drawn to music.” She replied, her smile lighting up her whole face. “Momma always had music playing around the house and I learned to play the piano pretty young… plunkin’ away on the keys...She made sure to get me lessons. Jake can play too… just not as well. My grandpa taught me to play guitar. From the time I could talk I was singing…if you ask my family. Sang in the church choir, school choirs…I won my first talent show in junior high… then I won a singing contest at the county fair… in high school I won at the Texas State Fair. I moved to Nashville right after high school. It took two years of waiting tables, bar tending, singing every open mic night I could find and busting my ass. I was about to give up but it just took that one final shot… the right person hearing me and I was in the door.”
“I’m glad you didn’t give up.” Bradley said, smiling as his eyes met hers. “You have incredible talent. Crazy thing is, I’ve listened to your music… I have some of your songs on my playlists. Didn’t even know you were Jake’s sister.”
“You’re so sweet.” She blushed, “I’m glad you like my music. I’ve been so incredibly blessed to get to do what I do for the last eight years. I love making music, I love my fans… love being on stage and getting to perform.”
“But you need a break.” He said, finishing what you left unsaid. “It’s a lot to go for that long without a significant break.”
“It is…. And I do.” She agreed, her eyes locking on his, “I don’t know if I want to keep going like I’ve been going anymore… I know I want to keep singing…and writing… but I need to reevaluate and decide what I want the next part of my career to look like. One thing I do know… it’s going to be on my terms now.”
“From what I hear… this is the perfect place to reflect on life.” He smiled gently, “That why you decided to come home?”
“Yeah.” She said, her eyes warm, “Needed the wide open space to breathe… to get away from the stifling pressure.”
“Are you feeling better since you got home?” He asked, looking down at her. She was now leaning in closer to him.
“I am.” She replied, her voice just above a whisper as she looked up at him, “Are you feeling more at ease since Jake brought you here?”
“I am” His tone matched hers, as he reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Especially with you.”
Lena turned just enough so she was angled towards him, Bradley did the same, leaning in. He paused, his eyes on hers, giving her time to pull away or to stop him. She did neither. She leaned in to meet him. Their lips met in a tender kiss, tentative…until it wasn’t. Lena’s hand moved up to Bradley’s chest, his hand moved behind her braid to gently rest against her neck, holding her to him as the kiss deepened. Lena’s lips parted on a sigh and Bradley’s tongue licked over them, seeking entry that she immediately granted, her own tongue swirling with his to explore and taste. They pulled apart moments later, both out of breath, foreheads resting against one another.
“Wow.” He whispered, the sound shaky.
“Jake’s gonna have a field day with this…” She chuckled breathily, “His ego will be even bigger now.”
“Any regrets?” He asked, pulling back just enough to look at her, smiling that half smile that was devastating to her self-control.
“Nope.” She replied, smiling as she leaned in to kiss him softly again, “Not a single regret.”
“Me either.” He smiled against her lips, “Dealing with Jake’s ego will be worth it… besides…. He saved my life. I can let him gloat.”
“I’m really glad he saved your life.” She smiled, resting her head against his “And really glad he brought you here.”
“So am I.” He replied, his voice full of emotion.
***
A/N: I AM SO SORRY for the long wait for this!!! I really meant to have it posted two weeks ago but I needed surgery and then it got away. I'm all on the mend and will have way more time to write. SOOOOO Let me know what you think.... I love feedback... and THANK YOU for being so patient!
Summary: The day after the attack Jake shifts his focus to something simple: taking care of Vivienne. What begins as a quiet moment turns into gentle teasing and unspoken tension, but when Jake catches a glimpse of the bruises she still carries, the reality of what she endured settles heavily between them.
Warnings: References to past domestic abuse. Visible bruising/injury from prior abuse. Emotional aftermath of trauma. Protective themes and discussion of healing. Mild sexual tension and nudity.
Word Count: 5,600
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by Kaley (rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn (bykaitlynann).
All other chapters can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
Vivienne woke slowly. Not the sharp, gasping kind of waking that had been haunting her for weeks as things with her and Ethan got progressively worse. No panic clawing up her throat. No desperate fight for breath. Just warmth.
For a moment she didn’t move. Her mind hovered somewhere between sleep and waking, drifting in that rare, peaceful space where nothing hurt and nothing demanded her attention.
Sunlight filled the room. It spilled across the far wall and stretched over the bed in warm, golden stripes, bright enough that it had clearly been there for a while. Late morning, maybe even close to noon.
Vivienne blinked at the ceiling, confused by the unfamiliar calm in her chest. The kind of heavy that only came after real sleep…the deep, uninterrupted kind her brain had refused to give her for what felt like forever.
The realization that she had slept came slowly. She had slept. Like actually slept. The thought was strange enough that she stayed still for another moment, almost afraid to disturb it.
Then instinct took over. Her hand drifted across the mattress beside her, reaching and looking for warmth. Her fingers met only cool sheets.
Vivienne’s eyes opened fully. The space beside her was empty. For a brief, sharp second, panic flickered through her chest. The same reflexive spike her body had experienced last night after waking alone and disoriented.
She pushed herself up on her elbows quickly, scanning the unfamiliar room. Right. The guest room. Jake’s house.
Vivienne exhaled slowly and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
The oversized sweatshirt she was wearing slipped down one shoulder as she moved, the soft cotton brushing against her skin. It took her a second to recognize it as Jake’s, the sleeves too long, the collar stretched just slightly from where she’d slept curled into it.
She tugged it back into place absently. The faint scent of his cologne clung to the fabric. Something warm and grounding settled in her chest at the realization.
Vivienne glanced back at the pillow beside her. It still carried the subtle dip where his head had been. The pillowcase smelled like him too.
She sat there for another moment, letting the quiet settle around her. The house itself felt calm. Safe.
Then she heard it. A voice. Low and steady, drifting faintly down the hallway.
Jake.
Vivienne turned her head toward the partially open bedroom door, listening. His voice was quiet enough that she couldn’t make out the words, just the calm cadence of him speaking to someone. On the phone, maybe.
The sound eased the last lingering knot in her chest. He was still here.
Vivienne stood slowly, the wooden floor cool beneath her bare feet. The shirt hem brushed against her thighs as she crossed the room, pushing the door open just a little wider.
The hallway beyond was bright with morning light. Jake’s voice carried more clearly now, coming from somewhere further down the hall.
Vivienne followed the sound of Jake’s voice down the hallway, moving slowly, the quiet house amplifying every small creak of the floor beneath her bare feet.
The door at the end of the hall stood half open. Inside, Jake’s voice carried clearly now. Steady and controlled, the same calm tone he’d used the night before when he’d talked her through the panic.
Only this time it was sharper. More focused. His work voice.
Vivienne stopped just outside the doorway. Jake sat at a large desk near the window, one elbow resting on the arm of his chair as he held his phone to his ear. Sunlight poured in behind him, catching along the edge of his shoulders and the ends of his hair.
He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him. Dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. A laptop sat open in front of him. Several documents were spread across the desk.
Vivienne stayed quiet, not wanting to interrupt.
Jake hadn’t noticed her yet.
“Yes,” he was saying into the phone, his tone polite but immovable. “She won’t be in this week.”
A faint voice murmured on the other end, too quiet for Vivienne to make out. Jake leaned back slightly in the chair.
“No,” he said calmly. “It’s not optional.”
Another pause. His fingers tapped once against the armrest.
“I understand,” he continued, still perfectly controlled. “But that’s the situation.”
Vivienne felt a small, uneasy flicker in her chest. She hadn’t even thought about work yet. Hadn’t thought about emails piling up, meetings she was supposed to attend, the dozen responsibilities waiting for her back at the office.
Jake had. Of course he had.
“Take her off the calendar for the rest of the week,” he said. “Everything.”
A longer pause this time. Then Jake added, quieter but unmistakably firm,
“And if anyone needs something from her, they can go through me.”
The words settled into Vivienne’s chest like something warm and heavy. He wasn’t just giving her time off. He was standing between her and the world.
Another murmur from the other end of the line. Jake sighed softly through his nose.
“No, there won’t be a statement,” he said. “Not right now.”
He shifted in his chair, glancing briefly at the laptop screen.
“I’ll be working remotely for the next few days,” he continued. “If anything urgent comes up, send it to me.”
More talking from the other end. Jake listened, expression unreadable.
“Good.” He straightened slightly. “That’s all I needed.”
It was only then that his gaze lifted from the desk. And landed directly on Vivienne.
His eyes flicked quickly over her face, taking in everything at once: the oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder, the bare feet, the way she was leaning slightly against the doorframe like she wasn’t fully sure of her balance yet. Concern replaced the work-focus in an instant.
Jake turned slightly away from the doorway, bringing the phone closer to his mouth. The tone had changed again, shorter now. “We’ll finish the rest later.”
Another murmur of acknowledgment.
Jake nodded once. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He ended the call before the other man could say anything else. The room fell quiet.
Vivienne suddenly felt strangely self-conscious standing there, like she’d wandered into a part of his world she hadn’t been meant to see.
Jake pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. The movement was unhurried, but purposeful. By the time he crossed the room toward her, all traces of the professional CEO-to-be armor he’d been wearing on the phone had faded.
Now he just looked like Jake again.
Jake stopped a few feet in front of her. Up close, Vivienne could see the small signs that he’d been awake for a while. The faint shadows beneath his eyes, the slight crease in his shirt like he’d been leaning forward at the desk for too long.
But his attention was steady, focused entirely on her.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” she said.
Something in his expression told her he didn’t quite believe that. His eyes lingered on her a second longer. Then he nodded.
“You hungry?”
The question caught her off guard enough so that she had to think about it.
“Alright.” He gestured lightly with his hand. “Come on, I’ll make you something.”
Vivienne hesitated a beat. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said easily. The corner of his mouth lifted just a little. “But I’m going to.”
Jake turned toward the kitchen, clearly expecting her to follow. After a moment, she did. The house felt different in daylight. Less like the shadowy refuge it had been the night before and more like a place someone actually lived in. Clean lines, soft light spilling through wide windows, the quiet hum of a refrigerator somewhere ahead.
Jake moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs.
“Coffee?” He asked over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Vivienne said immediately.
Jake glanced back at her briefly, amusement flickering across his face. He set a pan on the stove, the soft clink of metal against the burner filling the quiet space.
Vivienne hovered near the kitchen island, leaning lightly against the counter as she watched him.
There was something oddly grounding about the simplicity of it. Jake cracking eggs into a bowl. The soft hiss of butter melting in the pan. The smell of coffee beginning to brew.
Normal things. Ordinary things. For the first time since the attack, the world didn’t feel like it was spinning out from under her feet.
Jake moved with calm efficiency, stirring the eggs with one hand while reaching for plates with the other.
He glanced at her again. “You can sit, you know.”
Vivienne huffed a soft breath that might almost have been a laugh. “I’m supervising.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Is that what that is?”
She shrugged slightly, folding her arms on the counter. “Someone has to make sure you don’t burn anything.”
That earned her a small, surprised smile. And something warm flickered quietly in her chest when she saw it.
Jake slid the eggs from the pan onto two plates and set them on the counter between them.
“Toast?” He asked.
Vivienne leaned forward slightly, watching him move around the kitchen like she was studying a complicated piece of machinery.
“You already made toast,” she said.
Jake glanced over his shoulder. “You’ve been here for thirty seconds. How do you know that?”
She pointed toward the toaster with quiet certainty. Two slices were already sitting on the small rack beside it, perfectly golden.
“Because you seem like the kind of person who preemptively makes toast.”
Jake paused, one hand resting on the cabinet door. “The kind of person who…what?”
“Plans ahead,” she said simply. “Organized. Efficient. Probably organizes things for fun.”
Jake closed the cabinet slowly. “I do not organize things for fun.”
Vivienne tilted her head, glancing around the kitchen. Everything was spotless. The counters were clear. The knives were lined up neatly in a wooden block. Even the fruit bowl looked suspiciously curated.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You absolutely alphabetize things.”
Jake slid the plates toward her. “Eat your eggs.”
Vivienne pulled the plate closer but didn’t pick up the fork yet. Instead she leaned an elbow on the counter, studying him with quiet amusement.
“You sounded very serious on that call,” she said.
Jake reached for the coffee pot. “I was working.”
“You said ‘it’s not optional’ in a very intense tone,” she continued.
Jake handed her a mug. “The thing we were discussing wasn’t optional.”
Vivienne wrapped her hands around the warmth of it, the steam rising gently between them. “That poor HR guy.”
“Josh.”
“Josh,” she repeated. “He sounded terrified.”
“He wasn’t terrified.”
“You sighed at him.”
Jake leaned against the counter across from her. “I sigh at everyone.”
Vivienne finally picked up her fork and took a small bite of the eggs. She chewed thoughtfully. Jake watched her face like he was waiting for a performance review. Vivienne swallowed. Then she made a small, contemplative hum.
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that sound mean?”
She tilted her head slightly. “It means they’re…fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
Jake crossed his arms. “Define ‘fine.’”
Vivienne gestured vaguely with the fork. “They’re eggs.”
“That’s the goal.”
“They’re competent eggs.”
Jake stared at her. “Competent.”
“Maybe slightly overconfident eggs.”
Jake let out a quiet breath through his nose. “I’m not sure eggs can be overconfident.”
Vivienne’s mouth twitched. “Well these are.”
Jake shook his head slowly, turning back to the stove to turn off the burner. When he faced her again, she was smiling. Not the tight, polite smile she’d worn through meetings and conversations at work. A real one. Small. But real.
For a second Jake just…watched her. Something in his chest shifted quietly. He hadn’t seen that smile in days. He was glad to be part of the reason it had returned.
Vivienne took another bite, glancing around the kitchen again. “I’m serious about the organization thing though.”
Jake followed her gaze. “What about it?”
She nodded toward a drawer slightly open beside the sink. Inside were rows of utensils laid out with almost suspicious precision.
“You’ve got your forks separated by size.”
Jake looked at the drawer. Then back at her. “That’s normal.”
“No,” she said. “Normal people have a utensil pile in a drawer.”
“A utensil pile is chaos.”
Vivienne lifted her mug again, eyes bright with quiet amusement now. “Your spice rack is alphabetical, isn’t it?”
Jake hesitated just long enough to confirm it.
Her smile widened. “I knew it.”
“It makes things easier to find.”
“You’re terrifying.”
Jake leaned back against the counter again, arms loosely crossed. “You’re judging me while eating my eggs.”
Vivienne took another bite.
“They’re competent eggs, remember?”
Jake shook his head again, but this time there was a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Across the counter, Vivienne laughed softly. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t big. But it was real. And Jake felt the sound of it settle somewhere deep in his chest. For the first time since the night in the parking lot, he wasn’t just seeing the fragile, shaken version of her that trauma had left behind.
Vivienne eventually set her fork down and leaned back slightly against the counter, wrapping both hands around her coffee mug again. The warmth soaked into her fingers, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
Jake gathered the plates without comment, rinsing them and setting them neatly in the dishwasher. He closed the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel before glancing back at her.
Then he stepped past her toward the living room, and he tipped his head slightly. “Come sit.”
Vivienne followed him. The living room was bright with late morning light, the wide windows letting in long stretches of pale gold across the floor and the dark fabric of the couch.
Jake dropped onto one end of it with the familiar ease of someone settling into his own space. Vivienne hesitated only briefly before sitting beside him.
Not too close. But not far either.
Jake picked up his phone from the coffee table, his thumb already moving across the screen as he scanned through whatever had accumulated while he’d been away from it.
“Work?” Vivienne asked.
“Mm.”
She tucked one leg underneath herself on the couch, angling slightly toward him. “What kind of disaster are we dealing with today?”
Jake’s thumb paused briefly.
“Nothing exciting.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“You want exciting disasters?”
“I work in corporate strategy,” she said. “Exciting disasters are basically my specialty.”
Jake glanced at her, eyebrow lifting slightly. “Is that how you describe it?”
“Internally,” she said. “Yes.”
Vivienne watched him for a moment. Jake huffed a quiet breath that might have been a laugh before looking back down at his phone.
Her shoulders slowly sank deeper into the cushions as the last of the tension in her body unwound. Without really thinking about it, she leaned slightly to the side. Her shoulder brushed his arm. Jake didn’t move away. He barely reacted at all, except for the subtle shift of his arm settling a little more comfortably along the back of the couch.
Vivienne rested her head lightly against his shoulder. The contact was tentative at first, like she was testing whether it would feel safe.
Jake kept scrolling through emails with one hand. His other arm drifted down almost automatically, resting loosely along the back of the couch behind her.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her cheek was warm and grounding. Vivienne let out a slow breath. Her eyes drifted toward the window across the room, sunlight shifting lazily across the floor.
Jake’s thumb continued moving across the screen of his phone, answering a message, skimming another email.
Next to him, Vivienne’s body gradually softened. The tension in her shoulders eased first. Then the slight tightness in her posture disappeared. Her breathing slowed.
Jake felt the shift before he looked down. Vivienne had slipped further against him now, her head resting fully against his chest instead of his shoulder. One hand had curled loosely in the fabric of his T-shirt.
He glanced down carefully. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing deep and steady. She’d fallen asleep on him. Again.
Jake went still for a moment, as if even the smallest movement might wake her. Then he shifted his phone slightly in his hand so he could keep reading one handed.
His other arm stayed exactly where it was. Holding her in place.
Vivienne didn’t stir. She only tucked slightly closer against him, her fingers tightening briefly in the fabric of his shirt before relaxing again.
Jake returned his attention to his phone. Emails. Messages. Work continuing somewhere out in the world beyond the quiet of the house. But he didn’t move. Didn’t try to reposition her. He just worked around her weight against him. And let her sleep.
* * * * * * * *
The house stayed still around them for the next few hours, sunlight shifting slowly across the floor as late morning edged toward afternoon.
Jake worked through his inbox one-handed, answering what he could and flagging the rest for later. Every so often his eyes drifted down to Vivienne, checking the slow rhythm of her breathing where she slept against his chest.
She hadn’t moved much. Just the occasional small shift, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt before relaxing again.
It was the first time he’d seen her sleep this deeply. Even the night before when he had laid in bed with her, she wasn’t quite this at peace.
Jake was halfway through drafting a response to an email when he felt th e change in her breathing. Her body shifted slightly against him, her head lifting just enough that her hair brushed across his jaw.
Vivienne blinked slowly, her eyes still heavy with sleep. For a moment she didn’t move. Just lay there, warm and half-curled against him, clearly still caught somewhere between dreams and waking.
Jake glanced down at her.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Her gaze lifted toward his face.
“Oh,” she murmured softly, clearly realizing where she was. “Sorry.”
“You fell asleep.”
“I put that together.”
The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
Vivienne rubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand, still leaning against him.
“How long?”
“Not long.”
That was a lie, and she had a feeling since the sun was starting to set through the window. But she didn’t question it.
Her gaze drifted downward as she lowered her hand. Toward the phone still resting loosely in Jake’s other hand.
The screen was still lit. An article open in the middle of it. Vivienne didn’t mean to read it. Her eyes just caught the headline before she could look away.
LOCAL INVESTIGATION CONTINUES AFTER ASSAULT IN DOWNTOWN APARTMENT COMPLEX
The words blurred for a second as her brain struggled to catch up. There was a smaller line of text beneath the headline.
Vivienne felt the shift in her body before she could stop it. Her stomach dropped. A cold, creeping tightness spread across her chest. She forced herself to breathe normally. To keep her face neutral. Her eyes moved quickly away from the screen, focusing instead on the coffee table across the room.
It was just a headline. Just a stupid article. It shouldn’t matter.
Her fingers curled slightly against Jake’s shirt without her realizing it. Jake felt the change instantly. The tension in her body was subtle, but it was there. Her shoulders had gone tight. Her breathing shallower. He looked down.
Vivienne was staring across the room like she’d suddenly forgotten where she was. Jake’s gaze flicked to his phone. Then back to her face.
He didn’t ask what she’d seen. He already knew. Jake locked his phone and set it down on the coffee table. The screen went dark.
Vivienne hadn’t moved. She was still sitting half leaning against him, but her body had gone rigid, like she was trying to hold herself perfectly still so nothing inside her would crack open.
Jake watched her for a moment. The tight line of her shoulders. The way her fingers had twisted slightly in the fabric of his shirt. Her breathing wasn’t panicked. Not yet. But it was heading there.
He kept his voice soft when he spoke. “Vivienne.”
Her eyes flicked toward him. There was something fragile there now. Something pulled tight behind the calm mask she was trying to hold in place.
He opened his arm slightly. “Come here.”
It wasn’t a command. Just an invitation.
Vivienne hesitated. For a second it looked like she might shake her head. Like the part of her brain that insisted she had to stay composed, stay controlled, stay fine was trying to win.
But her body was already leaning toward him. Slowly, almost cautiously, she shifted. One knee moved on the couch beside his thigh. Then the other. Jake didn’t move to help her. Didn’t guide her. He just stayed still and let her come to him.
Vivienne settled carefully into his lap, her legs on either side of him, like she wasn’t entirely aware she’d chosen that position until she was already there. The moment she was close enough, her arms slid around his shoulders. Her face buried against the side of his neck.Jake’s arms came up automatically, one around her back, the other steady against her side.
Her body trembled almost immediately. Just a quiet, uncontrollable shaking that moved through her shoulders and into his chest.
Vivienne pressed her face deeper into his neck, her breath warm and uneven against his skin. For a moment she said nothing.
Jake could feel her trying to hold it together. Trying not to break.
Then, very quietly, the words slipped out. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”
Jake went completely still. His hand tightened slightly against her back. “I’ve got you. He’s not going to hurt you again.”
Vivienne’s grip on his shoulders tightened slightly. Her body was still shaking.
Jake didn’t try to stop it. He just stayed exactly where he was, one hand resting warm and steady against the middle of her back, the other holding her securely against him.
Vivienne’s breathing gradually steadied. The trembling in her shoulders softened, fading into small aftershocks that moved through her every so often. Jake’s hand remained warm against her back, moving slowly, and absentmindedly, steady enough that she could follow the rhythm of it.
Eventually Vivienne shifted. Just enough to lift her head from the curve of his neck. Her hair brushed across his jaw as she moved, and suddenly they were very close again, closer than they had been since the night before.
Jake’s hand, still resting on her back, slid upward almost without thought. His fingers came to rest lightly along the side of her jaw.
Vivienne’s eyes lifted to his. Jake studied her face carefully. His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.
His voice dropped to something softer. “Tell me what you need.”
For a moment she seemed to search his face, like she was measuring the weight of the question. Then she whispered the answer.
“You.”
He held her gaze for another second, making sure she meant it. She leaned a fraction closer to him. That was enough for Jake. He leaned in slowly, giving her space to stop him just in case he was misinterpreting what she had said.
Their lips met gently. The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Nothing like the desperation of the night before in the bathroom. This one felt more intentional.
Vivienne’s hands rested lightly on his shoulders, her fingers curled suddenly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it like she needed something solid to hold onto.
Jake felt it immediately. The small, determined tug. His hand slid more firmly along her jaw as the kiss deepened slightly. Still gentle and unhurried, but no longer quite as tentative.
Vivienne leaned into him fully now, her grip tightening in his shirt as she kissed him back.
Jake’s hand moved without much thought. Sliding from her jaw down along the side of her neck. Then lower. Resting lightly against her waist, and giving it a little squeeze.
The contact was gentle. But the moment his hand settled there, Vivienne’s body reacted. She flinched. Her shoulders went rigid, her breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with the kiss.
Jake felt it instantly. He pulled back, ending the kiss before it could become anything else. His hand left her waist at the same moment.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Vivienne blinked, like she was coming back into the room from somewhere far away. Like him touching her waist made her mind go somewhere else.
Jake’s eyes searched her face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly.
The answer came too fast. Too automatic.
Jake didn’t move. His hands stayed where they were now, resting lightly at his sides.
“I need more than fine.” He said, his voice staying calm.
Vivienne swallowed. Her gaze dropped briefly, like she didn’t know where to put it.
“It’s not you,” she said quietly.
Jake didn’t answer right away. He just waited for her to give him more information. Vivienne shifted slightly in his lap, one hand loosening from his shirt. Her fingers moved to the hem of the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing, his sweatshirt.
She hesitated. Then she lifted the fabric a few inches.
“It's just a little tender still”
Jake’s eyes followed the movement. The bruise sat low on her side, just above her hip. Dark. Angry. The shape of it wasn’t subtle. Fingers had pressed there hard enough to leave marks that had already deepened into purple and blue.
For a second Jake didn’t breathe. His gaze locked on it. Vivienne glanced down too, like she was seeing it again through his eyes.
“It looks worse than it feels,” she said softly. “It’s just a little tender.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. The hand that had been resting lightly at his side stilled completely, like he was suddenly afraid to touch her.
His eyes lifted slowly back to her face.
“You should’ve told me,” he said quietly.
Vivienne gave a small shrug, letting the sweatshirt fall back down. “I didn’t think about it until you touched there.”
Jake’s gaze drifted back to where the bruise had been for a moment, even though the fabric covered it now. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. His brain started picturing exactly how that bruise got there.
“Hey,” she murmured.Her hand came up, resting lightly against his chest. “It’s okay.”
Jake looked at her again. The words clearly didn’t land the way she meant them.
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
Vivienne studied his face for a moment. Then her hand slid slightly higher against his chest, fingers curling gently in the fabric like she was grounding both of them.
“It’s healing,” she said. “And he can’t hurt me anymore, right? That’s what you said.”
Jake went very still. For a second something sharp moved through his expression…anger, quiet and controlled, aimed somewhere far away from the woman sitting in his lap.
But when he looked back at her, his voice was steady again.
“Right,” he said. “He can’t.”
Vivienne watched the careful way he held himself back. Then she reached for his wrist. Guiding his hand. Gently placing it higher this time, above the bruise. Jake’s fingers rested there, warm through the fabric of the sweatshirt.
Vivienne leaned into him again, resting her forehead briefly against his.
“See?” She murmured. “I’m okay.”
His thumb moved once against her side, slow and cautious.
Vivienne rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathing steady now. Jake exhaled slowly. Then his hand slid away from her waist.
“Come on,” he murmured.
Vivienne blinked slightly, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What?”
Jake gave her a small nod toward the hallway.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She frowned a little, confused. “I’m okay—”
“I know,” he said gently. “Just humor me.”
He was already easing her off his lap, standing carefully so he didn’t hurt her. His hand stayed loosely at her back, guiding without pushing.
“Just give me a minute to get it set up.”
Vivienne watched him disappear briefly upstairs. She could hear him moving around in there. Water turning on, a cabinet opening, the quiet clink of something being set on the counter.
By the time she stepped into the doorway of the master bathroom a minute later, the bathroom was filling slowly with steam.
Jake glanced over his shoulder.
“Shower okay?” He asked.
Vivienne leaned against the doorframe for a second, studying him.
“Yeah,” she said softly.
Jake nodded once.
“There’s a towel on the rack. And—” he hesitated briefly, then opened a drawer and pulled out a soft T-shirt and a pair of loose lounge pants.
He handed them to her.
“You can wear these.”
Vivienne looked down at the clothes in her hands.
“You’re going to run out of clothes if you keep lending them to me,” she said faintly.
Jake shrugged. “I think I’ll survive.”
Then she stepped closer, brushing lightly past him toward the shower. The water was already running, steam slowly filling the room. Vivienne paused near the sink, glancing back at him. Jake had moved to the doorway, giving her space like he’d promised.
“You don’t have to stand guard,” she said lightly.
“Not standing guard.”
“Looks like standing guard.”
Jake folded his arms loosely. “Just making sure you don’t pass out in there.”
Vivienne smiled faintly at that. Then, without another word, she reached for the hem of the oversized sweatshirt she was still wearing.
Jake immediately looked away. Which, of course, made her smile widen.
“Oh my God,” she said softly. “Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re about to apologize to the floor.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, still not looking. Behind him he heard the soft rustle of fabric. The sweatshirt landed somewhere on the counter.
When he glanced back despite himself, Vivienne was standing there in just his boxers, loose on her frame, the waistband folded slightly.
She caught him looking. Her eyebrow lifted.
“See?” She teased. “World didn’t end.”
Jake huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re trouble.”
“Maybe.” She said as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid the boxers down before stepping toward the shower.
Jake turned away again automatically. But not before his eyes caught something that wiped the humor right out of him.
Faint bruises. Finger shaped shadows still scattered across her skin. Just like the one on her waist. His jaw tightened. The playful moment faded instantly. Vivienne didn’t notice. She had already stepped into the shower, disappearing behind the glass as the steam thickened around her.
Jake stayed where he was for a second longer, staring at the tile floor. A quiet anger settled in his chest.
And somewhere beneath it, something else took shape too.
A promise. He would wait. As long as she needed. But someday…when she was healed, when the shadows were gone and the fear wasn’t lurking behind every flinch…he was going to show her what it meant to be touched by a man with care. With patience. With respect.
Jake ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of the bathroom, giving her the privacy she deserved.
* * * * * * * *
By the time she came back out twenty minutes later, the house was quiet again. Jake was in the master bedroom now, leaning back against the headboard with a book he clearly hadn’t turned a page of.
He looked up when she stepped in. Her hair was damp, his T-shirt hanging loose on her frame.
“You feel better?” He asked.
Vivienne nodded. “Yeah.”
Jake lifted the blanket slightly in silent invitation. Vivienne slipped into the bed beside him, settling against his side. Her head rested against his chest. Jake wrapped an arm around her automatically.
The room was dim now, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the walls. Outside, the world had quieted into late evening. Distant traffic, the faint rustle of wind against the trees.
Vivienne listened to the rhythm of his breathing. The slow rise and fall beneath her cheek had a grounding effect she hadn’t expected.
It was strange to her. How something so simple could make the world feel manageable again.
Her fingers drifted idly across the fabric of his T-shirt, tracing small, absentminded lines.
“What’s going on in that head?” He asked gently.
Vivienne was quiet for a few seconds. Then she shifted slightly so she could look up at him.
“I keep waiting for it to feel different,” she admitted.
“Different how?”
She shrugged faintly. “I don’t know. Like I’m supposed to be…more upset. Or more scared. Or something.”
Jake watched her carefully, letting her keep going.
“Sure I’ve had a few moments where I had flashbacks in my dreams. But right now?” She continued softly. “I just feel…calm.” Her gaze searched his face. “Is that weird?”
Jake shook his head immediately. “No.”
Vivienne studied him, like she was checking whether he actually meant it. Jake’s thumb moved slowly against her arm.
“Your brain’s finally getting a break,” he said. “That’s not weird.”
“Feels like I’m cheating somehow,” she murmured.
Jake frowned slightly. “Cheating?”
“Like I shouldn’t be allowed to feel okay yet.”
Jake’s arm tightened around her just a fraction. “Vivienne.”
She looked up.
“You don’t have to earn feeling safe,” he said quietly.
She shifted closer again, tucking herself more comfortably against him. Jake reached over and switched off the lamp. The room fell into soft darkness. Vivienne let out a slow breath, her body relaxing fully against him. Within minutes, her breathing evened out.
The room fell into soft darkness.
Vivienne let out a slow breath, her body relaxing fully against him.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out.
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Summary: In the aftermath of a violent confrontation, Vivienne grapples with guilt and the instinct to minimize what happened, worried she’s become a burden in Jake’s already complicated life. Jake, shaken by how close he came to losing her, refuses to let her retreat behind excuses or distance.
Warnings: Domestic abuse (referenced and aftermath), emotional trauma, discussion of violence, fear response, protective behavior.
Word Count: ~3,600
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself (Kaley / rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn (@bykaitlynann).
All other chapters can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
Water closes over her head. It’s thick and heavy. It’s not just water. It’s pressure. Soundless and roaring all at once. Her lungs burn. Her arms feel like lead. There’s something around her neck, a hand maybe, forcing her down further. The world narrows to bubbles and the violent drum of her own heartbeat in her ears as her vision starts to fade to black at the edges. White dots then start to appear. She hears her name but it’s distant and warped.
Vivienne jolts upright with a sharp, strangled gasp.
For a second she doesn’t know where she is. The ceiling above her isn’t the one in her apartment. The room she’s in is shadowed by dim ambient lighting she doesn’t recognize. The sheets beneath her aren’t hers either. They’re too soft.
Her heart is still sprinting in her chest. She drags in another breath and immediately regrets it. Her chest aches. A deep, bruised soreness that makes her wince. Her throat feels raw, like she’s swallowed glass. When she swallows to try and make it better, it burns.
Water. The memory slams back in, no longer distorted by sleep. The shouting. The shove. The pool swallowing her.
Her fingers fly to her throat instinctively, half expecting to feel hands there again. There’s nothing. Just tender skin.
“You’re not there. You’re not there. You’re not there.” She repeats it to herself over and over and over.
Her breathing is uneven and shallow. She forces it slower, and counts without meaning to. One. Two. Three.
Her gaze moves around the room again. Slower this time. The wide windows on the far wall. The drapes pulled mostly closed with just a sliver of moonlight peeking through. The armchair in the corner.
Jake’s house. She’s in Jake’s house. The realization settles with a strange, hollow weight.
She reaches out beside her, palm skimming across cool sheets. Empty. Not that she expected him to be there. He never said he would be. He put her in the guest room. Still, her fingers curl into the bedding, searching for something solid. A person. A presence. Anything that confirms she isn’t suspended in some in-between state.
She swings her legs carefully over the side of the bed. The soft carpet meets her bare feet, and another tremor moves through her. It’s smaller now, but persistent. Her body doesn’t seem to trust much of anything right now.
When she stands, her balance wavers just slightly. Her ribs protest. Her head feels thick, like she surfaced too fast.
It feels almost disrespectful, how still everything is. Like the world doesn’t know something catastrophic happened. Like the walls of this enormous house have never held panic inside them.
She wraps her arms around herself, rubbing warmth into her forearms. The oversized sweatshirt she’s wearing, one Jake let her borrow without even a second thought, hangs loose against her thighs.
Her gaze drifts to the door. It’s closed. She contemplates staying in here. But she isn’t sure she wants to. But then again she doesn’t really know what she wants right now.
Sleep is out of the question. Every time she lets her eyes drift shut, she can still feel the water in her lungs. The helplessness. The awful split second where she wondered if maybe she was going to die.
She crosses the room slowly, fingers brushing along the wall as if she needs the contact to anchor herself. When she opens the door, the hallway beyond is dimly lit by recessed lights along the baseboards.
Her footsteps are soft against the flooring, but even that sound seems amplified. Each small shift of fabric echoes faintly around her. The house is enormous. Bigger than she processed earlier when adrenaline was still coursing through her.
Now without it, she feels small inside. Small and slightly lost. She doesn’t have a destination in mind. She just walks. Past framed art she doesn’t stop to study. Past doors she doesn’t open. Down a wide staircase that curves gracefully toward the main level. Her hand glides along the railing, cool wood beneath her palm.
There’s a glow somewhere ahead. Not bright. Just enough to suggest someone is still awake.
Vivienne pauses at the bottom of the stairs, listening. No voices. No television. Just the subtle hush of night air moving through somewhere distant.
Then she sees it, a faint spill of light from the terrace doors at the far end of the hall. A silhouette beyond the glass.
Jake.
As she neared the door that led to the terrace in the back, she smelled it. Not cigarette smoke. Something deeper. Earthy. Warm. Sweet at the edges.
A cigar.
She continued walking, stopping just inside the door left cracked open that led to his terrace. She looked through the glass and saw Jake sitting outside. The white shirt he’d changed into clung faintly at the shoulders, fabric pulling across muscle that looked tighter than it should at this hour. A rocks glass filled with amber liquid rested in one hand.
Night air wrapped around him, cool against the heat of the burning cigar balanced between his fingers. He brought it to his lips and pulled in a long draw, chest rising, and shoulders tightening. Then he exhaled, slow and controlled.
Smoke curled around his face. It softened the sharp lines of him, and gilded him in a warm haze. The world felt smaller, quieter, more intimate than it should’ve.
Vivienne didn’t realize she’d stepped out onto the patio until the cool stone kissed the soles of her feet. Jake’s head lifted. A tiny smirk, one that was barely there, but enough to knock something loose inside her, appeared on his mouth.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, voice low, roughened by the night and whatever he’d been holding in.
She swallowed. “I…didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t.” He shifted, not offering an excuse for the cigar. Not apologizing for the scotch in his other hand. Just letting her see him. Really see him. “You okay?”
Her throat still burned faintly when she swallowed. “Just…trouble sleeping.”
He nodded once like he understood that too well. For a second neither of them spoke. The night air wrapped around them, cool and steady. She noticed then that the glass in his hand hadn’t been touched in a while. The cigar had burned longer than he’d actually drawn from it. He plucked the cigar from the ashtray, still glowing faintly at the tip, and he pressed it out.
Vivienne blinked. “You…don’t have to stop on my account.”
“I do,” he said simply.
He didn’t explain it. Didn’t puff one last drag. He didn’t even look conflicted. He just ended it, because she was here, and that mattered more.
Jake lifted the glass in his other hand and tipped the final swallow of scotch back, throat working as he dragged in a slow breath. The man looked bone tired in a way she’d never seen. Raw around the edges.
He set the empty glass down with a soft clink. Then he leaned back in the chair, legs spread slightly, arms resting along the sides. The posture should have looked relaxed. It didn’t. It looked like he was holding himself still so he didn’t rush toward her.
He noticed her bare feet and frowned faintly. “Stone’s freezing.”
“I don’t mind.”
He didn’t tell her to come here. He didn’t open his arms or beckon her to him. He just sat with his posture open, giving her the option if she wanted to take it.
Slowly, almost shyly, she stepped forward and slid onto his lap. His hands came up instinctively to steady her at her waist. She tucked her knees to the side and curled into him without overthinking it, forehead resting against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was soft, warm from his body heat.
Jake exhaled. The sound was almost imperceptible, but she felt it against her temple. One of his arms slid fully around her back, palm spreading between her shoulder blades. The other rested at her hip, thumb moving in slow, unconscious strokes.
He angled his body slightly, blocking the wind from her.
“You’re cold,” he murmured.
She shook her head against him. “I’m not.”
But she pressed closer anyway. He let her. He didn’t say anything about the way she fit there. Didn’t comment on it. Didn’t make it heavy. He just held her.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart. It was beating faster than she expected.
“You didn’t get much sleep either,” she said softly.
“Had a few things to sort through.”
That was all he offered. No mention of his father. No mention of the calls. No mention of the board breathing down his neck.
His focus stayed on her.
She tilted her head back slightly to look at him. The terrace lights caught the faint tension still sitting in his jaw, the way his eyes scanned her face like he was making sure she was really here.
Vivienne swallowed, her voice quiet. “I…didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t,” Jake answered. His breath warmed her temple. “Not really.”
She leaned back enough to look at him. “But tonight?”
He brushed his thumb slowly over her shoulder, grounding himself in the warmth of her under his palm.
“You’re observant,” he murmured.
“Why didn’t you sleep?” She asked again, softer this time.
His jaw tightened. It was subtle, but there. His thumb moved once along her spine, then stilled.
“Because every time I closed my eyes,” he said evenly, “I saw you in that water,” he continued, voice lower now. Controlled, but no longer pretending. “And I didn’t like how long it took for you to breathe again.”
Her fingers tightened slightly in his shirt.
“Jake—”
He adjusted her slightly on his lap, drawing her closer without thinking about it, like he needed the proof of her weight against him.
“I’m fine,” he added after a beat.
She studied him in the low light. The tension he kept smoothing over. The way his shoulders stayed squared even while he held her like something breakable.
“You were scared,” she said quietly.
His eyes flicked to hers.
“Yes. I was.”
She shifted then, sliding one arm higher around his neck, pressing her cheek against his chest like she could anchor him the way he anchored her.
“I’m here,” she whispered.
His hand flattened fully against her back. “I know.”
The night breeze picked up slightly, cool against the back of his neck. He felt it brush over her bare legs where the hem of his sweatshirt had ridden up.
Jake glanced down at her. She was pliant against him now, breath slow, fingers loosely curled in his shirt.
“It’s getting colder,” he murmured, mostly to himself.
She made a small sound in protest, burrowing closer.
The corner of his mouth lifted faintly.
“Inside,” he said softly.
He adjusted his grip carefully, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other firmly around her back before rising. She startled just slightly at the shift, fingers tightening in his shirt.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.
She relaxed almost immediately. The kitchen lights were low when he stepped inside. Warm under cabinet glow casting soft amber across the countertops. The rest of the house remained dim, but the kitchen felt…lived in.
He set her gently on one of the barstools at the island, keeping a hand at her waist until he was certain she was steady.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
She blinked at him like it was an odd question.
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
His tone wasn’t sharp. Just even. Direct.
She hesitated. “Breakfast.”
His brow lifted slightly.
“That was almost twenty hours ago.”
She shrugged faintly, gaze drifting toward the dark window. “I’m not really hungry.”
He studied her for a long second. The faint hollowness beneath her eyes. The way her fingers rested limp against the counter. The adrenaline crash that hadn’t fully caught up yet.
“Vivienne.”
Her eyes came back to him automatically.
“You need to eat.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she admitted quietly.
He nodded once.
“Okay.” No frustration. No pushback. “Then we’ll start small.”
He moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, opening the fridge and pulling out eggs, butter, and bread. He paused just before cracking the first egg, and glanced back at her.
“Toast and eggs okay?”
She looked taken aback that he’d asked.
“Yeah. That’s fine.”
He gave a small nod and continued. The sounds were grounding. Butter hitting the pan. The soft crack of eggs. The hum of the vent overhead. Nothing dramatic. Nothing urgent.
She watched him instead of the food. His movements were controlled but not tense anymore. Focused. Intentional. He didn’t rush. He didn’t multitask. He was entirely here.
For her.
He plated the food simply. Toast cut in half. Eggs seasoned lightly. Nothing overwhelming. He set the plate in front of her and slid a glass of water beside it.
Then he stepped back. He leaned one hip against the counter across from her, giving her space but not distance.
She stared at the plate. After a few seconds, she picked up the fork. The first bite was small. She swallowed.
“Good?” He asked quietly.
She nodded once. Another bite. Then another.
When her fork paused again halfway to her mouth, he spoke softly.
“Three more.”
Her eyes flicked up to his. She studied him for a beat, and then complied. Three small bites.
He gave the faintest nod. “Good.”
