she glanced up, caught a little off guard by the concern in monica’s voice. her hand froze mid-wipe on the counter, and for a second, she didn’t answer, just blinked at monica like she hadn’t expected anyone to notice. “yeah,” she said finally, but her voice had that flat, automatic tone that probably wouldn't fool her friend for a second. she looked down at the bar, her fingers picking idly at a scratch in the wood. “i mean, i’m here, right? bills don’t pay themselves.” she tried tacking on a smirk, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. it was hard to meet monica’s gaze when she looked at her like that — soft, steady, like she could see right through the façade max had been building up all night. monica always had that big-sister vibe, the kind that made max both grateful and a little self-conscious when she wasn’t at her best. sighing, she straightened up and gesturing loosely to the room around them. “same old, same old. everyone wants a drink and a story. nothing new.” she tried to shrug it off, but even she could hear the strain in her voice. her hand found the bottle of whiskey, and she poured herself a shot — nothing dramatic, just enough to feel the edge soften. she raised it to monica with a faint smile. “cheers to... whatever this is,” she said, knocking it back before anyone could call her out. leaning her elbows on the bar, max lowered her voice. “i’m fine, really. just been thinking too much lately, you know? work stuff. film stuff. life stuff. you ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re just spinning your wheels?” she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “forget it. i’m being dramatic.” but the way her eyes darted away told a different story.
Monica leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the counter, her gaze never leaving Max’s face. "You know," she started, her voice gentle, "I don’t think you’re being dramatic. And I don’t buy for a second that you’re fine." Monica paused, giving her friend a small smile. "You’re allowed to not be fine. Sometimes it’s hard to see past the mess, especially when you're trying to keep everything together on your own."
She glanced around the bar, noting the usual buzz, the distracted laughter, and the clink of glasses, but it all felt distant compared to the tension between them. "Spinning your wheels," Monica repeated softly, almost to herself. "Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it feels like you’re doing everything you can, but it’s just not enough. Like the world keeps moving, but you’re stuck in place."
Monica let the words settle before she added, "But you’re not alone in this, Max. Not now, not ever. You can talk to me. I won’t judge. And you know I’m not going anywhere."
She leaned back, giving her friend a small, reassuring nod. "So... what’s really going on? You said 'film stuff.' What’s weighing on you with that?"
Remington always took his painful memories and placed them in a box. The box is their coffin and one where he set them to rest with the same reverence as a beloved one who passed on. It was his defense mechanism. Not to say that it was impossible to think about that hurt but at least it made the male have control. Now, in the present it was like they both had seen a ghost. But to him, she didn't have to manage through the pain as she was the one who caused it. Things end and that wasn't something the male was upset over. It was just all the unanswered questions echoed within his mind as to why she ripped him out of her life like some old band aidwithout even giving him a heads up. "I think you're a little late for an apology." His coldness was very much present. It was only right in his mind. Well, maybe even better then what she had done since he was showing some kind of response. Perhaps he should have put his pride aside and ignored her like she was just the next random stranger one came across on the street. "You can save your excuses just because you feel backed into a corner." They wouldn't change that resentment he held over her. Or the notion of how she followed in the same tracks as his own family had. At least they have given him the decency of leaving him a note. "You should have stayed gone if you felt so lost here." Or around him he thought. "What are you even doing back here?"
Monica stood there, her stomach twisting with every word Remington spoke. His coldness hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she couldn't believe how distant he had become. But as she stood there, she realized just how much she had deserved it. She had left without a word, without an explanation, and the pain and bitterness in his voice were all too justified. She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her actions from years ago. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with regret. "I know I can't take back what I did. I was selfish."
Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. She couldn't tell him the full truth—the real reason she left. She couldn't bear the thought of his reaction when he found out about her marriage. It was a truth she couldn’t even face herself, let alone put on him.
"I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m sorry for disappearing like that. It was wrong." She paused, taking a deep breath before she spoke again. "I’m back now because I got a job here. It’s nothing big, but it’s something new, and I need to start over." She hesitated, glancing up at him. "I hope... I hope we can both be here without all the bad feelings. I don’t expect things to go back to how they were, but I don’t want to keep pretending like you and I never happened."
As she spoke, her mind wandered to Lily, to the life she had built without Remington. She wasn’t ready to share that part of her life just yet, but the thought of it haunted her. How would he react if he found out? What would he think when he learned she had a daughter? The guilt weighed her down. She had made so many mistakes, not just for herself, but for Lily too. She couldn’t undo the damage her decisions had caused in their lives, but she hoped that someday, somehow, they could both find peace with the past.
Monica zipped up her coat as the cold winter air nipped at her cheeks, her breath coming out in soft clouds as she stepped into the playground. The thick blanket of snow that covered the ground made everything look serene, with the bare trees standing like sentinels against the sky. It was quiet except for the occasional shriek of laughter from children playing in the distance.
Lily, bundled up in her pink winter jacket, ran ahead, her face glowing with excitement as she spotted a group of other kids on the swings. Monica smiled as her daughter waved at her from the snowy path before running off to join them.
“Go have fun, sweetheart,” Monica called, settling onto one of the nearby benches. She pulled her gloves tighter around her hands and watched Lily, her heart swelling with warmth despite the chill in the air.
maxine leaned back against the bar, the faint hum of conversation blending with the thrum of whatever song was playing. it was another late night at nirvana, and she was working the shift that always seemed to drag on the longest. the same crowd, the same chatter, the same half-forgotten stories and secrets swirling in the air. she was used to it by now, but some nights — like tonight — she felt a little more detached from it all. maybe it was the fact that she hadn't finished editing her latest film project, or maybe it was just the relentless gnawing feeling that she wasn't quite where she was supposed to be. her eyes scanned the room for the usual faces, their slurred voices a comfort of sorts. the older regulars hunched over their beers, talking about the good old days, while the younger crowd laughed too loud and drank too fast. a few faces caught her eye — some she knew well, others she'd only met in passing. "another whiskey neat, max?" a voice called from the far end of the bar, snapping her out of her thoughts. max turned and flashed a half-smile, grabbing a glass and pouring the drink with practiced ease. “you know it,” she replied, her voice warm with that same familiar charm she was known for, but her eyes — her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper. something uncertain. something she didn’t know how to shake off. she slid the drink down the bar and leaned over, letting the wood of the counter press against her palm. her fingers tapped a rhythm, as if trying to keep time with the rest of the world. she didn’t really belong in places like this, did she? but here she was — another night, another round. “max, you gonna keep zoning out on us, or are you actually going to show us that film you’re working on?” a guy from a few stools over asked, a grin on his face as he swirled his drink around. she arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. “you wouldn’t get it,” she replied, wiping down the counter. “it’s not like the stuff you see on tv. it’s… raw. real. people don’t want to see the real stuff. they just want to be entertained.” the words felt heavy, though, as soon as they left her lips. she paused, glancing at her phone to check the time. she should’ve been home hours ago, editing. but every time she opened the footage, her doubts crept in — maybe it wasn’t good enough, maybe it was all just a mess. maybe it was easier to keep pouring drinks and pretending she had it all together. “it'll have to wait,” she muttered to herself. at the sound of a cleared throat, her eyes darted up at the patron in front of her. "so," she started, "what's your poison tonight?"
Monica sat at the bar, her drink half-finished, watching Max from the corner of her eye. It had been a long week of work, and this rare night out felt like a breath of fresh air. Her daughter was with the nanny for the night, giving Monica a much-needed break. As much as she loved her little one, it was nice to have some time to herself for once. The usual chaos of her life was paused, and for the first time in days, Monica could relax—if only for a few hours.
It was another typical night at Nirvana—loud, chaotic, and filled with the usual faces. But something felt different tonight. Max was off, her usual charisma dimmed, her energy distant.
Monica sipped her drink, her thoughts drifting between the bustle of the bar and her own lingering exhaustion. She wasn’t sure what was bothering Max, but she could feel the tension in the air. The night around her was the same—people laughing, music blaring—but Monica couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
She slid off her stool and moved closer to Max, her voice soft but steady. “You good?”
Monica's eyes softened as she studied her friend. Max had always been full of energy, the kind of person who lit up the room without even trying. But tonight, she was different. Monica knew better than to push, but she couldn't just let it slide. Max wasn’t one to hide her feelings, but something had her retreating into herself.