She exhaled slowly, something in her chest easing in a way that surprised her.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” she murmured.
His expression didn’t change, but something warm flickered in his eyes.
“I’m not.” A pause. “I’m making sure you don’t pass out.”
That almost earned a smile.
She took another bite on her own this time.
After a few more minutes, color had returned faintly to her cheeks. The tremor in her hands had quieted. The plate was half empty.
“Better?”
She nodded again, more certain this time. “Yeah.”
He reached forward then, slow enough for her to see it coming, and brushed his thumb gently under her lip, catching a faint smear of egg she hadn’t noticed.
“Finish what you can,” he said. “You don’t need to clean the plate.”
She studied him in the warm kitchen light. The man who had fought for her. Stopped her. Held her. Carried her. Fed her. Not demanding. Not overwhelming. Just steady.
Vivienne drags her fork through what’s left on the plate, even though she’s no longer hungry. The kitchen is too quiet now. The adrenaline is gone. The storm has moved on. The flashing red and blue lights are a memory. And what’s left behind is the weight of it.
Jake got into a fight. There were police. Questions. Reports. And it was because of her.
She sets the fork down carefully. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Jake leans back against the counter, watching her. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Her fingers curl lightly against the edge of the countertop. “You already have enough to deal with. Work. The acquisition. Your father. And now this.” She lets out a quiet breath. “I feel like I just dropped into your life and set it on fire.”
That makes him straighten. “You didn’t.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I should probably just go home,” she says, softer now. “This is…a lot. I don’t want to keep imposing. And I definitely don’t want to make things weird. I work for you.”
There it is. The line she keeps retreating behind.
Jake’s voice when he answers is calm. No edge. No irritation. But it is immovable.
“You’re not going back there.”
She looks up at him. “Jake—”
“No.”
Her jaw tightens slightly. “It’s my apartment.”
“It’s not safe.”
“It’s my mess.”
“And I don’t care.” He exhales slowly, reins it back in, softens. “If you staying here is the worst thing that happens to me this week,” he says evenly, “I’ll take it.”
Her throat tightens. “You don’t have to fix this for me.”
“I’m not fixing it for you.” The correction is gentle. “I’m making sure you’re okay.”
Silence stretches between them. She searches his face like she’s trying to find the angle. The professional boundary. The obligation. The liability.
“We’re past pretending we’re just coworkers, Vivienne.”
It’s not romanticized or dramatic. Just honest.
“If you want space, I’ll get you a hotel. I’ll book the best one in the city. But if that’s the option you choose, I’m hiring security.”
Vivienne shifts in her chair, tension slowly creeping back in.
“It wasn’t—” she starts, then shakes her head. “He was drunk. He just…he gets like that sometimes. It looks worse than it is.”
Jake goes still. Completely still.
“He’s never actually…I mean, he wouldn’t—” Her voice falters for half a second before she pushes through. “It’s just yelling. And he grabs my arm sometimes. It’s not—”
Jake’s knuckles pale from the force at which he’s holding onto the counter.
“Vivienne.”
She exhales sharply. “I’ve handled it for years. I know how to manage him.”
That’s the one. That’s the sentence that snaps something inside of him. Jake steps closer, still on the other side of the island, but now leaning in towards her.
“He was going to kill you, Vivienne.”
He doesn’t raise his voice at her. There’s no theatrics. Just a statement. Her stomach drops at the look on his face.
“I saw his face,” Jake says, quieter now. “I heard him. I watched the way he came at you.” He swallows once, jaw tightening. “That wasn’t a drunk boyfriend yelling. That was a man who had already decided he was allowed to hurt you.”
She shakes her head automatically. “You don’t know him.”
“I don’t need to.”
“I’ve spent weeks watching you cover bruises with long sleeves.” His voice thins slightly at the edges now, not from rage, but from restraint. “I’ve listened to you explain away bruises on your body like you walked into a door or you tripped.”
Her breath catches.
“I stayed out of it,” he continues. “Because you’re my employee. Because you didn’t ask me to interfere. Because I told myself it wasn’t my place.”
A beat.
“But tonight?” His jaw flexes. “Tonight I watched him try to pull the life out of you.”
Her eyes shine, but she still tries, one last instinctive defense.
“He wouldn’t have—”
“He would have.”
“I can’t unsee what I saw.” Jake exhales slowly, some of the steel draining out of him. His voice softens now. Not weak. Just raw. “I can’t go back to pretending it’s manageable. Or that you’ve got it under control.”
He steps closer, rounding the corner of the counter. Not crowding her space, but putting him close enough that he can reach out and cover her hand with his.
“Stay here.” It’s not a command, it’s a plea. “If not for you, then for me.”
Her brows knit faintly.
“So I can sleep,” he admits. “So I can know you’re behind a locked door. So I don’t spend all night or all week wondering if he’s outside yours. I stayed quiet for weeks. I watched you shrink. I watched you hide. I told myself I was respecting your boundaries. But I can’t take another night like that.”
That’s the crack. Just a man who reached his limit watching someone he cares about hurt herself trying to survive someone else.
Her voice is barely there. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
“Well I do,” he says. “So stay. Please.”
Vivienne stares at him for a long moment, at the tension still held in his shoulders, the restraint in his jaw, the fear he didn’t quite manage to hide.
And something inside her gives. She slides off the bar stool slowly, bare feet hitting the cool kitchen floor. She closes the distance instead, takes his wrists gently, and guides his hands to her waist. Her arms then circle him, slipping around his back and holding on.
And he does. He wraps her up carefully, like she’s something fragile he refuses to break. One hand spreads across her lower back. The other settles between her shoulder blades, firm and grounding.
She presses her face into his chest. He exhales into her hair. He leans down slowly, lips brushing the top of her head.
“Please tell me you won’t go back there,” he murmurs into her hair.
She nods against him first. “I’ll stay.”
His arms tighten around her. He presses another kiss into her hair, lingering this time.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
His thumb begins a slow, absent sweep along her spin, ground himself as much as her. After a moment, he shifts slightly, just enough to look down at her.
“You should try to get some more sleep,” he says gently. “You barely got any.”
She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t loosen her grip. If anything, her fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of his shirt.
Sleep. The word feels heavier than it should.
She swallows.
“Will you…” Her voice catches, and she has to try again. Softer this time. “Will you lay with me?”
His hand comes up, sliding into her hair, cradling the back of her head. He leans down, pressing his forehead briefly against hers.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. No teasing. No hesitation. “Yeah. Of course.”
They move down the hallway, Jake’s hand interlacing with hers in the dim space. Vivienne walks half a step closer to him than she normally would, her shoulder brushing his every other step.
At the guest room door, she hesitates. Jake squeezes her hand gently.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs.
She nods and steps inside. The bedside lamp is casting a low, golden glow across the space. It feels different now than it did earlier.
Jake pulls the covers back a little more without a word. She slips in first, curling onto her side, facing the empty half of the mattress.
Jake rounds the bed and switches off the lamp. The room falls into soft shadow.
He slides in beside her carefully, making sure to leave space between them. But that only lasts for a few moments before she shifts closer. Jake rounds the bed and switches off the lamp.
The room falls into a soft shadow. He slides in beside her. She exhales, the sound shaky but easing.
She sinks back into him, the last of the tightness leaving her shoulders.
After a minute, she murmurs, “Thank you.”
He presses his mouth lightly to the back of her head.
“Go to sleep, Viv.”
Her breathing evens out first.
It takes him longer. He stays still, listening to the rhythm of it, counting the rise and fall beneath his hand. Only when he’s absolutely certain that she’s fully asleep does his grip loosen slightly. And eventually, still wrapped around her, he falls asleep too.
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Tags:
@crossskylinesandcontrails I @echoingbirdsofprey I @fanficmom94 I @simplypaisleyjane I @khouse712 I @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 I @football1921 I @literal-tv-menace I @elizabeth-holland24 I @mylifeisanoxymoron21 I @bellarkeselection I @auntiechele I @avengersfan25 I @dumbassusername I @jbennsquared I @calirindo I @fantasyfootballchampion I @pensfan5871 I @omgbrianab I @shanimallina87 I @lunatygerqueen I @hookslove1592 I @lulunothulu I @hunterthecharmer I @mrsevans90 I @lauraseresin I @x3zerochanx3 I @teacupsandtopgun I @queenslandlover-93 I @isabelstardis I @myglenpowellera I @idontwannabehere78 I @tylerscowboyhat I @smoothdogsgirl I @djs8891 I @saucy-sassy-sparkly I @alipap3 I @dudinhastuff I @glenpowellluver I @missmarveledsblog I @fore45fore I @starkleila I @stinkerbelle007 I @cardi-bre91 I @lonelsoul50 I @love2write2626 I @gamingwolfcharlie I @alwayshave-faith I @midnightmagpiemama I @lynnevanss I @hidazinie
Summary: In the aftermath of the attack, Vivienne is released from the ambulance. Police issue an emergency protective order and offer resources, but safety feels abstract and fragile. With nowhere else to go, she leaves with Jake.
Warnings: Mentions of past trauma and physical abuse including bruises, injuries, and the aftermath of assault. Emotional and psychological distress including panic, fear, grief, and anxiety responses. Non explicit but intimate situations between two consenting adults. Nudity and shower scenes.
Word Count: 6,308
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by Kaley (rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn (@bykaitlynann).
The ambulance doors swung open and the cool evening air slipped inside. One of the paramedics helped Vivienne sit upright slowly as she swung her leg over the edge of the gurney. Jake was right there.
“You okay to stand?” one of the EMTs asked.
She nodded. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed it, but she wanted to be out of the ambulance and to forget this whole day even happened.
She pushed herself up and Jake’s hands hovered near her as she steadied herself. He didn’t grab her right away, just stayed right there in case he needed to.
One of the officers from earlier approached just as she was stepping out of the ambulance, expression measured but not unkind. He approached with a thin folder tucked under his arm.
“Miss Chase,” he said gently. “I won’t keep you long.”
Her shoulders stiffened slightly at the sound of her name.
“We’ve placed Mr. Price under arrest for aggravated assault,” he continued. “Given the circumstances and witness statements, the district attorney will likely pursue charges.”
Vivienne swallowed. Her throat still ached when she did. The officer opened the folder and handed her a sheet of paper.
“This is information regarding an emergency protective order. It’ll be issued tonight. He won’t be allowed to contact you or come within a certain distance of you. If he violates it, he’ll be taken back into custody immediately.”
The words didn’t give her the relief or feeling of safety they probably should. She didn’t know a lot about the legal system but she knew he wouldn’t be in jail forever. He had the means to post a bond and he would more than likely be out tomorrow.
“There are also resources here,” the officer added. “Counseling. Victim advocacy. If you need help relocating temporarily, they can assist with that as well.”
Relocating. The word landed heavier than the rest spoken by the officer. Logically she knew she couldn’t come back here. But where was she supposed to go?
Vivienne nodded slowly. “Thank you.”
Now that the adrenaline was gone, the shaking set in fully. It moved through her in small, relentless tremors. Not dramatic. Just constant. Jake noticed immediately. He turned and headed toward his truck. The door unlocked with a soft chirp. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a worn Navy hoodie he’d had forever.
He came back over to where she was sitting on the back of the ambulance steps now. He handed it to her and she quickly pulled it on. It swallowed her. The sleeves hung past her hands, and the hem landed mid thigh on her.
“You’re freezing,” he said simply.
She started to protest. But he gave her a look that shut it down before it could form.
“Can you walk?” he asked and she nodded.
He stayed at her side as they moved toward the truck. Jake opened the passenger door and stepped aside so she could climb in. Her balance wavered slightly as she lifted herself into the seat.
His hand came to her elbow instinctively to help steady her as she settled into the seat. He reached across and pulled the seatbelt over her carefully, clicking it into place. Then he closed the door and circled to the driver’s side.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The interior of the truck was dim. The dashboard glowed softly. The hoodie bunched around her hands as she pulled it closer around herself. Even with his hoodie, her body trembled in small, uncontrollable waves. Her teeth chattered when she exhaled. Her hands clenched together beneath the fabric.
Jake noticed everything. He kept one hand steady on the steering wheel, jaw set but not rigid. The other rested near the center console.
“Do you want to hold my hand? Would that help with the shaking?”
It was a simple question. Vivienne turned her head slowly. It took a second for the words to land through the fog. Her eyes dropped to his hand resting on the console between them.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He didn’t grab her right away. He turned his palm upward instead in an offer, letting her decide. Her fingers slipped into his a moment later. They were still cold and shaking. He closed his hand around hers, firm but not tight. Just enough pressure to remind her that something solid was there.
The truck moved through a stretch of dim highway as the city started to fade. Streetlights flashed across the windshield in steady intervals. The heater hummed low, warm air brushing across her legs.
After a minute, her breathing stuttered again.
“I keep…” She swallowed then winced slightly. “I keep feeling it.”
Jake didn’t look at her right away. “Feeling what?”
“The water.” The word came out thin. “Like it’s still in my throat.”
His grip tightened just slightly.
“That’s normal,” he said evenly. “Your body’s probably still in fight mode.”
She gave a faint shake of her head. “I couldn’t move.”
His jaw tightened. “I know.”
He didn’t say anything about how long she’d been limp. Or how close she came to losing her life today. He wasn’t sure if she knew or not, and if she didn’t he didn’t want to be the one to tell her. He also really didn’t want to think about it if he was being completely honest with himself.
“I thought—” Her breath hitched. “I thought maybe if I just stopped fighting it would be easier.”
Jake’s hand went still around hers.
“Viv, don’t do that.” He said quietly. “You don’t get to carry that. You did nothing wrong.”
“He said we were joking,” she murmured. “Like I was overreacting.”
Jake exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled.
“That’s not a joke,” he said. “And you weren’t overreacting.”
Silence filled the cab again. He could feel her hand shaking in his. He shifted his grip slightly, brushing his thumb once across the back of her hand.
“Look at me, Viv.”
She took in a shaky breath and then did.
“Breathe with me,” he said. “In for four.”
He counted the beats out quietly. Her inhale faltered halfway through, but she pushed through it.
“Now let it out slowly.”
They did it a second time. Then a third. By the fourth repetition, her breathing was more steady.
She leaned her head back against the headrest, exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with physical strength. After a moment she glanced at him again.
“You just…jumped.”
Jake kept his eyes on the road. “I’m not built to stand around and watch.”
Her fingers curled slightly tighter in his.
“Thank you,” she said.
He nodded once. “You don’t have to thank me.”
There was another stretch of quiet that filled the cab then. The tremors were still there in her hand. But they were softer now.
The truck turned off the main road without warning. Vivienne barely registered the shift at first. Her gaze was unfocused, fixed somewhere past the windshield. But when the tires crunched over gravel instead of pavement, she blinked and lifted her head.
Ahead of them, a stone and iron gate rose out of the darkness. It was tall. Wrought iron framed in pale limestone pillars, subtle uplighting casting long shadows against its curves.
Jake slowed to a stop. He punched a code into the keypad mounted beside his window. The numbers glowed briefly under his fingers.
There was a soft mechanical hum. The gates slid open. The driveway stretched beyond them longer than she expected, curving gently through landscaped grounds. Low pathway lights glowed along either side, illuminating manicured hedges, trimmed trees, clean stonework.
It didn’t look like a place people lived. Vivienne straightened slowly in her seat.
“Jake,” she murmured, her voice still rough from earlier. “Do you…do you know who lives here?”
Jake glanced at her briefly, one hand steady on the wheel as he navigated the curve of the drive. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
“Yeah,” he said. Calm. Almost amused. “I do.”
She studied him, trying to reconcile the man beside her with the place unfolding in front of them.
The house…no, not a house. This was more than a mere house. The chateau came into view as they rounded the final bend. Stone and glass. Modern lines softened by old world architecture. Tall windows glowing warmly against the dark. Ivy climbing one side of the façade. A wide front terrace stretching along the entrance.
It looked like something photographed for a magazine spread. Or passed in a real estate listing with too many zeros to feel real.
“This is yours?” she asked quietly.
Jake pulled the truck to a smooth stop beneath the covered entry.
“It is,” he confirmed.
There was no bragging. He just said it as a matter of fact. The engine idled for a second before he shut it off. The sudden quiet pressed in around them.
Vivienne stared at the front door. The lit windows. The security cameras mounted discreetly along the corners. Safe. Secure.
“You live here alone?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Her fingers tightened slightly in the sleeves of his hoodie. The house felt…big. Too big. She looked back at him, something flickering across her expression. Jake saw it immediately.
He reached for the door handle.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you inside.”
He stepped out first, circling around to her side of the truck before she could reach for the handle. The night air rushed in, chillier than before, and the shiver that tore through her this time was sharp enough to make her gasp.
Her legs swung toward the pavement, but they didn’t hold her weight. Jake caught her before she could fully stumble.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
He shifted, sliding one arm around her back to support her weight. When her knees wobbled again, he didn’t hesitate. He adjusted, lifting her in a smooth, controlled motion.
“Jake—” she started, trying to straighten.
“Humor me,” he muttered.
She exhaled something that might’ve been a protest five minutes ago. Now it was just tired. His shirt was still damp from earlier, fabric cool and clinging. She could feel it through the thin material of the hoodie. He smelled faintly like chlorine.
He carried her toward the front doors without another word. The foyer lights clicked on automatically as they entered, warm against stone floors and high ceilings. The space echoed faintly with their footsteps.
Vivienne’s eyes drifted shut for a moment. Jake adjusted his grip slightly, keeping her steady without pulling her closer than necessary. He was careful about that. Careful about everything tonight.
He moved down the hallway with purpose, not speed.
When he reached the bathroom, he nudged the door open with his shoulder. Light spilled across polished stone and glass. He set her down gently on her feet instead of the floor, keeping both hands at her arms until he was certain she was steady.
“Easy,” he said.
She swayed once. He steadied her again.
“Hey.”
He lowered slightly so they were closer to eye level, just making sure she was present.
“You with me?”
She nodded. It was small, but it was there.
He released one hand but kept the other lightly at her elbow as he turned to the shower. He twisted the handle. Pipes hummed to life. Water cascaded against tile. He tested it with his wrist, adjusted it warmer.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said. “Your skin’s probably still sensitive.”
He grabbed a thick towel and a clean washcloth from the rack and pressed them into her hands. For a second, her fingers didn’t close around them. Then they did.
“I’m gonna step out,” he told her. “I’ll be right outside.”
She nodded again.
He waited one more second, just to be sure she was steady on her own, then backed toward the door. It clicked softly shut.
Vivienne set the towel down on the vanity first. The simple, ordinary motion felt strange, like her body was going through habits it had learned in a different life. The fabric landed beside the sink, edges aligned, the way she always did it.
She stood there for a second longer than she needed to, listening to the water rushing behind the glass. The sound was almost too loud in the enclosed space.
Her hands trembled as she pulled Jake’s hoodie off. She then reached for the still damp hem of her blouse. The fabric gave easily. Too easily. It was ripped down one side, a jagged tear that never made it anywhere near the office. She slid it off her shoulders and let it fall into a crumpled heap on the tile, stained and ruined and unmistakable. The sight of it made her chest tighten. Proof of today. Evidence she couldn’t argue with.
Her dress pants were next. She unbuttoned them with clumsy fingers, shoving them down her hips and stepping out of them without looking too closely. There was blood there. Smears she didn’t want to name.
Her bra followed, unclasped with muscle memory. Then her underwear. When she was done, there was nothing left between her and the room.
She was bare. The vulnerability of it hit all at once. She wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, as if that might help, then forced herself forward and stepped into the shower.
The water met her skin in a warm cascade, sliding over her shoulders, down her back, along the curves of her body. She closed her eyes immediately, resting her forehead against the cool tile.
For a few seconds or maybe it was minutes, she just stood there. Letting the water run, letting it carry the weight of the day down the drain. Her breathing slowly evened out.
When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw was herself. The glass was already fogging, but not enough to hide the truth. Her gaze drifted downward in the reflection, and the shame hit her like a punch to the ribs. Bruises bloomed across her skin in shades of purple and yellow, shapes of fingerprints faint but undeniable. Evidence of every time she stayed. Every time she told herself it wasn’t that bad. That she could manage it. Fix it.
“I’m so stupid,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the water.
The tears came quietly at first, slipping down her cheeks and disappearing into the stream. She didn’t sob. She didn’t let herself make noise. She just cried silent, shaking breaths as the water continued to fall.
The shower, which had felt comforting seconds ago, suddenly felt too small. The sound of the water pressed in on her ears. The glass walls reflected her from different angles, no matter where she looked. Every glance caught another mark, another reminder.
She turned her face away, shampooing her hair with hurried movements, fingers rough against her scalp. She skipped the conditioner. She didn’t want to be here any longer than she had to.
She squeezed the body wash into her hands and dragged it over her skin, harder this time. Like pressure might erase memory. Like friction might undo what had already been done. Her arms ached as she scrubbed, breath hitching with each pass over a bruise.
It didn’t work. The water kept running. The marks stayed.
Eventually her hands slowed, not because she was finished, but because she was tired. Exhausted in a way that felt bone-deep. She leaned her forehead back against the tile again, letting the water wash over her face, her body, her grief.
Outside the bathroom, Jake was still there. That thought alone kept her from collapsing completely.
She turned the water off with shaking fingers. For a second she just stood there, dripping, arms wrapped around herself as the last rivulets trailed down her spine and legs. Then she reached for the towel. The cotton was thick and warm, still holding a trace of heat, and she clutched it to herself like it might keep her together.
She stepped out of the shower and wrapped it tight around her body.
The mirror was right there. She didn’t mean to look. Her gaze lifted automatically, the way it always had, checking her reflection without thinking. The second her eyes met the glass, something inside her caved in.
She barely recognized herself. Her hair was slicked back, darker and heavier with water. Her skin was flushed, eyes red-rimmed and hollow. The bruises were still there, peeking above the towel at her collarbone, faint shadows at her throat. Proof she couldn’t hide. Proof she never really could.
Her breath stuttered. Then the tears came. Ragged, broken sobs that tore out of her chest before she could stop them. She pressed a hand to her mouth, but it didn’t help. The sound echoed off the tile, filling the room with everything she had held in for years.
Not just tonight. A decade of shrinking herself. Of making excuses. Of telling herself love was supposed to hurt sometimes. The shame burned hot and vicious, crawling up her throat, settling behind her eyes. How had she let it get this far? How had she explained it away for so long?
And then there was Jake. Her boss. His house. His bathroom. His quiet, careful kindness just outside the door.
The embarrassment hit hard enough to make her dizzy. He had seen her now. Really seen her. The truth she had hidden behind pressed blouses and polite smiles. She imagined him regretting this, regretting her. Letting her go from work once this was over, because why would he want her working for his company now? Broken. Complicated. A liability.
Her chest tightened painfully. For one terrible, fleeting second, the thought slipped in uninvited: Maybe it would have been easier if I hadn’t made it out of that pool.
The idea horrified her almost as much as it soothed.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, hard, like she could physically dislodge it. No. That wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t even close. She wanted the pain to stop, not everything else. She wanted safety. Air. A future that didn’t feel like it was closing in on her.
Her hands found the edge of the vanity, gripping it until her knuckles ached.
She focused on her breathing. In. Out. Repeat.
The cool stone under her palms grounded her, kept her upright. The mirror fogged further as her breath evened out, her reflection blurring into something softer, less cruel.
Jake stood on the other side of the bathroom door, one hand braced flat against the wall, the other hanging uselessly at his side. He told himself she was fine. She was just taking a few well-deserved minutes. She deserved privacy, and he was giving it to her. That was what was important.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to drop.
Give her space, he told himself. She needed to do this on her own.
Then he heard it. A sound pulled apart and caught in her chest, like she was trying to keep it inside and failing anyway. Like every breath hurt. Like she was bracing herself against something invisible just to stay upright.
His jaw tightened.
He shifted his weight, turned slightly away from the door, like if he looked elsewhere it would be easier to stand there and wait. He had done harder things than this. He had respected boundaries in worse situations. He knew how to follow rules.
Another sound slipped through the door, sharper this time. A hitching inhale that didn’t quite make it all the way in. The kind of sound that came when someone was running out of strength.
Jake’s hand curled into a fist. He pictured her alone in there. Wrapped in a towel that was probably slipping. Hands on the vanity like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Staring at a mirror that was telling her lies about who she was and what she deserved.
Something inside him snapped. Not loud. Not violent. Just a quiet and absolute refusal to stand by and do nothing.
He moved before he could overthink it, fingers curling around the edge of the door. The door opened softly. Not all the way, just enough. Jake’s hand was still on the knob when he saw her. She was braced against the vanity, wrapped in a towel that looked too big for her and still not enough at the same time. Her shoulders were shaking. One hand was clamped over her mouth like she was trying to swallow the sound of her own grief, but it was breaking through anyway, jagged and raw.
He went very still. Something in him said to step back. To give her space. To remember who he was supposed to be to her.
And every other part of him, parts of him that had been forged in moments where hesitation cost lives, pulled him forward.
He closed the door behind him quietly. The tile was cool under his now bare feet. His shirt was still damp, clinging uncomfortably to his skin, the white cotton faintly translucent from where the pool water had soaked in.
He hadn’t taken the time to change yet. Hadn’t even thought about it.
He approached slowly, careful not to startle her.
“Vivienne,” he said softly.
She didn’t turn to face him, but her breathing stuttered. He reached out and touched her arm first. A question more than anything. She flinched at the contact instinctively, then relaxed when she realized it was him.
“It’s just me,” he murmured.
His other arm came around her gently, sliding across her front, careful to not undo the towel covering her. He drew her back against his chest, solid and warm and undeniably there. She seemed somehow smaller in his arms now. That realization made something tight and furious coil in his chest.
She broke then. The sobs she had been holding in so tightly until now spilled out of her, and she sagged into him like she had been waiting for someone to tell her it was okay to. He tightened his hold immediately, anchoring her. One hand steady around her waist, the other at her forearm.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her wet hair. It was instinct. Comfort. The scent of his shampoo she had used mixed with the faint trace of chlorine and salt left over from earlier.
“I’ve got you,” he said quietly.
She clutched at his sleeve, fingers curling into the damp fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. He didn’t acknowledge it. He just held her. His jaw tightened as her sobs shook through both of them.
He stared at their reflection in the mirror. The towel. Her tear-streaked face. His arms wrapped around her.
And something settled in his chest. Whatever line had existed before tonight was already gone. Boss and employee didn’t fit anymore. Stranger certainly didn’t. Nothing romantic had happened. Not really. But he had fought the man who had hurt her for so many years. He had carried her out of the water. He had felt her heartbeat stop and then come back under his hands. He had comforted her while she cried in the back of an ambulance while strangers poked and asked her questions no woman should ever have had to be asked.
That all had to mean something.
So he stayed exactly where he was, arms firm and unyielding around her, whispering reassurance into her hair as long as she needed it.
She turned in his arms, burying her face in the crook of his neck like it was the only place left in the world that felt steady. Jake’s hand came up instinctively, settling at the back of her head. His fingers curled there, firm but gentle, holding her close without forcing her to stay.
He pressed another kiss to the top of her head, slower than the first, his lips lingering against her damp hair.
His other arm slid fully around her back, palm spreading wide between her shoulder blades through the thick material of the towel. He drew her in until she was flush against his chest, until she was supported completely by him. She could feel the solid line of him, the rise and fall of his breathing, the undeniable proof that he was here.
Her sob caught against his throat, and he adjusted his stance without thinking, widening his feet, anchoring them both. He didn’t rush her. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just held her there, steady and unmoving, as if daring the world to try and take her from him again.
Eventually the shaking eased. Not all at once. Nothing about tonight had been that kind. But enough that her breaths began to slow. Enough that the sobs softened into quiet inhales against his neck. Jake didn’t rush her. He stayed exactly where he was, arms steady, chest rising and falling beneath her cheek like something she could anchor to.
When she finally pulled back, it was tentative. She looked up at him. Her eyes were red. Lashes clumped with tears. Her face was still flushed from the heat of the shower and the cold fear that hadn’t fully left her body yet.
Jake met her gaze and just…looked at her. His hand shifted at her back, sliding up until his palm cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently along her jaw.
Then his eyes drifted. To the bruises blooming along her neck. Angry and unmistakable. Fingers mapped into skin that should never have been touched that way. To the faint discoloration at her shoulder. The yellowed shadow along her collarbones told a story older than tonight. Older than he wanted to imagine.
His jaw tightened. Something sharp and brutal coiled in his chest, hot and immediate. A need so visceral it almost scared him. Five minutes. Just five minutes alone with the man who did this, and Jake wasn’t sure he’d recognize himself after.
His hand curled slightly at her cheek, not tightening, just holding. Like if he didn’t keep contact, he might lose control of everything else.
And then there was the other ache. Quieter. Deeper. The part of him that wanted to gather her up completely. To shield her with his body, his name, his walls, his entire damn life if that’s what it took. To make sure she never had to stand in front of a mirror like that again, cataloging pain as if it was something she earned.
His thumb brushed once more along her cheek, tender enough to almost ache.
“You didn’t deserve any of this,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t a question. Not reassurance. Just a fact he needed her to hear. His forehead rested briefly against hers, breath warm and steady.
She stayed very still after he said it.
You didn’t deserve any of this.
The words settled into her slowly, like something foreign she didn’t quite know how to carry yet. Her breathing evened out, but her hands didn’t move away from him. If anything, they curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, as if she was afraid he might disappear if she let go.
She exhaled shakily.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
He dipped his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Let me figure that out.”
Vivienne lifted her face, her eyes searching his for something. Not permission. Not reassurance. Just…connection. Something real. Something solid. Something that reminded her she was still here. Still wanted. Still human.
Her lips brushed his. It was barely there. A whisper of contact. So light it almost felt accidental, like she might pull away and apologize any second now. Jake didn’t move at first, not because he didn’t want to, but because the weight of it hit him all at once. The trust in that tiny gesture. The courage it must have taken for her to close that distance.
Then his hand tightened gently at her waist, fingers pressing into the towel like he needed to anchor both of them to the floor. He tilted his head just enough to meet her properly, returning the kiss with the same care she offered him. Slow. Unrushed. Like he was afraid of startling her or breaking something fragile between them.
Her lips were warm. A little unsteady. He could feel the faint tremor in her, the way she was still shaking even as she leaned into him. He kept it soft on purpose, letting her set the pace, letting her know she could pull back whenever she needed to.
When they parted, it was only by a breath. She didn’t open her eyes right away. Her forehead rested against his chest, her nose brushing the damp fabric of his shirt. Jake’s thumb moved almost without thinking, stroking slow, grounding arcs against her side.
Then she kissed him again. This time there was no hesitation. Her mouth found his with more certainty, more urgency, like something inside her had decided she couldn’t let go of him yet. The kiss deepened. Not frantic, but needful. Like she was reaching for warmth after being cold for far too long.
Jake exhaled into it, a low sound he didn’t quite recognize as his own. His other hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing gently along her cheekbone as he angled his mouth to hers. He kissed her back fully now, still controlled, still careful but undeniably there.
Her hands moved before she seemed to realize it. They slid up his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as if she’d forgotten how they worked. She pressed closer, the towel loosening just a fraction under his grip. Jake felt the shift immediately—the change in her breathing, the way her body molded to his like she was searching for reassurance in every inch of contact.
“Vivienne,” he murmured.
Her mouth moved against his jaw, her cheek brushing the stubble there as she pressed closer, as if proximity to him itself might quiet the noise in her head.
Her hands slid to his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was still damp beneath her fingers. She pushed it back inch by inch, thumbs brushing over warm skin as the buttons gave way. The shirt slipped open, falling loose at his sides, and suddenly there was nothing between her palms and the steady heat of him.
Her touch was exploratory. Fingers tracing the lines of his chest, the subtle tension beneath skin that had been holding itself together all night. She followed instinct more than thought, letting her hands drift lower, skimming over the faint dusting of hair at his stomach.
Her forehead pressed briefly to his chest, as if she needed the anchor. Then she tilted her face up and kissed him again. This one was less tentative. Her mouth moved against his with quiet intent, asking without words.
When she pulled back, just barely, her fingers continued their path. Tracing the shallow line of muscle. Following it downward.
She reached the waistband of his pants and hesitated for a heartbeat. Then her fingers hooked into his belt. The soft clink of the buckle breaking the silence felt louder than it should have. Her hands weren’t shaking, but her breath was uneven now, shallow with emotion more than desire.
His hand came down over hers, warm and solid, stopping her gently but decisively. He didn’t pull her hand away. Just held it there, grounding both of them.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, lips swollen from the kiss. There was something raw in her expression.
And that was what stopped him.
Jake’s thumb brushed over her cheek again, gentler now, grounding.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and steady, like he was anchoring her back to the present. “Hey… look at me.”
She blinked, confusion flickering across her face. For a split second, embarrassment flashed there too, like she was bracing for rejection. Like she was already telling herself she had crossed a line.
She tried to take a half step back without even realizing it, fingers curling into the towel like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Heat rushed to her face, humiliation burning hot and sudden. She had crossed a line. She had kissed her boss. In his house. Wrapped in just a towel. What had she been thinking?
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, the words tumbling over each other. “I…I shouldn’t have…I don’t know why I—” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, already retreating inward. “You don’t have to worry about it happening again. I promise.”
Embarrassment curled tight in her chest, mingling with something darker. Shame. God, she had just kissed her boss. The person who saved her life. What kind of person did that?
Before she could spiral any further, Jake moved. His hands came up, firm but unmistakably gentle. He cupped her face, stopping her from pulling any further away.
“Hey,” he said quietly. Not sharp. Not angry. Just steady. “Look at me.”
She did. And what she saw unraveled her assumptions in an instant. There was no discomfort in his eyes. No regret. What stared back at her was something warm but restrained.
“I want you,” he continued, the honesty in it stealing the air from her lungs. “I want you more than I should say right now.” His jaw flexed, a quiet tell of how much he was holding back. “But I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re hurting.”
Jake leaned his forehead against hers, the contact light but deliberate.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he murmured. “Especially not your body.”
Tears burned behind her eyes again, but this time they weren’t from pain or shame. They were from relief. Relief so sharp it almost hurt.
“I thought…” she started, then stopped. “I thought you were just letting me down easy.”
His hands tightened slightly on her cheeks.
“No,” he said softly. “Just want to take this slow.”
Her shoulders slumped, the tension draining out of her. She leaned into him again without thinking. She pressed her forehead into his chest, and he responded immediately. His arms came around her.
Jake didn’t let the silence stretch too long. He shifted first, just enough to remind her he was still there. Still solid. Still choosing to stay. His hand slid from her waist to her forearm, gentle but sure, and he gave a small nod toward the doorway.
“Come on,” he murmured. “You should try to get some sleep.”
Vivienne hesitated for half a second because everything inside her still felt fragile, like one wrong move might splinter her open again. Then she nodded and let him guide her out of the bathroom.
The air outside the shower felt cooler against her damp skin. She tightened the towel instinctively, suddenly aware of how little she had, how exposed she still felt despite everything he had done to protect her tonight.
Jake noticed. He kept his pace slow, his hand a steady presence at her back as he led her down the hallway. He was shirtless now, dress pants still clinging faintly from where they never fully dried, and the sight of him like this—unguarded, stripped down without trying to be—did something quiet and aching to her chest.
They stopped at the guest room across from his. It was beautiful. Soft lighting. Crisp sheets. Too perfect. Too unfamiliar.
Reality crashed back in all at once.
“I don’t have anything,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “My phone…my purse…my ID… Jake, I don’t have—”
Her breath stuttered. Her fingers curled tighter into the towel as panic crept in, sharp and unwelcome. The thought spiraled fast: What if this is it? What if this is where I become a problem? A responsibility he didn’t ask for?
He turned to face her fully.
“Hey,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. He stepped closer, hands coming up to bracket her arms, grounding her. “Vivienne. Look at me.”
She did.
“I’ve got it handled,” he continued, steady and certain. “You’ll have a new phone tomorrow morning. I’ll take you to get your things. Anything you need, we’ll take care of it.”
Her throat tightened.
“And if…if I don’t want to go back there yet?” she asked quietly.
“Then you won’t,” he said without hesitation. “You’re safe here.” He gestured toward his room across the hall. “For now, let’s get you something comfortable to sleep in.”
He led her into his closet, and Vivienne actually stopped short when she saw it. It was massive, larger than her entire apartment bedroom back home. Racks of shirts and jackets, shelves of boots and shoes, drawers built seamlessly into dark wood.
Jake watched her reaction with a faint huff of amusement. “Pick whatever you want.”
She hesitated, suddenly shy. “Your closet is… intimidating.”
He snorted softly. “It’s just clothes.”
She drifted toward one section, fingers brushing fabric. Button-ups. Sweaters. Soft, worn-in things mixed with tailored pieces. Then she saw it—an old Texas Longhorns sweatshirt, faded just enough to look loved. She pulled it free.
“This okay?” she asked.
His gaze flicked to it, then back to her. Something unreadable passed through his expression before he nodded.
“Yeah. That one’s perfect.”
He stepped back, giving her space without leaving, turning slightly away as she slipped the sweatshirt over her head. It hung on her, swallowing her frame, the hem brushing her thighs. When she was done, she looked at herself, and for the first time tonight, she didn’t feel quite so bare.
Jake turned back.
His jaw tightened—not with desire, but with something gentler. Protective.
“You can sleep in the guest room if you want,” he said. “I’ll be right in here across the hall. Door’ll stay open.”
She nodded, exhaustion finally weighing heavy in her bones.
As she climbed onto the bed, she glanced back at him.
“Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she said softly. For everything she couldn’t put into words yet.
He met her gaze, steady and warm.
“You’re welcome, Vivienne.”
-
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Summary: What follows the events of Vivienne not showing up for work in Chapter 10 is a desperate fight against seconds slipping away. Domestic Violence. CPR on a limp body. Sirens cutting through shock. A crime scene forming under flashing lights. And for Jake, the line between responsibility and something far more personal has never felt thinner.
WARNINGS: Domestic abuse & relationship violence. (Contains graphic descriptions of attempted drowning, physical violence, CPR and resuscitation, emotional distress, and panic response. PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.
Word Count: ~5,960
All other chapters can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself (rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn ( @bykaitlynann ).
Jake knew something was wrong before he ever turned off the engine. The complex was too still. Not quiet in the ordinary, end of day way. Not the soft domestic quiet of dinners cooking and televisions murmuring behind walls. This was a vacuum. The kind of silence that pressed against his ears. The kind that waited.
He kept his hands on the steering wheel a second longer than necessary, eyes scanning the courtyard through the windshield. Balconies. Windows. The pool fence at the far end of the property. No movement. No music. No life bleeding out into the evening air.
His truck ticked as the engine idled down, metal contracting in the cooling air. The sound felt too loud.
He told himself he was projecting. Old instincts. Old wiring. He wasn’t overseas anymore. This wasn’t a hostile war zone.
He was here because she hadn’t answered his attempts to contact her. Because he’d called twice. Because when her phone went straight to voicemail, something in his chest had shifted from irritation to something far colder.
He opened the door and stepped out. The air carried chlorine from the pool. Clean. Artificial. It stung his nose.
He shut the truck door harder than he meant to. The sound cracked through the silence and echoed back at him. Still nothing. No footsteps. No conversation drifting from balconies. No distant television laughter. Even the birds had gone quiet.
Three steps forward. That was all he made it.
The scream split the air. It wasn’t shrill. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t the kind of startled yelp someone made when surprised. It was raw. Ripped straight out of a body that held nothing but pure panic.
Jake’s entire body locked for half a second. Every muscle seized. Every nerve lit up. The sound punched through his ribs and detonated somewhere deep in his spine.
Then a splash. Heavy. Violent. Not the sound of someone diving or jumping into the pool. Not laughter and water slapping concrete. This was impact. Water displaced by force.
And then he heard nothing. No thrashing. No coughing. No frantic gasping for air. No second scream. The silence that followed was almost worse than the scream itself.
His pulse slowed instead of spiking. Training settling in like a cold hand on the back of his neck. Peripheral vision dimmed. Focus sharpened. Distance calculations running automatically. Pool. Far end of courtyard. Thirty yards. Gate on the left side. Fence waist-high.
He didn’t think. There was no conscious decision. No internal debate. No Is that Vivienne? No What if you’re wrong?
There was only movement. Because if that was her…the thought didn’t finish in his brain. It didn’t need to.
He was moving before thought could form. Black Tecovas striking concrete in hard, echoing impacts. His breath came sharp, tearing at his throat. His heart didn’t just race, it slammed, erratic and furious, like it was trying to break free of his ribs.
He cut across the courtyard at a dead run, suit jacket flaring behind him, vision tunneling toward the pool area ahead.
Another second passed. No sound.
He rounded the corner, and stopped so violently his heel skidded. The pool exploded into view. Low stone deck. String lights glowing faint against the fading sky. Water churning violently near the deep end.
And on the ground near the edge, a chocolate colored handbag. Jake immediately recognized it as Vivienne’s. It sat turned on it’s side with its contents spilling out, like it had been discarded without a second thought. Her phone half-visible sticking out from the top Her black heels thrown haphazardly near a lounge chair.
Jake’s brain tried, stupidly, to soften what he was seeing. Two people roughhousing. A fight that went too far. An accident.
Then he saw Ethan’s hand. Locked around Vivienne’s the back of Vivienne’s neck. Ethan was half out of the pool, one knee braced on the concrete deck, anchoring himself. His other hand fisted in her hair at the base of her skull, forcing her face under the surface like he was pressing down a lid.
Vivienne was still fighting, but it wasn’t coordinated anymore. Her hands broke the surface in frantic bursts, fingers clawing at his forearm. Her movements were jerky now. Sloppy. Desperation.
Jake saw her mouth open beneath the water. Saw the stream of bubbles escape. Her legs kicked once. Twice. Slower than they should have been. He noticed the tendon flexing in Ethan’s forearm, the calculated lean of his weight to use leverage against her. The way his jaw was clenched. This wasn’t rage. This was deliberate.
Vivienne twisted, managing to wrench part of her cheek above the surface for half a second before Ethan shoved her back under. Her hand slid higher up his arm, nails scraping against wet skin. She struck his side weakly. He didn’t even react.
Her movements changed. They grew smaller. Less purposeful. One of her hands drifted down into the water and didn’t rise again. Her kicks slowed. Just a gradual weakening, like a battery draining. The frantic splashing gave way to uneven movements. Her body sagged against Ethan’s grip, the resistance leaving her in increments.