Remington was working, surveying the shop for a remodel they had tasked the construction company he worked for and managed. He was just taking the last measurements and coordinating what needed to be done in stages so he could write it up in his tasks. He was off in his own work minded brain, not paying too much attention towards the customers coming in and out. Until he did. Her shadow was barely seen as he looked up, watching as she scurried away. Which honestly triggered him back to when she left all those years ago. Except he had expectations then. Unrealistic expectations especially when she threw him to the side like his family. He sighed and before he could rethink it he walked after her. "I could say the same thing. You are the last person I thought that would be back here again. Would have thought this place was a distant memory for you." Himself included though. Resentment and bitterness and old grudges were dead things, which rotted the hands that grasped them. He was bitter and the words he spoke were obvious, but he was also taken off guard. As the years passed he hadn't ever expect her to be back. So when he saw her trying to exit it added fuel to that old fire.
Monica froze, her heart pounding as Remington’s words hit her. She hadn’t expected to see him, not like this, and now that he was standing in front of her, she didn’t know what to say. The years between them felt heavy, like they were pressing down on her chest, and finding the right words felt impossible.
"Remington," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t expect this... Didn’t expect you to be here." She shifted uncomfortably, glancing toward the door before quickly looking back at him, her fingers tightening around the door handle.
“I’m sorry for... disappearing like I did,” she continued, her words faltering slightly. “It wasn’t about you, I promise. It was just... I don’t know, I was just... lost. I didn’t know how to face things. I don’t even know how to explain it.” She winced at how weak her words sounded, frustration building at how inadequate her apology felt.
Her thoughts were a whirlwind, mostly circling around the one thing she wasn’t ready to bring up—the one secret she wasn’t prepared to share. Lily... It was a weight she couldn’t carry into this conversation, not yet. “I’m really sorry for how everything went down, Remington,” she added, her voice softer now, full of regret. “It wasn’t my plan to just... disappear. I never wanted it to end like that.” She offered him a brief, nervous smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“ You’re not gonna’ tell on me, right? ” McNally, grease on his apron and the sweet stench of weed clouding the area, knows he’s been caught. There’s no hiding, especially not with the distinctly carefree way he takes another long drag of his joint. Who could blame him? It’s three in the morning on a Wednesday and he’s been elbow deep in pancake batter all night, and after a quick nap when the shift is over, he’ll be elbow deep in band practice. He’s earned a break, even if he’s still technically on the clock. With no hesitation, McNally offers the stranger a hit from his crooked, pocket-squished joint. “ Look, every single plate of food you’ve ever had at a diner — this one or otherwise — has been made by a cook that’s higher than a kite in heaven, dude. I promise, I won’t fuck up your short stack. ”
Monica raises an eyebrow, arms crossed, but there's a hint of amusement in her expression as she takes in the scene—grease, weed, and a guy so laid-back it’s almost a science. Her lips curve into a small smile as she leans against the counter, looking McNally up and down before shaking her head.
"I’m not the type to judge," she says with a shrug. "And honestly, if the pancakes are good, I’m not about to complain." She pauses, her fingers tapping her phone screen for a moment before looking back at him. "But I will judge your timing. Three a.m.? You sure you can still remember how to cook by the time breakfast rolls around?" She glances at the joint, then at his unbothered demeanor. "I get it, though. Long shifts, long days. Gotta blow off steam somehow." She shakes her head again, still smiling a little.
"And don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Though, if the pancakes end up burnt, I might have to reconsider that promise."
“ This is the kind of thing that only happens to bad people. Truly, deeply, horrible people. And now it’s happened to me. I deserve this. I earned this. ” Mini’s eyes are dry, a higher chance of snow in Hell than a tear on her cheek, though it’s a near thing considering the situation. Her body leans into the cold brick exterior of Rita’s, and she should be worried about dirtying her new coat but she’s too caught up in the visual of her perfect, beautiful, likely-delicious strawberry ice cream splattered on the snow-speckled ground. It’s almost artistic. A crime scene. Mini lets out a long, egregious sigh. “ I need a cigarette. Don’t offer me one, ” she says quickly, eyes flicking to the stranger long enough only to establish that they’re real and not a hallucination brought on by the grief of the loss of her short-lived sweet treat. “ I don’t smoke. Anymore. Shit. Do you think it’s worth it to go back in there and face the shame of buying another? ”
Monica chuckles softly, watching Mini’s meltdown with an understanding look. She leans against the wall next to her, arms crossed, her tone light and comforting. "I mean, if you're already out here, might as well go for round two. Get that ice cream back, you deserve it after all this drama." She glances at the splattered mess, then back at Mini, her expression warm.