Vivienne’s other hand slid from his arm. Her fingers dragged faintly across his wrist, a touch so light it barely rippled the surface, before disappearing beneath the water. Her head tilted. Her hair spread around her face in dark strands, drifting like ink in clear glass.
All of that passed in front of Jake’s eyes in maybe five seconds. But it felt like days in his mind.
Jake stepped forward. The heel of his boot struck the clay tile of the pool deck with a solid, deliberate sound. There was no question in what he needed to do. Nor was there fear. All he could think about was her.
Ethan looked up. Just for a second. Jake registered his expression instantly. Surprise, yes. But more than that irritation. Annoyance. Like this was something justified that he was entitled to do and Jake was merely a disruption.
“Let her go.”
For half a heartbeat, Ethan hesitated. His grip loosened, not fully, just enough that his attention fractured. Vivienne’s body drifted upward slightly. Her lips hovered a breath from the surface. Almost. Almost. Ethan’s face twisted. He snarled something unintelligible, and instead of letting her rise, he surged upward, releasing her only long enough to shove himself to his feet.
Vivienne slumped sideways in the water. Her face tipped under again as if gravity and death had already claimed her.
That was the moment something inside Jake snapped. He moved in two strides. His fist connected with Ethan’s jaw with a crack that split the air. Bone and force and momentum colliding in a single, brutal sound. Jake felt it travel up his arm.
Ethan went down hard, body slamming to the ground and skidding a few feet. Gasps tore through the courtyard as people had started to gather. Someone screamed. Someone else shouted to call the police. Jake barely heard any of it. He was already turning back to the pool.
Vivienne was sinking. Not thrashing. Not struggling. Just slipping. Her body tilted slowly beneath the surface with terrifying grace, limbs loose, hair fanning out around her like smoke unraveling in water. The pool lights caught in the strands, turning them into something almost luminous. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t kick. Her eyes were half open, unfocused, dulled and distant.
Jake dove. Cold hit him like a slap. A full body shock that stole the air from his lungs and the sound from the world in the same second.
The chaos on the deck vanished. The shouting, the footsteps, Ethan…all gone. There was only the muffled roar of water in his ears and the distorted shimmer of light above him.
He opened his eyes underwater. Chlorine burned immediately, vision blurring for a split second before sharpening, and there she was.
Her body drifted downward, slow and helpless. One arm floated outward, fingers slightly curled, as if reaching for something that wasn’t there.
Jake pushed forward hard, cutting through the water in three powerful strokes. His lungs protested instantly, he hadn’t taken a breath before diving.
He reached her and wrapped an arm around her waist. The contact nearly undid him. She was heavier than she should have been. Not physically, she’d always been small, but dead weight is different. It doesn’t help you. It doesn’t respond. It just sinks.
Her head lolled against his shoulder when he pulled her in. Her lips were slightly parted. A thin stream of bubbles slipped from them and drifted toward the surface.
Jake’s chest constricted. He tightened his grip and kicked. Hard. His boots dragged at him, suit pants pulling against the current he created. The water resisted every movement, turning each kick into effort. His lungs began to burn, sharp and immediate.
He adjusted, shifting his hold so her head rested higher against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her skull to keep it from tipping forward again.
He kicked harder. The surface seemed impossibly far away, a trembling mirror fractured by light and movement. His vision tunneled slightly from the strain.
They broke the surface together. Jake’s first breath tore into him like something sharp, ragged and loud, but he didn’t stop moving. He hauled her toward the edge, one arm locked around her, kicking hard until hands reached down from the deck.
“Careful—”
“Pull her—”
Someone grabbed under her arms. Someone else caught her legs. Jake boosted her from below, pushing her up and out of the water like he was handing over something fragile and breakable.
They laid her on the stone. Water streamed from her hair, from her clothes, from the ends of her fingers. It pooled beneath her shoulder and ran in thin lines across the tile. Vivienne didn’t move.
For one suspended, unreal second, Jake told himself she was stunned. That the shock had knocked the wind out of her. That any second now she would cough, roll onto her side, mutter something under her breath the way she always did when she hated showing weakness.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
“Viv,” he said quietly, like she might just be resting.
He leaned down, pressing his ear near her mouth. Nothing. No warm rush of breath against his skin. No hitch. No shallow pull of air fighting its way back in. His hand moved to her throat. Two fingers beneath her jaw, exactly where they should be. He pressed lightly. Waited. Nothing. His stomach hollowed out so fast it made him dizzy.
“No,” he said, barely audible.
He pressed harder. Adjusted the angle. Counted under his breath. Still nothing. The absence was louder than anything else in the world. His chest tightened until the air he’d just fought to reclaim felt useless inside him.
“V–vivienne.” His voice fractured on her name. Just a small break. But it felt catastrophic. “Hey. Hey, stay with me.”
Her skin was pale. Her lips held that faint, terrifying wash of blue. A thin trickle of water slipped from the corner of her mouth and gathered beneath her cheek.
Jake’s world contracted to a single, brutal point. Everything else fell away. Training took over. He rolled her flat onto her back, one hand bracing her head as the other tilted her chin upward, clearing her airway.
“Call 911,” he said. Sharp. Commanding. Unmistakable. “Now.”
He didn’t look up to see if anyone moved. He trusted the tone would be enough. He placed the heel of his hand at the center of her chest. The other hand locked over it. Arms straight. He pushed. Her body gave beneath the pressure.
“One.”
Again.
“Two.”
Again.
He forced the count steady even as his pulse thundered wildly in his ears.
“…three, four, five…”
He watched her chest compress. Watched it rise when he released.
Come on.
At thirty, he leaned down and sealed his mouth over hers. Her lips were cold.
He breathed for her.
Once.
Twice.
He turned his head, listening for that fragile, miraculous sound. Nothing. The silence scraped across his nerves.
Back to compressions.
“One, two, three, four…”
The numbers were the only thing holding him together. As long as he kept counting, he didn’t have to think about how limp she felt beneath his hands. Didn’t have to think about the fact that minutes ago she’d been fighting, breathing, alive. And now she wasn’t.
He pushed harder. Water seeped from her mouth with each compression, running down the side of her face.
“Sir, I can take over—”
“No.” The word came out low and feral. He didn’t look up. Didn’t slow. “I’ve got her.”
A hand touched his shoulder anyway.
“You’ve been at it for—”
“I said no.” His voice shook now. Not with uncertainty. With strain. With something dangerously close to breaking. “I’ve got her.”
His arms burned. His soaked clothes clung to him, heavy and cold. His hands trembled between compressions, but the rhythm never faltered.
“…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”
He breathed for her again.
Please. The word wasn’t spoken out loud this time. It was carved into the inside of his skull. Please don’t take her.
Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, growing louder. Voices overlapped. Someone was crying openly now.
Jake didn’t see any of it. All he saw was Vivienne. Her hair plastered across her cheek. The faint bruise already darkening at her throat. Her eyelashes resting against her skin like she was only sleeping.
“She can’t be gone,” he muttered, the words slipping free without permission. “She just can’t.”
His vision blurred. He blinked hard, forcing clarity back into place. Not now. You don’t get to fall apart now. He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers.
“Come on,” he whispered, and this time the break in his voice was complete. “Come back.”
Another round of compressions. Another two breaths. Another half minute slipping away.
It was sudden and violent, her entire body jerking beneath his hands like something had shocked her back to life as Jake leaned down to give her another breath.
A guttural, broken sound tore out of her as water surged from her mouth. She coughed. Choked. Gasped like the air hurt as she breathed in. She coughed again. Harder this time. Water spilled onto the stone between them as her lungs dragged in a ragged, desperate breath. The sound of it was raw and animal and the most beautiful thing Jake had ever heard.
Jake slid an arm beneath her shoulders, helping her turn onto her side as a coughing fit ripped through her. Her body shook with it, small and fragile. More water trickled from her mouth, her fingers curling weakly against the tile as she retched.
“That’s it,” he said, voice shredded. “That’s it, breathe.”
He kept one hand braced at the back of her head, steady and protective, like if he let go she might tip back into the dark.
“Easy,” he murmured. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
Her breathing was uneven. Sharp pulls followed by panicked little gasps. He leaned closer.
“Hey, slow,” he said quiet. “Slow it down. You’re okay.”
She wasn’t okay. But she was here. Her eyes fluttered open. For a second they didn’t track. They drifted past him, unfocused and glassy, like she was still half under water. Her lashes were clumped together, her pupils blown wide in the courtyard lights.
She sucked in another breath. A soft, broken whimper slipped from her throat.
“J–jak–ke.”
He made a sound he didn’t recognize and pulled her toward him without thinking, gathering her up carefully but urgently, cradling her against his chest. One hand slid into her wet hair and fisted there.
“Right here,” he said, the words tumbling out unevenly. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
His voice shook. His hands shook. He pressed his cheek briefly against the crown of her head, closing his eyes for the first time since he’d seen her under the water.
She was breathing. Each inhale was shaky. Each exhale hitched. But they were there. Real. Present. He felt them against his ribs.
For the first time since the scream cut through the night, Jake let himself feel it. The edge he’d been standing on. The kind of fear that doesn’t spike and fade.
He had almost lost her.
The sirens came in hard. Red and blue lights strobed across the courtyard, washing the stone and water in violent pulsing color. Jake’s world that had narrowed to Vivienne’s breath suddenly widened again. Flashing lights, radios crackling, boots pounding across tile.
Hands touched his shoulders, reaching and trying to pull her away from him.
“Sir. Sir, we need space.”
Vivienne was still in his arms. Her breathing shallow but present. Her fingers weakly hooked into the front of his shirt.
“I’m not leaving her,” he said, low and controlled.
“You don’t have to,” one of the EMTs replied, already kneeling opposite him. “We just need to look at her.”
He eased back only enough to let them in. They moved fast. Efficient. Calm in a way that felt almost unreal after the chaos. A penlight flashed across her pupils.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”
She flinched at the brightness, lashes trembling.
“Yes,” she rasped.
Jake’s hand stayed at her shoulder as they lifted her onto the backboard. It lingered even when they told him they needed to transfer her fully to the gurney. Only when they guided her onto the gurney did he let his fingers slide away.
Her eyes were open but unfocused, breaths uneven beneath the tremble of shock. A weak cough rattled through her as they secured the straps, and her fingers curled reflexively into his sleeve.
“I’m here,” Jake said immediately, leaning in so his voice didn’t have to compete with sirens and shouted commands. “I’m right here.”
An oxygen mask was fitted over her face. The sudden pressure made her panic, her eyes widening and breath hitching sharply.
Jake was there before the EMT could say anything. His hand found hers.
“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice low and grounding. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”
Vivienne’s fingers tightened weakly around his.
They rolled her toward the ambulance. Jake followed beside them, her hand still holding onto his.
“Sir, family only—”
He ignored their stupid policy as he climbed into the back as they loaded her in.
Inside, everything shifted into practiced rhythm. Blood pressure cuff secured around her arm. Pulse oximeter clipped to her finger. Electrodes pressed to her chest. Vitals called out in steady tones.
Jake sat at her side, still drenched. Water dripped from the hem of his jacket and pants onto the ambulance floor. Now that the movement had stopped, he felt the tremor starting in his hands and crawling up his arms.
Adrenaline ebbing. Shock settling in. He locked his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering, whether from cold or the delayed crash, he wasn’t sure.
“Any dizziness? Blurred vision?” An EMT asked.
Vivienne nodded faintly. Then shook her head. Then seemed unsure.
Her voice was thin and hoarse when she managed, “Hurts.”
“Where does it hurt?”
She hesitated. “Throat.”
Jake’s gaze dropped automatically to the bruising already darkening along her neck. His hands curled into fists. He forced them open again.
Her eyes drifted shut between questions. Each time they did, Jake leaned forward slightly.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Stay with me.”
Jake watched the monitors with quiet, laser focus. Every rise in her oxygen level. Every steady blip of her heart rate. The sound of it. That steady, rhythmic beep. It grounded him. Because it meant she was alive.
But as the adrenaline continued to drain from his system, something else rose in its place. A slow, simmering realization. If he had been thirty seconds later, she might be dead. He might not have been able to save her
Outside, the scene was transforming. Two police cruisers were parked nearby, lights flashing in rhythmic bursts of red and blue. The sirens cut off as they entered the courtyard, leaving behind a heavy, charged silence broken only by radios crackling and clipped commands.
One headed toward the small cluster of neighbors who had Ethan pinned to the ground near the pool gate. Another began marking off the immediate area with bright yellow tape, marking the pool deck as a crime scene.
Because that’s what it was. Not an accident. A crime.
Through the crowd of people Jake’s eyes landed on Ethan. His face was bloodied from Jake’s punch, jaw already swelling and looking out of place. His shirt clung to him, soaked and streaked with chlorine. Two bystanders kept him pinned until officers took over, hauling him upright with firm, practiced grips. Metal cuffs snapped around his wrists.
“It was an accident!” he shouted, twisting uselessly against the hold. “We were messing around! She slipped—”
“Sir you have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use it.”
“She’s overreacting! You’re overreacting! I’m the victim here! Guy came in here and punched me for no reason! Why’s he not in cuffs?”
No one was listening. There is no version of events where someone is “messing around” while holding another person underwater as they fight to breathe.
Another officer began moving through witnesses with a small notebook in hand.
“How long was he holding her under?”
“Did anyone attempt to intervene?”
“Did she appear conscious when he released her?”
Voices overlapped. Timelines were compared. Someone demonstrated with shaking hands how long it had felt. Someone else described the scream that had cut through the courtyard.
Then the officer guiding Ethan lowered his head and pushed him toward the cruiser. The back door opened. Closed. The sound of it shutting felt final.
A police officer approached the ambulance a moment later. His posture was respectful, aware of the line between investigation and intrusion.
“Sir,” he said evenly, “I’m going to need to ask you a few questions.”
Jake nodded once. He stepped down from the ambulance but didn’t go any further than that.
“I need you to walk me through what you saw and what happened.”
Jake did. He described the moment he rounded the corner. Ethan’s grip. Vivienne’s lack of resistance. The exact second her body went limp. He told them how long she had been submerged. He told them when she stopped breathing. He told them when her pulse was absent.
“You’re certain she had no pulse when you checked?”
“Yes.”
“And you initiated CPR immediately?”
“Yes.”
The officer studied him for a moment longer, assessing.
“You have training?”
“I’m ex-Navy.”
That was all he offered. The officer gave a small nod and closed his notebook.
“You did the right thing,” he said quietly.
Jake’s eyes shifted back to the ambulance. Vivienne lay inside, oxygen mask fogging faintly with each breath.
“I know,” Jake said. His voice was steady. “But it never should’ve gotten that far.”
“Well it won’t happen again,” he said. “Not if we can help it. He’s going to be going away for a long time.”
Jake didn’t respond. Because “help it” wasn’t something he was planning to rely on. He was going to take matters in his own hands. Lawyers. Courtrooms. Statements. Protective orders. Medical reports. However long it took. However ugly it became. She would not face any of it alone. Not the questions. Not the nightmares. Not the recovery.
He had almost lost her once tonight. There would not be a second opportunity for that to happen.
* * * * * * * *
The vibration against his thigh cut through everything. Jake’s body reacted before his mind did. Muscle memory. He reached for his phone before he even fully registered it. He pulled it free. The screen lit up.
Rick.
His jaw tightened instantly. Of course. He didn’t need to answer to know what this is about. The drilling site. The media pressure. Investors circling like vultures. Damage control already in motion. He could almost hear the tone before he picked up, measured but edged. Disappointment disguised as strategy. Emotion stripped down to logistics.
Where are you? We need you. This affects the company. This affects the family.
Jake’s thumb hovered over the screen. He looked up. Vivienne was on the gurney, pale beneath the harsh ambulance lights. The oxygen mask fogging faintly with each shallow breath she took. Electrodes dotted her skin. A bruise shadowed her throat like a fingerprint that refuses to fade. Her lashes fluttered weakly as she drifted in and out out of consciousness.
The phone kept vibrating in his hand. He didn’t hesitate. He silenced the call. The buzzing stopped. The screen went dark. And the world narrowed again to the soft, rhythmic beep of the monitor and the fragile rise and fall of her chest.
For a few seconds, there was quiet. Jake let himself breathe with her. In. Out. In. Out.
Then the phone buzzed again. Because Rick Seresin didn’t give up easily. Jake closed his eyes for a brief second. He knew what waiting meant in his family. Waiting was weakness. Waiting was failure. Waiting was how you lose control. He grew up on conference calls taken at dinner tables. On vacations cut short because “something came up.” On learning early that achievement bought attention, and anything less bought silence.
He knew the rules. Work first. Legacy first. Reputation always. Personal emergencies are negotiable.
He looked at Vivienne again. At the faint tremor still moving through her fingers. At the rawness in her throat every time she swallows.
She almost died tonight. That fact sat heavy and immovable in his chest.
The phone buzzed again. Persistent. Demanding. Jake exhaled slowly through his nose, irritation flickering through the exhaustion, but beneath it, something steadier. Clarity.
He pressed the side button and sent the call straight to voicemail. This time, he didn’t watch the screen go dark. Let it ring. Let it escalate. Let the fallout build without him for once.
For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the pull to answer his father’s call. He didn’t feel the reflexive guilt. Didn’t feel twelve years old and standing in a doorway waiting to be told he did good enough.
And in that small, fragile moment, Jake made another choice. The company could wait.
For once, legacy doesn’t outrank someone he cares about.
And if that disappoints Rick Seresin, Jake finds he doesn’t particularly care.
* * * * * * * *
Jake made his way back over to the ambulance and climbed back in. Vivienne’s eyes are open now. Still hazy at the edges, but focused enough to find him when he stepped into view.
For a second, they just looked at each other. Then Vivienne spoke up.
“Are…are you okay?” She asked, her voice thin and rough from chlorine and coughing.
Jake laughed before he could stop himself. It came out as something closer to a breath through his nose.
She almost died. And she’s checking on him.
He braced his hand lightly against the side rail of the gurney.
“I’m fine,” he said.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
That made the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied quietly. “I get…intense.”
Her breathing was still uneven beneath the oxygen mask. The monitor ticked out her pulse in a steady rhythm. She swallowed, and winced slightly.
“You looked…” she started, then trails off.
“Like I was about to commit a felony?” He offered dryly.
A weak huff of breath escaped her. It was almost a laugh. “Yeah.”
He nodded once. “Probably accurate.”
He shifted closer, lowering his voice so it didn’t carry to the EMT charting vitals at the front of the rig.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he said.
Her eyes softened at that.
“I didn’t…” She paused, blinking hard as if trying to piece together memory. “I couldn’t…”
“I know.” He doesn’t let her finish whatever blame she was about to shoulder. “You don’t have to explain anything.”
Her fingers moved slightly against the thin sheet the EMTs had placed over her. Jake reached out and placed his hand over hers. Her hand stilled beneath his.
Then a uniformed officer stepped into view. He glanced between them, then focused on Vivienne.
“Miss Chase?” He asked gently. “I’m Officer Ramirez. I just need to ask you a few questions for the report. We can stop at any time, all right?”
She nodded, though it was shallow and uncertain.
“Can you tell me what led up to the incident tonight?” Ramirez asked, voice even, practiced in a way that suggested he’d done this before. Too many times.
Vivienne swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, like all the water she’d swallowed earlier had leached something essential out of her.
“It started last night. I had to work late,” she began. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “Came home and started making something to eat. He started drinking while I was still at work. He kept drinking most of the night. More than usual. Then this morning he got…angry. I tried to leave. I always try to leave when he gets like that. And it was about the time I usually go to work.”
Her fingers curled into the blanket again. Jake squeezed her hand once.
“What happened next?” The officer asked.
Vivienne closed her eyes.
“He wouldn’t let me leave. He…he stayed by the door so he’d know if I tried to leave. He didn’t believe me that I was going to work.I told him I needed to go.”
The officer nodded, pen moving. “And did you go?”
Vivienne shook her head, eyes closing. “No.”
“What stopped you?”
She hesitated. Jake felt it. She was trying to decide whether she could say this part out loud. And whether she could say it in front of him.
“He wouldn’t let me,” she said finally. “He stayed by the door. All day. Wouldn’t move. He said if I really planned to go to work, I’d already be gone.” Her breath hitched. “He said I was lying.”
The officer’s voice remained even. “Did he physically block you?”
“Yes.”
Jake’s grip tightened just slightly before he caught himself. He loosened it immediately, letting his thumb brush a small circle against her knuckle instead.
“Then what happened?” The officer asked gently.
Vivienne swallowed.
“I—” She stopped. Her eyes flicked to Jake for the briefest second, then away again. Shame flared hot and sharp in her chest.
“You can take your time.” She nodded, but she didn’t let go of Jake’s hand.
“He doesn’t like my job,” she said, the words coming faster now, as if once she started she was afraid she’d lose them. “He’s never liked it. Never liked where I work. Or who I work for.”
Jake stilled. The ambulance suddenly felt smaller.
The officer glanced up. “Has he tried to interfere with your employment before?”
Vivienne nodded. “He’s…hidden my phone. Taken my keys. Told me not to answer emails. He said my boss didn’t care about me anyway. That I was disposable.”
Jake’s chest tightened painfully. He kept his face neutral, but something ugly and sharp twisted low in his gut. Jesus.
“And today?” Tthe officer prompted.
She drew in a shaky breath. “Today he said if I went in, I’d regret it.” Her voice cracked. “I tried to push past him. That’s when he grabbed me.”
Jake felt the exact moment her body began to shake. He shifted closer without thinking, angling himself so she was half shielded by his presence.
“I don’t remember everything after that,” she whispered. “Just…being outside. The pool. Him yelling. And then I couldn’t breathe.”
Her grip on the blanket under Jake’s hand tightened until it almost hurt, knuckles turning bright white.
The officer waited a beat, then asked softly, “And what happened at the pool?”
Vivienne shook her head. “I can’t—” She broke off, breath stuttering. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that part again.”
“That’s okay,” the officer said immediately.
She gasped, suddenly, sharply. Her hand flew to her chest like she could physically push the panic back down. Jake moved instantly.
“Hey,” he said, low and firm, grounding. He shifted so he was more directly in her line of sight. “Vivienne. Look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered open, wild and unfocused.
“That’s it,” he continued, thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. Just breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Just like that.”
She tried to follow him, and then the tears came. Silent at first, then shuddering, her body folding in on itself as the panic crested.
“I thought—” she whispered. “I thought I was going to die.”
The officer stepped back half a pace, giving them space. “We don’t have to continue right now.”
Vivienne sagged back against the stretcher, exhausted in a way that went bone deep. The paramedic nearest her finished the last of his assessment and glanced at his partner.
“Vivienne,” he said gently, turning back to her. “Given what happened tonight, we strongly recommend you let us take you to the hospital.”
Her stomach dropped. Jake felt it in the way her shoulders tensed again, in the way her fingers curled reflexively into his sleeve this time instead of the blanket.
“There are risks we can’t fully rule out here,” the paramedic continued. “Dry drowning. Swelling in the airway. Head injury. Symptoms can show up hours later.”
“I don’t want to go,” she said quietly.
Jake turned toward her immediately. “Viv—”
She shook her head before he could finish.
“I know,” she said. “I hear you. I just…I don’t want to go.”
The second paramedic crouched slightly so they were eye level. “Can you tell us why?”
Her throat tightened. She hated how small her voice sounded.
“Hospitals make it worse,” she said. “The lights. The questions. Being alone in a room with strangers.” Her gaze flicked instinctively to Jake. “I don’t think I can do that right now.”
Jake’s jaw flexed. Every instinct in him screamed to override this…to insist, to order, to make the decision for her because it was safer.
“Vivienne,” he said carefully, “I really think you should go. I’ll go with you.”
She looked at him then, eyes glossy but steady.
“I just…after today, the idea of you not being monitored…” he said quickly, softer now.
Silence settled between them. Jake studied her face. The bruising blooming along her jaw and neck, the faint rasp to her breathing that made his chest ache. He hated this. Hated the position she was in. Hated that every option felt like another loss.
But he saw something else too. The resolve beneath the fear. The way she was holding herself together by choosing this. He exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” he said at last. “But,” he continued, lifting a finger, “you’re staying with me.”
“I–I can’t ask you to do that–”
“It’s stay with me or go with them.” He said a little more firmly.
She nodded immediately. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
“And if anything changes,” he said, voice firm now, non-negotiable, “even a little shortness of breath, chest pain, dizziness, you let me take you to the hospital. Immediately.”
“Okay,” she said. “I promise.”
The paramedic straightened.
“We’ll need that documented,” he said. “Need you a sign that you’re leaving against medical advice. And we’re going to leave you with instructions.”
“That’s fine,” Jake said. “I’ll read them.”
The paramedic handed over a clipboard, then paused.
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he added, looking at Vivienne. “Someone needs to stay with you for at least the first twenty-four hours.”
“She won’t be alone,” Jake said without hesitation. “I’ll stay with her.”
-
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Summary: Vivienne never misses work. So when she doesn’t show up, and she doesn’t answer her phone, Jake’s unease quickly turns into something far heavier. At first he tells himself there must be a simple explanation, but as the hours pass and the silence stretches on, a gnawing sense of dread begins to take hold. The more Jake thinks about the tension he’s seen between Vivienne and Ethan, the harder it becomes to ignore the possibility that something is very wrong.
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself (rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn (@bykaitlynann).
All other chapters/parts can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
Morning arrived the way it always did: fluorescent lights humming awake, the faint scent of coffee drifting from the break room, the low percussion of keyboards warming into rhythm.
Jake stepped off the elevator with his phone in one hand and travel mug in the other, already skimming through overnight emails. He barely looked up as he turned toward the row of glass offices lining the east wall.
He didn’t need to. Vivienne was always there.
First one in. Without fail. Her desk lamp on before sunrise in winter, blinds tilted just enough to let in morning light in summer. If anyone needed a document at 7:15 a.m., she’d already sent it. If a crisis hit at 5:45 p.m., she was still sitting exactly where she’d been all day.
He reached the corner and glanced toward her office out of habit. Her desk was empty. The chair was pushed in neatly beneath the desk. Her computer monitor was dark. The small stack of color-coded folders aligned perfectly at the edge. Too perfectly.
Jake frowned faintly and checked the time on his phone. 7:58 a.m.
Maybe traffic. Maybe she’d overslept. Though that felt absurd even as the thought formed. Vivienne ran on an internal clock that could shame the Navy.
He took another sip of coffee and walked into his own office, leaving the door half open so he could see the hall.
Eight o’clock passed. Eight-oh-five. Then eigh ten.
By eight-fifteen, people had begun filtering into the conference room for the morning strategy meeting.
Jake glanced down the hall again. Still empty. She was never late and now this was the second time in a matter of a few weeks that she was late to work.
He stepped into the conference room as others were settling into chairs.
“Is Vivienne coming?” Mark asked casually, flipping open his notebook.
“She’s not here yet?” Someone else added.
Jake set his mug down. “She’ll be here.”
The meeting began without her. There were a few small pauses. Minor hesitations. A question about a client follow-up she would normally answer.
At one point, someone leaned toward Jake and murmured, “She didn’t respond to my email this morning.”
Jake’s jaw tightened slightly. “What time did you send it?”
“Six-thirty.”
He didn’t need to ask for a follow-up. Vivienne would have normally answered it by 6:45.
The meeting adjourned forty minutes later with more loose ends than usual. Jake walked straight to his office and pulled up her shared calendar. Nothing marked for PTO. No doctor appointments. No personal holds. No “out of office” blocks.
He clicked over to the IT dashboard and checked login activity. No remote access. No VPN connection. No early morning login from home.
His pulse ticked up a notch. He stood. The hallway felt longer now as he crossed toward her office.
The door was still ajar.He pushed it open gently. Morning light streamed through the blinds, casting narrow stripes across her desk. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams. Her desk lamp she rpeferred to the fluorescent overhead lights was off. Her monitor reflected the empty room back at him.
Jake stepped inside.
He could almost see her there. Elbows on the desk. Brow furrowed. One hand holding her pen, the black click pen she went through by the dozen because she clicked it constantly while thinking. It lay beside her keyboard. Silent. Her mug sat to the right, exactly where she always placed it. White ceramic, a faint lipstick mark still visible near the rim. A thin ring of dried coffee at the bottom. Beside it rested a yellow legal pad. Half a sentence written in her precise, slanted handwriting: “Follow up with—” Nothing after it. The pen stroke ended mid-thought.
Jake felt something cold settle at the base of his spine.
She had never missed a day. Not once. Snowstorms. Power outages. The flu that had run through half the office last winter, she’d worked remotely from her kitchen table, camera off, voice steady.
She did not disappear.
He walked around the desk slowly, stopping behind her chair. His hand hovered above the backrest but didn’t touch it. It was pushed in. Like she’d meant to come back.
The stillness pressed in around him. This wasn’t oversleeping. This wasn’t traffic. This was wrong.
The elevator at the end of the hall dinged. Jake’s head snapped up instantly, heart jumping ahead of logic. Footsteps approached. For half a second hope flared sharp and bright in his chest. She’ll round the corner. Apologizing. Already talking.
The footsteps passed. Not her. A junior intern stepped out, balancing a laptop and coffee, offering Jake a distracted nod before disappearing into another office.
The hallway settled again. Jake remained standing in Vivienne’s office, the quiet stretching thin and uneasy around him.
Her chair sat waiting. And for the first time since he’d known her, it was empty.
* * * * * * * *
Jake closed his office door more firmly than necessary. The bullpen noise dulled to a hum. Keyboards. Phones. Movement. The ordinary machinery of a workday in motion.
He crossed to his desk, sat down, and reached for his phone before he could talk himself out of it.
Her name sat near the top of his messages. He stared at it longer than he should have. He told himself this was procedural. She’d missed a meeting. She hadn’t logged in. It was reasonable to check in as one of the people she reports to.
He opened the thread and typed: Where are you?
He looked at it for three seconds. Deleted it.
He tried again: Did something happen?
He exhaled slowly. Deleted.
Another attempt: Call me.
He frowned at the screen. That sounded like an order. Delete.
He leaned back in his chair, thumb hovering over the keyboard. This shouldn’t feel complicated. This was a simple check-in.
Except it wasn’t.
He typed again, slower this time: I’m worried about you.
His jaw tightened. Delete. Too personal.
Since when did a message require this much restraint?
He looked back down at the screen. Her contact photo was blank. Just a gray circle. Clinical. Impersonal.
He typed carefully: Tell me you’re safe, Viv.
He paused at the nickname. Viv. He’d never used it in writing before.
He hovered there, thumb resting against the edge of the screen. Professional distance had always been their unspoken agreement. Boundaries maintained. Lines respected.
But the image of her empty office surfaced again. The unfinished sentence. The untouched pen.
He hit send. The message whooshed away. And then there was nothing. Silence expanded inside the room, thick and disproportionate to the small act he’d just committed.
He placed the phone on his desk, screen facing up.
One minute passed. He checked the time.
Two minutes. His gaze shifted to his laptop, but he wasn’t reading the words in front of him. Every muscle in his body felt subtly attuned to the faintest vibration from the phone.
Three minutes. Nothing. He told himself she could be driving. Could be in a meeting. Could be dealing with something simple and temporary like a minor fender bender on the way to work.
Five minutes. Still nothing. The quiet shifted from neutral to oppressive.
He picked up the phone again and pressed call before he could overthink it. It rang once. Then immediately redirected. Voicemail.
His jaw set. He pulled the phone back slightly, staring at the screen as if it might explain itself.
Straight to voicemail. Not ringing out. Not unanswered. Cut off.
Something inside him moved then. It wasn’t irritation. It wasn’t confusion. It was fear. Quiet. Controlled. Cold.
A thought surfaced uninvited. Her partner controls her phone. He didn’t speak it. Didn’t allow the words to form fully in his mind. But he knew.
He’d seen enough. Small comments. The way she checked her screen sometimes before responding. The way she once mentioned “keeping things simple at home” with that carefully neutral tone.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the far wall, forcing his breathing to stay even. It could still be nothing. He had no evidence. No confirmation. No right to assume the worst.
And yet, every few seconds his eyes flicked back to the phone anyway. Waiting for it to light up. Waiting for proof that he was overreacting. Waiting for her to tell him she was safe.
* * * * * * * *
By ten-thirty, the absence was no longer quiet. It had weight to it now. The weekly investor report was due by noon. It needed to be finalized and approved by all board members. It was Vivienne’s domain. She always had the report ready and had it sent out by seven or eight to allow everyone plenty of time to review it and approve it.
Jake stepped into the executive conference room and felt the shift immediately. Finance had already dialed in. Legal sat with folders open. Compliance had laptops angled toward the center of the table.
Everyone looked prepared.
Everyone looked expectant.
Except for the empty chair halfway down the table.
“Is Vivienne joining?” Someone from finance asked, not unkindly.
Jake took his seat at the head.
“She’s tied up this morning,” he said evenly.
Legal flipped a page in their binder. “We just need confirmation that the revised language was finalized before we send the weekly report out to investors. There were minor edits after yesterday’s review.”
Compliance looked up. “Do you know if Vivienne signed off on the footnote clarifications?”
Jake held their gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
“No.”
“We can’t release without confirmation,” Legal said carefully. “If the forward-looking language isn’t aligned, we expose ourselves.”
Finance added, “The board expects the report before noon. We’ve already communicated timing to holders.”
Jake folded his hands on the table.
“This is Vivienne’s department,” Compliance said. “She usually circulates the final draft by now.”
“I’ll run it.”
Legal hesitated. “You’re comfortable sending out the disclosures?”
“I am. Plus it will give myself a chance to introduce myself to shareholders”
He gathered the relevant folders and left the room without waiting for consensus. Authority carried its own momentum.
Back in his office, he shut the door again.
The investor reporting portal required elevated credentials. He logged in using his executive access, navigating through layers of structured folders until he reached her reporting structure.
Vivienne’s system was immaculate. Cross-referenced. Tagged.
He opened the draft labeled Q4 Final — Pending Signoff.
The document loaded. He scrolled to the bottom. He glanced at the metadata. Last modified: 11:42 p.m. She had been working on it late last night.
He scrolled back to the disclosure language and began reading carefully, line by line. He wasn’t Vivienne. He didn’t have her surgical instinct for phrasing, but he understood the strategy. Understood the balance between transparency and protection.
He pulled up legal’s latest edits and integrated them, cross checking numbers with finance’s final file. He verified the footnotes himself. Adjusted phrasing where it drifted too close to speculation.
When he reached the final section, he paused.
Her outline guided him. She had left margin notes, short reminders to herself.
Confirm volatility threshold language. Align risk exposure phrasing with last quarter. Recheck subsidiary reference.
He completed each one. When he finished, he reviewed the entire report from start to end. Then he added his digital signature. He sent the finalized report to Legal and Finance first.
At 11:47 p.m., the report was distributed to investors.
One crisis avoided.
* * * * * * * *
By late afternoon, the quiet had curdled. The building had shifted into an end of day rhythm. Muted conversations on the floor. Elevator dings. Keyboards clicking a little slower.
The investor report was out. The board was satisfied.
But Vivienne had missed the entire day. No call. No email. No explanation.
Jake sat in his office, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. The message still showed delivered. Still unread.
He closed his eyes briefly, then pushed back from his desk and stood. The movement felt less like a decision and more like inevitability. He shut his office door. The click of the latch sounded louder than usual.
At his desk again, he opened the internal employee database. It was a system he was told he’d rarely access personally. HR maintained it. Executives didn’t need to search addresses or emergency contacts.
Until they did.
He typed her name. Vivienne Chase. Her profile appeared instantly. Position. Department. Employment history. Emergency contact.
His jaw tightened as his eyes moved lower. Home address. And beneath it Emergency Contact: Ethan Price. Relationship: Domestic Partner.
He clicked into the address field, reading it once.
Twice.
He memorized it before he consciously decided to. Street. Building number. Postal code.
The hallway during the storm flashed in his mind. The terrified look on her face. What if she was in trouble again? Then his mind flicked back to that day in her office. When he saw Ethan put his hands on her. What if he was doing it right now?
He leaned back slowly in his chair.
If he showed up to her home address…it was personal. It was invasive. It crossed every professional boundary. If he showed up and she was fine? He’d be the CEO who overstepped. The man who blurred lines. The story would spread.
If he didn’t….the silence pressed in. He pictured her draft, last edit being at nearly midnight. He pictured her phone going straight to voicemail.
He pictured the possibility that someone else was deciding whether she could answer him.
A thought surfaced, quiet and brutal. If something has happened to her, I will never forgive myself for sitting in this office.
He stood abruptly, the chair rolling back a few inches behind him. He crossed to the coat rack, grabbed his jacket, then reached for his keys.
Then he stopped. Forced himself to think. He could not create public chaos. He could not involve the police without there being evidence. A wellness check from him without excusable context would cause questions to be asked. Speculation would follow.
He could not alert anyone what he was doing or where he was going. No. This had to be contained.
-
Tags:
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Summary: When Jake receives an unexpected email from legal, he’s pulled into a high-stakes meeting with his grandfather and the company’s attorneys over the looming Waco acquisition, a deal that carries more weight than anyone is saying out loud. Old expectations resurface, pressure tightens, and Jake is forced to confront exactly what his father may have done at the risk of the family business. As a storm rolls in over the city, the tension follows him home, where a quiet moment with Vivienne cuts through the noise. Thunder shakes the windows, defenses slip, and what begins as shared shelter from the weather becomes something far more intimate,a shift neither of them can quite ignore.
Warnings: Corporate power dynamics. Family pressure. Emotional tension. Storm themes (thunder, lightning, power going out, etc).
Word Count: ~2,800
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself (rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn (@bykaitlynann)
All other chapters/parts can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
Late afternoon light slanted through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Jake’s office, the sky outside already beginning to bruise with gathering clouds. He had been halfway through a call with corporate strategy when his email chimed.
His gaze flicked to the corner of the screen almost absently. Then sharpened.
The sender was outside counsel retained by the regulatory compliance office. The kind of firm companies hired to ask questions that sounded polite while quietly sharpening knives. And there, in the CC line, unmistakable even at a glance, was his grandfather’s name.
Jake ended the call he was on with a clipped promise to follow up and turned fully to the email.
The language was careful. Meticulous. Almost courteous.
We are conducting a routine review of disclosed acquisition activity from the prior fiscal year and would appreciate clarification on several points related to approval timelines and disclosure methodology…
Routine. Clarification. Review. All words meant to soothe.
His eyes skimmed faster.
Specifics followed: references to acquisition identifiers, cross-referenced board minutes, comparative disclosures between internal filings and public-facing investor communications. Nothing accusatory. Nothing overt.
But the subtext was unmistakable.
Someone had flagged something.
Jake leaned back in his chair slowly, exhaling through his nose. This was moving faster than he’d planned. Faster than he’d wanted. He had hoped to finish confirming the full scope before anyone outside the inner circle started asking questions.
He glanced again at the CC list. His grandfather had been included deliberately. Not Rick. That omission was its own message.
Jake’s fingers tapped once against the desk before he reached for his phone.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said when the line connected. “I need you in my office. Now.”
There was no hesitation on the other end. If Jake trusted anyone right now it was his grandfather.
He followed that call with two more, both to legal counsel who had shepherded the company through mergers, hostile bids, and regulatory close calls for nearly three decades. Loyal. Discreet. Experienced enough to know when routine meant anything but.
Within minutes, his office began to fill. Charlie arrived first, suit jacket already off, sleeves rolled up like he’d sensed the shift in the air before Jake had even spoken. The two attorneys followed shortly after, expressions serious but controlled.
Jake didn’t waste time. He forwarded the email to all three and waited as they read.
The silence stretched.
“Well,” one of the attorneys said finally, adjusting his glasses. “That’s not nothing.”
“No,” Jake agreed. “It’s not.”
Charlie looked up. “Someone talked.”
“Or noticed,” Jake said. “Or compared numbers they weren’t supposed to compare.”
“And Rick?” The second attorney asked carefully.
Jake’s expression didn’t change. “I haven’t looped him in. He knows that we’re aware the numbers aren’t adding up. He doesn’t directly know I’m onto him or that he’s being investigated.”
Finally, one of the attorneys looked up. “Jake,” she said carefully, “before we talk strategy, we need clarity.”
“On what?” he asked.
“On what you know,” the other attorney said. “Not what you suspect. Not what you’re preparing for. What you know. If regulators are circling, we need the full picture now,not later.”
Jake didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, his gaze slid to Charlie.
Charlie straightened slightly, already understanding. He’d reviewed the secure document Jake had sent him two nights earlier: Jake’s preliminary findings, timestamps, approval gaps, internal overrides. Charlie had lived long enough in corporate machinery to recognize deliberate patterns when he saw them.
“We’ve identified a drilling site acquisition approved late last fiscal year,” Charlie began evenly. “Waco. On paper, it appears compliant. Under budget. Properly allocated.”
One of the attorneys nodded. “That’s what the disclosures show.”
“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “But when you reconstruct the original acquisition targets and compare them to final spend, there’s a discrepancy of just under thirty million dollars.”
The room stilled.
Charlie continued. “That overage was masked through internal reclassification—adjustments made after the fact to make the numbers align with budget projections. Adjustments that required system override privileges.”
“Who had those privileges?” the first attorney asked.
Charlie didn’t hesitate. “At the time? Rick.”
Jake remained silent.
“And board approval?” The second attorney pressed.
Charlie shook his head. “None recorded. No vote. No emergency authorization. The timestamps place the final approvals during a week I was out of the office for personal illness related reasons. Jake here, hadn’t joined the company as he was still under active duty with the Navy.”
“So,” the attorney said slowly, “Rick approved a multi-million-dollar acquisition without board consent, then altered internal records to conceal the overage.”
“Yes,” Charlie said. “That’s what the data suggests.”
Jake finally spoke. “We’re still confirming. But the findings thus far are consistent with that theory.”
“And Rick?” The attorney asked quietly.
Jake’s jaw tightened. “Like I said, I haven’t informed him of the investigation. He’s aware that the numbers aren’t adding up in certain reports but he doesn’t know that we suspect him yet.”
Charlie glanced at Jake, then back to counsel. “Given the circumstances, Jake and I agreed it was best to keep him out of the loop.”
The attorneys exchanged a look.