"Trust me, we’ve all been there. Sometimes it feels like the universe just wants to kick you while you’re down—especially with the dumb stuff. But hey, it's just ice cream, right? You can totally redeem this moment."
𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐑 oil. gloves showing years of wear. this was what cash was adorned in as he emerges from the depths of cohle's, with bleary eyes that not even another can of redbull could fix. he sets his gloves down on the desk as his gaze matches his client's, fingers running lackadaisically through otherwise untamed locks before he speaks. " so -- ya want the good news or the bad news first? " he questions, knowing damn well how attached people are to their methods of transportation. thus, the option to either rip the bandaid off or to cushion the inevitable blow. he knows he comes off as rather rough around the edges -- but that doesn't mean he isn't somewhat in touch with his emotions. his fingers toggle over the computer mouse in front of him as he pulls up the records he's been given. " seems like it's been a minute since y'came to see us. " it showed, that's for sure.
Monica raises an eyebrow, watching him carefully as she crosses her arms, her expression a mixture of curiosity and concern. She leans back slightly in her chair, giving him a slow once-over. "I’ll take the bad news first," she says with a small sigh, her voice steady but laced with an underlying weariness. She shifts forward, bracing herself for whatever he’s about to drop.
"Let me guess, it's not just a flat tire?" she adds, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips despite the situation. Her fingers drum softly on the armrest, a habit she’s picked up over the years of juggling chaos in the ER. "I’ve been meaning to bring it in, life’s just been... well, you know how it goes. But you’re gonna tell me something worse, aren’t you?" Her tone is calm, but there’s a sharpness in her gaze, ready for whatever the mechanic has to throw her way.
OPEN STARTER (1/5)
beachwood park, day after christmas.
"help yourself," sasha says, pushing the large tupperware of homemade cookies his family had made that morning towards the direction of the person who'd stopped by his bench. "there's no nuts in there, if you're allergic." a busker is serenading the park-goers nearby with a catalogue of christmas tunes, armed only with her guitar and velvety alto pipes. small children are gathered around her playing and dancing. it reminds sasha of the villagers from whoville. "did you have a good christmas? if you're celebratin'."
Monica smiles softly as she takes a cookie, eyeing the tupperware with a grateful nod. "Thanks, I appreciate it," she says, her voice warm but tired, a reflection of long hospital shifts and caring for her energetic four-year-old.
"Christmas was... quiet this year, but good. Just me and Lily. She was more excited about the lights than the presents, though I think the cookies might've made up for that." Her gaze shifts to the busker, watching the children dance around. "It's nice, isn't it? The way music just brings everyone together. I think Lily would've joined them if she were here." Monica chuckles softly, looking down at the cookie in her hand. "How about you? Did you have a good one?"
Levi was sitting in a booth in Stacks looking over papers on a job he was doing. He had a cup of coffee that was now cold and half a stack of pancakes that had mostly been forgotten about. The more he stared at the words and photos on the pages the more they all just seemed to merge together, making him rub his temples trying to push away the oncoming headache. His usual cases were mostly along the lines of I think my spouse is cheating can you get proof but this one was different and although it was more intriguing than the usual it was doing his head in just that much more too. He was missing something but he just couldn't figure out what. It just seemed too far away for him to reach. Closing the folder, a bit more forcefully than he meant Levi took a second before he took his hat off and sat it on the table beside the cup of coffee as he looked up at the ceiling with a deep sigh.
Monica had spent the entire day in the hospital, performing back-to-back surgeries and dealing with the usual pressures of a high-stakes job. By the time her shift ended, she was mentally and physically drained. She still had to pick up her 4-year-old daughter from daycare, but before diving back into the demands of motherhood, she decided to stop by Stacks for a quick coffee—a small escape before the evening rush began.
As she walked in, she noticed a man sitting alone in a booth, papers scattered in front of him, his expression tense and frustrated. Something about the way he looked made her pause.
"Rough day?" she asked, her voice light but warm offering a small smile and slid into the seat across from him. "You look like you could use a break... or just someone to talk to."
Monica Hayes was born and raised in Chicago, a bustling metropolis known for its towering skyscrapers, iconic architecture, and a relentless, fast-paced rhythm. Growing up in the city, Monica was shaped by the energy around her. Her parents, both highly successful professionals, often worked long hours, leaving Monica to navigate the complexities of city life on her own. Chicago’s diverse culture and endless opportunities drove Monica to work hard, always striving to prove herself in a world where ambition was key to success.