“If regulators are asking about disclosures,” one said, “it means the concealment failed somewhere.”
Jake nodded once. “That’s my concern.”
“And if Rick realizes that,” the other added, “he may try to control the narrative.”
Or people, Jake thought but didn’t say.
They discussed the next steps in low voices. Containment. Documentation. Timing. Who not to notify yet. The conversation stayed disciplined, but the tension threaded through every word.
When the meeting finally broke, Jake stood alone again in his office. He crossed to the windows, the city darkening beneath a thickening sky. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. Jake rested his hand against the glass.
This wasn’t just a corporate problem anymore.
It was a collision course.
And the storm was already moving in.
* * * * * * * * * *
By early evening, the sky had turned the color of slate. The golden sky faded to gray, then to something heavier. The city skyline blurred as rain began to streak against the glass in uneven lines. Within minutes, it wasn’t rain anymore. It was sheets. The wind hit next, hard enough to make the upper floors groan faintly. Thunder followed, sharp and close, rattling the panes.
Phones began buzzing almost in unison. Weather alerts. Flash flood warnings. Severe thunderstorm advisory.
The bullpen that had still been humming with quiet productivity fifteen minutes ago shifted tone entirely. Chairs scraped back. Laptops snapped shut. Someone muttered about traffic. Another cursed about parking garages that flooded every time it rained too hard.
Jake stepped out of his office, already sliding into leadership mode.
“Check with facilities,” he told a bold member as he passed. “Make sure backup generators are online.”
They nodded without question. Jake moved through the floor deliberately, steady voice cutting through the noise. “If you can head home now, do it. Don’t wait this out unless you absolutely have to. Email me when you’re safe.”
He meant it. One by one, employees grabbed bags and jackets, hurrying toward the elevators before the weather worsened.
Across the bullpen, Vivienne remained seated.
Her desk lamp cast a small circle of light over her tablet and notepad. Multiple tabs still open. She was staring at the screen, though Jake wasn’t convinced she was seeing any of it.
Thunder cracked again, closer this time. The building vibrated. Vivienne flinched. It was small. Quick. Almost invisible.
But Jake saw it.
Her shoulders went tight. Fingers paused mid-keystroke. She exhaled slowly afterward, too slowly. Like she was consciously forcing her body to settle.
He crossed the floor, stopping beside her desk.
“You should head out,” he said calmly.
She glanced up at him, expression composed.
“I just want to finish cleaning up the draft language,” she replied. “It won’t take long.”
Another flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the office in harsh white for half a second before plunging it back into dim gray.
Vivienne’s jaw tightened.
Jake studied her a beat longer.
“That can wait until tomorrow,” he added. “You should head out, really.”
Her lips pressed together faintly.
“I’m not in a rush,” she said.
The truth beneath that was obvious.She didn’t want to go outside.
Another crack of thunder shook the floor, loud enough this time that a few remaining employees jumped audibly. Vivienne’s fingers curled around the edge of her desk. Jake filed it away.
“If you’re staying,” he said evenly, “stay. But text me if you decide to leave. I don’t want anyone heading out alone without letting someone know.”
Her eyes softened at that. “I will.”
He gave one short nod and stepped away, continuing his sweep of the floor.
Rain pounded harder. Wind howled down the side of the building, a low mechanical roar. The skyline disappeared entirely behind a wall of gray.
Emergency alerts buzzed again across multiple phones. Then the lights flickered. Just once. Overhead fluorescents blinked off and back on.
Vivienne froze. Jake saw it from across the room. Her entire body locked.
The hum of electricity returned after a half-second delay, but something in her posture didn’t relax.
Thunder boomed directly overhead. And this time, even from across the bullpen, Jake saw the way her breath hitched.
The second flicker lasted longer. Lights blinked once. Twice. Then everything went dark. Not dim. Dark.
The hum of the building’s HVAC, computers, and overhead lighting died in a sudden, heavy silence that pressed against the ears.
For half a second, there was nothing but rain slamming the windows. Then emergency lighting snapped on. Dull red strips along the baseboards, faint illumination in the hallways. Enough to see shapes.
A few startled voices echoed from down the hall.
Jake was already moving.
“Okay,” he called out, calm and clear. “Emergency protocols. Stairs only. Everyone head to the ground floor conference rooms. Stay together.”
Phones lit up like fireflies in the dim space.
People gathered quickly, nerves sharpening now that the building no longer felt solid and invincible. Another crack of thunder split the air so violently it felt like it struck the roof itself.
Someone swore under their breath. Jake moved fast but controlled, guiding the last of the employees toward the stairwell.
“Let your supervisors know when you’re downstairs,” he told a couple of the supervisors. “Count heads.”
They nodded and disappeared into the stairwell with the others. Within minutes, the floor was nearly empty.
Jake pulled out his phone, signal weak but functioning. One by one, confirmations came in from the ground floor. Accounting? Present. Legal? Present. Operations? Present.
He ticked off names mentally.
Then somebody in the conference room from Internal Relations spoke up. “I think Vivienne Chase was still up there. She’s not down here.”
Jake’s stomach dropped. He turned slowly, scanning the two conference rooms where the remaining employees had gathered. She wasn’t here.
He tried to think back on when he last saw her. He hadn’t seen her join the stairwell group. Which meant she was still upstairs.
Thunder shook the building again.
He didn’t hesitate. Jake shoved his phone into his pocket and headed for the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time, shoes echoing sharply in the concrete shaft.
He reached the landing on the top floor, breath surprisingly steady but pulse elevated, and pushed through the heavy stairway door back onto the darkened floor.
Emergency lights cast long shadows across empty desks. Rain pounded relentlessly.
“Vivienne?” He called, voice carrying in the hollow quiet.
Vivienne was pressed against the wall near the elevators, her back flat against the cool concrete. She wasn’t crying, but she was shaking. Small tremors ran through her arms and legs. Her breathing was shallow, jerky, a rhythm she couldn’t seem to steady no matter how much she willed it.
Thunder cracked overhead, sharp and deafening. She flinched violently, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hands against her chest.
“Vivienne.”
The voice was low. Calm. Steady. Anchored in authority and familiarity. Her body stiffened for half a second, then relief flashed across her face when she realized who it was.
He stopped a few feet away, letting her see him fully before moving closer. He didn’t touch her immediately. He let the silence stretch just long enough to let her register that she wasn’t alone, that she was seen.
“Look at me,” he said finally, quiet but firm.
Her eyes lifted to meet his. Trembling lips parted slightly as she tried to steady herself. He could see the tension in her jaw, the slight quiver in her hands, the faint flush of panic across her neck.
Gently, he brought his hands up, cupping her face on either side. The movement was slow, precise, non-threatening. His thumbs brushed along her cheekbones, anchoring, containing.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured.
It wasn’t a request. It was an instruction delivered with the absolute certainty of someone who knew the difference between control and chaos, someone who would not let her fall into the latter.
He inhaled slowly. Her chest rose against his hands. He exhaled, letting the rhythm carry over her.
“Again,” he said softly.
Vivienne’s hands rose of their own accord, curling into fists in his jacket without permission. He felt them tighten, but he didn’t move them. Just let her cling, let her anchor herself however she needed.
“That’s it. Hold onto me,” he said next. Not a suggestion. Not an option. A command wrapped in care.
Her forehead pressed against the fabric of his chest. She could feel the steady beat of him there, feel the warmth, the unyielding steadiness. Her breath began to even out, slow, deliberate. She matched it to him, inhaling as he inhaled, exhaling as he did.
Jake didn’t speak for a moment. He just held her. Let her come back into herself. He noticed the subtle tremors lingering in her hands, the way her shoulders slumped slightly as the adrenaline started to drain. His own chest rose and fell in slow, controlled rhythm, and she mirrored him without thinking.
After a long beat, he finally added, voice low but firm, almost a whisper meant only for her, “You’re safe. Right here. Nothing is going to hurt you while I’m here.”
She pressed a little closer, her own voice a soft murmur against his jacket. “You always know what to do.”
Jake’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Her words hit him harder than she realized. This wasn’t just fear or gratitude. This was trust. Raw, unguarded trust.
The storm outside still raged, but inside the dim hallway, everything else had faded away. Vivienne’s breath had evened out, her tremors mostly gone, but her hands remained curled into the fabric of his jacket, gripping him like an anchor she wasn’t ready to let go of.
Her eyes lifted to his, and he felt it in the weight of her gaze. She wasn’t looking at him the way she did in the office, or the way a subordinate would. She was looking at him like she trusted him, like he was the only safe place in a world that had already proven itself unstable.
She tilted her head slightly. He instinctively lowered his, just a fraction, until their faces were inches apart. He could feel her breath against the collar of his shirt, warm and still a little uneven.. Her hands still held him, steadying herself, grounding herself, tethering herself to him.
His thumb brushed lightly under her jaw, almost a measurement rather than a caress: steadying her, keeping her in the moment.
He leaned in a fraction more, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to contract around them. The lights, the emergency red glow, the storm…none of it mattered. All he could hear was her breath, feel the warmth of her against him, notice the infinitesimal tilt of her head inviting him closer.
He almost closed the gap, almost crossed the line, almost gave in to the pull that had been building between them.
Then, the lights snapped back on. Harsh fluorescent white cut through the red haze of the emergency lighting. The building hummed, the storm outside felt farther away, and the spell that had been suspended in that small hallway shattered instantly.
Vivienne pulled back first, stepping away just enough to reset the distance between them. Her hands fell from his jacket, smoothing over her sleeves as she tried to pull her professional mask back into place. Her pulse was still quick, her cheeks warm, but her face regained the calm, composed expression of a woman who had just handled a delicate situation.
Jake remained still for a moment, the ghost of their closeness lingering in the warmth of his hands, in the echo of her whispered trust. He let her put that space between them, but the weight of the moment didn’t lift from him.
The almost-kiss wasn’t a mistake. It was a revelation. And neither of them would soon forget it.
-
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I’m mad at myself for binging 8 chapters last night and now having to be on the same schedule as everyone else! This is getting so good! I can’t wait to read what happens next!
Oil & Honor - Chapter 8: The Investigation Deepens
Summary: An emergency board meeting exposes cracks in the company’s foundation. As Jake presents evidence of hidden losses and irregular acquisition spending, long-simmering tensions between him and his father finally rise. Behind closed doors, Jake realizes the investigation is no longer just about corporate misconduct. It’s about leverage, control, and the people Rick is willing to sacrifice to protect himself.
Warnings: Workplace intimidation. Corporate misconduct. Abuse of power. Verbal threats. Coercion and manipulation. References to controlling behavior by an intimate partner (non-graphic)
Word Count: ~3,800
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself and Kaitlyn (@crossskylinesandcontrails)
All other chapters/parts can be found at the series Masterlist at the link HERE
The morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the boardroom’s polished table in sharp, glittering lines. The city sprawled beyond, unaware of the storm gathering inside. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the other board members settled into place, senior acquisition officers murmuring quietly among themselves. Vivienne sat deliberately near the center of the table, her tablet and notes arranged with careful precision. The whispers and subtle glances darted her way did not go unnoticed by her. Some of the…shall we say more experienced men on the board were acting as though someone had smuggled her into a meeting she technically shouldn’t be in.
Jake entered quietly, the soft click of his shoes echoing through the room. A nod here, a quick handshake there. He didn’t need theatrics. Authority followed him without effort. His gaze swept the room, resting momentarily on each member, and then settled on the seat across from Vivienne. He didn’t sit. Not yet. First, he wanted to set the tone.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began, his voice calm, measured. “I’ve been reviewing the recent acquisitions, and I’ve identified some material inconsistencies that require immediate attention.”
Murmurs ran around the table. Heads tilted toward him. Pens hovered midair. Everyone sensed the gravity in the words he was saying. Jake didn’t need to raise his voice to get people’s attention.
He continued, eyes briefly flicking to Vivienne.
“Specifically, the drilling site acquisitions approved last fiscal year. On paper, the allocated budget came in slightly under. In reality…” His voice didn’t falter. “…the company is over by nearly thirty million dollars. Additionally, profits from last year’s new acquisitions are down fifteen million.”
The room shifted. Whistles of disbelief were muted but there. Eyes flicked between the numbers projected onto the screen and the man who had just dropped them.
Jake let the silence linger long enough to weigh it down. Rick cleared his throat, the sound sharp and practiced.
“Jake, these are normal risks in acquisitions of this scale. You’re overreacting.” His hand swept vaguely toward the slides. “Margins fluctuate. Timelines adjust. That’s business.”
Jake didn’t rise to the bait. His gaze remained steady, the calm anchor in the storm.
“All acquisitions of this size,” he said deliberately, “require majority board approval. I’ve identified a deal that appears to have not been brought before the board at all.”
Rick’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“And why, exactly, are we escalating this publicly?” He asked, looking around the room as if to gauge how much support he had from the people in the room. Then he glanced at Vivienne. “And why is Investor Relations in this meeting?”
Every head turned. A few eyebrows rose. The subtle tension in the air tightened like a drawn bowstring. Vivienne kept her hands folded on the table, breathing measured, face neutral, but inside, her pulse quickened.
Jake didn’t hesitate. “Because if this impacts shareholder confidence, she needs to be prepared.”
Rick’s jaw ticked.
“There’s nothing to tell investors,” he said, voice low but firm, intended to land as directive.
The words hung in the air like smoke. Vivienne felt it immediately, the ethical weight of it. Hiding losses could cost investors millions. She tensed, every principle she’d trained herself to uphold flaring bright.
Jake’s eyes locked on Rick’s. His voice remained calm, but it cut sharper than any raised tone could. “We don’t bury losses.”
A silence fell heavier than before. The board members shifted in their seats, processing, recalculating, feeling the gravity settle. Rick’s knuckles whitened on the edge of the table, but he made no further protest. The power in the room had shifted, subtle but unmistakable. Jake didn’t need to raise his hand. His control was already evident.
Minutes later, the room had agreed: an internal review would be initiated immediately. Documents would be pulled, transactions audited, and the irregularities examined. It was procedural, safe on paper, but the statement carried more weight than any memo could. Jake remained calm, collected, yet his mind was already running through contingencies, alliances, and possible cover-ups.
Rick leaned back, jaw tight, but his measured composure barely concealed the tension. He had just been faced with the first real challenge to his authority, and it had come from his own son.
The hum of conversation and the scrape of chairs filled the boardroom as members began to filter out. Vivienne gathered her tablet, her notes, and her pen, arranging everything neatly in her arms. Her heart still thumped from the tension, Rick’s dismissive tone replaying in her mind, but she moved out of the room, determined not to let it rattle her too much.
Jake stepped closer as she headed for the door. His hand brushed lightly against her arm. Not enough to startle, but enough to anchor her attention.
“Don’t change what you’re doing,” he said quietly, his voice carrying just enough weight to remind her that someone saw her, noticed her work, and valued it. “You’re doing perfect.”
Vivienne’s chest lifted slightly at the words. They weren’t loud or dramatic, just measured, but in the aftermath of the meeting, it was exactly what she needed. She met his gaze and offered a small, grateful smile.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Rick cleared his throat from across the room, a sharp sound that pulled Vivienne’s attention back to the tension she had been trying to leave behind. His eyes were on Jake, and the faint tightening of his jaw made it clear he hadn’t finished with him yet.
“Jacob,” Rick began, voice even but carrying a clear edge. “Can I have a word with you in private?”
Jake’s brow lifted almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment that he understood the gravity of what Rick was asking. His hand lingered briefly near Vivienne’s arm before he released her, giving her a final reassuring glance.
Vivienne exhaled softly, feeling the knot in her shoulders loosen just a fraction. The meeting had been public, the accusations subtle yet pointed, but Jake’s presence had steadied her. Even in that brief moment of touch from him, she felt the tight coil of fear and doubt unwind a little. She straightened her posture, taking a deliberate step toward the door, determined to carry herself with the professionalism she prided herself on.
As Jake followed his father back toward the front of the room for their private conversation, Vivienne lingered a moment longer, making sure her composure was intact before slipping out.
The hallway beyond the boardroom felt quieter, almost too still, the contrast highlighting the tension she had just endured. She exhaled, reminding herself she had done what needed to be done, and survived.
* * * * * * * * * *
Rick glanced over his shoulder, ensuring no one lingered in the hallway outside the conference room. Satisfied, he closed the door behind him, the click of it sounding louder than it should have in the quiet space. The polished mask of calm authority he wore in the boardroom slipped immediately, leaving the raw edge of a man used to getting what he wanted.
“You’re undermining me,” Rick said, voice low but sharp. “Grandstanding in front of the board. Trying to make me look incompetent so you can move up faster. I’ve seen the way you operate, Jacob. I know your game. And it won’t work.”
Jake remained calm, arms relaxed at his sides, the tension in his jaw the only hint of how seriously he was processing the words. He didn’t flinch at the accusation.
Instead, he asked one simple question, steady and direct. “Did you approve the Waco drilling site acquisition without approving it with the board?”
Rick’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer immediately. The pause was long enough for the silence to feel like a confession. Jake’s gaze never wavered. The lack of denial said everything he needed to know.
Rick finally shifted, pivoting with the practiced ease of a man used to controlling the narrative.
“You think this investigation is going to make you CEO tomorrow? Think again,” he said, his tone silky but lethal. “If this continues, you will not see that permanent title. The board can be influenced, persuaded even, to side with me. And don’t forget, Jake, I know how to play my cards.”
Jake’s expression tightened just slightly, the cold precision in his eyes hardening.
Rick leaned in, voice dropping even lower, a venomous undertone threading his words. “And if you’re going to jeopardize my position and my reputation over some accounting technicality, don’t expect me to protect your little girlfriend when this blows up in your face.”
The words landed like ice water. Jake’s body went still. His hands flexed, but he didn’t speak immediately. When he finally did, his voice was calm, measured, but it cut through the tension like steel.
“Vivienne is an employee. Nothing more to me.”
Rick smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, but there was no warmth in it.
“You’re not as subtle as you think,” he said, voice laced with mockery. He circled Jake slightly, as if studying him, before letting the words he wanted hang in the air like a threat. “Always liked girls who kissed your ass, didn’t you? Don’t think she won’t be easy to remove if this gets out. This stays with the board and only the board.”
Jake’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, ice creeping through his veins. He had expected corporate machinations, backroom politics, even subtle sabotage. But Rick had weaponized Vivienne, making her leverage against him, and it changed the game.
“You’re playing with fire,” Jake said evenly. “And you just told me you’re willing to hurt someone else to protect yourself.”
Rick’s eyes gleamed.
“Don’t twist my words. I’m protecting what’s mine.” He paused, then leaned back slightly, the smirk lingering. “But you…you’ve got to be careful. The board listens. The shareholders listen. And if she opens her mouth…well, you know how expendable people can be.”
Jake’s expression didn’t betray the storm inside, but he had heard enough. The calculation of consequences, the threat to Vivienne, the stakes for the company…all of it had shifted from numbers on a spreadsheet to something personal. He didn’t respond, didn’t let Rick see that his words had landed.
Instead, he turned, smooth and deliberate, and walked to the door.
“I have work to do,” Jake said simply, letting the subtext hang in the air. The click of the door behind him as he left was final, leaving Rick alone in the empty hallway with only his pride and his schemes.
But something fundamental had changed. This was no longer just about acquisitions or profit margins. Rick had drawn a line, using Vivienne as a weapon to control, to intimidate, and to manipulate. And Jake understood, as he stepped back into the office floor, that protecting her was no longer optional, it was essential.
As he walked down the hall, his mind was already running through contingencies, strategies, and protections. Vivienne’s safety within the company wasn’t just a side concern anymore; it was a central variable in every decision he would make.
The game had changed. The boardroom, the company, even the potential rise to CEO, it all existed now in a landscape Rick had poisoned with threats. And Jake, for the first time in a long while, recognized that the stakes weren’t abstract numbers anymore. They were human.
Vivienne, even unaware in her office on another floor, was now the line in the sand.
* * * * * * * * * *
Jake closes his office door with more care than force. Morning light spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretching out beneath him in clean lines and sharp angles. Glass and steel. Order and geometry. From up here, everything looks smaller. Manageable.
It always has.
Jake pauses near the window, hands resting loosely at his sides. He doesn’t sit yet. He never thinks best when he’s boxed in. Even now, part of him registers the altitude instinctively…the distance from the street, the illusion of air beneath him.
It’s why he learned to fly.
Not for the thrill. Not for the prestige. But because his mind had always worked better when the world fell away and patterns revealed themselves. Up in the sky, noise disappeared. Decisions sharpened. You couldn’t afford to panic at thirty thousand feet. You assessed. Adjusted. Executed.
Same rules applied here.
His jacket comes off first, draped over the back of the chair. Then his watch. Small rituals. Grounding ones. Control before descent.
Jake finally moves to his desk. He doesn’t sit but instead braces himself with his left hand while his right begins pulling up acquisition approvals from the past three years, including every deal north of five million. He filters by region, then state. Then narrows it down to the Waco acquisition.
There it is. The drilling site acquisition looks harmless at first glance. Green indicators. Clean approvals. Closed and archived. Jake opens the approval chain. Rick’s signature appears first. Expected.
Next, a junior board member who never pushed back when Rick framed something as time-sensitive.
Then Jake stills. Charles Seresin. His grandfather’s name. He scrolls to the date, already knowing what he’ll find.
The week his grandfather had the heart attack. Spent four days in the hospital. Most of which under varying levels of medication. His grandfather had barely slept or eaten that week.
And although Jake was still active duty and not involved in the company at that point he knows his grandfather would not have approved a drilling acquisition of that size without a detailed briefing.
He then begins searching through the system access history. Each employee’s signature is associated with a specific login and ID number that’s unique to each individual, then has to be finalized with a 4 digit PIN. Rick couldn’t have known all of the login information for Charles to put his name on this. Or at least shouldn’t have known it.
The city beyond the glass fades as his focus narrows, the way it used to in the cockpit when turbulence hit. Calm hands. Steady eyes.
The timestamp jumps out at him.
12:12 p.m.
Impossible. His grandfather had been taken back to the operating room for a four and a half hour bypass procedure at 11:00am that day. He would have been under anesthesia and on an operating table at that time. He wouldn’t have been able to authorize a deal.
He continues to dig deeper. Then he sees it. An internal override. Admin-level authorization. A bypass used only when a senior executive is marked “temporarily unavailable.”
Jake leans back slowly. Someone had flagged Charlie as unavailable. Someone with clearance. Someone who knew that Charlie would have likely not approved the acquisition, and knew that he would be in surgery at that exact same time.
That left just one person who it could have been.
Jake lets his gaze drift back to the sky, to the thin ribbon of clouds cutting across the horizon. Up there, mistakes compound fast. You either acknowledge them early or you spiral.
Rick hadn’t miscalculated. He’d gambled.
Jake opens a blank document. He doesn’t address it to the board. He types one name at the top instead. Charles Seresin. His grandfather. Founder. Chairman. The one person who’d taught him everything he knew about leadership and morals.
Jake drafts the document carefully. Listing facts only, and being careful to exclude personal opinions. He includes things like dates, time stamps, and override permissions. Things that he can prove with data to his grandfather, the board, or whoever else he needs to about what he’s found.
Near the end, he writes one measured sentence:
I believe this acquisition was approved without proper board consent during your absence last year.
He attaches the documentation he’s found. Encrypts the file to ensure that only himself and his grandfather can access and view it. Marks it private.
As he prepares to send it, Rick’s voice echoes unbidden in his head. The threat. The casual cruelty. The way he’d used Vivienne’s name like leverage.
Jake adds one final line to his personal notes:
Protect Vivienne Chase.
Because this stopped being theoretical the moment Rick crossed that line.
He hits send. And somewhere deep in his chest, the calm of altitude settles in.
* * * * * * * * * *
It’s later that afternoon when Vivienne knocks on Jake’s door. Jake looks up from his desk. The light outside has shifted, sun lower now, cutting across the skyline in pale gold. He’d been staring at the same email for several minutes without really seeing it.
“Come in,” he says.
Vivienne steps inside, tablet tucked against her chest.
“I’ve updated the investor language drafts,” she says, moving closer. “Nothing final. Just contingencies. Ethically, once the investigation into the Waco drilling concludes, we’ll need to disclose the acquisition irregularities and the projected impact.”
Jake nods once. He doesn’t reach for the tablet to review what she’s come up with, which she’s slightly taken aback by.
“That’s the right instinct,” he says. Then, after a beat he adds,“But don’t send out anything yet.”
Vivienne gives him a questioning look, but nods. “Okay.”
“I want to keep this contained until I finish my full investigation. Don’t loop anyone in on what we know without consulting me.”
“Jake,” she says, carefully, “when you say no one… you mean no one?”
He meets her gaze, and holds it.
“Yes.”
Her brows draw together. “Not even Rick? I mean as the current CEO…”
She stops as she notices the look on Jake’s face. The way his jaw tensed and he stilled at the mention of his father.
Vivienne’s breath catches just slightly. “You think he’s involved.”
It’s not accusatory. She’s just trying to understand the terrain she’s standing on.
Jake exhales through his nose, slow and controlled.
“I think,” he says, “that until I know exactly who touched the numbers, I’m not assuming anyone is off the table.”
Her stomach drops. She’d assumed that this was some faceless board member. A quiet override somebody tried to bury.
Not Rick.
“But he’s—” She stops herself. Reframes. “He’s your father.”
“I know,” Jake says evenly.
Vivienne searches his face. There’s no anger there. Not yet anyway. Just a sharpened calm that makes her suddenly understand why people probably followed him into warzones in a past life.
“And if it is him?” She asks, quieter now.
“Then this needs to be done cleanly,” Jake replies. “By the book. With proof. No leaks. No premature disclosures.”
His gaze stays on the window beyond her shoulder, the city washed pale with afternoon light. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. Not softer, but more contained. Like something deliberately locked down.
“There’s one more thing,” he says.
Vivienne stills.
“If this turns out to be what I think it is,” Jake continues, “you won’t be able to stay on this.”
“On the investigation?”
“On any part of it,” he says. “Formally or informally.”
She turns fully toward him now. “Jake—”
He finally looks at her. Really looks at her. And whatever she sees there makes her stop.
“No one can know you were aware of this,” he says. “Not the board. Not legal. Not him.”
Him. The word lands like a weight.
“You’d remove me,” she says slowly, “because—”
“Because if it’s my father,” Jake cuts in, calm but absolute, “I will have to handle it alone.”
Vivienne’s thoughts race, trying to reorder the last few hours. The boardroom. Rick’s tone. The way his eyes had lingered on her just a beat too long. The sharpness. The warning beneath it.
“This isn’t about trust,” he adds, as if anticipating the question. “It’s about protection.”
Her fingers curl around the edge of the tablet. “Protection for who?”
Jake doesn’t answer. And that’s when it clicks.
Her voice lowers. “He said something to you.”
Jake’s jaw tightens.
“About me,” she presses.
She’s met with silence. It’s not the measured pause she’s come to recognize when he’s choosing his words carefully. This is different.
“Jake,” she says, softer now, “did he threaten—”
“I need you to focus on your role,” he says, cutting in smoothly. Too smoothly. “And your own safety.”
Her pulse stutters.
“That’s not an answer.”
His eyes flick back to hers. There’s something colder there now. Sharper. Controlled to the point of rigidity.
“It doesn’t need to be,” he replies.
Vivienne swallows. “You’re asking me to step back without knowing why.”
“I’m asking you,” he says evenly, “to trust that if this escalates, you are better off not being in the blast radius.”
She exhales slowly, steadying herself.
“Okay,” she says at last. “If you decide I need to step away, I will. But,” she adds, “don’t lie to me about why.”
Something flickers across his expression. Regret maybe. Or anger carefully masked.
“I won’t.” He says. “When I can tell you, I will.”
She shifts her weight then, adjusting her grip on the tablet and that’s when Jake notices it. Her left hand drifts to her right wrist. It’s subtle. Protective. Fingers curling around it like it aches.
Jake’s eyes drop before he can stop them. She’s wearing long sleeves today. Again. Even though it’s in the eighties outside. It’s professional. Most people probably wouldn’t question it. But the way she’s holding herself…it’s too familiar. He’s seen it before. The unconscious guarding.
His jaw tightens.
“Assume that was another accident?” He asks quietly. Almost to himself.
Vivienne freezes. She pulls her wrist back, slipping her hand out of his line of sight.
“It’s nothing,” she says.
Jake nods once. He doesn’t challenge it. Every instinct in him is screaming to ask, to demand, to do something. To ground the problem, isolate the threat, neutralize it. That’s how he’s wired. That’s how he flies. That’s how he leads.
He straightens slightly, keeping his voice even. “Vivienne.”
She looks at him.
“If you need help,” he says, choosing each word carefully, “or if you’re not safe…all you have to do is let me know. Okay?”
She nods once. “Okay.”
They stand there for a moment longer than necessary, the space between them heavy with things neither of them are saying.
Jake finally gestures to the tablet. “I’ll review these tonight.”
“Thank you,” she says.
As she turns to leave, Jake watches her go, the set of her shoulders, the way she holds herself together like a balancing act. The door closes softly behind her. Jake exhales. The office feels colder now.
He looks down at the tablet in his hands, but his thoughts aren’t on investor language or disclosure timelines. They’re on the way Rick had smiled when he’d mentioned her. On the way power had been wielded so casually. On the way Vivienne had flinched without realizing it.
Jake moves back to the window, city spread out beneath him, familiar and distant. Somewhere between the sky and the ground, decisions wait.
-
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Summary: A quiet morning at the office unravels into something far less predictable when Vivienne presents her quarterly update only to find herself under the direct gaze of the company’s soon to be CEO, Jake Seresin.
Warnings: Very light implications of possible emotional or physical abuse (non graphic). Light anxiety. Mild workplace tension/intimidation.
Word Count: ~2,200
Author’s Note: As with every chapter of this story, this was co-written together by myself(rootedinrevisions) and Kaitlyn @crossskylinesandcontrails
All other parts can be found on the Masterlist
The office smelled faintly of roasted coffee and polished wood, a calm that only existed before Dallas fully woke. Vivienne sat at her desk, her laptop open, a neat stack of reports on one side, her coffee steaming in a delicate porcelain cup on the other. The office lights were soft, casting a glow across the minimalist workspace she had curated herself. Everything in its place. Nothing left to chance.
Her eyes scanned the numbers with practiced precision. Profit margins. Quarterly projections. Investor notes. She was familiar with it all. Something caught her attention, a subtle discrepancy in the latest drilling site report. Frowning, she ran a finger along the page double checking formulas and comparing columns. Nothing escaped her notice. Not mistakes. Not patterns. Not the small details everyone else overlooked.
A faint sigh slipped past her lips as she corrected the figures. She rolled up the sleeve of her blouse for comfort, adjusting a thin silver bracelet hidden beneath the cuff. A tiny nervous tick, harmless but revealing the part of her she usually kept tucked away. She glanced at the window, the morning light catching the edge of her desk, and let her shoulders relax just slightly.
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. Other early birds started to trickle in. A few gave quiet greetings as they passed her small office. She’d give them a small smile and then return to her work. She was already deep in her rhythm, having been here since just after seven.
No one else in her department showed up that early. But she liked the stillness. The control she had over the fourteenth floor when it was just her. It was safe. Not too much noise or raised voices. No reason to be on edge. Just a quiet space for her to do her work.
Yet even in this peaceful quiet, there was a tension she didn’t fully let go of. The way she was careful that her sleeves didn’t rise up too much. The faint tremor in her fingers when the vending machine across the hall would make a sudden noise.
By the time the clock on her monitor blinked 8:52, Vivienne had already proofed the drilling site forecast twice, flagged the discrepancy in the risk assessment, and sent three emails she suspected no one else would read until closer to lunch.
She capped her pen, smoothing her sleeve back down over her wrist as she pushed away from her desk. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she made her way toward the break room. The scent of fresh coffee drifted down the hall from the break room, mixing with the murmurs from a few people huddled near the counter. She offered a polite smile, poured herself a small refill, and took a small sip.
Nine o’clock on Mondays meant the weekly leadership meeting. Board members, senior advisors, and anyone unlucky enough to have drawn the short straw for presenting updates to Rick Seresin. Today, that unfortunately included her.
Vivienne exhaled once, letting her shoulders settle into their professional posture. She could do this. She had prepared. She knew the information. She knew there would be a slideshow. She just needed to rattle off some numbers and then she could sit quietly and blend in for the rest of the meeting.
She took a deep breath, and crossed the hall toward the boardroom. She found a seat towards the back of the room, a spot she hoped would help her blend in.
The boardroom had its usual hum. The shuffle of papers as a few people did a final review of what they’d be presenting or the agenda notes that had been sent out in an email Friday afternoon. There were a few whispered conversations drifting across the long table. She thought it might be in regards to a football game based on terms like “turnover” and “fumble” that she heard, but she couldn’t be sure with her almost nonexistent knowledge of any and all sports.
Vivienne was organizing the desktop of her laptop when the air shifted. The door opened. Three men walked in, but only one pulled every set of eyes.
Jake Seresin.
Dark blond hair, sun kissed in a way that didn’t quite make sense for Texas, cut neat but not too neat. Green eyes that scanned the room with an assessing calm. His suit was navy, and looked tailored and expensive. It was sharp enough to hint at “CEO” even if no one had officially said the words yet. He wore no tie. The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, showing a relaxed confidence that contrasted the rigid posture of the man to his right.
His father, Rick Seresin.
And on the other side of Jake stood Charlie. He was older, softer around the edges with eyes that carried the kind of wisdom you didn’t question. As that very wisdom was what had built the company to what it was today.
A low murmur rippled across the room.
“They said it’d be weeks…”
“That’s his son, right? The pilot?”
“I heard he left the Navy.”
Vivienne didn’t look up at first. She kept her posture neutral and professional. But her heartbeat didn’t quite get the memo. Her fingers stilled over the keyboard of her laptop.
When she did look up, Jake’s gaze landed on her. It was steady but curious. Like he was quietly cataloguing the room and each person in it. Something sparked behind those green eyes. Recognition, maybe? Or interest. A flicker of something that made the edges of her nerves tremble.
He gave a subtle nod, polite but warm, before pulling his eyes away from hers. He looked to the men on either side of him. His father and grandfather. Three generations lined up, but only one of them commanded the space.
Rick’s stare was steel. Charlie’s was gentle. Jake’s was effortless but still confident.
Vivienne adjusted her sleeve, tugging subtly to make sure the cuff covered her bracelet. She exhaled slowly, quietly, forcing her shoulders to remain relaxed.
This was supposed to be another regular morning meeting.
But nothing about the way Jake Seresin walked into a room felt regular.
He took a moment at the head of the table, hands resting loosely on the back of his chair as he scanned the room. His father stood beside him like a shadow. His grandfather settled into the first seat near the front with a quiet smile.
“Good morning,” he said, voice even and confident. “For those I haven’t met yet, I’m Jacob Seresin. You can call me Jake.”
A ripple of attention moved across the table. A few exchanged glances, the surprise of so he really is the one stepping in lingering between them.
“I’ve spent the last decade and a half in the Navy,” he continued, “and I just wrapped up my transition out of active duty. I’ll be stepping into the CEO role in the coming months, but I’m starting with today’s meeting to get a sense of where the company stands and the people who keep it running.”
There was a brief beat that seemed to be his way of making sure everyone was with him before he went on.
“I’m here to learn before I lead,” he added, tone steady. “So before we jump into numbers, I’d like to hear who’s in the room. Names, roles, what you handle day-to-day.” Then came a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, more like a reassurance. “I’ll do my part if you’ll do yours.”
Charlie looked at his grandson with a seeming sense of pride. He almost seemed delighted at Jake’s interest in meeting everyone. Rick meanwhile looked at his son with a quiet irritation as he took a seat across from Charlie. He was clearly displeased with the detour.
One by one, employees introduced themselves. Jake nodded along, asked a question or two, took mental notes like he was used to absorbing information fast and retaining all of it. He made his way around the table, and as each person introduced themselves, he met them with a handshake.
When he got to Vivienne, she cleared her throat lightly and willed her voice not to betray the flutter in her chest.
“Vivienne Chase,” she said. “Investor Relations Lead. I manage shareholder communications and help shape the financial narrative for our larger initiatives.”
Jake’s brows lifted just a little. “So you’re the one who keeps the people with the money from losing sleep.”
“Amondg other things,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her mouth.
Their hands lingered in that middle ground for a beat too long, just enough to make her pulse jump. Then she slid her hand back. In the same movement, she tugged her sleeve down where it had slightly risen up.
Jake didn’t comment on it, but something in his expression sharpened. A flick of curiosity he covered almost instantly.
“Pleasure to meet you, Vivienne,” he said, voice smooth but just a shade more gentle now.
After finishing the introductions, Jake stepped back toward the head of the table. He took his place between his father and grandfather, the spot that all but announced future leadership.
The room settled. A few team leads gave quick updates on quarterly numbers, projected year end performance, and a couple of deals that were in the final stages of being completed. Jake listened with an ease that made the older men in the room glance his way more than once.
When the last speaker finished, he looked toward Vivienne.
“Vivienne,” he said, polite but expectant. “Investor feedback?”
She stood, tablet in hand, and the shift in her energy was immediate. She was composed, but tight around the edges.
She started talking quickly, almost mechanically: “Yes, of course. Well, over the last quarter, we’ve had consistent donor…I mean, investor sentiment trending mostly positive, though there are some concerns regarding—”
His father shifted impatiently beside him, clearing his throat. Vivienne’s voice sped up.
“—the projected acquisition timeline, and some shareholders have…have requested more detailed breakdowns on—”
“Vivienne.” Jake’s voice cut in, not sharp, not reprimanding. Just…steady.
She froze. The room stilled with her. Jake’s posture remained relaxed, one arm resting along the back of his chair, the other hand braced casually on the table. No authority display, no posturing. Just control by presence alone.
“Slow down,” he said, the word soft but deliberate. “I want to hear you.”
A few heads lifted in small surprise. There was a clear shift in atmosphere. His father blinked, clearly thrown off by the tone. His grandfather hid something that could almost be approval behind his tired eyes.
Vivienne swallowed. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like that. Kindly. Usually the men on the board dismissed her, if they called on her at all.
She tried again. Slower this time. Clearer.
“Investors are overall confident,” she said, breathing more evenly, “but they’ve expressed concern about communication clarity on acquisition deliverables. They want reassurance that timelines won’t shift again.”
Jake nodded, listening fully now, giving her the space she hadn’t expected.
“That’s important,” he murmured. “Go on.”
And for the first time since she’d stepped into the boardroom, Vivienne felt…visible. Not scrutinized. Not dismissed. Seen.
She took a slow breath and continued, her words gaining steadiness as she laid out the investor feedback. A few notes of concern she’d received from investors, and questions they wanted answered. The room quieted around her as she spoke. There were no interruptions from Rick. No side whispers from other board members. Just the subtle scratch of pens and the occasional nod when appropriate.
Jake leaned back slightly, hands folded in front of him, eyes tracking her with an attentiveness that made her pulse hitch. When she finished, he gave the smallest nod, approving but understated, letting her feel the weight of it.
“Thank you, Vivienne,” he said softly, almost to himself, but loud enough that she caught it.
The edges of her nerves eased, replaced with a rush of warmth. She gathered her notes the moment Jake dismisses the meeting, careful not to rush. Her hands were steady, but her pulse was thudding in her throat as she stacked the printed reports and slid her laptop into her bag. She refused to look toward the head of the table.
The room broke into murmurs behind her. Chairs scraping, people fishing for casual conversations with the new CEO. Someone asked Jake a question about next quarter projections, and he answered easily, his voice warm but confident.
She swallowed and started toward the door. Halfway there, something pulled her attention, something she felt before she gave in to it.
She glanced back. Jake was watching her. Not in the predatory or arrogant way some men in this industry look at women who walk away, but with a quiet and intent focus. Like he was replaying the meeting in his head. Like he’d picked up on things she hadn’t meant anyone to notice.
His arms were folded loosely, posture relaxed. An almost thoughtful crease sat between his brows, like she was a puzzle he didn’t expect to want to solve.
Their eyes caught for maybe half a second. Vivienne felt heat climb her neck and tore her gaze away, pushing out into the hallway with a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Summary: What starts as a casual night out with friends at a small-town bar quickly escalates into a heated drive home. Teasing glances, whispers in ears, and the tension of the road give way to an urgent, passionate encounter in the bedroom. In the storm of desire, Tyler and you find a raw, intimate connection, where need and tenderness collide.
Song Title + Artist: Bedroom - Chase Rice
Character: Tyler Owens (Twisters)
Warnings: Reader discretion advised: this is a graphic work intended for mature audiences only (18+). This fic contains explicit sexual content. Strong language. Alcohol consumption.
Word Count: 3,333
The little bar off Main Street is already humming by the time you and Tyler slide into your usual corner booth. Neon lights buzz overhead, the smell of fried pickles and beer curling through the air, a blend of 90’s country and classic rock spilling from the jukebox. It’s familiar, easy…and somehow charged tonight in a way Tyler can’t pretend not to feel.
You’re in that cotton sundress he likes a little too much. Soft cotton, thin straps, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs every time you shift.
You didn’t choose it because of him. Or maybe you did. But either way, he’s telling himself you wore it for him.
He sits beside you instead of across from you, one arm draped along the back of the booth, thumb brushing your shoulder on instinct. His beer is half empty, but judging by the way his eyes keep flicking down to you, you’re the one making him dizzy.
Your friends chatter around you, laughing about some story from a concert last week. You try to listen, but the bar feels smaller than usual. Warmer. Like Tyler’s body heat is crawling across the vinyl seat and straight into you.
The waitress drops off your drink: margarita with your favorite tequila, a lime wedge, and a salted rim.
Tyler looks at you, and a tiny smirk appears on his lips. Because he knows exactly what happens when you drink tequila.
You lift the glass in a little cheers, take a slow sip, and swirl your tongue across the rim to catch the salt. Tyler watches every second of it. His fingers tighten just slightly behind your shoulders.
“Don’t start,” he murmurs, low enough that only you hear it.
You blink up at him, all fake-sweet innocence. “Start what?”
He gives you a soft huff in response. “You know damn well what, darlin’.”
Another sip. Another swirl of your tongue. Another spark in his eyes.
He leans closer, lips brushing your ear as he speaks. “And I know that smile,” he whispers, voice warm, “and what it’s about.”
A shiver races straight down your spine. You don’t even try to hide the smile this time. You just tilt your head, meet his gaze, and let your teeth graze your bottom lip.
The group’s laughter spikes again, and someone calls out, “You two ain’t makin’ it ’til close, are you?”
You shoot them a dirty look. Tyler just grins and takes another pull from his beer. But his hand drops from the back of the booth to your thigh under the table. His thumb traces lazy circles on your warm skin.
“When you wanna head out?” You murmur, catching the way his brows lift just slightly.
He tips his chin toward your glass. “You just got that one.”
“I can drink fast." You smile, slow and pointed. “We don’t have to stay ‘til two.”
His jaw flexes. He leans in, lips brushing your temple. “We can leave after you finish that one.”
Half an hour later you’ve finished your drink, Tyler’s paid the tab, and you are sliding out of the booth. Your friends call after you, teasing about you two calling it quits so early.
Someone shouts, “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”
Tyler snorts. “Ain’t a damn thing y’all wouldn’t do.”
You’re laughing as you follow him to the door, hand catching his bicep, sundress swaying with every step. The moment you step outside, warm wind rushes over your skin, carrying the smell of rain and electricity.
Tyler looks over and shakes his head once before muttering under his breath, “Lord help me.”
The parking lot lights buzz overhead, casting shadows across his face as he opens the truck door for you. The second you climb in, the skirt of your dress slides up your thigh. Tyler pauses halfway into his seat like the air just left his lungs.
You reach over and trail your fingers along the line of his jaw. “Tyler.”
His eyes flutter. It’s barely anything, but it hits him hard.
“Sweetheart,” he rasps, shutting the door behind him, “are you tryin’ to kill me?”
The truck engine growls to life. You settle back into your seat, heart pounding, thighs still warm from his touch under the table. He glances over at you as he shifts into reverse, eyes dark with something you know all too well.
The second the truck rolls out of the bar’s gravel lot, you feel the tension coil between you and Tyler like a live wire. Tyler’s got one hand on the wheel, the other still resting on your thigh. Warm. Firm. Thumb stroking just a little too slowly to be innocent. The cab smells like his cologne and your body spray, and God, it’s a dangerous mix.
You let a few minutes pass. Let him think he’s got a handle on things. Then you lean over the center console.
“Sweetheart…” He says. It’s a warning, low and already strained.
You pretend not to hear him, your hand sliding up the front of his shirt, fingers brushing the line of his collarbone before drifting down, lower and lower until he inhales so sharply you swear you hear it over the radio.
“Don’t start,” he mutters, voice already wrecked.
“Not trying to start anything,” you whisper against his jaw, brushing your lips over the rough stubble there. “Just want to be close to you.”
“Yeah,” he says, breath shuddering, “well…don’t.”
You grin against his skin, because Tyler Owens only gets bossy when he’s two seconds from losing control. Your hand grazes the hem of his shirt, fingertips dipping underneath.
He jerks the wheel just slightly. “Hey.”
“Hmm?” You blink up at him all innocent again. It’s becoming your favorite game.
He flicks his eyes to the speedometer. You follow his gaze. He’s doing seventy in a fifty five. You bite your lip. He notices. He always notices.
“Sweetheart,” he warns, “you’re gonna make me—”
You kiss his neck. Just a soft press of lips to warm skin. He groans. You keep going. And Tyler completely unravels.
“Okay,” he snaps, voice dropping dangerously low. “Enough.”
You pull back just enough to look at him, heat sparking under your ribs. “Tyler—”
“No.” He shakes his head once, jaw tight. “You do one more thing, and I swear to God…” His knuckles are white on the wheel. “I’ll pull this damn truck over and take you right here on the side of the highway.”
You swallow. “You wouldn’t.”
He meets your eyes just long enough for you to see the truth simmering there. “Try me.”
The air leaves your lungs all at once. The highway stretches ahead. Tyler’s breathing is harsh and uneven, the sound of a man trying to keep his last thread of restraint.
So naturally, you break it. Your hand slides higher on his thigh. His head snaps toward you like he can’t believe you’re that brave, but his breath falters before he can say anything.
“You want me to stop?” You whisper, fingers digging in just enough.
He swears loudly. The kind he only uses when a tornado’s on the ground or when you’re driving him completely out of his mind.
“Baby,” he grits out, “I’m not kidding. I’ll put this truck in park right…”
His voice breaks off into a growl when your lips brush the spot just below his jaw again. You glance at the speedometer again. He’s pushing ninety now.
“Tyler!”
“You wanna keep teasing me?” He says, leaning forward, eyes blown dark. “Gonna make the fifteen minute drive home in five.”
The truck surges forward, and Tyler’s hand slides from your thigh to squeeze it. Tyler takes the last turn to your place a little too fast, gravel crunching under the tires. He kills the engine, breathing hard like the whole fifteen-minute drive was one long test of will he barely passed. You pop the seatbelt and slide out of the cab, dress swaying around your thighs as you head to the porch.
But you don’t even make it three steps. The truck door slams behind you. Tyler’s boots hit gravel. And then you hear him.
“Hey.”
A calloused hand wraps around your wrist, spinning you back toward him. You gasp, half from surprise, half from his eyes that are blown wide, dark with want, pupils swallowing the soft gold around them. Rain beads in his eyelashes, runs down the sharp cut of his jaw.
He doesn’t say a single word before his other hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your bottom lip like he’s been starving for the taste of you all night.
Then he kisses you. Hard. It’s the kind of kiss that steals your breath, your balance, everything. You fist your hands in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer without even thinking. He groans against your mouth, and it’s all the encouragement he needs. He backs you up until your spine gently hits the side of his truck.
The metal is still warm from the drive, humming against your back. Tyler doesn’t break the kiss, not even for air. He angles his body into yours, one arm braced beside your head on the truck, the other still gripping your face like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to drag in a rough inhale, forehead pressed to yours.
“I tried,” he growls, voice low and completely wrecked. “Swear to God, sweetheart…I tried to wait ‘til we got inside.” His fingers slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make your knees go weak. “But I wasn’t lettin’ you get another damn step from me.”
You manage to slip out of his arms long enough to make a half dizzy beeline for the front steps. Your hands are shaking. They’re trembling like hell, and the keys jingle way too loud in the quiet night as you try to separate the right one from the whole metal mess.
“C’mon,” you mutter under your breath, squinting at the keyhole like that’ll help.
You get approximately one second of concentration before Tyler comes up behind you. His hands slide straight onto your hips. His chest hits your back with a low, needy groan that vibrates right through you.
“Tyler,” you breathe, but your voice breaks when his lips brush the side of your throat.
He’s not even pretending to play it cool. He’s been wound tight the whole drive home and now that he has you cornered at your own front door? Yeah, he’s done for.
“I told you,” he murmurs against your skin, “you were gonna pay for that little stunt.”
The key misses the lock again because his mouth finds that spot just under your ear and you swear your knees forget how to support you. Then his hips grind forward, slow but deliberate, and the sound you make is embarrassingly whiny.
He does it again. And again. Just enough pressure to relieve some of that tension, but not nearly enough to help either of you.
“Tyler, you have to stop,” you whisper, forehead pressed to the door.
Tyler smirks against your neck. You can feel it. “It’s what you get for that little stunt in the truck, darlin’.”
The key finally slips into the lock, but your hand is shaking too much to turn it. Not when he’s breathing you in like he’s starving. Not when he’s rolling his hips again, harder this time, a hot curse spilling into your shoulder. For a moment you wonder if he plans on taking you right here on the front porch.
“Open the door,” he growls, voice low, frayed, wrecked.
You try. You really do. But Tyler’s hands slide forward, fingers curling into your waistband…and concentration becomes impossible.
The second the lock finally clicks, Tyler’s hand covers yours on the knob, and he pushes the door open like he’s been waiting his whole life to cross the threshold with you.
You get maybe one step inside before he kicks the door shut behind you, grabs your waist, and spins you around. Your back hits the wood with a soft thud, and he’s already leaning in, already breathing hard, already looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever made sense.
Then he kisses you. Harder than he meant to. Softer than you expected. A perfect mess right in the middle. Your hands fly up, curling into his shirt, and his slide down, following the line of your body like he’s mapping you from memory. He presses closer, chest to chest, hips to yours, every part of him saying we’re not making it far, sweetheart.
You kiss him back with the same hungry, shaky urgency you’ve been holding onto since the truck. His mouth opens against yours, tongue brushing yours, and the heat in your stomach drops straight through you.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, just enough for you to feel the air between you crackle.
“Bedroom,” you breathe.
His smile is sinful. “Lead the way.”
You push off the door and start down the hallway, your heart hammering faster than your feet. You feel him right behind you, close enough that his breath grazes your shoulder every few steps.
Then you reach the middle of the hallway, hook a finger into your straps, and let your dress slide down, pooling at your feet. You glance back over your shoulder just in time to see Tyler stop in his tracks.
His eyes drag over you. Slow. Devouring. Reverent. And then that tongue of his comes out to wet his bottom lip.
“Jesus,” he whispers. “You’re tryin’ to kill me.”
You smirk and take one step backward toward the bedroom.
Tyler doesn’t walk after you. He lunges. In two strides his hands are on your waist again, big and warm and desperate. He presses you up against the hallway wall this time, mouth finding yours in a breathless, almost frantic kiss. His fingers splay across your newly bare skin, roaming, exploring, worshipping. His body cages yours in completely. Nowhere to go, no reason to run.
Your breath hitches when his hands slide lower.
Tyler pulls back just enough to speak against your lips, voice rough enough to shake you.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he says, “and we’re not makin’ it to the bedroom, darlin’.”
You let out a shaky laugh, almost breathless, teasing, “What, can’t wait?”
“Can’t help it,” he muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down your back to hook around your thigh. The other hand cupped your face, tilting it toward his as he kissed you:hard, urgent, claiming. Your nails raked down his shoulders, through the fabric of his shirt, and he shuddered against you. He tasted like the beer he’d drank and something entirely his own: earthy, musky, undeniably Tyler.
Your own hands wandered, sliding under his shirt, mapping the hard planes of his chest, feeling the tension that had built all evening. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, and it mirrored your own. Every brush of his fingers, every press of his lips, seemed to light sparks along your nerves, each one demanding more.
The hallway blurred around you both as he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist without thought. He backed you toward the bedroom door, spinning on his heel to close it behind you. The click of the lock was lost beneath the storm of kisses and whispers spilling between you.
“Been thinkin’ about this all damn day,” he murmured, voice thick with desire, lips grazing your jaw as he pressed you into the wall.
“And I was waiting,” you whispered back, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below his ear.
Tyler groaned low, the sound vibrating through his chest against you. His hands slid lower, tracing the line of your spine, fingertips ghosting over the swell of your hips, the softness of your thighs. You shivered, catching your balance on the back of his shoulders as he shifted you closer, pressing you to the doorframe with a need that matched your own.
Clothes became an afterthought. His shirt hit the floor first, the fabric discarded as his hands explored freely. You tugged at your underwear, sliding it off, letting it fall in a pool at your feet. The sight of you, finally bare before him, made something deep in his chest tighten. He licked his lips, eyes dark, then dove back into kissing you, mouth claiming yours with an urgency that left you dizzy.
Your hands roamed down his back, catching the belt loop of his jeans, tugging him flush against you. He hissed into your mouth at the contact, his own fingers gripping your hips with intent, lifting, pressing, holding. Every brush of his body against yours sent a jolt up your spine.
His hands didn’t hesitate. One slid up your back, over your shoulder, tangling in your hair, while the other guided you to the edge of the bed. You fell onto it, and he followed immediately, pressing you down with the weight of him, lips traveling across your collarbone, chest, neck…every inch of you set alight.
You gasped, hand threading into his hair again as his lips brushed over a spot that made your stomach coil. Tyler paused for a fraction, looking up at you, eyes searching. In that second, there was tenderness, the raw connection behind the heat, a glance that said he was just as caught up in this as you were. He kissed you softer, lingering on your lips just for a moment.
Hands moved faster, exploring more, every brush of his skin against yours making you ache. The urgency in the room was palpable, messy, hungry. You met it with your own, arching against him, curling fingers in the sheets as he pressed closer. The sound of your moans mixed with the low growls and whispers he let slip, each one fanning the fire higher.
The headboard hit the wall with a muted thud, a rhythmic percussion to your frenzy. Tyler’s movements were fierce, but threaded through the intensity were flashes of care. A hand paused to brush a damp curl from your face, a thumb grazing your cheek as he captured your lips in a slower, more sensual kiss. You melted against him, grounding yourself in those fleeting moments of tenderness before the need overtook you again.
“You’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, lips nipping at your ear. “All damn day thinkin’ ‘bout this.”
“Then don’t stop,” you breathed, letting him know exactly what you wanted.
The minutes that followed were a blur of heat and skin, of whispered names and desperate touches. Every gasp, every shiver, every shudder of your body against his became a testament to the rawness between you. The storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest you two had conjured inside that small bedroom.
Finally, spent and tangled in each other’s arms, Tyler pulled you close, the soft rumble of his chest vibrating through you as he tucked you against him. Your sweat slicked skin pressed together, the warmth between you both wrapping around like a cocoon.
“Don’t need nothin’ else but this,” he murmured low, lips brushing your hair as you let yourself drift, heartbeat slowly syncing with his.
Outside, the storm softened, rain tapping against the windows, but inside, the world had narrowed down to the two of you, tangled in the sheets and in each other, the heat of the night giving way to a quiet, intimate calm.
You nuzzled into him, breath still ragged, a smile tugging at your lips.
“Not gonna lie,” you murmured, “this is exactly what I was thinking about all day.”
Tyler chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound vibrating through your side. And with that, you let sleep take you, tangled and warm, the storm outside fading into nothing more than background noise, the two of you cocooned in your own little world.
-
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Summary: After a decade busting her tail and several tours, Lena is more than ready for some quality time back home in Texas with her family. Her brother, Jake just happens to be coming home for some much needed leave time after a high stakes mission... and bringing his wingman home with him to recoup. Little did she know her brother was playing wingman on the ground...
Word Count: 4879
Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC Elena "Lena" Seresin, Jake Seresin
Warnings: None in this part, just fluff. will update in each part.
A/N: I don’t own Top Gun Maverick characters but I do own reader OCs characters and original plot lines. I do NOT give permission to copy, translate, sell, repost to other sites, paste into an AI Generator, or any other forms of plagiarism. DO NOT STEAL MY WORK. Don’t be an asshole. Reblogs are welcomed. My blog is 18+ minors DNI.
Masterlist (and tag list if you want to join)
Elena
She moved to Nashville 10 years ago, fresh out of high school and dreaming of a career in country music. The first 2 years she’d waited tables to pay the bills, singing whenever and wherever she could find an open mic night. Pretty typical for anyone who dreams of stardom. Elena had always loved music and performing. Her parents had her singing in the church choir from a very young age. It was there she discovered her love of singing and making music for others. From then on, she performed in school, at the county fairs… basically anywhere she could find someone to listen to her. Her grandpa taught her to play guitar and her momma made sure she got piano lessons. She was blessed that she had such a supportive family. They’d always encouraged her to follow her dreams and go wherever her heart led.
She got her big break when she was filling in one night for the regular lead singer in the bar she worked at part time. Elena felt like she was flying that night while she sang her heart out. By that point, she’d gotten pretty discouraged and had been on the brink of throwing in the towel and going home in defeat. She decided that night that she would sing her heart out and pray that the right person heard her. As luck would have it, they did.
A talent scout for Capitol Records happened to be in the audience that night and had recorded one of her sets. He’d sent the recording to the company and they liked what they heard. After signing with them, they asked her to play more songs that she had written and ended up loving them. Her first album was almost completely her own songs, which wasn’t all that common anymore.
It’s been 8 years now of non-stop touring, promoting singles, writing music, and recording. Which is why she was now on a plane heading home to Austin, Texas. She was in need of the month-long vacation she was about to get. She used to dream about exotic vacations once she’d made it big, but now that she’d spent the last 8 years traveling all over the world, the only place she wanted to be was home.
As soon as she stepped off the plane she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She headed into the airport and down to where she knew her family would be waiting for her. The closer she got to them, she felt more and more at ease. After getting stopped a handful of times to take pictures and sign a few autographs, she finally made it to the arrivals section of the airport and immediately saw her parents. She knew her twin brother Jake was supposed to be flying in the next day from California. Her older sister was probably wrangling her own set of twins back at the ranch.
“Lena!” Jake yelled, rushing toward her and scooping her up into a bear hug.
“I’ve missed you so much Jakey!” She said with tears forming in her eyes. It’d been about 9 months since she’d last seen him, which for them felt like a lifetime. While she's extremely close with both of her siblings, she’s the closest with Jake.
“You’re supposed to come tomorrow!” She laughed, hugging him tightly. “But damn, I’m so glad you’re here.”
“The plan was always to surprise you.” He replied, smirking when he pulled back, “Gotta keep you on your toes, Shortcake!”
She laughed, rolling her eyes at her brother as he set her down. She had missed this more than she could put into words. Between her touring schedule and him being stationed in San Diego, or off in the middle of the ocean… or who knows where, it was always hard to find time for them to plan time together.
“Come here baby girl!” her mom said with her arms out. As soon as she was in her embrace her entire world felt right again. It was amazing the power a mother had. “It’s so good to have you home!”
“It’s good to be home Momma!” She said, “I’ve missed y’all so much.” Her mom released her and her dad stepped forward to pull her into a tight embrace. The tears were really threatening to spill now.
The trip home didn’t take long at all. Mom filled her in on all she’d missed and changes around Austin. Dad caught her up to speed on everything new on the ranch. Jake caught her up to speed on what was new in his life… and let her know he’d brought a friend home on leave. The last mission had been rough and they both needed some time away to regroup. They way he looked at her when he told her about him let her know he was maybe up to something.
“So Elena James, what are your plans for the next month?” Mom asked teasingly using her stage name.
“First of all, for the next month, I’m just me… Lena Seresin, not Elena James. Second of all… I don’t really know what my plans are yet. I know I want to catch up with friends. I want help out at home and spend as much time on the lake as possible, but other than that, I’m playing it all by ear.” She replied.
Being able to just be herself for the next month was going to be refreshing. She’d spent the majority of the last ten years as Elena James, and somehow lost Lena along the way.
“Can we expect Carson to visit while you’re here?” Her mom asked.
“No, Momma” She replied, sighing, “That is completely over. For good this time.”
She knew her parents weren’t crazy about Carson, and honestly he hadn’t made a great impression on them. They’d dated on and off for about three years. In the beginning he’d been the perfect boyfriend. Very attentive and supportive. In the last year though, he’d gotten to the point where he’d sulk if her record sales were higher, or if her tours drew more people. He’d made a name for himself in the industry over the last several years and it wasn’t a great one. The final nail in the coffin of our rocky relationship when she’d caught him in the middle of a three-way backstage at an award show. Needless to say that night hadn’t ended well. Looking back on it, she’d realized she wasn’t in love with him at that point and she wasn’t all that heartbroken. She was more angry at him for being an insecure dirt bag, but she was angry at herself for letting it go on as long as it did. The looks of pity from other artists and the stage crew that night would forever haunt her. It was one of the reasons she’d pushed her manager to give her the time off. She needed to lick her wounds and refocus herself on her career and where she wanted to be in the future.
“Good” Her dad said, “You’re too good for the likes of that spineless, good for nothing, excuse of a man”
“Clearly nobody is too heartbroken that things didn’t work out then” She said, laughing, “Maybe y’all could speak up next time if you don’t like who I’m dating. You always did when I was a teenager.”
“Wasn’t our place sweetheart,” Her momma said gently, “You’re all grown up now and it’s our job to let you find your own way.”
“Don’t worry Shortcake” Jake said, “We’ll step in next time and make sure we talk some sense into you”
“Thanks Jakey,” She said laughing.
Her dad turned down their driveway leading to the house. Her parents lived outside of town and had over 100 acres of land. There was a lake that backed up to the ranch and the house was built closer to the lake. The stables with the horses and everything else went the other way. The house was a two-story farmhouse with a wrap around porch that looked out over the water.
“We’ve invited the neighbors and some other friends over for a barbeque tomorrow night to celebrate having y’all home for the first time in forever.” Momma said, “You’ll have this afternoon to get settled and connect with friends, but I’ll need your help tomorrow, Lena”
“It’ll be good to see everyone," she said, “But I think I wanna stick close to home tonight. I have a month to catch up with everyone…this is my first night home with my family. Besides, I’ve missed the hell out of my niece and nephew and I plan on spoiling them rotten this month.”
“I’m sure your sister will be so thrilled to hear that.” Her mom laughed. “They’ve already taken quite a shine to Bradley. I think they’re going to be good for him.”
“He doesn’t really have any family left.” Jake offered, “His parents are both gone and he’s an only child. I think he has a few cousins. And just recently reconnected with his godfather who he was close to growing up.”
“That poor sweet boy.” Their mom cooed from the front, causing their dad to chuckle. One thing everyone knew for sure… Mae Seresin was a mama through and through… didn’t matter if they were her own kids or not. If someone needed a mom… she was gonna be the one to take them in and give them all the love and nurturing they could handle. Jake had known what he was doing bringing his friend home to their mom for their leave. “We’ll have him right as rain before y’all have to head back to San Diego and as far as I’m concerned that boy has a family now. You make sure he knows that, Jacob Seresin.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Jake said, amusement clear on his face.
Lena looked at her brother and smiled, shaking her head.
“I hope you let him know what he was in for at least.” She said softly.
“Now where’s the fun in that?” He asked, nudging her and smiling. “I did warn him about the twinadoes though.”
“Well that’s something I guess.” She laughed.
The truck pulled up to the house and stopped. Said twinadoes came flying out of the house with their mom trailing behind, looking both exasperated and amused. Laughing, Lena hopped out of the truck and opened her arms for the wild duo to tackle her, nearly knocking her to the ground. She was able to keep her balance though, holding tight to them.
“Oh my goodness! You two have gotten so big!” She exclaims hugging them, “I’ve missed you so so much.”
“Auntie Lena! Wanna go swimmin’?” Owen asked, “Momma said we had to wait.”
“Owen, let Auntie get settled.” Her sister laughed, shaking her head, “She’s home for a whole month!”
“You can sleep in my room at our house!” Emma offered, flashing her sweet dimpled smile.
“That’s a fantastic offer, Ladybug.” She told her niece, smiling, “But I think Nana and Papa are wanting me to stay here at the ranch. But one of these nights we can have a sleepover!”
“Ok!” She happily agreed.
“Wanna help me carry everything up to my room?” Lena asked her niece and nephew. They immediately jumped in to help. Having the distraction, she was finally able to hug her sister.
“I missed you, Kate” She said, smiling when they pulled apart.
“Missed you too, Little Sister.” She replied, “Let’s get you settled.
“Hurry up and get settled then come find me. I want to introduce you to Bradley.” Jake said, smiling. There was that look in his eyes again that he had in the first time he’d mentioned his friend to her. Lena was really starting to get suspicious.
“Ok… you’re being weird, Jakey.” Lena laughed, “I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”
“How am I being weird?” He called after her, laughing. She’d already followed Kate into the house though, the door closing behind her.
*****
Bradley
He watched from the other side of the porch, out of view and out of the way as Jake arrived back with his parents from picking up his sister from the airport. Since getting in the night before, his mom had fussed over Bradley, which had amused him, but wasn’t something he was used to anymore. When Jake suggested that Bradley come back to Texas with him for leave he’d been shocked. They hadn’t exactly been close prior to the mission… they’d actually butted heads more than anything any time they were in the same place too long. The Hangman that he’d come to know over the years though wasn’t exactly matching up with the Jake he’d seen since coming here.
When he saw the twins fly off the porch full speed he’d chuckled softly. He was really enjoying Jake’s niece and nephew. His eyes widened and his breath caught though when he saw who they ran to. Jake had failed to mention that his sister was Elena James… arguably one of the most successful female country artists of their generation. She actually crossed genres, which made her even more successful. Jake looked over to where he was standing, spotting him, he smirked, seeing his reaction, before turning his attention back to his sister.
Once she’d gone inside with her sister, Jake made his way over to him.
“So… I have a twin sister.” Jake chuckled, “The world knows her as Elana James. Here… she’s just Lena Seresin.”
“There’s two things in there, Hangman.” Bradley said, shaking his head with a shocked but amused smile, “First of all… why didn’t you tell anyone you had a twin sister? And as much as you like to brag about everything else, this seems like it would be the perfect thing to brag about.”
“She’s not Elana James to me.” He shrugged, “She’s Lena. I’m fiercely protective of her and my sister has never been nor will she ever be something I use for clout. I’ve mentioned having sisters… I figured if I gave away too much information someone might figure it out…make the connection.”
“And you’re trusting me with this.” Bradley said, looking at the other man who he was realizing had somehow become his friend. “I’m assuming Coyote knows too…”
“I brought you home, Bradshaw.” Jake laughed, “I trust you. And yes, Javy knows. He’s been with me to go see Lena on tour when our leaves have matched up.”
“Thanks.” He replied, offering a sincere smile. “For trusting me… and for asking me to come with you… I think I needed this.”
“It’s no problem, Man.” He replied, offering his own sincere smile. “I know that mission was a lot… and you’ve been working through some things outside of the mission. This is a great place to work through things…and my Mama will make sure you’re well fed and mothered in the process. You can stay the whole leave or head back early if you want time with Mav… whatever you need.”
“I’ll play it by ear.” Bradley replied, feeling a weight be lifted from his shoulders. Just having options and being in control of something right now is what he needed. He had to admit though, being around a family, especially one that seemed as close and loving as this one, held a lot of appeal. It had been a long time since he’d experienced a family.
“You’re in the cockpit here, Bradley.” Jake said, understanding his need for control. “In the meantime, as soon as Lena is settled she’s coming down. I told her I wanted to introduce the two of you.”
“Ok…yeah….” Bradley said, clearing his throat, “Sounds good.”
“Are you nervous, Bradshaw?” Jake teased, amusement clear in his expression.
“Laugh it up, Seresin.” Bradley said, rolling his eyes, “You could have warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He asked, smirking, “Relax… she’s just Lena… honestly, she’s about as dorky as you are. I promise.”
“Jakey, your flattery is as lovely as ever.” Lena laughed, walking over to them on the porch. She stopped, standing next to her brother, smiling at the man he’d just been tormenting. “You must be Bradley. It’s nice to meet more of Jake’s friends…other than Javy. I’m Lena.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Bradley said, a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. “To be honest, until he invited me to come here with him, I didn’t even know he had a twin sister… wasn’t even sure he had siblings at all.”
“That does not surprise me at all.” She laughed, shoving her brother, “Jake keeps pretty closed up about work to us too… so it tracks that he’d keep tight-lipped about family while at work.”
“I can understand it though.” Bradley said, in Jake’s defense. “I’d want to keep my family protected from all the garbage we experience from the Navy too.”
“So I hear my brother kidnapped you for the month of leave?” Lena smiled softly. “I can promise this is a great place to regroup and relax.”
“He’s not being held hostage.” Jake laughed, “He came on his own free will.”
“I’m sure there was some smooth talking.” Lena smirked, then looked at Bradley, her expression softening, “I’m glad you’re here. Jake doesn’t talk about work… but the fact that he’s home for a month's leave and staying for all of it tells me all I need to know about y’all’s last mission.”
“It was… different.” Bradley agreed, not giving away any details. He looked at Jake who offered a half smile. “But I’m glad to be here too. So far it feels easier to breathe.”
“Lots of wide open space here, Bradshaw.” Jake said, “All the fresh air you need to clear that head.”
“And a mother hen who will make sure you’re well fed and loved on while here too.” Lena added, smiling softly at him. “If you get overwhelmed, just let Jake or me know… we can help run interference. She means well, but can be a little intense sometimes.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He replied offering his own smile, “It’s… been a long time since I’ve had anyone lookin’ after me… and I won’t lie, it’s been nice so far eating actual home cooked food again. Takeout, vending machine food and Mess Hall food gets old.”
“You need cookin’ lessons while you’re here, Bradshaw.” Jake laughed, “It’s a damn shame you’re a grown man living off takeout and the crap you find on base.”
“I can make a few things my mom taught me… before she died.” Bradley defended himself. “I’m not totally helpless. I just… don’t bother since it’s just me.”
“Jakey stop bullying him.” Lena said, glaring playfully at her brother, then sending a teasing wink to Bradley. “Don’t let him fool you, Bradley… unless there’s been a miraculous change since the last time we’ve all spent time home, Jake can’t cook all that well either. He can grill decently but his kitchen skills aren’t that brag worthy.”
Bradley found himself laughing, completely entranced by the firecracker in front of him. He loved that she gave her brother such a hard time. It was nice to also see Jake in a more relaxed environment where he wasn’t so cocky. Bradley had to admit, he liked this version of the aviator much better.
“I’m gonna go get some lemonade… I don’t need to be bullied by my own twin sister.” Jake playfully pouted, “Y’all want anything?”
“Lemonade sounds amazing!” Lena smiled at her brother “Thanks, Jakey. Bradley, you want some?”
“Sure, that sounds great.” He replied, “Thanks.”
“No problem. Be right back.” Jake said, giving Bradley that same knowing smirk and look he’d given earlier that Bradley just couldn’t quite read, then headed inside.
Bradley watched Jake walk inside, puzzled by the man’s sudden weird behavior since getting back from the airport. He was starting to think maybe it was a delayed stress reaction from the mission.
Lena laughed, drawing his attention away from his thoughts and Jake focusing back to the beautiful, unexpected Seresin twin next to him.
“You seem very… thrown off…by Jakey.” Lena commented, amusement dancing in her eyes. “It’s kinda cute actually… the look of puzzlement you have right now.”
Bradley felt his face heat, knowing he was blushing. He reached up, rubbing his neck as he chuckled, looking down.
“One thing I’m learning about him is that he apparently hasn’t let any of us really know him.” Bradley said, “With the exception of Coyote maybe.”
“Jake… is complicated.” Lena said softly, smiling at him, “The guy you know… the one he works so hard to project to the world… is just an act. My brother has a heart of gold and is loyal to the core. I’ve heard from Javy and seen from visiting him that Jake acts like he doesn’t care and that things don’t bother him… but Bradley, my brother’s biggest secret is that the opposite is actually who he is. Jake cares too much… and things really do bother him… things weigh heavier on his heart than he lets on.”
“I’m… starting to see that.” Bradley replied.
“You know… he’ll probably kill me for telling you this…” She smirked, conspiratorily, “But, he’s talked about you a lot. Even before this last mission for you all. You may not have known about me or a lot about us all in general… but we all know about you.”
“Oh god.” He groaned, thinking now that any shot he possibly had with her is now gone. Until after the mission, him and Jake hadn’t been exactly friendly. He can’t imagine that anything Jake had told his family was positive.
“No no…” She laughed, shaking her head, “Not bad… He really admires you, Bradley. The amount of times I’ve heard, ‘Lena you should have seen Rooster fly this maneuver’, or ‘Rooster shot Maverick down today and it was so badass.’ or when you were in training for the mission… he was so worried because he knew you were skilled but you were letting that Maverick guy get into your head and started playing it too safe… I got a lot of late night calls asking what he should do.”
“Wow…” Bradley said softly, “I assumed he hated me before the mission to be honest… he took every opportunity to throw my faults in my face.. To be fair though, when we first got there, I did make a comment about him only leading people to an early grave…”
“Yeah… I heard about that one too.” She replied quietly, “The thing nobody knows..because Jake hides it under a cocky exterior… is that those air to air kills he’s gotten, and has only talked to me about, haunt him. He’s not proud of them. He knew he did what he had to and what he was trained to do but he’s not happy to have the ghosts.”
“I guess I’m getting a whole new view of Jake.” Bradley said, looking out over the water, “Or maybe I’m just now getting to know Jake… and before only knew Hangman.”
“Now you’re getting it.” Lena smiled gently. “Just thought you should know… that it might help with that confusion.”
“Thank you.” Bradley said, smiling over at her. Before he could say anything else, Jake came back out with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and glasses with ice, as well as plates of various cookies.
“Mama sent cookies out too.” Jake said, his smile relaxed as he set the tray down on the small table.
“Oh she’s really tryin’ to sabotage all of our physiques.” Lena laughed, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. “But so worth it!”
“We’re on vacation Shortcake.” Jake teased, grabbing one for himself and taking a bite before groaning, “Damn I missed these. Eat up, Bradley… don’t know what you’re missin’ here.”
Bradley took a cookie and bit into it, his eyes growing wide as the flavor hit his tastebuds.
“Holy shit.” He groaned, “These… are really good.”
Bradley couldn’t remember tasting cookies as good as these since the last time his mom had made him cookies.
“Told you.” Jake laughed, grabbing another one and taking a bite. “The Twinadoes are also still chompin’ at the bit to go swimming.”
“We can take them.” Lena said, smiling. “Give Kate a break in the process.”
“I have a feeling she’ll be taking advantage of free babysitters for the next month.” Jake smirked, “She knows full well neither of us can say ‘no’ to those kids.”
“That’s our job, Jakey.” Lena replied, laughing. The sound was almost a balm to Bradley’s aching soul, filling in the cracks he hadn’t realized were there. “And it’s a job we’ve been neglecting. We’ve got a lot to make up for.”
“New mission, Rooster.” Jake said, looking at Bradley, “This month… is operation spoil the hell outta the Twinadoes.”
“That’s a mission I can get on board with.” Bradley smiled back. He’d always loved kids and they always seemed to flock to him. He hadn’t had many opportunities to spend a lot of time with kids lately, but he was always first to volunteer for any of the programs for kids on base, loving getting to share his love of aviation with them.
“They’ve definitely latched on to you.” Jake commented, “Recognize one of their own maybe.”
“Are you saying I’m a kid?” Bradley asked, amused, his eyebrow raised, “I’m older than you, Jake.”
“Semantics.” He shrugged, a smirk on his face, “I’ve seen a whole new side of you since we got here, Bradshaw… I think the serious, straight-laced, by the book Rooster you project on base is perhaps all an act.”
“Ummm… pot calling kettle?” Bradley laughed, “I’m literally learning there is a whole different version of you!”
“Fair.” Jake agreed, smirking. “Guess neither of us wanted to show our cards.”
“Well it’s good to know you’re done being idiots.” Lena said, rolling her eyes.
Bradley looked over at her amused.
“Hey!” Jake said, looking at his sister in mock offense.
The twins came running outside and jumped onto Jake.
“Uncle Jakey, can you please take us swimming now?” Owen asked, flashing the same big green eyes up at his uncle.
“Please, please, please?” Emma added, giving her best doe eyed look.
Bradley chuckled looking at the duo.
“There’s no way he can say ‘no’ to that.” Bradley said, winking at the twins.
“And Bradley’s gonna come with!” Jake added, making the twins even more excited.
“This sounds like a party now… can I join in too?” Lena asked, smirking over at the group.
“Of course, Auntie Lena!” Emma squealed, “Let’s go!”
Bradley chuckled, amused by the twins and their energy. Emma was already pulling Lena up. Once she was sure her aunt was on her feet, she turned her attention to Bradley.
“Come on, Bradley!” Emma said, her dimpled smile turned up to its full cuteness level.
“Lead the way, Sweetheart.” He chuckled, “Let’s try to beat Uncle Jake to the lake.”
“Whoa.” Jake cautioned, “Slow down, Rooster… don’t forget you’re still technically healing there big guy. Racing is definitely on the list of things you’re probably not supposed to be doing.”
“It’s for a worthy cause.” Bradley grumbled, starting to really hate being laid up. His ribs definitely felt better than they had felt but they were still definitely bruised and tender. “And I’m healed… mostly.”
“Not buying it, Bradshaw.” Jake said, his eyes narrowing. “I promised Mav to make sure you rest and take it easy and that when I bring you back, you’ll be good as new.”
“Ok, Miss Emma,” Bradley said, giving her a playful wink, “Uncle Jake said no racing. I think he’s just scared we’d win.”
“It’s ok, Bradley! I’ll go slow with you so you don’t get more owies.” She said sweetly, taking his hand. He felt his heart about burst at her absolute sweetness. The pureness in her and the easy way in which she just fully accepted him into their family without question caused something to shift inside him; to start to heal the scars that had formed over the wounds from losing his dad, then his mom…then Mav for a decade.
“Thank you Emma.” He replied, his voice taking on a more edgy rasp due to emotion now choking him.
Jake gave him a small, soft knowing smile and nodded, acknowledging the moment. Lena watched knowing there was more to the moment than she could see.
“Ok, let’s go swimming.” Lena said, standing and heading toward the door with Owen leading the way. Emma pulled Bradley up and walked with him and Jake followed everyone, bringing up the rear.
“I bet we can talk Nana into ice cream after.” Lena stage whispered as they walked through the kitchen.
“The odds are high.” Jake laughed, “We’ve got cuteness on our side.”
“I hope you’re talking about the kids, Hangman.” Bradley chuckled, rolling his eyes, drawing a laugh from Lena.
“Of course I meant the kids, Rooster.” Jake tossed back, smirking.
“Alright you two.” Lena laughed, shaking her head, but winking at Bradley “Let’s get these kiddos into the lake. They’ve been patient enough.”
Summary: The last two Christmases have been absolutely amazing for you and Bradley. This year you have TWO new additions to your family and double the reason that this Christmas will be the best one yet. The Bradshaws are now a family of 4 and heading back to celebrate Christmas on Mistletoe Mountain.
Pairings: Bradley Bradshaw x Female! Reader, Jake Seresin x Natasha Trace, Dagger Squad, Mav x Penny
Word Count: 3758
Warnings: FLUFF, childbirth (not graphic, just mentioned), Chaotic Dagger- yes they require a warning.
A/N: I do not give permission to anyone to copy, translate or post my work on this or any site. Do not feed it into any AI generator. Top Gun Maverick characters do not belong to me but all OC’s and AU’s are my content. Do NOT STEAL MY WORK.
Masterlist Read Christmas on Mistletoe Mountain Here
September
You were putting the finishing touches on the nursery and had just put away the last load of freshly washed baby clothes when you felt a sharp tightening across your belly. It was like someone was tightening a band to the point of snapping, the pain that accompanied it took your breath away. Your hand instinctively moved to your belly, rubbing over the hard, rounded bump. At 37 weeks pregnant you felt like your belly now had it’s own zip code. You’d long since stopped being able to see your feet and getting around was rapidly becoming more and more difficult.
You checked your watch and took note of the time. Given how strong the contractions had gotten in the last several days, your doctor advised to keep a close count to track length of contractions and timing in between. She was convinced you would not in fact be making it to your due date.
The last few days you’d been antsy and feeling like you needed to wash everything and get clothes and the nursery perfect and clean the house. Bradley had been trying to do as much as possible for you to try to keep you off of your feet, but you had a driving need to be up and doing things yourself. Your mom and sister in law informed you this was all normal and that you were probably just “nesting”. It was the stage a lot of women hit right before birth.
The contraction lasted for a minute before it finally eased up, allowing you to breathe normally. You decided it was maybe time for a break. You carefully made your way down to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, opening it and taking a drink.
Bradley was flying that morning, the squad was working on new maneuvers and honing some of their cohesiveness when flying together. He’d been hesitant to be off the ground the last few days since your contractions were increasing but his job didn’t stop because you were close to delivering. Mav promised if you went into labor he’d get Bradley on the ground immediately and have a car on the tarmac to bring him straight to the hospital.
Your phone rang as you sipped the water and you glanced down to see it was your husband. Smiling, you picked up your phone and answered.
“Hi, Handsome.” You said, “Just land?”
“Hi, Beautiful.” He replied. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, we just came down, about to go grab some lunch. What’s my beautiful pregnant wife up to? Please tell me you're taking it easy.”
“I am now.” You admitted, “I just finished laundry and the nursery… then had a pretty intense contraction.”
“Baby…are you ok?” He asked, concern filling his voice, “How long was it? Have you had any more?”
“I’m ok. It lasted about a minute.” You assured him, “I decided to rest, get a drin…. Oh… shit.”
“What?” He asked, “Y/N… Baby… what’s wrong? Is it another contraction?”
Another contraction hit, stronger than the last, but this time you felt a sharp tug and then warm liquid running down your leg. Glancing down you watched as a puddle formed at your feet.
“Bradley…” You gasped, trying to breathe through the contraction, “My water… just…. broke.” you managed to get the words out between breaths. “And this contraction is… really strong.”
“Oh… shit.” He replied, his voice raspy and taking on a slightly panicked tone. “Ok, Baby, sit down… I am leaving right now… I’ll be right there!”
“B, I’m … not going… to sit.. in wet shorts and now I have to clean the floor.” You said, letting out a breath. “I’m going to take a shower and clean up the floor.”
“Leave the floor, Sweetheart.” He insisted, “I’ll get it when I get there before we leave for the hospital.”
You could hear muffled talking in the background then Bradley came back on the phone.
“Scratch that, Jake and Nat are going to follow me home and they said my only job is to get you safely to the hospital.” He replied, “So we’re all on the way… be careful getting into the shower. I love you!”
“I love you too, B.” You replied.
After hanging up you carefully walked upstairs to your room, stripping out of your clothing and getting into your shower. You didn’t waste time trying to do anything other than wash off before you got out and dried off. You were in the middle of putting on clothes again when another contraction hit. Looking at your watch, you realized they’re now about 15 minutes apart.
You reached for your phone and called the labor and delivery number for the hospital. You let the nurse know your water had broken and that contractions were fifteen minutes apart. She advised you to get there as soon as possible and she’d page your doctor.
Bradley came bursting through the front door about ten minutes later. Jake and Nat not far behind.
“Baby!” He called, taking the steps two at a time. You met him at the top of the stairs, a smile on your face. “Are you ok?”
“I’m in labor.” You replied laughing, “I’m ok…nervous… but ok.”
“I’ll be with you every second of the way.” He promised, gently pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. He pulled back and looked into your eyes, smiling softly, “You’re going to do so good, Sweetheart.”
He helped you down the stairs, pausing when another contraction hit when you got to the bottom.
“Oooh shit, that one hurt.” You gasped, “And they’re getting closer.”
“Time to go!” Jake said, starting to look as worried as Bradley. “Bradley, you get Sweets to the hospital. Nix and I will be right behind once we get things locked up and settled here. Mav and Penny are already on the way and Nat called Laney and Owen who will call your parents, Sweets.”