However, each summer, Monica escaped the hustle and bustle of the city and retreated to Woodside, a small, peaceful town where her grandparents lived. Woodside felt like a sanctuary—quiet, picturesque, and calm. It was a place where Monica could breathe, away from the constant noise of city life. The town’s slower pace, with its close-knit community, gave Monica a sense of grounding that she hadn’t realized she needed. Her summers spent there were some of her happiest memories, filled with long days of hiking, reading, and enjoying the simpler things in life. Over time, Woodside became a home for her in a way Chicago never could.
After graduating from college, Monica decided to take some time off before jumping into her demanding career as a surgeon. She went on a solo vacation to relax and recharge, and it was during this trip that she met Alex, a charming and confident man. They were both vacationing in the same tropical destination, and their instant connection was undeniable. What was supposed to be a fun, carefree fling turned into something much more serious. They got engaged quickly, and soon after, married. The whirlwind romance seemed perfect at the time, but Monica didn’t truly know Alex, and the rushed nature of their relationship eventually began to show its flaws.
Once married, Alex’s career in the military meant long and frequent deployments. Monica, left to manage the loneliness and emotional void of their relationship, threw herself into her work at the hospital. She spent long hours at the hospital as a surgeon, burying herself in her career to fill the emptiness created by Alex’s absence. Their communication became sparse, and soon, the physical distance between them was paralleled by an emotional one. Over time, Monica began to feel more and more disconnected from Alex, and the cracks in their relationship widened.
During one of her visits to Woodside, after months of being apart from Alex, Monica reconnected with Remington Dutton. What started as a brief, passionate affair—one night of escape from her reality—soon became something far more intense. The chemistry between them was undeniable, and Remington made Monica feel seen and desired in a way that she hadn’t felt in years. What was meant to be a quick fling turned into a deeper connection, and Monica found herself torn between guilt and the overwhelming bond she felt with Remington.
After returning home to Chicago, Monica blocked Remington’s number, convinced it was a one-time mistake. However, months later, she discovered she was pregnant—and the child was Remington’s. The shock and guilt weighed heavily on her, and she knew she couldn’t keep living a lie. When she told Alex about the pregnancy, he was devastated, but the truth was unavoidable. Alex knew immediately that Lily was not his child. He had suspected something was wrong long before Monica came clean, and her confession only confirmed what he had feared.
The revelation shattered what was left of their marriage. Though Alex initially wanted to try and make it work, the emotional betrayal was too much. The trust between them was irreparably broken, and the relationship had deteriorated beyond repair. Monica and Alex filed for divorce, ending their marriage that had been built on a foundation of uncertainty and distance.
Now, four years later, Monica was raising her daughter, Lily, a bright, energetic child who was a constant reminder of her affair with Remington. Though Alex knew Lily was not his daughter, he chose not to fight for custody, instead opting to move on with his own life. Monica had kept the truth of Lily’s paternity hidden from most people, especially from her family and friends, who still believed Alex was the father. Raising Lily as a single mother had been a challenge, but Monica had thrown herself into motherhood, focusing on giving her daughter a stable and loving life.
Despite the years of silence, Monica knew she could no longer avoid confronting the truth. She had to eventually tell Remington that he was Lily’s father, a decision that had grown harder as time went on. Monica remained unsure of how he would react or whether he would want to be part of their daughter’s life. She knew that the past had caught up with her, and the consequences of her actions were finally impossible to avoid.
But suddenly, Monica’s life took another turn. After working in Chicago for several more years, she received an unexpected offer to join the medical team at the local hospital in Woodside. The town’s peaceful atmosphere, which once provided her refuge from the chaos of city life, now beckoned her as a place to start fresh. Monica was torn between the opportunity to return to her roots and the unresolved tension with Remington.
The decision to move back to Woodside brought its own set of challenges. She was excited about the professional opportunity but also nervous about running into Remington—who still lived in the town. Monica had not told him about Lily’s paternity, and now, faced with the possibility of seeing him again, she was unsure if she wanted to bring up the past. The weight of her secret loomed over her, and as she settled into her new role at the hospital, Monica found herself questioning whether now was the time to tell him the truth, or if it was better to leave the past buried in the small town where it all began.