“We’ve got all this under control and we will keep everyone else informed.” Nat said, much calmer, “You just focus on delivery. We love you.”
She stepped over and gently hugged you then Bradley.
“Godparent duties begin now for us.” She laughed.
*****
Nine exhausting hours later you were resting in the bed, Bradley right at your side in a chair.
“I love you so damn much, Beautiful.” He said in awe as you looked at you, a soft smile on his face. “You did so good. You’re so incredibly strong.”
“I love you too, B.” You replied, smiling tiredly over at him. He was holding your sweet little boy, who already had his daddy wrapped around his little finger. “He looks just like you. Curly hair and all.”
“He’s so perfect.” He whispered, looking down at his son, his eyes watery with emotion. He looked back up and smiled over at you, “Just like his beautiful little sister. She looks just like her Mama.”
“I can’t believe they're finally here.” You whispered, looking at both of your babies. Finding out you were pregnant had been one of the happiest moments of your life. Finding out you were having twins had been a complete surprise,but honestly, everything about your relationship and journey with Bradley had been big and magical. Twins shouldn’t have surprised you.
“Our beautiful little family.” Bradley sighed happily, “It feels like we’ve been waiting on them forever.”
“Tell me about it.” You laugh tiredly, “The last month alone felt like nine. Next time we do this, Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, you better not be an overachiever again.”
“I’m sorry.” He chuckled, “Does that mean you want more?”
“Let’s see if we survive these two first.” You smiled, looking over at him, “But… I’m not saying no.”
“That’s fair.” He agreed, “We have two perfect little babies right here. Life is pretty damn perfect right now as is.”
“Yes it is.” You said, “All of my dreams have come true.”
“Guess that means this year we really will have to wish for that puppy from Santa, huh?” He asked, smiling playfully.
“Do you think we can handle two babies and a puppy?” You laughed. “I think we’ve got our hands full, B.”
“I think we could handle it.” He said confidently. “Besides, the twins will need a pup to grow up with.”
“Let’s hold off on that decision until they’re more than a couple of hours old.” You teased.
“I suppose it can keep a while.” He shrugged, looking down at your son’s face.
There was a knock on the door and your parents walked in.
“Hey sweetheart.” Your mom said, smiling at you. “We’re going to head out for the night but we’ll be back tomorrow.”
“We’ll be here.” You replied, smiling back at her, “I love you guys.”
“Love you too… We’re so proud of you, Sweetie.” Your dad said, tears in his eyes. “You brought two beautiful little babies into the world.”
“We can’t wait to spoil our new grandbabies.” Your mom beamed, coming over to drop a kiss to your forehead and run her finger over your daughter’s cheek. “Grammy loves you little angel”
After your parents say goodbye to both babies and you and Bradley they head to the door.
“There are a few others in the waiting room who would love to come meet these two and visit for a moment if you’re up to it.” Your mom said, “should I send them back on our way out?”
“Yeah, you can send them in.” Bradley said after looking at you for confirmation. “Thank you both so much.”
“Of course, Honey.” Your mom smiled at him. “You two try to get some sleep tonight.”
After they left, you shifted to get more comfortable in the bed, your body still aching from the delivery.
“You ok, Beautiful?” Bradley asked, looking over at you.
“Yeah, just trying to find a more comfortable position.” You replied, smiling softly at him, “Still a little tender.”
“Justifiably so.” He said, “You literally pushed two humans into the world today. Tell me what I can do to make you more comfy.”
“I just needed to shift for now.” You assured him, “But later, I wouldn’t turn down you rubbing my lower back and shoulders. I think I’ve got some knots.”
“You’ve got it, Sweetheart.” He replied.
There was another soft knock at the door and it cracked open with Jake and Nat peeking in.
“Hey there….oh my god.” Nat whispered, her smile soft. “Look at y’all… beautiful family.”
“How you feelin’ Sweets?” Jake asked, smiling as he stepped over and dropped a gentle kiss down on your head. “You look beautiful as ever.”
“Exhausted, but in the best way possible.” You replied, smiling up at him. “Are you both ready to meet your godbabies?”
“Yes!” Nat exclaimed softly, stepping closer. “And to finally learn their names you’ve been keeping a state secret!”
“Let me introduce you to your goddaughter.” You smiled, shifting to offer your daughter over to Nat, who took her into her arms gently, staring into her face in awe. “Natalia Caroline Bradshaw”
Nat’s eyes immediately teared up as she looked at you and then at Bradley then down at the baby.
“It’s an extra special name because she’s partly named after her godmother and aunt, one of the strongest, most incredible women we know.” Bradley said, “She carries a part of her grandma with her… another incredibly strong and amazing woman… and both names have a connection to Christmas.”
“It’s a perfect name” Nat said, her voice thick with emotion, “She’s perfect. I’m already so in love with her.”
“She is pretty dang perfect.” Jake agreed, looking over Nat’s shoulder at Natalia. “She looks just like you too, Sweets.” He reached over and gently ran his finger over her head. “Hey there, Princess. Uncle Jake is gonna give you anything you want… your Mommy and Daddy say no, you just call me, ok?”
“Becuase that won’t bite us in the butt one day when we have kids.” Nat laughed.
“Our job is to spoil our niece and nephew.” Jake defended, then looked over at Bradley who was still holding your son. “Speaking of nephews… can I hold mine?”
“Of course.” Bradley said, walking over and smiling as he handed Jake the baby. “Meet your godson. Nicholas Jacob Bradshaw.”
“What….are you serious?” Jake asked, his smile growing, tears now filling his eyes. “Hey, Buddy. You’ve got a big name too, my man.”
“He sure does.” You replied, laying back against the bed watching your two best friends hold your babies. Bradley came and sat next to you on the bed, his hand slipping into yours.
“We wanted both of their names to be connected to the people we love and to both have a connection to Christmas since it’s the holiday that will always mean the most to us.” Bradley said.
“We love you both.” Nat said, smiling over at us. “And these two sweet new Bradshaws.”
“We love you too.” You replied, “Now both of you get closer and B, get a picture of our babies with their godparents”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He chuckled, “You heard her, scootch closer and smile.” He held up his phone and took a few pictures.
“Send us those, please.” Jake said, smiling down at Nicholas again. “We’re gonna need to start filling the walls with pictures of our sweet godbabies.”
“Already done.” Bradley smiled, pocketing his phone again.
“We just wanted to meet these two beautiful babies.” Nat said, her voice soft, reverent. “We will let you get some sleep. Let us know if you need anything. Love you both.”
“Love you too, thank you both for coming and staying.” You said, “It means the world to us.”
“Nowhere else we’d rather be, Sweets.” Jake said,moving to hand Nicholas back over to Bradley then dropping a quick kiss onto the top of your head. “Enjoy the time off with your family, Bradley.”
“Thanks, Man.” Bradley said, smiling. “I plan to.”
*********
October
The first month of the twins’ life went fast. Bradley was home with you and the babies the first two weeks then had to go back to work. He’d wanted to take more time off, but you’d agreed to not burn through all of his leave time so that you could take time at Christmas and take the twins to meet their great grandparents back East on Christmas Mountain. It was important to the two of you that they spend their first Christmas in the place that held such special meaning to you both.
“Have you decided what Lia and Nick are going to be for Halloween?” Your mom asked. She’d been amazingly helpful the last couple of weeks since Bradley had gone back to work. You were still trying to get used to a routine with the twins while recovering from delivering them. You felt like you were just now starting to feel close to your old self, despite minor sleep deprivation.
“I ordered little snowman and gingerbread onesies for them.” You smiled, “But
I also found the cutest little Belle outfit with tights and a Beast outfit with a cute little hat so they could go as Beauty and the Beast so… one of those.”
“You and Bradley are adorable.” Your mom laughed, picking Nick up from the bassinet. “You're both also doing fantastic. I just wanted to remind you of that. Being a new parent isn’t easy… starting off with two off the bat is an even bigger challenge but the two of you are taking to it very well.”
“Thanks, Momma.” You smiled, looking down at Lia, sleeping peacefully in your arms, “It helps when we have a whole village jumping in to help us.”
The front door opened and Bradley came in, making sure to be quiet in case the babies were asleep. He smiled when he saw you sitting on the couch.
“Hey, Beautiful.” He said quietly, leaning over to get his shoes off. After setting his keys and wallet on the table by the door, he padded over to the couch, gently running his hand over Nick’s soft curls on the way by. He sat down on the couch next to you, his arm immediately going around you. “How was your day? The twins do anything new?”
“Hi, Handsome.” You smiled, leaning into him. “It was a good day. They’re such good babies… we’re so lucky. Nothing new to report today. Lots of smiles and snuggles.”
“I hate missing the smiles and snuggles now that I’m back at work.” He pouted. “I live for weekends these days so I can just be with my perfect little family.”
“We live for weekends so we can have you.” You smiled over at him.
“I’m going to head out.” Your mom smiled softly, “I need to grab more candy for trick-or-treat so we have enough. You’re still planning on bringing them over to the house for that right?”
“Yup!” You said, looking up at your mom, “We promised the kiddos we’d bring their cousins over to see them. We’ll probably just stay at the house and help pass out candy though. The twins are too little to trick-or-treat.”
“Sounds perfect.” She replied, grabbing her purse. “I’ll see you both tomorrow evening then. Love you.”
“Love you too, Momma.” You smiled over at her. “Thank you for all of your help.”
“No thanks needed… I get to spoil my grandbabies.” She winked.
**********
November
Time was flying by and before you knew it, Thanksgiving was already on you. You wanted to combine all the families this year so you decided to have one giant Thanksgiving at The Hard Deck. Slightly unconventional, but it was the only place that would hold everyone. You put all the tables together to create one big table for everyone to sit at and then set up all the food along the bar and did a buffet style meal. It was nice being able to have your whole “found” family along with your actual family together and to be honest over the last two years, they’d morphed into one big family anyway.
“So when are you all leaving for Mistletoe Mountain?” Penny asked as you sat down to eat. The twins were in the pack and play, napping, oblivious to the noise around them.
“Bradley got leave starting the 22nd, so we’ll fly out that morning and we’re planning on staying until the 28th.” You replied, “We’d hoped to be able to stay a little longer, but he used up a chunk of time when I had the twins and we don’t want him to use all of his leave in case of something happening where he’d need it.”
“That’s understandable.” She replied, “I’m sure it’ll be a nice visit back East regardless, and your grandparents will be overjoyed to meet those two precious babies.”
“Oh they can’t wait!” You said, laughing, “They’ve FaceTimed pretty much every day since they were born.”
“I can’t wait to introduce them to everyone there and to take them to make a Christmas Wish with Santa!” Bradley said, sitting down after getting a second plate of food.
“They might be a little young to make a Christmas wish, Kiddo.” Mav chuckled, “But maybe Santa will accept their wishes by proxy?”
“I’m sure he’d make an exception.” Bradley smirked, “He was the one that granted them as our Christmas Wish last year.”
“Umm, Rooster…” Fanboy looked over, a teasing expression on his face, “Didn’t Mav or anyone ever teach you where babies come from? It wasn’t Santa, man…. And if it was…. You’ve got bigger problems.”
“FANBOY!” Nat slapped him on your behalf, “You did not just imply that my best friend and the mother of my godbabies got pregnant by SANTA!”
“Wait… That’s what you took issue with?” Bradley exclaimed, “Not that he implied my wife was unfaithful?”
“Umm I am RIGHT HEREI” You exclaimed, “First of all.. EWWW… I’m so not into old dudes. And Secondly… I would never cheat on my husband.”
“I would have went with that first.” Bradley pouted, looking over at you.
“Oh my god how is this even a conversation right now?” You rolled your eyes exasperated. “Bradley… Baby… love of my life… center of my universe… I would never dream of cheating on you, you big baby.”
“Thanks!” He replied smiling brightly, “Love you, Beautiful.”
“You married him.” Nat laughed.
“We tried to warn you.” Jake smirked.
“No you didn’t!” You glared playfully at him, “You absolutely never warned me.”
“No returns!” Bradley cheerfully said, “You’re stuck with me now!”
Everyone laughed, including your parents, who looked on lovingly as they watched the exchange. You leaned over and kissed him, smiling against his lips. Honestly, you wouldn’t change a thing. You loved your chaotic friend group and goofball of a husband.
Later that night, once Nick and Lia were tucked in their cribs, with the monitor on, you and Bradley brought the Christmas decorations down from the attic and started turning your house into a Christmas wonderland. You both loved the holiday and last year had started decorating even earlier, but with the twins and still adjusting to becoming a family of four, you decided to hold off until Thanksgiving this year.
Bradley assembled the tree while you started to unbox the ornaments, smiling when you saw the ones you’d bought on Mistletoe Mountain the last couple of years for one another. Those would be the first on the tree. Your grandparents had also sent “Baby’s 1st Christmas” ornaments for the twins so that you could put them on the tree and enjoy them.
“I can’t wait to take so many pictures of the twins in front of the tree.” You said, smiling over at Bradley, who’d just plugged the tree in, the lights blinking on bright and all working. “We can print some and get them framed to give to my parents, Mav and Penny and my grandparents as part of their gifts.”
“They’d all love it.” Bradley agreed, moving over to you and wrapping his arms around you. “This Christmas is seriously going to be the best one yet.”
“You’ve said that the last two Christmases we’ve been together.” You laughed.
“And every year you make it better.” He smiled, leaning down to kiss you softly, before resting his forehead against yours. “Just being with you… and now… two perfect babies… life is….perfect.”
“It is pretty perfect.” You agreed, nestling closer to him, sighing contentedly.
Pairing: Jim (The Delinquent Season) x F!Reader/You
Jim's a good husband and father. A good friend to anyone but his wife Danielle's obnoxious coworker Ted. But Ted's latest girlfriend? She's his downfall, revealing the cracks in what looks like a perfect life because he wants her more than anything... Could you ever feel the same?
And here's your second helping! Please make sure to have read Part 38 before you dive in here, xx
Summary: This final instalment of this mega chapter mini-series, our couple are finally reunited in both timelines, but there are still hurdles to be dealt with and loose ends to be addressed.
Warnings: 🔞 Smut (more!). Usual tropes of infidelity and divorce. Bad language.
Word count: 7821 PART 38 | SERIES
Part 39: Every End Is A Beginning, Pt. 6
November 2020
Clara was stretched out on the sofa in the basement with Scout when the front door opened. Immediately, Scout was on his feet, scrambling inelegantly up the stairs to the hall with a low, echoing boom of greeting.
"Hiya," she called and Cillian's head appeared at the top of the stairs, face swaddled in a navy face-mask, decorated with tiny white polka dots. "How is he?"
"Loads better. Much more lucid, breathing better. Still sounds like he's smoking forty a day but I'm encouraging him to cut down."
She chuckled quietly and he came down several steps so he could sit down to chat whilst still keeping his distance. Scout, taking this as an open invitation, wasted no time in trying to climb in his lap, gazing up at him adoringly.
"Mate, you're too big…oh all right, fuck it."
"He's such a daddy's boy."
"He weighs more than Finn," Cillian grunted, shifting the dog on his legs to get more comfortable.
"He's just one hundred percent solid fur and love," Clara giggled, pushing herself into a more upright position. "So… how was it..?"
Cillian shook his head slowly and she exhaled heavily.
"That good, huh?"
"It was fucking awful."
"What did she say?"
His eyes creased and although she couldn't see his face properly she could make a strong guess at the look that was painted on it.
"She's just incapable of anything being her fucking fault. She'd told the kids I wasn't coming when I'd explicitly said I was. And Eoin overheard us fighting." He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing tiredly. "He doesn't want me going there again."
"Who..? Eoin?? Why not?"
"He says I just make things worse for them."
"Ouch," she hissed. "Worse how?"
"Aoife… she's just more on edge and when she can't take it out on me, she takes it out on the rest of them."
"They could come and live here…"
He looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"The kids. If they aren't happy?"
"C'mon now, be serious."
"I am being serious."
He scoffed quietly. "She would never, ever let that happen. You know everything we had to go through just to get what we have now."
"I do know, but—"
"I don't have it in me to fight her like that again, Mac," he sighed. "And they're ok as they are - it's not like this all the time. They just need me not being around making her mental."
Clara raised an eyebrow.
"Eoin's words."
"Well, he's not wrong," she said dryly. "So, what are you going to do tomorrow?"
He fussed Scout's silky ears between his fingers. "One more day, just to see that he's still going the right way and then I'll back off."
"It's not fair that you can't just be there without it becoming all this mess."
He sighed, nodding. "Well, there's more than one reason why we're not married anymore."
"You mean aside from the fact you couldn't stop sleeping with me?"
"Hard to believe, I know, but true."
"Seems unlikely," she winked.
"Mac… we are ok, aren't we?"
"Yeah," she smiled softly, wishing she could be the one nestled in his lap instead of the dog. "I'm sorry about this morning, she just makes me so angry. I wasn't cross with you, I trust you."
"No, I'm sorry, I should have just told you the full truth last night. I wasn't trying to hide it from you… I don't know why I didn't."
"Cill," she said gently, "really, it's ok, baby."
"I hate that I can't come over there and show you how much it's only you I want."
Her thighs squeezed together involuntarily and she saw, in the warm crinkling of his eyes, that he spotted it.
"Don't tease," she mumbled, feeling her face heat up.
"I guess the up-side of tomorrow being my last day at the house is that I can at least start my two weeks quarantine and this nightmare will be over."
"Nightmare?" she laughed.
"Yes, absolute torture. I think I could withstand water-boarding better than this."
She snorted. "Please, you wouldn't last five minutes."
"Are we talking about water-boarding or my sexual prowess?"
She tilted her head, as though giving it serious consideration.
"Both."
"Rude," he said, pointing at her, a dark look in his eyes that made her insides flutter. "And if it wasn't against the law, I'd come over there and prove it to you." Gently nudging Scout - who resisted for as long as he could - Cillian tried to stand up. "Right, I'd better get back to my prison. I'll see you in the morning, baby. Love you."
"Love you, too. I'll try not to be too late with the tea delivery."
He blew her a masked-up kiss over the banister and she smiled, blowing one back.
"Night, love."
*****
She wasn't sure at first what had woken her, eyes blinking open grittily, her head swimming with sleep.
And then a bolt of pleasure sparked through her, catching her breath in her throat.
"What..?" she mumbled, trying to turn in the dark, but a firm hand pressed down on her lower back, keeping her face down as a warm tongue slid across her clit again, pulling a moan from her lips.
"Stay there," came Cillian's muffled voice from between her legs.
"What're you— fuck— doing??" she gasped, the vestiges of sleep retreating at speed as he sucked softly on the sensitive little bundle.
"What do you think I'm doing?" She heard the chuckle in his voice give way to a groan when she pushed her ass back against his face.
"What happened to—" She whined loudly as his tongue eased into her, probing her open. "Fuck… what about quarantine? I thought this was against the law?"
His mouth otherwise occupied, he didn't reply right away, her cunt rocking needily against his tongue, fingers rolling slickly across her clit. Struggling to catch her breath she lifted her bum higher in the air, the sheets bunching in her fist.
Slowly, he eased back, running damp lips across the swell of her behind, his teeth grazing her soft skin.
"I don't think you can catch covid this way," he mumbled and she didn't need the light on, or to turn around, to see the grin plastered across his face.
"Not sure there's been extensive studies carried out on this route of transmission," she huffed out, head dropping back down into her pillow with a whimper when he teased two fingers against her already dripping core.
"Really? Seems like a shocking oversight," he mused, pressing his fingertips inside her, catching her attempt to push back to meet them, holding her still with his free hand. "Maybe we should offer to be test subjects."
"What..?" she mumbled, crying out as he slid his fingers the rest of the way into her, brushing against that magical spot with practiced ease.
"Don't worry about it," he chuckled, placing a kiss against one round cheek, fingers working languidly within her.
"Fuck… Cill…" Her voice was strained, muffled by her pillow, pitch rising when he lightly bit her skin, cunt clenching around his digits. Every slow stroke sent sparks skittering under her skin, flickering brightly behind her tightly squeezed eyelids.
Through the haze, she felt the bed dip behind her and his fingers pulled back. Opening her mouth to whine at the loss, the air was knocked from her lungs as his cock replaced them, easing into her in a single slick glide.
"Fucking jesus fucking christ…" he rasped, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as her body tightened greedily around him.
Curling her fingers into the bedding she glanced back over her shoulder at him. In the dark of the room she could see very little but his pale, lean torso moving behind her. At some point he'd pulled on a face-mask again, which would have been comical, except that between the dark fabric obscuring most of his face, and his hair flopping forward across his forehead, he was just a pair of tightly closed eyes.
If she didn't know it was him, he could be anyone.
Anonymous.
And - for reasons she was unwilling to examine too closely - it sent such a sharp jolt of arousal through her, she heard his breath catch, followed by a low guttural groan.
She could hardly see in the low light but his eyes opened, catching her looking, and she thought they crinkled slightly at the corners, his hips snapping into her a little harder, catching her gspot head on.
"Fuck…" she whimpered, burying her face back into her pillow. "Shit…right there… harder…"
He complied without a word, pressing one large hand against her spine, pushing her further down into the mattress, driving into her at pace. The lewd sounds of her arousal filled the air around them, mixing with the desperate little moans and whimpers that were pushed from her with every deep thrust.
She was close, achingly so, the edge glittering just beyond her grasp, every thick glide of his cock pushing her towards oblivion, all her nerves stretching, reaching for that moment of bliss. He shifted slightly behind her, making her cry out, the fractional change in angle making lights explode behind her eyelids.
And then his fingers rolled lightly over her clit.
With a ragged wail, she lost control, her world unravelling as she crashed over the edge so hard that when she was able to draw breath again, she realised she was shaking.
"Good girl," he mumbled, his pace barely diminished in the wake of her climax. "My good girl…" He smoothed a palm over her the generous curve of her ass before giving it a light slap. Her cunt twitched tightly, and she whimpered, legs still quivering. The flat of his palm met her skin again, a little harder this time, and she lost it again, a heavy aftershock rushing through her, dripping down the inside of her thighs.
Gasping for air, she looked behind again, finding his eyes fixed on her and it might have been the orgasmic haze talking, but she swore they were glittering in the narrow space above his mask.
"Again," he ordered, just loud enough for her to hear, slipping his arm under her body, sliding his fingers through the mess she'd made to press firmly against her clit.
"Oh my…fuck…" she gasped, the pressure almost painful against the oversensitive little bundle. His free hand cracked against her skin again and she came hard and fast, soaking his fingers and cock, feeling him lose control behind her with a loud groan, twitching heavily inside her as he crested the wave seconds after she did.
Very slowly, she uncurled her face from the pillows she'd used to muffle her scream, looking back at him again.
"Fucking hell."
"Sorry for waking you," he mumbled as he slipped from her, their combined release dripping slowly in his wake. With a low groan of appreciation, he ran his fingers through it, pushing it gently back into her.
"Fuck," she gasped. "No you're not."
His fingers pumped lazily into her and she didn't need to look to know he was grinning, as with hardly any effort he dragged a final shivering aftershock from her tired body.
"No, I'm not."
Gathering herself, her head still swimming slightly, she puffed out a breath. "Well that's ok, because I'm not sorry you did either."
She tried to turn over but he stopped her, hands on her waist, keeping her on her stomach. Leaning down, he tugged down his mask, pressing a soft kiss to the dip of her lower back and up her spine, stopping between her shoulder blades.
"I love you," he murmured, pulling his mask back up, resting his forehead against her skin. "I'll never get enough of this. Of you. It was always you. I hope you know that."
She desperately wanted to turn, to hold him, to kiss him, craving the intimacy they'd always taken so much for granted. Twisting her arm back, she reached blindly, awkwardly stretching to touch any part of him, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when she felt his fingers link with hers.
"I know," she whispered back, her throat tight. "I love you too."
He squeezed her hand and she felt the odd sensation of his warm breath through fabric, pressing against her back for a second before he pulled away and she felt the bed dip as he left it. She heard the snap of elastic as he pulled his boxers back on and when his footsteps began to retreat, she finally turned around, pushing her hair back from her face.
"I wish you could stay."
"Me too," he said quietly, mostly a shadow looming by the doorway.
"Feel free to do that any time, by the way." Her smile twisted as she felt the mess they'd made sticking damply against her thigh. "Though it seems unfair that you get to go back to nice clean sheets when I have to stay here in the wet patch."
His laugh rumbled towards her, warming her chest.
"That's all your own fault."
"Uh, I don't think so. I was asleep and then someone appeared in my bed and made me make a mess."
"You didn't appear to be complaining when you were begging me to fuck you harder."
She snorted, heat flaring to her face. "Well… I mean… ok, yes, fine. Still seems unfair though."
"Sleep well, baby," he chuckled. "I love you."
"Night night, I love you too."
The shadow by the door shifted and he was gone. Collapsing back against her pillows, she listened to his footsteps retreating up to the top floor before finally hauling herself out of bed to clean up their mess.
*****
October 2014
It was early when she woke, her body-clock conditioned to her usual routine, despite the fact Cillian had kept her up well past her bedtime. Checking her phone, catching her alarm just before it began to chirp, she turned over slowly. Logically, she knew he was still there; the warmth of him was bleeding into her, an arm looped loosely over her hip. But seeing him there, in the half-light, the day barely broken behind her curtains, dark hair flopped across his forehead, long lashes resting against his cheeks, a strange sense of relief washed through her.
She hadn't imagined it. It wasn't some terrible mistake, or some other man she'd used to replace the ache that would never leave her.
He was really here. In her bed.
And he loved her.
Only her.
In the months since Liverpool, she'd worked so hard to stop herself from imagining this moment. It was a foolish notion, and he didn't deserve her forgiveness. And anyway, she wasn't in love with him anymore, was she..?
But that look on his face.
From the moment she'd seen him sitting on her stairs, she knew she'd been lying to herself.
She would always be in love with him; she'd been in love with him since she was eighteen years old.
Trying not to wake him, she delicately brushed his hair back from his face, tracing her fingertips along his brow and down the contour of his cheek, his stubble rough against her skin. He murmured slightly and she smiled, finger sliding down the slope of his nose to his lips.
"Are you watching me sleep?" he mumbled hoarsely, the gravel in his voice sending a tremor through her.
"No, that would be creepy," she giggled quietly.
"It would."
Very slowly, his eyes blinked open, squinting slightly as they adjusted to the light.
"Hi," she smiled, stroking his cheek.
"Hi yourself," he replied, the arm around her waist tightening its grip, sliding her closer into him until their noses were brushing. "I wasn't sure I hadn't just dreamt this had happened."
"Me too."
She closed the gap between them, sinking into the softness of his mouth. His hand drifted from her hip to tangle in her hair, keeping her close, kissing her with a quiet intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. Easing her backwards, he leaned over her, lips ghosting a trail down her neck to her chest, pushing the covers out the way so he could slide his tongue over her breast, sucking softly.
"Is this ok?" he asked, looking up at her with clear, blue eyes and the speed of her nod made him grin, carrying on his descent to rest between her legs, brushing his lips across the sensitive skin of her inner thigh until she was practically bucking into his face.
"Easy," he teased, pulling back just enough to tug down her underwear, chucking them to the floor, before diving back down, gently pressing her legs further apart. "God, look at you," he groaned, tongue flicking lightly over her clit and she arched with a gasp. "Always so fucking ready…"
Threading her fingers into his hair, she pushed his face back towards her, hips rising to meet his greedy tongue. She couldn't breath, couldn't think, her whole world contracting to his mouth as he went to work, dismantling her with practiced ease, in a way that no one else ever had. When he eased two fingers into her, she fell apart, tugging so sharply on his hair she felt his groan reverberate through her clit, sparking aftershocks that made her whole body twitch.
Panting for air, her head spinning, she only realised he'd stopped when she felt the blunt pressure of his cock against her tight opening, and blinking, she saw him hovering above her, watching her with a slick smile as he eased into her, inch by thick inch.
"Fuuuuck…" she whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper as he started to move, coaxing him down to meet her in a messy kiss, the taste of her orgasm on his tongue.
"Jesus fuck," he hissed as her body gripped him hard enough to make his head spin. "I'm sorry in advance - this might not last very long."
"S'fine…" she mumbled, eyes squeezed shut, hips rising to meet every deep thrust. He shifted slightly, forcing tiny cries in the back of her throat as every movement pressed deliciously against that spot inside that made lights dance across her vision.
He kissed her, long and slow, swallowing her moans, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, making her cunt clench wildly around him. Pulling back, sucking in a steadying breath, he buried his face in her neck, driving into her faster, the familiarity of her scent overwhelming him.
"I love you," she mumbled, short nails digging into his shoulders, heels pressing needily against his lower back, the telltale fluttering of her body dragging him closer to the edge. Forcing himself back up on his hands, he looked down at her, wide-eyed, fiery curls muted in the low light, spread messily around her, lips parted in a perfect portrait of pleasure.
The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"I love you," he panted, dropping to rest his forehead against hers as he rocked deeply into her.
"Fuck…Cill… I…"
Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and he felt her tense, head tipping to the side as her high took her, rippling through her in waves, the hot velvet of her body squeezing frantically until he had no choice but to follow, flooding into her with a low groan.
She clung to him, trying to steady her racing heart. Blinking the bright lights from her eyes, she breathed him in, trying to shake the sense of surreality of having him like this again, pressing warmly against her, skin to skin, after so long an absence.
Lifting his head, he gave her a lopsided smile that made her insides glow, leaning to press a soft kiss to her lips.
"Good morning."
Laughter bubbled up within her. "Yes it is."
His grin widened and he eased carefully out of her, coming to rest again at her side, lifting his arm to let her snuggle in against his chest, in what had always been their habitual pose.
"What time is it anyway?" he asked.
"About five."
He groaned loudly and she laughed.
"Not so funny now, is it? Fine when you're the one getting up for set, though, eh?"
He tilted his head to give her a look and she beamed back.
"But you hate being awake this early, why are you awake at all?"
"New me, I'm afraid," she said and his brow creased slightly. "It started in New York when I—"
She trailed off, unsure how - or perhaps, unwilling - to explain the summer.
"You were in New York?"
"For a few months, yes."
"Months..? For work?"
She swallowed and shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. "Sort of, yeah. I was staying with Andy for a little while."
"Oh…right…"
"But I had to keep roughly UK hours for work, so I got used to early mornings…"
"Makes sense," he said quietly, thumbing the space between his brows.
"And I started running there, but it's too grim here in the mornings now, so I just go to the gym instead."
Shut up, you're rambling, muttered the little voice in her head and she cleared her throat briefly, her heart beating too fast in her chest.
"All change, then…" Cillian said quietly. "How was Andy?
"He's good. He—" A dull realisation landed heavily in her stomach and she pulled away, staring at the ceiling. "Actually he's going to be so cross with me."
Cillian rolled onto his side, looking down at her, concern etched on his face.
"Why?"
"Because of this," she said, waving between them meaningfully, avoiding his eyes. "He's not your biggest fan."
Risking a glance at him, she saw red creeping up to his cheeks.
"No, I gathered that…"
And it was her turn to frown in confusion. "What does that mean?"
Cillian's colour intensified. "When he told me to leave you alone."
"When he did what??"
"On the phone…you know..?"
Clara shook her head, sitting up, dragging the duvet with her and trying to ignore the stickiness that dripped between her thighs.
"No, I don't know. You spoke to him? When?? How?"
"Maybe you should ask—"
"I'm asking you, Cillian."
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than before. "He answered your phone. One night about a week after… well, after." He frowned again. "Have you been in New York since June?"
She shook her head. "I went to see him after what happened because I needed…" Blowing out a breath, she made herself meet his eye. "Because I needed to get away. And then I went back at the end of July until a few weeks ago. But I didn't know he'd spoken to you - what did he say?"
Cillian gave a quite burst of dry laughter. "He told me to go fuck myself and to stay the fuck away from you."
"I see you've really taken that to heart."
He cracked half a smile. "I did for a long time."
"I did wonder why you suddenly stopped trying. Though to be honest, it was a bit of a relief. I just…I assumed you'd gone home. To her."
"A relief?"
She fixed him with a serious stare. "Yes. You weren't giving me any space. I couldn't have been clearer that I didn't want to talk to you. It's taken me a long - a really fucking long - time to get over you. Or not over you, obviously, but over what you did to me. You don't know how bad… Andy had to put me back together."
"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, his eyes bright with remorse.
She waved her hand in the air before pushing her fingers into her hair. "I know you are, same way that I know that despite all of that, that this - you and me - this is what I want, because I love you. But he's still going to pissed off with me for just jumping back into bed with you."
"You don't have to tell him that bit…"
"I can't lie to him - he knows me too well."
"I could talk to him…"
Clara burst out laughing, clasping his shoulder as she cackled. "Ok, sure, good one. You're funnier than I remembered."
He pulled a face and she recovered herself, pressing her fingertips against her still twitching lips.
"It's not that funny."
"It really is. He hates you."
"Brilliant."
"Hey, you broke my heart and he's somewhere between my best friend, my soulmate and my big brother. Of course he hates you. If he broke Páidi's heart, wouldn't you want to kill him?"
"Well for one, I'd be a bit distracted over the fact my brother didn't feel like he could come out to me before now, but yes, I take the point."
He shifted so he was sitting next to her, leaning against the headboard, and she rested her head on his shoulder, smiling when she felt his lips brush her forehead.
"I'll smooth it over with him. I'll be ok," she said, linking her fingers with his.
"I really am so sorry for hurting you," he said quietly, squeezing her hand. "I'll never do it again, I promise."
She tilted her head up to look at him. "You'd better not, because I won't stop him from actually killing you next time."
*****
"You fucking WHAT?!"
Clara pulled the phone away from her ear at Andy's roar.
"Alright, jesus. Shout a bit louder, why don't you, I don't think they heard you out in the rest of the office."
He ignored her.
"Clara Maria McKenna, what the actual living FUCK are you playing at?!"
"I know! Can you please stop yelling because I KNOW, ok?!" she shouted back, glancing warily at her closed office door before continuing more quietly. "But you weren't here, Pands, he was practically prostrate at my fucking feet. He's left her, they're getting divorced and he wants to be with me. He loves me."
"How can you possibly trust him??"
"I… I don't know, but I do. I know it doesn't make sense."
"He fucked his wife practically in front of you, Mac."
Clara swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat every time the memory played behind her eyelids.
"I know. It was fucked up… but I love him. You know that. He fucked up so badly but he's trying. He's really trying to make it right, to own what he did. He's even told her about the affair - he's not trying to hide it anymore."
"But he's still married to her. I bet he wants you to be quiet and keep things hidden still, doesn't he?"
Clara's mouth opened but nothing came out and she shut it again with a click of teeth.
"That's what I thought."
"It's not like what you mean though."
"Isn't it?"
"He's in the public eye, Andrew, of course he doesn't want us out and about having our picture taken and all that shit while he's still getting divorced. And before you say anything - it's not because he gives a shit about people talking about him, but he doesn't want it for the kids."
Andy made a snort of disagreement and she curled her fingernails into her palm.
"Don't do that. I understand you're angry with him, but he's not the monster you want to believe he is just because he hurt me—"
"Hurt you?? Clara, have you forgotten where you were at the start of the summer? What you were doing? He didn't just hurtyou, he almost fucking destroyed you. So yeah, I'm fucking angry. He's not good enough for you."
"I haven't forgotten," she said quietly. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm in love with him, and I just can't walk away from the chance - that I never thought I'd get - to finally be with him like I always hoped I would. He'll be divorced by the spring and then we can just fucking live our lives like we've always wanted."
"So why not wait until he's actually divorced?"
"Because I don't want to. I've waited almost twenty fucking years for this. I don't want to waste any more time."
Silence drifted down the line and she shuddered at the expression that she didn't need to be able to see to know was on his face.
"Panda…"
"I don't like this."
"I know you don't."
"I don't want to have to come and pick up the pieces again, Mac. I will, of course I will, because I love you despite you clearly being deranged, but this isn't going to end well. I can feel it in my waters."
"Do boys have waters?"
He didn't laugh.
"Andrew…don't be like that."
"This is a mistake, Clara."
"Maybe so," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose under her glasses. "But I'm making it anyway. And for what it's worth - I don't think it is. I think, this time, it's the real thing."
"I reserve the right to fuck him up if you're wrong."
"Oh, yes, I've warned him about that already."
"Good. He's a skinny little fucker, I can take him."
"He's actually bulked up a lot for Peaky." Another chilly silence emanated from Brooklyn to London. "But you can definitely take him."
"Please just be careful," Andy said tiredly. "I love you, I don't like it when you get hurt."
"I promise I'll try." She cleared her throat, dislodging the lump that had formed, much to her surprise. "Anyway, enough about my incredibly boring and not at all dramatic love-life. When are you going to make an honest man out of Sam? I need to know when I should start shopping for hats."
"You're not the mother of the bride."
"That's what you think," she said darkly. "Have you worked out when you're going to ask him yet?"
"I think I might do it at new years - we're going away."
"You're coming home for Christmas though, right??"
Another silence, though this time much less morally superior, echoed in her ear.
"Andrew Hamish Fletcher," she said sharply.
"I'm sorry…"
"NO! You can't do this to me!"
"We thought we might just do it here on our own…"
"Paaaaandaaaaa!" she wailed.
"We're going to Hawaii on the twenty-seventh…"
"You can fly to Hawaii from here!"
"Fuck off, that'll cost a fortune."
"I'll make Cillian pay!"
"No— wait, hold on… I'm listening…"
"We could have Christmas the four of us here?"
"Yeah, because your mother would be completely fine with that."
Clara chuntered quietly to herself. "Oh fuck off. Fine. Leave me to deal with the horrors alone. You're so selfish."
"Says the girl who's getting back together with her toxic ex knowing I'm the one who's going to have to come and bail her out when it inevitably goes tits up again."
"He is not toxic. Much. Hardly at all."
Andy sighed heavily. "This is going to end in tears…"
"Yeah, your tears, on my wedding day. You'll see."
She practically felt him sit up straighter. "You really think it's going there?"
Colour rose slowly to her face. "Yeah…I think…well maybe. He basically said he wants to spend the rest of his life with me last night."
"Fuck. Wow… ok… I didn't expect that."
"I told you he was serious."
"I guess we'll see."
A knock sounded at Clara's office door and she sighed. "Sorry, duty calls, I gotta go."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later, love you bye."
"Love you bye," she said quickly, hanging up before calling out, "Yep?"
Toby stuck his head around the door. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were on with a client, but you're going to be late for weekly round-up."
"Fuck," she hissed, scrambling out of her chair, flailing for her folder of reports.
"It's here," he said, waving a blue folder full of paper at her and she dashed towards him.
"Thanks, you're a star," she called over her shoulder, dashing down the corridor towards the boardroom as fast as her heels would carry her.
*****
November 2020
Predictably, two days after his last trip to see Finn, Cillian came down with covid. Mercifully, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as Finn's had been and other than feeling like he had a fairly wretched cold and a headache unlike anything he'd ever experienced, he was generally ok. Taking pity on how mind-numbingly boring the top bedroom was, Clara relented and let him take over the basement as well, so at least he had access to films and music, but he was banned from going anywhere else in the house.
"Do you know what the worst part about this is?" she said as she delivered him dinner, as the first week of confinement rolled into the second.
He coughed into the crook of his elbow and she took several steps back towards the door.
"You could make me feel less like a leper."
She crossed her index fingers in front of her in a 'x'. "Unclean, unclean. I'm getting you a bell tomorrow."
He flicked her his middle finger and her eyes creased with a smile above her mask.
"What's the worst thing? No more surprise sex? 'Cause I'll be honest, regardless of covid compliance, I really don't have the energy, love."
"No, not that… well not just that. The really casualty of all this is that I have to do all the fucking cooking. Hurry up and get better, will you?"
He poked at the food on the plate she'd given him. "Yeah, sooner the better, eh?"
But she clutched her chest in an overblown performance of offence. "How very dare you. I slaved over that."
"But you just—"
"I can make fun of it! You will eat it and love it. That is the rules."
They stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles, which in Cillian's case, quickly turned into a bout of coughing.
"Oh, baby," she said quietly as he got his breathing back under control. "Do you need anything? Can I get you anything?"
"It's ok," he said with a resigned shake of the head. "I'll be ok. You should get away from me before I give it to you though."
"Just yell if you need me, ok?"
He started coughing again and gave her a thumbs up before shooing her away and she did as she was told, retreating back up to the kitchen where Scout was whining balefully, deeply unhappy with her for preventing him from seeing his favourite human.
"Don't look at me like that. I know I'm just the spare, but he's got a filthy cough. I'm doing you a favour really, saving you from having to listen to it all the time."
He stared up at her with big liquid dark eyes.
"Oh, I know…. I miss him too," she sighed. "Treat?"
The happy thump of his tail hitting the kitchen cabinets echoed around the room.
*****
October 2014
She raced home from work, out the door barely as the clock struck five o'clock, taking the stairs up to her front door two at a time. Warm light streamed through the pretty stained-glass panels on her door, a delightful aroma drifting from the kitchen as she shrugged off her coat in the hallway. Hemingway came padding along to greet her, closely followed by Cillian, the sleeves of his jumper pushed up to his elbows.
"I could get used to this," she giggled, stretching up to kiss him, humming quietly when he hustled her back against the wall, warm hands sliding under her top.
"Me too," he mumbled against her mouth, grunting quietly when she tugged gently on his hair. "Fuck… you're going to make me ruin dinner."
Pulling back, she bit her grinning lip. "Oh well, we can't have that, it smells great. Is it what I think it is?"
Nodding, he stole another small kiss. "It seemed appropriate for our second attempt at starting something."
"We didn't know we were starting something last time you made me moussaka though."
He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't we? You had those stockings on just because they're comfortable, did you?"
A flush raced up from her neck to her hairline. "I told you - they were the only option! They weren't my choice."
Smiling, his lips found her neck, running lightly along it. "If I had my way, that's all you'd be wearing right now."
"Pervert."
He let out a low chuckle. "Fucking right I am, when it comes to you. Give me five minutes in the kitchen and then I'll show you."
"Should I get changed while I wait?" she smirked, brushing her fingers across the growing bulge in his jeans.
He swallowed thickly, his eyes darkening.
"You should be wearing as little as possible."
*****
The stretch of him still aching pleasantly between her thighs, she settled down at the small dining table as he served up their meal, candles winking a soft golden glow around them as he joined her.
"This still doesn't feel real," she said quietly, moaning with joy at her first bite of moussaka.
"Stop that, I'm eating. And I physically don't have it in me to go again yet." She snorted, and then coughed slightly, trying not to choke on her food. "I know what you mean though," he continued, "I didn't dare hope anything like this might happen."
"Andy thinks we should wait until you're actually divorced."
Cillian's jaw tightened.
"Is that what you want..? Because I understand…"
"No." Reaching across the table, she covered his hand with hers. "No. The way I see it, either I forgive you and move on, or I don't. And I do. I don't want to mess around with half measures, like I'm testing you all the time. And I don't want to waste yet more time not being together when it's what we both want."
He let out a slow breath of relief. "As long as you're sure."
"I am. But let me also be clear: you fuck your ex-wife, or anyone else for that matter - anyone who isn't me - and it's over. No discussion. No ifs or buts. No forgiveness. And if you and dare to try and come anywhere near me, I'll cut it the fuck off. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"I'm not kidding."
"No, I can see that. It's not going to be a problem."
Clara stared at him long and hard for a moment longer and then nodded.
"Good."
"What about you though?"
She frowned, chewing. "What about me?" she said after she swallowed.
"Well there's the small matter of…"
"Of what? Spit it out."
"Of whoever that was with you at your front door last night."
Her stomach turned over and she took a sip of wine. "That's not going to be a problem. I'll finish it tomorrow."
"Who is he..?" She raised her eyebrows and a faint blush crept to his face. "Sorry. Not my business."
"No, he's not."
A not entirely comfortable silence descended between them, just the chink of cutlery against porcelain and the low hum of music coming from the kitchen radio.
"His name's Harry," she said finally. "It's not serious."
"You don't have to—"
"We've been on three dates. We haven't had sex."
"It's not my—"
"Technically though I guess I am cheating on him right now. I don't really understand dating these days. Is it even cheating if you haven't had the talk about exclusivity? I mean, for all I know he's sleeping with someone else right now."
"You mean you haven't told him you'll cut his dick off if he fucks someone else?"
"Not yet. I was working up to it."
"Sounds like you're in the clear then," he said, lips twitching.
"I'm supposed to be going to his place tomorrow night."
His fork paused half-way to his lips. "Ok…"
"Don't look like that - I'm not going. I'll end it in the morning."
"You could text him now..?"
Clara looked at him aghast. "I'm not going to finish with him over text! That's horrible. He's a nice guy, I'll do it properly - in person."
"In the morning..?" he frowned.
"At the gym, yeah."
"You go to the gym together?"
"Not together together. We go to the same gym and we're both early birds." Her fork clattered to her plate as she sighed heavily. "Oh fuck, I'm going to have to find another gym now, aren't I?"
"Don't see why…"
"It's going to be so awkward," she wailed quietly, poking at her dinner.
"If he's awkward, then he can be the one to leave," he shrugged, carrying on eating.
"Maybe…" Sitting up straighter, she blew out a breath and nodded. "We should probably talk more about what happens after tomorrow."
"I wish I didn't have to go back so soon."
"I understand - you need to see the kids."
"I can come back on Monday. Or after I've seen my lawyers anyway. With any luck, everything will be straight-forward once we agree on the big things."
"Are you going to tell her… about me?"
He paused, looking down at his plate. "I'm not sure. I should, and I'll have to. But she's so angry…"
"I'd be pretty angry too if my husband had been having a months long affair."
"I gathered that from the whole penis removal point earlier."
Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "I just mean, I get why she's upset. But I think you need to be honest. It'll be worse later if you're not and it comes out. And no matter how careful we are, there's always going to be some scumbag with a camera who catches you with me. I don't want to have to spend the next six months hiding in this flat if I want to spend time with you for fear she's going to find out I exist. I've had enough of living like that."
"No…" he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Neither do I. I'll tell her."
"Just maybe don't tell her how to find me," Clara added darkly.
*****
December 2020
It seemed to take an age for the weeks to pass and his symptoms clear to a stage they both felt they could officially declare him safe to come out of confinement. Whilst he hadn't been very ill, he still got tired easily and his threat of her having to take a whole day off work for him to have his wicked way with her turned out to be sadly unnecessary.
But she did it anyway because even if he wasn't pinning her to their bed and ruining her ability to walk, the sheer luxury of having him back, the comforting, familiar solidity of him curled around her on the sofa was worth every second of annual leave.
"I was thinking about something last week," he said quietly when she came back from the kitchen with hot drinks, opening his arms so she could easily slot back in with her back against his chest.
"Sounds dangerous."
"Cheeky."
"And yet so often correct." He snorted and she tilted her head back to kiss his jaw. "Go on then, what were you thinking about?"
"I had an idea. For when I go back to work."
"Right…" she said slowly, not all that desperate to discuss their impending forced separation when she'd only just got him back.
"I think I know how you can come with me."
She turned around so fast that she almost spilled her coffee. "How??"
"You could be my assistant."
Her hopeful expression fell. "What?"
"My assistant."
"You already have an assistant, Cillian. A real one. Who you pay."
"Yeah, and I'd still pay Sarah, she just wouldn't have to leave her family for four months either."
"So what? I'm going to be your assistant for free?"
"I mean technically I could put you on the payroll but does that really count when it's all the joint account?"
"Well, I suppose if I'm working for free then it'll be alright when I tell you to get your own fucking tea."
Cillian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Don't sigh at me."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He fixed her with a look. "Do you really want to spend the next four months apart?"
"No…" she muttered, picking at a loose thread in the cushion beside her.
"So..? Isn't worth thinking about?"
"I'll make a shit assistant. And I already have a full-time job."
"What if we could get Malcolm to agree to let you go part-time, just for a few months? Then you can do both."
"I think Sarah would be offended that you just suggested catering to your capricious whims is anything other than a full-time job."
Cillian rolled his eyes. "Clara…"
"Everyone will think I'm a cunt for wangling a way to join you on set. It's going to be so obvious that it's just so we can be together and I genuinely cannot do Sarah's job. I wouldn't even know where to begin. So it's going to put pressure on other people who get paid shit all."
"You under-estimate yourself. I'm easy. I just expect tea on the hour, every hour. Exactly twelve edamame beans to be delivered three times a day—" She snuffled a giggle and he grinned. "And of course, I'll expect to be able to bend you over the nearest available surface as often as is humanly possible."
"I'm pretty sure Sarah doesn't have to put up with that last one. Or she better not, at least."
"I spare her from such horrors, don't worry," he laughed in a low rumble, pushing a curl behind her ear and coaxing her lips to his.
"Such horrors, indeed…" she murmured against his mouth, moaning softly when he deepened it, looping an arm around her waist to pull her closer until they were pressed together, her legs spread wide, draped over his thighs. "I thought you were tired..?"
Drawing back, he removed her mug from where it dangled precariously in her grasp and set it with his own, before guiding her mouth to his with a firm hand on the back of her neck.
"Need you," he mumbled, kissing down her neck, sucking softly until she whined, her hips canting into his.
"Is this what it's going to be like?" she giggled breathily, helping him pull her top up over her head, nimble fingers making short work of her bra before her jumper even hit the floor. Tipping her back towards the cushions, his tongue dragged slowly over her stiffening nipple and she arched into him.
"Do you accept the job?" he smirked, hovering over her, bumping his nose lightly against hers.
"I'm still considering it," she grinned, pushing him by the shoulders down to rest between her legs. "Make me an offer I can't refuse."
I hope this lived up to expectation! We have just one more piece (hopefully just one chapter, but knowing me - and these reprobates who enjoy hijacking me! - it could well be more than one) to go and that wraps up 'Book 1' of this couple's saga. But don't worry, there'll be plenty more drama to come!
And as ever, your comments give me life ♥️ I’m sorry I’ve sucked at replying lately - I promise I read and cry over every single one 🥹😘 xxx
Welcome back loves! Thank you for the patience as I juggle my love for these two with renewed River Cartwright thirst thanks to the new series of Slow Horses on my telly. If you like a tall, cute, blondish guy with absolutely zero game, come check out my work! Anyway, let’s dive in, shall we? xx
Summary: Cillian has some explaining to do when he arrives home late at night after saying he was staying over to take care of Finn. As Clara reels from the news, she can’t help but retreat into her memories and the difficult few months for faced in 2014.
Warnings: A bit of angsty drama in the 2020 but mostly focused on healing. Usual warnings for themes of infidelity, divorce, covid and bad language.
Word count: 9162 PART 36 | SERIES
Part 37: Every End Is A Beginning, Pt. 4
November 2020
Huffing out a sigh of frustration, Clara turned over in bed for umpteenth time, sleep refusing to come. She always found it much harder to settle when he wasn't there, and even after a whole week without him to have got used to it again, one night of having him home beside her was enough to send her back to square one. Reaching for her phone, she squinted against it's brightness, sighing again when she saw it was creeping closer to one in the morning.
Clicking the screen back to darkness, she tried to close her eyes again, counting her breaths like one of the meditation apps had taught her. But she only made it to eight before Scout - who was allowed to sleep on the bed with her when Cillian was away - suddenly sat up, and then flung himself off the bed, bounding towards the stairs, growling.
"Fucking hell!" she hissed, her blood pressure sky-rocketing in shock, pushing herself upright and flicking on the light. A noise in the hall downstairs rustled a split second before Scout started barking his head off.
"Shit, shit, shiiiit," she mumbled, scrambling out of bed, casting around for something she could use as a weapon, panic rising in her chest.
George.
He'd finally come for her, to finish the job he started in New York. To make good on the threat he'd hurled from the dock when he'd been sent away to prison for years.
Yanking Cillian's bedside lamp from it's socket, she gripped it two-handed like a bat, tiptoeing towards the open bedroom door, just in time to hear a voice hushing Scout's incessant clamor.
"It's me, you great big furry fool."
Clara let out a rush of breath so great it sent her sagging again the wall.
"Cillian?"
The landing light flicked on and she squinted against the glare.
"Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." His head appeared as he came up the stairs, Scout lolloping happily behind him, begging for strokes. He paused, taking her in with the lamp still brandished before her.
"Umm….?"
Following his gaze, she looked down.
"I thought you'd come to kill me."
"I'm not sure that would have stopped me."
She raised it threateningly. "Wanna bet?"
Laughing, he skirted around the top of the stairs down along the landing, trying to keep away from her like they'd agreed.
"What are you doing home? I thought you were staying over..? Is Finn ok?"
"He's breathing a bit better now, yeah. Hopefully things will be looking up tomorrow, but we'll see." He sighed, pulling a hand down his face. "Look… I need to tell you something."
"Just a sec…" She disappeared back into the bedroom, returning a moment later tightening the belt of her big fluffy dressing gown, feet in her slipper-boots. "Sorry, it's freezing."
He smiled softly, taking a weary perch at the bottom of the stairs up to the top floor.
"What happened?"
"You're not going to believe this, but… Aoife tried to kiss me."
Cold slipped down Clara's spine. "What the fuck??"
"I know. Out of absolutely nowhere."
"Tried to kiss you, or kissed you?"
"Well if we're being pedantic about it, then kissed me."
"I'm not being fucking pedantic, I just want to know what happened!"
He sat up straighter at her tone. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I swear to you, Clara, nothing happened. Nothing."
"Well it wasn't nothing if your ex-fucking-wife just kissed you, Cillian."
"Yeah - she kissed me. And I stopped it the second it started. I don't want her kissing me any more than you do. I love you."
Clara pushed her hands up into her hair, curls messy from all her tossing and turning. "I can't believe this is happening again."
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, coming towards her, but she held out a hand to keep him at bay.
"No. Stop. You're in quarantine."
"Clara, c'mon, you care about that when—"
"Yes, I do. Because if you get it, I need to be well enough to look after you."
He stepped back towards the stairs, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "I swear, it is nothing like that. Nothing. She kissed me, I stopped it, I left. End of story. I'm as shocked as you are."
"Why would she do that?"
"I don't know…" he said, looking at the floor.
"Cillian..?"
He sighed tiredly. "She said she thought I'd be flirting with her…"
Clara felt the colour drain from her face, her pulse quickening.
"But I swear, I promise you, I wasn't. I was just being nice. Helpful. Trying to be normal. I didn't know she'd take it like that. Honestly, I think she was just a bit pissed and she's exhausted and—"
"Hold on, are you fucking defending her?!"
"No…not really…look, I know you're angry, love, but she's really barely clinging on by her fingernails over there. I don't think she actually meant it."
"Like fuck she didn't! Christ, you're back under her roof for barely twelve hours and she's acting like you're hers again!"
"Oi! I don't belong to anyone, I'm a person."
"Yeah?? Well maybe you should just go back there then!" She took a deep breath, trying to control the furious tears that were squeezing her throat and prickling in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that…"
"This isn't my fault, Clara."
Hugged an arm around her waist, she pressed her fingertips to her quivering lips.
"Please, love… please don't cry. I promise you, nothing happened. I just wanted to get away from her and come home to you."
"Why does she always manage to ruin everything??" she mumbled, rubbing away a rogue tear that slipped down her cheek and she could see in the tense lines of his body that he was fighting the need to come and hold her.
"There's a reason I'm not married to her anymore," he said gently, giving her a small smile that she struggled to return.
"She's lucky I don't go round there right now and cut her fucking eyes out."
"Alright, Clara Shelby, settle down."
That time he managed to elicit an actual smile.
"I hate this," he said quietly, gesturing to the distance between them. "I just want to go to bed beside you."
"Me too. But you can't." She wiped her hands under her eyes, smoothing away the dampness from her cheeks. "Thank you for telling me the truth."
"I didn't want to upset you, but she'd only find some way to use it against me if I didn't."
Ain't that the truth, muttered the little voice in her head.
"It's late, we should get some sleep. I have to work tomorrow."
He nodded slowly. "I'll see you in the morning."
"No meandering around the house, remember? I'll get you some breakfast when I'm up."
"Can I still take the dog out?"
"Fucking yes, yes you can," she chuckled. "Night night, I guess…"
"Night baby, I love you."
"I love you too."
With an awkward little wave, she went back into their bedroom, his lamp still on the bed where she'd cast it in her hurry to grab her dressing gown. Fidgeted with plugging it back in and taking off her layers, she jumped, again, when she turned getting into bed and found him lingering in the doorway.
"Christ, Cill, are you trying to give me a heart-attack tonight? Because that's twice in less than twenty minutes and another attempt might actually finish me off."
"Noted," he smiled softly, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I really am sorry. I didn't expect her to ever try something like that. I'd never have suggested staying over if I thought she'd behave like that."
"It's not your fault," Clara sighed, leaning back against her pillows, Scout making himself comfortable at her feet. "If you say you didn't do anything to encourage her, I believe you. The timing is just…" She picked at the edge of the duvet. "I trust you, ok? It's her I'm cross with."
"I am too."
"How did you leave things?"
"Well she was screaming at me from the front door as I left so I'd say—" He bobbed his head from side to side. "Pretty good? Pretty normal." His face cracked into a grin and she laughed quietly.
"Well shit…"
"I'll have to face the music tomorrow."
"You're going back there? After she did that??"
"I have to, love, Finn's not out of the woods. I need to be there."
She tipped her head back against the pillow and gave a long, low groan of frustration.
"Can you not do that when I'm not legally allowed to touch you, please?"
Looking back at him, she saw him shift awkwardly, tugging at his trousers and heat flickered between her legs.
"Will you go to bed before I do something I'm not supposed to? You were right, this is fucking torture and it's not even been one bloody day."
He grinned wickedly. "No touching without me though, yeah?"
"I won't, if you don't." She eyed the bulge in his trousers meaningfully.
"I hate this."
"Me too. Now fuck off to bed, will you?" she said, blowing him a kiss. He pretending to catch it like in a corny movie and she giggled. "Fucking weirdo. I love you."
"Love you too. Sleep well, baby."
He disappeared and the light flicked off in the hall, his feet thudding up to the top floor to the guest room. She could hear him creaking around getting ready for bed as she lay in the darkness and tried with all her might to block out the image of Aoife kissing him. But with all the memories of that terrible night in Liverpool still so fresh in her mind, she couldn't help it and against her will, she found herself tumbling back into the past once more.
*****
July 2014
Andy gave Malcolm no option but to agree with his plan to take Clara back to New York with him. Leaving her sitting in garden with Malcolm's husband Tony and a cup off coffee, Andy followed Malcolm into the house to read him the riot act.
"How could you let it get this bad, Mal?? She's a fucking mess!"
"Andrew…"
"Don't Andrew me, look at her! How could you not do something??"
"She works for me, Andy, I'm not her father."
"No, you're her fucking friend, Mal. She looks up to you and she listens to you."
Malcolm hung his head and sighed. "I thought she had things under control. She's been mostly fine at work, a little evasive maybe, a little lethargic… but she went through a very nasty break up. You remember how it was after Jack? It took her ages to bounce back after that… I thought this was just the same thing."
"It's not. It's nothing like that. She's…" He stopped, recognising that even though she was close to Malcolm, there were probably limits to how much she would want him to know. "She needs a change, she needs to not be living on her own. I'm taking her home with me and she can work out the Manhattan office for a while."
"Andy, I can't just let—"
"Yes, you fucking can. I'm not asking, Mal, I'm telling you. I'm not leaving her here like this. I don't care if you need her to work UK hours to make it work, but she's not staying her."
"Oh for goodness…ok, fine. I'll find a way to square it with our all-powerful overlords."
"Thank you."
The back door rattled and Tony came bustling in, stopping abruptly, glancing between them with narrowed eyes.
"Anything I need to worry about?"
Andy looked at Malcolm.
"No, darling. Everything's fine. Andrew, don't leave Clarabella sitting out on her own."
Clara lifted her sunglasses, dark rings painting the skin under eyes that not even her concealer could fully eliminate, squinting at Andy as he sat down beside her on the wicker sofa.
"You shouted at him."
"It was necessary."
"Did he say yes?"
"That's why it was necessary." He looped an arm around her shoulders and she sank into him. "But yes, you're fine. You might need to work UK hours though."
She groaned heavily. "That's so early in the morning!"
"Yeah well, you're a dirty stop out these days, you must be used to being up that early."
"Shut up," she muttered.
"I think the words you're looking for are 'thank you, Andy, for being the best friend a girl could ask for'," he grinned, putting on a comically high, twee voice.
"Is that supposed to be me??"
"Pitch perfect, I think you'll find."
"Fuck off."
"Fuck off, yourself."
"Children, please…" sighed Tony coming back outside with a fresh pot of coffee.
"He started it," she muttered, lips twitching.
"Well, I'm ending it," Tony shot back with a wink. "Anyway, I hear you're off to New York again? What fun."
Malcolm came back out as he spoke and Clara met his eye over Tony's head. He smiled gently and nodded, and for the first time since she got back on the plane to London in June, she felt the coil in her chest ease it's grip on her heart.
*****
She settled into life in Brooklyn with an unexpected ease. Malcolm allowed her to flex her hours a little so she didn't have to start work at four in the morning, but to keep up appearances for her clients that she was still a London-based editor, she still had to get up horrendously early each day to commute across to Manhattan.
But she found that once she got used to waking up with the sunrise, she enjoyed it. It kept her on the straight and narrow, no late nights or drinking, nothing that resembled the life she'd left behind in London. She liked taking the trains at that hour. They were never empty - it always amazed her how many others there were commuting at such a hideously early hour of the day - but they were quieter, and less swelteringly hot than had she been keeping local hours. And because she could finish in mid-afternoon, she indulged herself with long meandering walks around the city and the parks, sometimes seeking refuge from the heat in one of the museums or galleries.
On a whim, one such afternoon a couple of weeks after she arrived, tired of baking day after day under her long red mane, she stopped in one of the up-market salons near the office. An hour later and several pounds lighter, she emerged with a short bouncing bob of curls, the evening breeze tickling deliciously at her neck and shoulders.
"What the fuck's happened to your hair??" exclaimed Andy when he got home later that night.
She looked up from the pan of veggies she was stirring.
"It shrank in the wash."
He rolled his eyes and came over, patting the short lengths warily.
"Oi, fuck off, I had a trim, it's not that interesting."
"A trim??"
"Alright, a proper cut. It was too hot."
"You haven't had it this short since third form and you cried when you got home from the hairdressers."
"Well, I'm not crying now, I like it. Pass me those dishes will you, this is ready."
He did as she asked and she began decanting stir fry into bowls.
"It's not that I don't like it."
"Here we go…"
"No, don't say that, I didn't meant that. It's cute. It suits you."
"But..?"
"Nope, no buts."
Frowning at him, she pushed a bowl into his hands and brought the other two over to the little table in the window.
"Sam! Tea's ready!"
Sam emerged from the bedroom he and Andy shared, still toweling wet out of his hair after the shower.
"Even though I live with him, and you've been here for weeks, I still think you mean actual tea tea every time you say that."
"Sorry, mi'lord, I meant dinner," Clara grinned, twirling her fingers in the air in an imitation of bowing with a flourish.
"Supper, if you will," chimed in Andy, both of them putting on silly, excessively posh English accents.
"Just kitchen sups," Clara agreed, twirling noodles around her fork with a grin. "Nothing fancy."
"On the contrary, this is quite marvelously delicious, my dear."
"Ok, ok, you've made your point," laughed Sam, joining them and pulling his dish towards him.
"Have you seen her hair?"
"Andrew, he has eyes. Of course he's seen my hair. It's extremely visible, on account of it being on top of my head."
"Less visible than it was this morning."
"Jesus christ…" she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"It's cute," said Sam. "Why? Do you not like it?" he asked her with a frown of concern.
"No, I like it just fine. It's this one who, apparently, can't wrap his tiny mind around it."
"It's just so fucking short!"
"Oh for crying out loud, Andrew, it'll grow back! I was too warm! And I wanted a change."
"Ah HA! I knew it!"
Both Clara and Sam looked up at him, she in alarm, he in amusement.
"Knew what?"
"It's a break-up cut! Why do girls always fucking do that? It's like that time you got those questionable highlights after that total drip broke up with you… what was his name?? You know the one? Back when we lived in the East Village."
Clara flushed to the roots of her recently shortened hair.
"So what if it is? Am I not allowed a change?"
He shrugged, chewing his food. "Sure. It's just pretty drastic. Ohhh, what was his fucking name?? It's going to bother me all night, now."
Clara blew out a long sigh. "Mark."
"Mark! That's the one. Christ, he was a waste of perfectly good oxygen."
"Thank you," she muttered, her cheeks still warm. "It's not like your track record's exemplary either, Roo. Present company, obviously, not included," she added hurriedly to Sam. "You're by far and away the best one. So good that I'm not entirely sure why you're with him. Blink twice if you need me to cause a diversion so you can escape."
"Ignore her, her brain's struggling with the sudden chill she's inflicted on it."
Clara stuck her tongue out at him and he reciprocated.
"Are you two certain you're not siblings?" asked Sam, somewhat wearily.
"God, no!" exclaimed Clara.
"Gross, absolutely not," agreed Andy before she'd even finished speaking and they shared a grin.
"So, who was the worst one?" Sam asked Clara, flicking a cheeky smile at Andy, whose cheeks started to turn pink.
"Don't you dare answer that."
"Oh my god, I wouldn't even know where to begin… it must be at least a five-way tie between…"
"Mac!"
Clara beamed at him. "Shush darling, eat your dinner. So anyway, so there was this guy - Will - when we first moved to London…"
*****
August 2014
The weeks slipped by in a haze of commuting and sunshine, weekends spent eating brunch, reading and drinking wine outdoors with Andy, Sam and their friends. She took up running, jogging herself breathless around their local park at a time in the morning she would previously have considered evidence of psychotic tendencies. As September prepared to give way to October, the days turned marginally cooler and she welcomed the fact that her hair had grown back a little, almost skimming her shoulders again. And despite the early hour of her daily routine, the dark circles that had been her constant companion in July had gone, her skin slightly tanned, bringing out her freckles.
"I should go back home soon," she said one evening when it was just her and Andy in the flat, Sam off working on a series of night-shoots.
"You can stay as long as you want. 'Til Christmas, if you like? You love New York in December."
"I don't think Mal signed up for me to be here for six months, Panda. Plus, you and Sam need your space back."
"It's fine - really, Mac. We've talked about it and he agrees."
Clara shifted slightly at the thought of being discussed, and took a sip of peppermint tea.
"I think I'm ready."
"Well, why don't we wait until you're sure..?"
"I don't know if that's a thing that's going to happen, though. Are we ever really sure of anything?"
Andy rolled his eyes. "No philosophy on a Tuesday evening, you know the rules."
She cracked a half-smile and he squeezed the foot she was resting on his knees.
"Thank you for doing this. I… I couldn't see how much of a mess I was. But it's time for me to stand on my own two feet again."
"You don't have to rush—"
"It's been two months, I don't think anyone would call this rushing. And don't I seem better..?"
"You do, but—"
"But, what?"
"But when you left in June, I thought you were ok… well, not ok, but y'know..? I didn't expect you to go off the rails quite so badly…"
Sitting up properly, she scooched closer, crossing her legs and resting her tea in the dip between her knees.
"I'm not that girl anymore. I'm ok. I've made my peace with it. He's going to stay married and be a good dad to his kids and I'm…" She sighed quietly. "I'll make my own happiness."
Andy reached to pull her into a hug against him.
"I just worry about you over there where I can't see you."
"I promise, I'm fine now. Thanks to you."
He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Promise me that if anything like that starts again, you'll call me. You don't have to be embarrassed or whatever - just call me and I'll bring you straight back here, ok?"
Lifting her head so she could look him in the eye she nodded. "I promise. Pinky swear." She held out her hand, little finger raised and he chuckled softly, linking his with hers.
"That's legally binding, y'know?"
"Absolutely. I don't even know why we bother with lawyers at all when that's all we need."
*****
November 2020
When the alarm went off she was deeply asleep; an awful groggy-inducing kind of sleep that demands several more hours. Swatting at her phone with a groan, she rolled over, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes and tried to come to terms with the fact she had to be awake.
Fucking, Aoife. Not content with making her miserable during her waking hours, she had to fucking well disrupt her sleeping ones now too.
Eventually, she was forced to drag herself from the warmth of the bed and get ready for the day, patting on extra concealer to hide the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Later than planned, she made her way up towards her office, juggling her coffee alongside a mug of tea and some breakfast for Cillian, to stop him roaming the house and potentially leaving covid all over it.
Tapping the door with her toe, she nudged it open, finding him sitting up against the headboard, reading.
"Morning, sorry you had to wait. I'm a bit all over the shop this morning," she said, quickly depositing his breakfast delivery on the bedside table and retreating back to the door, warming her hands around her coffee cup.
"It's fine, thanks for bringing them," he smiled. "Morning."
Shuffling her feet slightly, she studied the dark depths of her drink. "Did you sleep ok up here?" Looking up she saw him shrug, and she tried to ignore the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt, pale skin sprinkled with freckles and a dusting of dark hair.
"Yeah, alright." He took a sip of tea, his face relaxing with tannins-induced contentment. "Did you?"
Clara leaned against the door frame, sighing as her head joined her shoulder against the wood. "Not really, no."
"I'm sorry about last night, I really didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't really asleep. And that's not what kept me awake."
"No…" he sighed. "I know."
She pulled fretfully on the hem of her jumper.
"Clara—"
"I just—"
She stopped as they both spoke at the same time and he waved for her to continue.
"I hate that you're going back there today." He opened his mouth but she waved him to silence. "I know. I know, ok? You don't have to say it. Of course I want you to see Finn and be there for him, but I fucking wish you didn't have to be there with her."
Heat bloomed under her skin, bitterness stinging at the back of her throat.
"I know."
"I fucking hate this," she sighed, pushing her hand through her hair. "And the thing I can't get my head around is why she would even do something like that, after all this time?? She can't possibly still be in love with you. It's been six years and you fucking cheated on her. Why would she even want you like that?
"Hey…" he retorted, an offended frown on his handsome face.
"Oh, please. Yes, yes, you're very pretty. Put a fucking shirt on will you, it's distracting."
His frown melted into a cheeky grin and, setting down his tea, he climbed out of bed to grab the tshirt he'd been wearing the day before from the floor. But the fact he was then on full display in just his underwear was even less helpful to her. Slipping the shirt over his head, he tugged it down his body, her eyes following the movement hungrily.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Yeah, well, stop looking like that and I will."
"And you wonder why she wanted to fuck me," he chuckled, climbing back into bed behind the safety of the duvet.
"I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say..?" Clara said quietly, the ice in her voice making him freeze as a he reached for his mug.
"I was joking…"
"No you weren't." She straightened, clasping her hands tighter around her cup to try and stop them from shaking. "Did she..? You said it was a kiss…are you telling that she tried..?"
Bile rose in her throat.
"No." He held out his hands like he was stopping her in her tracks even though she hadn't moved a muscle. "It wasn't like that. She tried to kiss me, I stopped her…"
He sighed, head dropping.
"What aren't you telling me..?"
She hated how small her voice was, how it shook with the fear of what he might say next. All night she'd been plagued by images of him - of them. That night of The Garrison party playing on repeat.
Aoife in his lap.
His hands in her hair.
"Baby, nothing happened. I promise you. I swear on the kids: nothing happened."
"Just fucking tell me what you meant."
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She kissed me, I pulled away but she tried again." He opened his eyes again fixing her with a serious, pleading stare. "And I stopped her immediately, I promise you. I would never, ever do that to you. You do know that, don't you?"
"But why did you say you thought she wanted to fuck you, Cillian?"
"Because she said so!" he exclaimed, running an exasperated hand through his hair. "Kind of. She made some awful crack, comparing the situation with what happened… before. But I don't think she really meant to do it at all. It was just a really weird day, being parents in the same house again. We haven't spent that much time in the same place since the divorce. Fuck, we haven't just sat on a sofa and had a bit of craic, with a drink, since we were married. I think it was just muscle memory."
"Muscle memory?? For you or for her?!" Clara shouted, feeling tears sting at the back of her eyes.
"No! No, no, no…fuck. I mean for her. Not me. I don't want her like that, christ, I haven't wanted her since I met you again, longer even. What I'm trying to say is that I don't think she wanted me either. It was just booze and the situation."
"Why do you keep fucking defending her?!"
"I'm not! I'm just saying I see why she might have done it. I'm pissed off with her too! Because she immediately made it my fault, even though all I'd done all day was try and be nice to keep the peace, and maybe help her out for once because she gets fuck all help from any of the lads in that house and she looked exhausted. I didn't realise cooking dinner would be considered a fucking come on."
Clara bit her lip hard, willing herself not to cry in front of him.
"Sweetheart, please, don't cry," he said quietly, seeing right through her as always. "I would never, ever do that to you. I love you. I'd never do anything to fuck this up - not after everything it took to get here. You're the only one I've ever wanted to be with."
She swiped away an escaping tear with an abrupt flick of her hand.
"She ruins fucking everything," she snapped venomously. "You can't even just help look after your son without her making the whole fucking thing about her."
"And if she wasn't the mother of my kids, I wouldn't have spent one single second with her after the divorce was settled. But she is, and I…" He spread his hands, exhaling tiredly. "And here we are. Dealing with her shit is the price you and I have to pay for the happiness we have, I suppose. But I'm not going back there today to see her. I'm going for Finn, and I don't even want to see her. And fuck knows what she's told the boys if they heard any of her demented yelling, so I need to go and make sure she's not spinning her lies again."
Slowly, Clara nodded, chewing on the skin by her thumbnail.
"I should go to work," she said quietly.
"I hate that I can't hug you right now." He stared at her with wide, anxious eyes. "Are we ok?"
"Yeah, we're fine. I'm not angry with you, I'm angry with her."
"Me too."
Swallowing the lump that was still wedged in her throat, she rolled her shoulders back. "Do you need anything else before I log on?"
"Can you chuck me up some clean undies and a tshirt?"
Nodding, she left the room, booting up her laptop before she went back down to their room to get him fresh clothes.
"Stop it. Nothing happened," she muttered quietly to herself. "It's just Aoife, being Aoife."
But she couldn't seem to stop her hands from shaking.
*****
September 2014
It was hard to leave Andy and Sam, the latter very sweetly giving the old friends some space to say goodbye on their own in the flat as he went down to hail her cab.
"Call me when you land," said Andy, his chin resting on top of her head as she hugged him around the middle.
"It'll be really late here."
"Good point. Text me when you land," he chuckled, looking down at her. "M'gonna miss having you around, making the place look untidy."
Tears slipped out beyond her control. "I'm gonna miss you too. Please hurry up and move back to London. It's shit here."
He laughed and she choked damp chuckles into the front of his shirt.
"Can I bring Sam?"
She uncurled to look up at him. "Of course you can, he's great. Better than you actually. I might trade you in."
Andy rolled his eyes, a warm smile breaking across his face. "Can you keep a secret?"
"You know I can't," she grinned. "Tell me."
"Seriously, you can't tell him, ok?"
"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell m—"
"I think I'm going to ask him to marry me."
Her eyes widened, mouth falling open, temporarily lost for words.
"Is that a good silence or a bad silence??" It was rare she'd seen him look so nervous, his cheeks flushing pink, clashing with his sandy hair and beard.
"It's a fucking brilliant silence, that's amazing!" Flinging her arms around his neck she squeezed him tightly. "Gosh, do you think he'll say yes?"
"Fuck off," he chuckled into her hair.
"Fuck off, yourself," she smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you. Because he'll have to answer to me if he fucks this up."
A quiet cough emanated from behind her and she let got of Andy, spinning to find Sam standing by the door, looking slightly flustered.
"I promise, I know how lucky I am," he said quietly.
"Shit, sorry…I didn't mean…"
"Yes, you did," he grinned, opening his arms to hug her. "Cab's waiting downstairs, better run before it fucks off without you."
"Thank you for letting me intrude on your life like this, for so long," she said, releasing him and following Andy's lead down the stairs to the street.
"Any time."
"You say that, but I could be back next week and then you'll regret it."
"I definitely would," said Andy and, taking advantage of the additional height she had being higher up than him, she clipped him round the head. "Oi!"
As Sam hoisted her case into the trunk of the cab, Clara reached up to pull Andy into a final hug.
"I love you, Panda. Thank you for this. I'm sorry you had to do it."
"Love you too," he mumbled, squeezing her. "And I meant what I said, just call me, ok? You can't break the pinky swear."
She nodded, pulling back and he dropped a kiss to her forehead.
"I'll call you tomorrow," she said as she climbed into the backseat. "Love you."
"Love you too," Andy smiled, closing the door for her and stepping back, tapping the roof as he went.
Waving as the car pulled off, she swiveled in her seat to keep waving out the back windscreen until the taxi turned the corner at the end of the block and they vanished from view. Sitting back against the seat, she swallowed down the lump in her throat, breathing slowly to try and quash the butterflies that began dancing in her stomach.
It would be ok this time. She was better. She wasn't going to fall into the same cycles again.
Leaning her head against the window, she watched the Brooklyn streets slip by.
It would be ok this time. She didn't need Cillian to be happy.
*****
November 2020
Mask on, Cillian stuck his head around the door to her office, tapping it as he did to get her attention.
"Gimme one sec, Hels. Sorry."
She quickly clicked both her camera and mic off, tugging her headphones out of her ears.
"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you."
"That's ok. You off?"
"Yeah, I'm not sure exactly when I'll be back - I'll keep you posted."
"Try not to sleep with her, alright?"
He rolled his eyes above the cotton of his face-mask. "I'll do my best."
Gathering her headphones, she turned to go back to work but he continued hovering in the doorway.
"What's the matter?"
"I really am sorry. I should have told you the full thing last night. I wasn't trying to keep it from you, it was just late and I didn't want to upset you."
"It's ok, I get it." She offered him an apologetic smile. "Sorry baby, but I really need to get back to this. Helena's waiting for me."
"We really are ok, aren't we?"
"Of course we are. I'll see you later, yeah? Love you."
She could feel him loitering but chose to ignore it, shoving her earbuds back in and clicking her camera back to life. As she un-muted, apologising again to Helena, she heard the door click shut behind her.
"Everything alright?"
Pinning a smile to her face, she nodded. "Fine, yeah. Finn's got covid and Cill's helping out, and it's a whole complicated mess, but it's fine." Forcing a laugh, Helena chuckled too, and they returned to the more boring matters of business.
*****
He brooded the whole way to Aoife's house, drumming the steering wheel, his concentration not wholly on the road in front of him. The look on her face when he'd made the crack about Eef wanting to fuck him was burned into his retinas. And he was certain she was lying to him about things being ok. Would he be ok if the tables were turned? If Jack Mullan showed up and tried it on with her?
His fingers tightened around the wheel.
Cillian had never considered himself a violent man - he was a lover not a fighter. In fact, ideally, he was a 'run away and hide in a quiet corner until things have died down', kind of man. But the idea of another man trying to kiss his wife sent waves of such searing hot wrath through him, he knew if he was confronted with the moment, he'd be powerless against making it physical.
And so the idea that Clara might think that he'd wanted it to happen, that he would ever want anyone other than her, hurt him like she'd taken a knife and shoved it into his chest.
Still meditating on dark thoughts, he waited on the front step for long time before the door opened, and when it did, it was Eoin.
"Mum said you weren't coming back."
"Well, Mum was wrong." Eoin stepped aside so he could come in, shedding layers against the freezing day outside. "How's your brother?"
"I dunno, fine I think."
Cillian squinted at his eldest son. "Fine, you think?"
Eoin shrugged, slouching off towards the kitchen, tugging open the fridge and eyeing its contents moodily.
"I'm not allowed to see him and Mum's been busy with him all morning." He lifted out a carton of juice, and went to put the opening to his mouth.
"Don't do that!" Cillian swiped it out of his hand but neither of them had a firm hold and it tumbled to the floor, leaking orange liquid everywhere. "Fuck," he hissed, righting it before it could spread further and going to grab the kitchen roll.
"What did you do that for?!"
"There's fucking covid in the house, Eoin, you can't be drinking out of shared containers. That's basic fucking hygiene control."
"Language," Eoin muttered, grabbing a glass and pouring what was left of the carton into it.
"Here, come and help me clean this up."
With a sigh that only those suffering from the indignity of adolescence could muster, Eoin took a wadge of kitchen roll and dropped down to help soak up orange juice.
"Why're you here anyway? I thought Mum kicked you out last night?"
Cillian looked up sharply. "What?"
"Mum, I heard her yelling at you down here and then she was shouting after you from the door."
"It was just a misunderstanding. She's - we're both - very tired and worried about Finn."
"Didn't sound like a misunderstanding."
"Well, Eoin, incredibly enough, you're not the authority on grown up relationships, ok?"
It came out far more tersely than he intended and Eoin immediately pushed himself back to his feet, dumping the soggy tissue in the bin.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't…" He sighed heavily, hanging his head for a second before looking up at his son. "I'm sorry you heard us fighting again, ok? Really, I am."
"Y'know, every time you come round here, you make it worse. She's worse. And it's the rest of us who have to put up with it."
"I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure Finn was ok."
"Yeah? At what fucking cost though?"
Eoin stalked away towards the stairs, not stopping when Cillian called his name. Resting his hands on the tiled floor, he hung his head and swore under his breath.
"What are you doing down there?"
He looked up to find Aoife in the doorway, her face pale.
"Eoin spilt…d'y'know what, it doesn't matter." Slowly, knees clicking, he climbed to his feet, throwing away his handful of damp tissue. "Why did you tell him I wasn't coming today?"
"Because I didn't think you would be," she snapped.
"I said I'd be back in the morning to see Finn."
"I've learned not to assume you're not lying to me."
He bit down hard on the side of his tongue. "Aoife, what happened last night wasn't my fault. I'm sorry if you thought there was something going on that there wasn't, but I'm not going to take the blame for you entirely misreading something that wasn't there. It was you who was out of order, not me. So don't fucking stand there and act like it's my fault and don't you fucking dare tell my kids that I'd just walk out on them like that."
She flushed, colour creeping from the collar of her jumper to her cheeks. "Well it wouldn't be the first time."
"I never walked out on them - I was you who tried to stop me seeing them."
"Well, I—"
He waved his hand impatiently, interrupting her. "I don't fucking care, Eef, I really don't. I'm here to see Finn and the less time we spend talking the better. I'm going up, does he need anything bringing?"
Her mouth closed with a snap, lips drawing into a thin, pale line.
"He asked for some juice."
Cillian glanced at the floor. "Fuck. I think Eoin just took the last of it."
"There'll be another in the garage, I'll get it. Put your bag on."
She disappeared and he complied, fighting his way into the black plastic, feeling like a moron. He'd called the production team the previous afternoon and they were looking into whether they could send him over some proper PPE equipment, but by the time it arrived, he thought, Finn would be better.
Hopefully.
*****
October 2014
"How was the flight?"
Clara wedged her phone against her ear with her shoulder, pulling clothes out of her case.
"Long and uncomfortable. Why aren't we rich enough to travel business class?"
"When you were being a dirty stop out, why didn't you manage to find yourself a nice sugar daddy we could leach off?"
"Sadly I wasn't really looking for that at the time. I'll do better next time."
Silence lingered on the line.
"I'm kidding, Andy."
"Please don't even joke."
"Though if I do relapse, it won't be my fault. First fucking thing I saw when I got down to the Tube was a massive fucking poster for some play he's doing at the National.
"Oh shit…"
"I almost fell off the platform. He shouldn't be allowed to jumpscare people like that."
"You ok?"
"Yeah," she sighed, sitting down amidst a pile of underwear and vest tops. "He looked good."
"Fuck him."
She chewed her thumbnail.
"Say it."
"Fuck him."
"Ah come on, you can do better than that."
"Fuck him."
"Better. Once more, with feeling?"
"FUCK HIM!"
"Atta girl."
Clara chuckled softly, the noise loud in the quiet of her flat and Hemingway appeared at the door, mewling as he rubbed himself the edge of the chest of drawers.
"I'd better go, his lordship wants dinner."
"Has he forgiven you yet?"
"Depends whether or not I'm holding treats. I think he prefers his pampered life of luxury with Anita."
Hemingway meowed more loudly, looking balefully up at her with large green eyes, before headbutting her shin.
"Alright you furry monster, I'm coming. Sorry, Pands, I'm too jet-lagged to multi-task. I'll give you a ring tomorrow because I need all the details of how and when you're planning on popping the question."
"God, please, I need your help."
"Yay," she grinned, standing up, stretching her back which was still stiff from the flight. "Love you, byeeee."
"You too, bye!"
Hanging up, she meandered back to the kitchen, her fluffy shadow trailing every step, yelling his head off and almost tripping her up twice on the way.
*****
Maintaining her early to bed, early to rise and exercise regimen in London was much harder than it had been in New York. For starters, once she got over the jet-lag, starting work at before six in the morning and logging off mid-afternoon didn't fit with the nine to five working pattern of everyone else around her.
And it was cold.
Autumn was already well into making its presence felt; freezing foggy drizzle that weaseled its way between even the smallest gaps in clothing and soaked you in minutes, daybreak creeping sluggishly later each passing morning. Getting up to run around Richmond Park in the dark was significantly less appealing than her usual route in Brooklyn.
Every morning and evening when she trundled into central London on the Tube she endured the unavoidable barrage of posters for his play that plastered half the stations she rolled through. And in the evenings, she was bombarded with adverts on the BBC for the new series of Peaky Blinders, Cillian strutting moodily on screen in his peaked cap, a cigarette dangling insouciantly from his lips.
But she refused to let it get the better of her. Instead she treated it like exposure therapy - the more she had to confront his presence in the world, the easier it became to see his face without feeling like she was being stabbed in the stomach. And instead of early morning jaunts around the park, she joined the gym near her office, commuting early and running on the treadmill until her lungs burned before her working day began.
"Fuck me, you look amazing!" exclaimed Helena, passing Clara's office a few days after her return. "D'you think Mal would let me go and work in New York too, if that's how it treats you?"
Clara felt her face heat up. "I'm sure if you asked nicely he would. But a five-thirty start takes some getting used to."
"I have a toddler - I already live there," sighed Helena, with a half smile. "I don't look half as good as you on it though. I like the hair too - very chic."
Patting her shoulder-skimming curls self-consciously, Clara smiled. "Thanks. I needed the change. And what are you on about, you always look great."
"I'm held together with concealer, eyeliner and vast quantities of dry shampoo," chuckled Helena. "But thanks. Are you coming to the budget meeting later?"
Clara groaned. "Oh god, is that today?"
"Please don't leave me there alone, I've missed you. Wasn't the same at all having you through a screen."
"I'll be there." She smiled softly. "I missed you all too."
"All?"
"Well, some," she giggled.
"Next time you go away for that long, take me with you, ok?"
"Promise. Are you popping out for lunch later?"
Clara's phone started to ring, the display showing her the number of one of her most difficult writers and she swore quietly.
"I'll pick you up on the way. Have fun with that," Helena smiled, pointing at the phone and heading for the door.
"Thanks," Clara replied dryly, taking a deep breath and pasting on a smile as she lifted the receiver. "Clara McKenna, how can I help you?"
*****
The weeks raced by, October dwindling towards Halloween. The clocks changed, darkness falling earlier in the afternoons, ghosts and pumpkins and vampires fighting for shelf space in the shops with Christmas decorations and goodies.
The thought of Christmas exhausted her. Her mother in her useful whirlwind of stress, the house crowded and noisy with relatives.
"And how's your love life?"
The question dreaded by all singletons, as Bridget Jones had so accurately put it. Last year she'd avoided it by the fact that everyone was too embarrassed to ask, the spectre of her break-up with Jack looming in the empty space on her left hand ring-finger. But this year they'd be back, she knew. Because surely she must have moved on by now?
As she passed the end of the red, green and gold aisle in Tesco, she made a mental note to make sure Andy was coming home for it, and to bully him into it if not.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she tugged it out, juggling her shopping basket over her elbow.
I had a really good time last night - are you free for drinks on Wednesday? x
Her stomach fluttered a little. She hadn't really meant to start dating again so soon, but when the cutely nerdy guy at the gym, who was an early-bird like her, asked if maybe she'd like to get coffee sometime, she found herself saying yes.
She then spent several days anxiously worrying about whether she should cancel, whether it was too soon, and what if she was just falling back into old habits. But it was only coffee in the cafe at the gym before she went to work, so how dangerous could that be, realistically?
And it had actually been fun. They both turned up ready for work, his hair still damp from the shower, the ice breaking as they laughed awkwardly at the strangeness of seeing each other in proper clothes, rather than sweaty and disheveled. Harry was sweet, a couple of years younger than her, with an easy smile and warm brown eyes, and she found herself laughing more than she expected to. Ignoring her previous concerns, she agreed to a second date before the first one was even over - dinner and drinks after work on Friday.
"Don't rush into something new," cautioned Andy over facetime when she called him as she made dinner the night before she met Harry for the second time.
"I'm not, I promise. He's nice, but it's not serious. And hey, I'm letting him buy me dinner before I put out, so that's progress."
"Mac…"
"I'm joking. I'm not going to sleep with him. He says he's fine with taking things slowly, so I'm holding him to it."
A promise she had kept, instead letting him kiss her goodnight at the Tube station before she went home alone.
Biting her smiling lip as she stood in the supermarket, she tapped out a reply.
Wednesday works for me, x
"S'cuse me, luv, can I get at the beans?"
Looking up to find an tiny older lady staring daggers at her, Clara flushed, quickly moving out of the way with a mumbled apology. Her phone vibrated again with another message and she tucked it back into her pocket with a smile.
Maybe questions about her love life would be alright after all.
*****
Harry laced his fingers with hers as they walked slowly towards the Tube station, weaving slightly to make way for others on the ever-crowded pavements and to avoid the worst of the puddles. Drinks had turned into dinner and the rain had finally stopped when they'd been in the restaurant. Warmed by a couple of glasses of wine, Clara felt a soft glow of contentment blooming in her chest at the feeling of his larger fingers entwined with hers.
"Are you sure I can't take you home?" he said as they neared her station, gently tugging her to a stop and guiding her out of the way of others, tugging her gently towards him with his free hand in the small of her back.
"It's miles out of your way."
"I don't mind," he smiled, tucking a curl back behind her ear.
"It would be a long way to go just to kiss me goodnight on my doorstep."
"Maybe I don't mind that either," he said, leaning down to brush his lips against hers and she smiled into it, kissing him back.
"I really meant what I said about taking it slow," she mumbled against his mouth.
"I know. I'm not expecting anything."
He kissed her again, hand on her cheek, stooping to meet her and she pushed up on her toes, curling her fingers into the lapels of his coat.
"Please?"
"I mean, if you insist," she laughed softly, pecking his lips one last time before drawing back, warmth painting her cheeks, his caramel eyes aglow as he took her hand again and led the way into the station.
*****
"This is me," she murmured as they reached her house on the quiet Victorian terrace. Leading him up to the porch, she paused at the front door, turning to face him. "I had fun tonight," she smiled. "And you really didn't have to do this."
"Me too, and I wanted to," he said quietly, leaning down to catch her mouth with his, her arms looping around his neck, a soft moan in her throat as he deepened the kiss. Her back hit the front door with a gentle thud, his tongue sneaking between her lips to glide with hers, warm hands pushing beyond her coat to rest on her hips.
Pulling back, he rested his forehead against hers, smiling.
"Night then."
She felt dizzy, the dangerous part of her brain was screaming to invite him inside and she tried to block it out.
If he kisses like that, what else is he going to be good at, it argued.
"Night," she whispered, a little breathlessly, and he began to turn away.
"Wait…"
Tugging him by the collar of his coat she dragged him back into another kiss, letting him press her into the front door, the heat of his body leaching through his clothes into her. His lips traveled from her mouth to her jaw, ghosting across her neck above her scarf.
"You should go," she gasped, hands cupping his face to match her lips with his again. "I really did mean what I said."
"You have to let go of me for me to go," he laughed, giving her a final peck as she reluctantly released him from her grip.
"Dinner on Friday? My place?" he asked as he started to move back to the street.
"Sounds dangerous," she smiled, biting her lip and he held up his hands.
"No funny business. Just badly cooked pasta, I promise."
"You're really selling it."
"I'll order a take-away," he laughed.
"Goodnight. See you on friday."
Lifting a hand in farewell, he set off back towards the station as she fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking slightly.
Close call.
But possibly not the end of the world, if she had. If she did on Friday… After all, this was nothing like how she'd been behaving before. Biting her lip at the thought of what Friday night might hold, she finally succeeded in opening the door, letting herself into the hall she shared with Anita.
Humming quietly, bubble of warmth spreading through her, she locked the door and turned around to head up the stairs.
She stopped abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth to catch the gasp in her throat.
"Hi Clara," Cillian said softly.
Cue the screaming at me for cutting it there 🤭🙈 The next chapter is going to be the Big One you’ve been waiting for 😘 We’re so close to the end of Book 1 now, I can taste it 😬 As ever, come scream those feelings in all the usual ways, x
And here’s the second update for today! Don’t forget to read Part 35 first. Enjoy 😘
Summary: In 2014, Cillian faces the music and tells his sons about the divorce. 2020, Cillian and Clara discuss their impending separation and he pitches in to help Aoife look after Finn… with unintended consequences.
Warnings: Themes of infidelity, divorce and separation. Probably inaccurate portrayal of children’s responses to that but I’ve done my best 🙈 TW for covid and quarantine things. And the tiniest hint of smut (cos it’s them 🤭).
Word count: 6910 PART 35 | SERIES
Part 36: Every End Is A Beginning, Pt. 3
November 2020
He collapsed into Clara's arms, face burying into her neck as he gasped for air, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Her body still twitched and fluttered with aftershocks around his softening length.
"Fuck, I missed you," she laughed breathlessly, stroking the nape of his neck, pressing kisses against his temple.
"I missed you too," he murmured, uncurling so he could kiss her softly, hearing her murmur quietly as he eased out of her sweet confines, rolling to lie next to her. Immediately, she snuggled in beside him, his arm looping around her shoulders, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.
"I'm not sure how I'm going to do this," she said quietly after a moment.
"Do what?" he asked, his head still up in the post-orgasmic haze clouds.
"Four months."
He came back down to earth with a bump.
Pulling her closer, he kissed her hair. "It'll be ok."
She twisted to look up at him and the look in her eyes cut him in two. "Four months without being able to even visit though. We've never done that long before."
He stroked his fingers over her hair, smoothing it back and cupping her cheek.
"I know. I'm… I'll think of something."
Her lip wobbled and he saw her fight it, teeth digging into its soft swell.
"Hey, c'mon, it'll be ok."
Drawing a shakey breath, she swallowed it down, and nodded. "No, I know, I just—" She coughed out an embarrassed chuckle, dipping her chin to avoid him. "I've been making myself kind of crazy this week, that's all."
He frowned, trying to coax her head up so he could see her. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing, I shouldn't have—"
"Clara…"
She met his eyes again, the reddening of her cheeks not entirely caused by their recent exertions.
"The last time we were apart for this long was—"
"2014," he finished for her and she nodded. "This isn't that, though, love."
"No, I know. I just…" She sighed, rolling away from him to stare at the ceiling, the low light from their bedside lamps casting abstract shadows across it. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. About everything that happened…"
He propped himself on his elbow, looking down at her, reaching to gently tilt her face towards him.
"I've been thinking about it too."
Her brow furrowed. "You have?"
"Not because this is anything like it, though. Just… yeah, it was a long time. Enda and I were talking about how it's only other time we've been apart that long." He ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "And that was all my fault."
Her face softened slightly but she didn't disagree.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I still can't believe how fucking selfish I was… how much I hurt you… and Aoife. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently." He smiled softly. "Like just marry you the minute I met you."
She reached up, brushing her fingers through the longer part of his hair that had flopped over his forehead.
"It's ok."
"It's not."
She smiled sadly, trailing her fingertips down his cheek. "No, it's not." Sliding her hand to the back of his neck, she tugged him gently towards her, his lips finding hers.
"This isn't going to be anything like that," he murmured, kissing her forehead and pulling her into his arms. "I promise. We'll figure something out."
*****
October 2014
The days crept forward unbearably slowly as he sat in his new rented flat, unable to see his sons, having to pretend he wasn't in the country. Picking them up from Páidi's later on the Saturday afternoon after her left Aoife, her words still burning his skin, he'd had to draw on all his experience to put on a convincing show that he'd been called away last minute.
Finn was too young to disbelieve him, but Eoin had been harder to convince.
"You said you weren't going to be away anymore this year."
"I know, but something's come up that I didn't know I'd have to do. It's only a week and then I'll be home again, I promise."
The lies and promises tasted like ashes on his tongue. Bitter. Acrid.
"Why can't someone else do it?"
Cillian sighed heavily. "Because they want it to be me. I'm sorry, pal, I really am."
"You don't like living with us. You'd rather be away."
Eoin's words knocked him in the chest like a fist.
"No, I don't! Why would you say something like that?"
"Mum says—" He stopped abruptly, staring at the floor.
"What does mum say?"
Eoin's eight-year old face twisted, colour rising to his cheeks. "I dunno…"
"Eoin…"
"Alriiight," he huffed, drawing several extra syllables into the word. "I heard her talking to Auntie Emer…"
Fucking Emer, Cillian thought to himself. Never his biggest fan.
"Well, I'm sure you misunderstood what she was saying - that's why it's rude to evesdrop," he said, with a pointed expression, and Eoin looked back down at his feet, scowling. "Hey," he chided more gently, crouching to his level, "look at me."
Slowly, a pair of blue eyes, uncannily like his own, met his.
"I know this year has been tough and I've been away a lot. But there is nowhere else I'd rather be right now than at home with you and your brother, d'you hear me? But I have to go and do this work otherwise I'll get in trouble. And you don't want me to get into trouble, do you?"
Eoin shrugged huffily but Finn came closer, wrapping his little arms around Cillian's neck.
"I don't want you to get in trouble, Daddy."
He kissed his soft hair, still with half an eye on his eldest son. "Thank you, monkey."
"Yeah, ok, I guess I don't want you to get in trouble," Eoin muttered.
"Ok, then. Pals?" Cillian held out a hand to Eoin and he took it, still somewhat reluctantly.
"Pals."
Cillian tugged hin closer into a hug. "I'm really sorry, buddy. I wouldn't go unless I absolutely had to."
"S'ok," Eoin mumbled against his shoulder.
Releasing both boys, Cillian pushed himself to his feet again, knees and thighs protesting at his prolonged squat.
"Come on, let go and see mum. Go and say thank you to Auntie Lucy and Uncle Pád for having you over."
He nudged them towards the living room where his brother and sister-in-law had kindly slipped away to give him some room with the kids.
They came out, followed by the adults, and Pád caught his eye above the children's heads.
"Alright?" he mouthed, cocking his head towards them and Cillian nodded.
"It was lovely seeing you both," smiled Lucy, giving Finn a hug but not forcing one on Eoin, who was getting to the age where it was deeply uncool to be hugged by relatives he used to cling to like a spider monkey.
"Thanks for having them," smiled Cillian, and she gave him a soft look of sympathy that made the knots in his stomach tighten.
"Any time," said Páidi, giving his brother a quick hug, having reached the age where it was once again acceptable to hug your relatives.
Cillian ushered the kids out to the car and took them back to Aoife, who barely looked at him when he arrived and did a very bad job of saying a believable goodbye as he left for 'work'.
And now he was here. In this flat. Cut off from them for a whole week and he had literally nothing to do but wait, and wonder what lies she might already be telling them. What else she might be saying to Emer where big-earred eight-year olds might overhear.
Well, he wasn't exactly left with nothing to do. He had fifteen years of a relationship to dismantle, somehow. And to that end, he spent a long, exhausting and rather miserable morning with his new divorce lawyer on Wednesday, going through his affairs.
And his affair.
"Let me be clear, Cillian, I will get the best for you that I can. But I need you to be as honest with me as possible, or I can't represent you to the best of my ability."
He was so used to Marty's paternal affability that Sasha Rafferty caught him slightly by surprise when he met her. She was younger than he'd expected, maybe just a few years older than him. Maybe not even that. Her sharp bob was grey in that premature way of those with very dark hair, but she wore it like a choice. Sleek and elegant, it was hard to imagine she'd ever been any other way.
Over very good coffee, she made him set out as many of the sordid details as he could bear. And then many more he couldn't, but had no choice but to provide, under her dark, laser-focussed stare.
"I don't want her name coming up anywhere," he'd said, right at the start. "She's not involved, it's been over for months. I don't want her being dragged into it. Especially if it gets out into the public."
"We'll do what we can, but we can't control what Ms Carmichael may choose to do with her representatives."
Ms Carmichael. That was how she always referred to her. Never Aoife. Never Mrs Murphy. Crisp, clinical, like it was already over and she'd given up his name.
He saw Páidi and Lucy for a couple of evenings and, even though DIY wasn't his forte, while the kids were out at school, he helped Orla with some jobs around her house, preparations for baby number three who would be with them by Christmas.
Christmas. His chest tightened just thinking about it. How would that even work in the new normal to come..? The idea of not seeing the boys on Christmas morning wasn't even something he could look directly at, the thought of not being with them far too big and awful to be imagined.
"You'll work something out," Pád had said, over beers in Cillian's new flat, on the Friday night. "She's not going to keep you away from them at Christmas."
Cillian wasn't so sure about that. The ferocious look on her face when he'd left the previous Saturday was branded into his brain.
You not being here is normal… They're so used to you not being around they won't even blink… We'll be just fine without you.
He had to believe that wasn't true. That they missed him, even just a little. Surely Eoin wouldn't have been so upset about him going away again if he didn't care that he was gone..?
"Are you ready for tomorrow?" asked Páidi, drawing him out of miserable musings, into the miserable reality of what lay ahead of them all the next day.
"Not really," he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "I keep practicing what to say in my head but I don't know what Eef's been saying to them this week, or what she might say in front of them tomorrow… She's so fucking angry."
"She's not gonna say anything outrageous in front of them, though. She's their mum, she'll want to protect them from it as much as possible."
Cillian nodded mutely, sipping from his bottle.
"It'll be ok," Páidi tried again. "It'll be awkward as fuck, but you love them and as long as they know that, it'll be ok."
*****
November 2020
"I'm not sure what time I'll be home," Cillian said, standing at the front door, a small bag at his feet. Emergency essentials, just in case.
"It's ok, just keep me posted."
Clara stretched up to wrap her arms around his neck, not really wanting to let go; it would be the last time she'd be allowed to touch him for two weeks. Given Finn's condition, they'd agreed Cillian would have to quarantine after he'd seen him, just to be safe.
He squeezed her back, pressing a kiss against the juncture where her shoulder met her neck.
"I hate this," he mumbled.
"It's for the best," she replied, brushing her fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead.
"I'm only home, and you're within touching distance, but I'm not going to be allowed to touch you. S'fucking torture."
"You'll manage," she chuckled, kissing him slowly when he pulled back, lips searching for hers.
"When I get the all clear, you better take the day off." His eyes gleamed wickedly and she pulled him into another kiss, breath catching in the back of her throat when he spun her on the spot. "If you can still walk when I'm done with you, I'll have failed," he mumbled against her lips, pushing her gently against the door.
His hands slid under her jumper, chilly against her ribs, and she gasped, squeezing his shoulders.
"One for the road?" he asked, trailing his lips down her throat and she whimpered her agreement.
*****
"You said you'd be here at ten," Aoife scolded barely even saying hello before having a go at him. Colour rose to his cheeks and he avoided her eyes.
"Got caught up in something. I've only just got home, remember? Sorry, I'm here now, how is he?"
She opened the door wider to let him in, catching a faint whiff of his aftershave as he passed by, shrugging off his coat.
"Not great. His cough is horrible."
As if on cue, an awful hacking sound filtered down the stairs.
"How's his breathing?" Cillian asked quietly.
Aoife bit her lip. "I think it's ok. He's sleeping a lot. I rang the out of hours thing last night and they said I could give him some ibuprofen as well as the Calpol and he's been a little less warm since then."
Cillian nodded while she spoke and then surprised her by putting his arms around her shoulders.
"Are you ok?"
She nodded against his chest and quickly disentangled herself from him, feeling her cheeks warming.
"Is it ok if I go up to see him?"
"Yeah, just hang on, I've got some stuff…"
She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a box of latex gloves and a bin-bag.
"Eef…isn't that a bit…"
"I'm trying not to let it spread and I can't be getting changed every time I go in to see him. Please, Cillian. Last thing I need is for Eoin and Dad to get it too. I'm already run ragged after just Finn."
"Yeah… ok, yeah, I get it," he mumbled, taking the bin bag and tearing a hole in the bottom to put it over his head. "Can you...?" He gestured with his elbows and she tore the seam on either side so he could get his arms out.
"Feel like one of those fucking care home staff off the telly," he said, trying to chuckle but stopping when he saw her face harden. "Sorry, it's smart. I'll call around later and see if there's any way we can get some proper PPE."
"Put your mask on and take these," she said, handing him some gloves.
"Are you sure we're not going to just scare him more like this?" he asked, voice slightly muffled as he tucked the straps of his mask into place.
"I explained it to him last night and again this morning. He understands why it's important. We're just trying to keep Grandad safe."
"Where is Gerry?"
"I'm trying to keep him and Eoin in their rooms now as much as possible." As she spoke, Eoin appeared on the stairs, meandering down toward them.
"Hiya, Dad."
"Alright?" smiled Cillian.
"Though I might as well be talking to the fucking wall. Eoin! I said to stay up there."
"I can't hear the telly over his coughing."
Aoife turned a pained expression towards Cillian.
"C'mon, Eoin. You know it makes sense," he cajoled.
"But I'm not sick! And if I have to stay in my room, why are you here when you don't even live here anymore??"
"Because your bother's poorly and I'm here to help. Come on, go back up and stop trying to make your mum's life harder."
Eoin flicked a glance at Aoife and she folded her arms sternly.
"Ughhh… fiiiiinnne."
He stomped back upstairs, slamming his bedroom door.
"Bet you're glad you came," said Aoife, rolling her eyes and she saw him smile behind his mask, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you want a tea or anything?"
"Yeah, thanks. I'll just go up and see him first."
*****
October 2014
Everything about it was worse than he'd hoped it would be.
The kids were excited to see him - or Finn was, at least - when he came home, but their enthusiasm was short-lived.
Aoife wouldn't even look at him.
Gently, she ushered the boys into the front room, sitting them on one of the sofas while Cillian hovered awkwardly by the other. It already didn't feel like his house anymore. It was her domain and he was trespassing.
"Why are you both being weird?" asked Eoin, eyeing them under lowered brows and Finn shifted next to him, face uncertain.
"We're not being weird, we just need to have a wee chat with you both," said Aoife, forcing a reassuring smile that vanished as she looked Cillian's way. "Cill, come and sit down."
They both perched awkwardly on the footstool, which wasn't quite wide enough for two, made worse by the fact they were repelling each other like magnets of the same pole.
Trying to ignore how she flinched when his arm accidentally brushed hers, he took a deep breath.
"Boys, your mum and I… we need to talk to you about something important. But before we do, we need you to remember that we love you both so much, ok?"
Finn nodded, his young face scrunched in expectant confusion. But Eoin turned pale.
"No…" he mumbled.
"We love you so much," Cillian carried on, twisting his fingers together so hard his knuckles turned white, "and this is going to be difficult to hear but… but sometimes how mummies and daddies love each other changes…"
"You're getting divorced," said Eoin flatly before he could finish the speech he'd written in his head, and Finn looked at him with a frown.
"What does that mean?" he asked, turning his wide-eyed blue stare at his parents.
"It means Dad's leavings us," said Eoin before either of them could speak.
"Why??"
"No, no. That's not… I'm not leaving you."
"If you're getting divorced then you're not going to live here anymore, are you?"
Cillian took a deep breath and Aoife didn't say a word to help him.
"No, I'm not—"
"But why?!" shouted Finn.
Cillian moved to the sofa, gathering his youngest son onto his lap.
"It's complicated, monkey, but sometimes mums and dads… sometimes it's better for them to not be together anymore." He avoided looking at Aoife as he spoke. "They still love each other, but that love changes."
"Do you not love us too?" asked Finn in a small voice and Cillian cuddled him tighter.
"God no! How Mummy and I love you two could never, ever change. It's just something that happens sometimes between grown ups."
"Daddy's right," Aoife said quietly. "You're our babies, we could never love you less—"
"I'm not a baby," argued Finn.
"Yes you are," snarked Eoin.
"I am NOT!' Finn wriggled in Cillian's arms trying to lash out at his older brother.
"Woah, stop, stop! Neither of you are babies anymore, but you're still our babies. Always will be. Even when you're great big grown up boys," said Cillian, wrestling Finn away from Eoin.
Eoin twisted to look at Cillian, flicking glances back at Aoife.
"I knew you didn't want to live with us anymore."
The coldness in his pale eyes was like a knife in Cillian's chest.
"Hey, no. Absolutely not. That's not what this is at all. I don't want to not be here with you and I'm going to see you all the time. I promise."
"If you don't want to leave then why are you?!" Eoin shouted, tears gleaming in his lashline and he pushed Cillian away when he reached for him.
"It's complicated, pal," Cillian tried, glancing at Aoife for support.
"What did you do?!"
His mouth opened and closed, words failing him for a second. The truth wasn't something he could deploy here.
"He didn't do anything," Aoife said, finally coming to his rescue. "This is just one of those things, love. It's best for us all if Dad moves out, but he still loves you."
"Liar! I heard you slagging him off to Auntie Emer!"
Aoife's mouth opened in shocked but Eoin was on his feet now, tears slipping down his reddening cheeks.
"You kissed someone else, didn't you?!" he shouted at his father.
Cillian blanched. "What?? No, of course I—"
"You did! You kissed someone else and now you're going to leave! I hate you!"
He ran out of the room, the door slamming so hard it rocked on its hinges. Cillian started to gently move Finn out of his lap to go after him, but Aoife stopped him.
"Don't. You'll only make it worse."
"Why would he think—?"
"Malachy Leahy in his class. His mum and dad are getting divorced and his dad…y'know…" She cocked her head meaningfully, not wanting to say it out loud in front of Finn.
"Daddy, I don't want you to go away again," Finn said quietly, staring up at Cillian.
Cillian leaned down and kissed to top of his head. "I'm sorry, monkey. But it's not like when I go to work and I'm not here. I'll still be nearby and you and your brother can come and stay, and I'll see you all the time." He looked at Aoife and raised his eyebrow. "Right, Mummy?"
"We'll figure it out," she mumbled, non-committally.
"But I don't want you to live somewhere else. You live here."
Cillian hugged him tighter, tears pricking the back of his eyes. "I know, love, but I can't live here anymore."
"But why?" Big, round blue eyes stared balefully up at him.
"Because Mummy and I—"
"Because Daddy doesn't love me anymore," interrupted Aoife, glaring at him, tears filming her eyes.
"Why not?"
"Jesus, Eef," Cillian mumbled before looking back down at Finn. "It's complicated, monkey. Grown ups' stuff. And it's not that I don't love Mummy anymore," he said, looking pointedly at Aoife. "It's just that things have changed."
"What things?"
Cillian closed his eyes and hoped maybe divine intervention would save him.
But, alas, nothing happened, and Aoife just left him there to hang by his own indescretions.
"It's complicated, sweetheart. You'll understand when you're older."
"Don't you want to live with us anymore?"
"Of course I do." Cillian squeezed him, pressing kisses into his hair, feeling a tear slip down the side of his nose. "More than anything. But I can't. And that's no one's fault."
Aoife snorted derisively, and he pulled a face at her over Finn's head.
"And it's especially not your fault, or Eoin's. And it's not Mummy's fault either. I love you boys, so much."
"But I don't want you to go away…" Finn started to wail, tears tumbling down round cheeks and Aoife reached for him, gently tugging out of Cillian's arms.
"It's ok, baby. It'll all be ok, I promise," she soothed, rocking him as he cried loudly into her neck.
"I think you should go," she said to Cillian.
"No, I'll talk to Eoin, I—"
"Sssshh baby, it's ok," she said to Finn, kissing the crown of his head. "Don't you dare. You've done enough. Just go."
Standing, Cillian hovered by the door and when he opened it, Finn lifted his head, wailing harder and thrashing in Aoife's arms. Pushing himself forcefully away from her, he ran to Cillian, throwing his arms around his legs.
"Don't go! Don't!"
Cillian reached down and hoisted him up into his arms, little legs wrapping around his middle.
"I have to, monkey. But I'll see you again tomorrow."
"No."
He turned at the sharpness of Aoife's voice.
"I'm taking them to the Kerry house with my parents for half-term."
Cillian opened his mouth, eyes narrowed in confusion.
"Don't fight me. They deserve something nice after this."
"I'll come down—"
"No. We'll be back next Saturday night, you can see them on Sunday…if they want to see you."
"Don't go, Daddy," Finn whined into his neck, his tears wet against his skin. "I don't want you to go."
"It's ok, it's ok," Cillian soothed. "Do you hear that? You're going on a lovely holiday with Mummy and Gran and Grandad. That'll be great, won't it? And I'll see you next weekend."
He tried to set him down but Finn clung on more tightly. Raising a brow at Aoife, inviting her challenge, he sat back down on the sofa, stroking his hand down the little boy's back, mumuring soothingly in his ear.
"Hey now, it'll be ok. I promise. And you're going to go to the beach and build sand castles and play in the sea."
"I don't want to," Finn wailed, voice muffled against his jumper.
"'Course you do, you love the beach."
"It's cold."
"Not with all that running around you do, it's not. It'll be great." A large, painful lump lodged itself in his throat and he had to swallow heavily to speak again, his voice shaking slightly. "And you can tell me all about it when I see you next Sunday, yeah?"
Finally, Finn's grip relaxed and he set back on Cillian's lap, face damp and blotchy.
"Can I make a big castle?"
"I'm sure you can." He looked at Aoife who was hovering by the door, arms folded. "What do you think, Mummy?"
"I bet Grandad will love doing that with you."
"A really big one? With a moat that goes to the sea?"
"I'm sure we can work something out."
"You can show Grandad how to do it, yeah?" said Cillian, stroking his fringe back from his forehead, his face warm from crying.
"Yeah! Like that one we did last summer?"
Cillian swallowed down another lump in his throat. "Exactly, like that one. Can you remember how?"
"Yeah!" Finn turned to Aoife, a big smile tugging at his face. "And we can take lots of pictures for Daddy?"
He saw her force a smile. "Of course. But it's time for Daddy to go now, ok?"
Finn's face fell and his lip wobbled again.
"Hey, hey, look at me," Cillian said quickly, cupping his head in his palm. "It's ok. I'll see you next Sunday and you'll have so many stories to tell me, and pictures to show me, yeah?"
Finn nodded uncertainly but allowed himself to be put back down onto his feet. Before he stood too, Cillain leaned forward and smoothed his hand over Finn's hair.
"I love you, monkey. So, so much. Can you guess how much?"
After a beat, Finn spread his arms.
"Ah now, it's loads more than that."
Wiping his nose on his sleeve Finn giggled a little and then stretched his arms as wide as he possibly could.
"Nah, more than that even." Cillian swept him back into a tight hug, breathing him in, trying to commit every single thing about him to memory. "To the moon," he whispered hoarsly.
"And back again?"
"A million, billion times."
Kissing his forehead he made himself let him go and stood up.
"Can you give me and Mummy a minute? Maybe go and see if your brother is ok?"
Finn nodded and set off upstairs and Cillian waited until he was out of earshot.
"You can't just take them away without asking me," he said quietly.
Aoife's lip curled. "You're lucky I'm letting them see you at all, you fucking degenerate."
His eyes widened like she's slapped him.
"Eef… if you think I'm going to let you keep me from them, you've got another thing coming. We have to work this out like fucking adults. I'm their father."
"And what a father you turned out to be."
He ground his teeth together, trying not to rise. "I have a right to see them. And you can't spring plans to take them away on me like that, it's not fair. You'd go mad if it was the other way around."
"Like I give a single shit what's fair to you, Cillian. Go on, get out. I have to go and clean up your mess. Again."
*****
November 2020
The day passed in a strange sort of haze, Cillian and Aoife taking it in turns to sit with Finn as he slept, often coughing himself awake, his breathing uncomfortably shallow and wheezy.
"D'you want me to cook something for tea?" he asked as she came downstairs about six, dark rings under her eyes.
"No, it's ok, you don't have to do that."
"I don't mind." He breathed out something that might have been intended to be a chuckle. "I feel so fucking useless, I'd like to do something actually helpful."
She shrugged, tugging her hair out of the ponytail that had slipped when she'd taken off her makeshift PPE, and pushed her fingers up into it, pulling it back up again.
"Yeah, ok. That would be a big help actually, thanks."
"How is he?"
"About the same."
They shared a look.
"D'you think we need to start thinking about—"
She shook her head sharply. "If they take him in we can't go with him."
"But if he needs it..."
"I don't think it's bad enough yet. Let's see how he gets on tonight."
Cillian nodded slowly. "I'll stay."
"You don't have to do that. Besides, Dad's in the spare room, I've nowhere to put you."
"I can sleep on the sofa."
She put her hands on her hips, staring fretfully at him. "But what about…?"
"I've already told her I'm staying, it's fine." He came over and laid his hands on her shoulders, squeezing slightly. "Is he asleep?"
She nodded.
"You look done in. Why don't you go and have a bath and I'll make dinner?"
Tears prickled behind her eyes and she swallowed. When was the last time someone offered to take over and let her rest?
"No…I should probably—"
"Eef, go and sit down, love. Just tell me what needs doing and I'll do it."
"There's washing in the machine needs to out in the garage."
"I think I can manage that," he smiled. "Now, go. Do you want me to bring you up a drink?"
Oh god, she really was going to cry now. She bit the inside of her cheek.
"No, I'm fine. Thanks. Oh, Dad's a bit picky about—"
"Nothing too spicy, I remember," he smiled. "Go on."
With a grateful nod she left him to it, climbing wearily back upstairs.
"Aoife, love?"
Standing on the top step, she clutched the banister and hung her head, taking a deep breath. "What is it, Dad?"
"Can I have a cuppa, pet?"
"Yep," she replied, trying to keep the sigh from her voice. She hadn't made it even two steps back down when Eoin appeared at his bedroom door.
"Can I play Xbox downstairs? Malachy's asking if I can do a Live."
She had no fight left in her. "Fine. Just until dinner."
His face lit up and he came hurtling out of his room, almost colliding with her and she flattened herself against the wall.
"Bring Grandad up a cup of tea first though, will you?" she called after him, straightening the pictures she had knocked askew. One of them was a smiling family photo from the Kerry house when the boys were very small, she and Cillian beaming at the camera, each wrangling a child.
Christ, they looked young. Exhausted, but happy.
"Eoin, did you hear me?"
"Yeah, I'm doing it!" he shouted back, irritably, and she rolled her eyes.
"Good! I'm going for a bath."
*****
To prevent everyone from losing their minds being trapped in a single room, Aoife was persuaded to let them all eat together downstairs at the table as a family, in a new, strange configuration of four, with Cillian in Finn's seat and Gerry occupying the one that had been Cillian's, many, many years before.
She'd spent almost an hour in the bath, soaking and reading the book that had lain, untouched, on her bedside table since the last time the boys stayed with Cillian. When they were home, she was always so shattered from clearing up after them, and fighting with Eoin about schoolwork, that if she was lucky enough to have opened the book at all, she had usually passed out after half a page.
It had been a rare moment of absolute bliss. No one asking her for anything. No one arguing and expecting her to mediate.
If it hadn't been for Finn's periodic hacking cough filtering past the soft classical music she'd put on the radio, it would have been perfect.
The conversation over dinner was a little stilted at first. Cillian and Gerry only ever saw each other at infrequent family gatherings for the boys, where things were usually smoothed over by a large number of other people being there too. And Cillian had come to her mum's funeral the year before, of course, but she'd asked him to leave after the service, his presence setting her on edge. Her mother, Máire, had never forgiven him for his treatment of her daughter and it felt disloyal of her to let him stay.
Unable to stand the awkwardness at the table, Aoife found herself filling the silence, babbling about goodness knows what and drinking more wine than she probably should have.
Cillian was trying too, she could tell. He tried his best to engage Eoin in conversation, finally succeeding when he steered the subject to music.
"When this is all over, I want to get guitar lessons," Eoin announced, catching her by surprise. "Can I?"
Cillian glanced at her, eyebrow raised with a half smile and she hated how it twinged in her stomach.
"I'm not buying you a guitar for you to do five lessons, get frustrated you aren't immediately perfect and jack it in," she said, a little more tersely than she intended and he scowled.
"I won't. God, you never fucking back me up when I want to try something new."
"Eoin," Cillian said sharply before she could speak. "Language. And don't talk to your mother like that. Of course she backs you up." He turned to Aoife. "He can borrow one of mine, if that works for you?"
"Seriously? Can I??"
Cillian was still looking at her and she took a quick sip of wine to cover the confusing collection of feelings it stirred in her belly.
"Well that would be different. And if you stick with it and want to keep doing it, we can talk about getting you one of your own."
"I used to play the guitar when I was your age," said Gerry, a misty-eyed smile on his face. "Your mother used to come and watch our little band," he said to Aoife.
"I didn't know that… how is that possible I didn't know that?" she smiled. "Were you any good?"
Gerry gave a great big bark of laughter. "Nah, love. We were shite! But she kept turning up. That's how I knew she fancied me." He blinked, his face falling slightly. "Thank goodness she did, because she was the only one I was still turning up to play for."
Aoife's chest tightened at the faraway look in his eyes and she reached for his hand, squeezing gently.
"Language, Grandad," Eoin muttered and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cillian nudge him.
*****
"These are all I've got for bedding, everything else is in use, is that ok?" she asked, dumping a pillow, a pile of sheets and two blankets on the sofa.
"Yeah, I'll be grand."
"It's not exactly The Ritz."
"Believe me, most places aren't. But I've learned to live with it," he smiled, cheekily.
"Do you want a drink? I've got whiskey."
"Are you having one?"
She paused, hovering by the door, glancing at the clock on the mantel. Almost midnight, she probably shouldn't; it could be a long night with Finn. But instead, she heard herself agree.
"Yeah, maybe. Do you want to stick the telly on?"
He shrugged, fidgeting with the remotes as she went to the kitchen, splashing amber liquid into two heavy-based tumblers. When she came back, he was tucking a sheet over the cushions of the second sofa.
"Here." She held one out to him, sitting down on the other and he took it, coming to sit by her.
"Thanks for today - this evening," she said quietly over whatever mindless comedy he'd put on. "I needed it."
"No probelm. That's why I'm here. Shall I take the first shift up with him?"
"No, it's ok, I'll do it. He was breathing better when I left him, I'll go up in a bit."
Cillian leaned back against the cushions, slumped low in his seat, legs spread wide, his shoulder brushing hers slightly as he took a sip of his drink. "Do you remember when Eoin was about three and he had that awful sickness bug?"
She shifted so she was turned further towards him, leaning her head against the cushions. "How could I forget. The whole house stank of boke for weeks afterwards."
He laughed. "And he would only go to sleep if he was literally laying on one of us." Pulling a hand down his face, a soft smile tugged at his lips. "God, the fucking sleep deprivation. Like having another newborn." He turned, resting his head on the side to look at her, dark hair flopping across his forehead, chuckling quietly. "It's incredible that we still had another one after that."
"It was too late, I was already pregnant."
"Oh fuck, of course you were. I forgot."
"I think you were the only one in the house not puking."
He laughed again, the low, warm sound radiating across the small space between them, eyes crinkling at the corners.
She couldn't explain afterwards what made her do it. Maybe it was the look in his eye, soft and blue and smiling at her like he hadn't in a long time. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since someone else lifted the load for her. Or maybe it was just wine and exhaustion, addling her brain.
But whatever the reason, she suddenly found herself leaning forwards and pressing her lips to his.
He jerked back instantly, like she'd burned him.
"Eef… what the fuck…" he said, breathlessly, wide-eyed and pushing a hand through his hair.
But she leaned in again, curling her fingers into his jumper, brushing her lips across his until his hands were on her shoulders, pushing her away.
"Aoife! Stop it! Why would you do that??"
She blinked, like waking up from a trance. "I— I don't—"
"Jesus fuck." He climbed to his feet, his fingers running agitatedly over his lips.
She sat, frozen in shock at her own actions, her hands shaking, scalding mortification climbing up her neck to her face.
"Oh right, I see how it is," she stuttered, heart thudding in her ears. "You can fuck her when you're married to me, but it doesn't work the other way round?!"
He stared at her, open-mouthed.
"What the fuck are you even talking about?! We've been divorced for almost six years, Eef! I don't know why you would think—"
"Don't give me that! You've been flirting with me all day!"
His brows pulled together tightly in a picture of complete confusion. "What?! No I haven't!"
"You have… you…you wanted—" She stood, reaching for him but he pulled away, holding out his hands to keep her at bay.
"Aoife, you're knackered, and you've had a drink, and you're not thinking straight. I'm going to go and we'll just pretend this didn't happen."
He was out of the room in a blur and she wobbled slightly as she hurried to follow. Fuck, she really shouldn't have had all that wine earlier.
"Where are you going! What about Finn?!"
He rounded on her by the front door, shoving his feet into his boots.
"I'm sorry, but you'll have to deal with him on your own tonight. I can't stay. Not when you're…" He gestured vaguely in her direction. "Not like this."
He pulled open the door and she tried to close it again but he was stronger, the freezing night air sobering as is slapped her in the face.
"Fine! Fuck you, Cillian! LEAVE! Again!! You don't know how to do anything else!" she yelled at his retreating form heading down the drive. "We'll be just fucking FINE without you, like we always are!!"
"Mum..?"
She wheeled round, tears streaking down her face, to see Eoin in his pyjamas, hair sticking every which way, paused half-way down the stairs.
"Get back to fucking bed!" she shouted and he scurried away, casting a filthy, frightened look behind him.
She heard his bedroom door close and she slid down against the front door, hot tears of shame and embarrassment soaking her palms as she hid her face behind them.
Why had she done that??
Why did it always seem to end like this..?
Part 37
Eeek! Oh Aoife… I promise i’m going to find you a nice man to love when we get into Book 2. I’m sorry i’ve given you such a miserable life but girl you do like to make it harder for yourself 🙈 (Kissing him was her idea and I couldn’t dissuade her 😂).
You can find a little visual piece that goes with this HERE.
Anyway! I hope that makes up for the drought and I’d love to hear your thoughts. More coming just as soon as I can scribble it down! xxx
