NotYourLoveMonkey

Marina | 30s | She/her | No Nonsese Makes No Sense At All

[notyourlovemonkey]

Masterlist

Here's to hoping to fill this post with stuff.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

PEDRO BOYS

Harry Castillo

Nine Months [finished series] - (+18): Pregnancy was supposed to be measurable; weeks, symptoms, appointments, milestones. Instead, it becomes nine months of learning Harry while still barely knowing him, and discovering; slowly, stubbornly, that love can arrive before certainty does. First Trimester (Part 1) | (Part 2) Second Trimester (Part 1) | (Part 2) Third Trimester (Part 1) | (Part 2)

Non-Refundable [finished series] - (+18): Your wedding was cancelled. Your fiancé ran off with your friend. Your honeymoon to Iceland is non-refundable. So you go anyway. Alone. And you don’t expect to meet anyone, least of all the man who could quietly rearrange your entire life.

Joel Miller

The Right Life [ongoing series] - (+18): Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself. Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

A Thin Line [one-shot in two parts] PART 1 | PART 2 - (+18): For three years in Jackson, Joel Miller has managed to avoid you with impressive consistency. Then Tommy nearly bleeds out on patrol, and suddenly he doesn’t have the option of staying away anymore. Turns out the line between hate and something else entirely is thinner than either of you thought.

THE PITT

Jack Abbot

Tuesday [one-shot] - On a random Tuesday, you wake up tangled together in the late-afternoon light, exhausted and half-asleep, when Jack casually suggests getting married before your shift.

Michael Robinavitch

Falling Around You [one-shot] - Maybe if you told yourself enough, you would get over him; over the coffee mug that somehow became yours, over the silence that had once felt intimate, over the version of Michael Robinavitch who never asked for more until someone else nearly did.

[cuunos]

being a kid and hearing adults say stuff like "woah 2011 was 4 years ago haha" didn't really convey the fucking horror of a youtube video crossing my recommended labelled "9 years ago" and it's from 2017. that's not true. 9 years ago is 2010 or something. don't lie.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 10: The Trust

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Angst. PinV sex. Oral (male receiving). Chapter word count: 12.2k words.

a/n: This part is also a bit heavy... but for different reasons. But it had to happen eventually! Hope you like it! (had to make it work to post the whole thing... wouldn't let me!! don't understand why... I've posted longer parts, but for some reason, tumblr hates me today. I had to blotch some dialogue lines together... it was a very dialogue heavy chapter, so sorry if it's harder to read!).

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

aO3 Link | PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST

PART 10 - THE TRUST

The backyard had started to feel like an extra room of the house.

Early fall meant the heat had finally loosened its grip; the air warm but breathable, the light softer, stretching long across the grass. Someone, probably you, had dragged the old string lights back up along the fence a few weeks ago, and now they blinked lazily overhead even though the sun hadn’t fully set yet.

Joel sat back in one of the worn outdoor chairs, boots planted, a beer sweating slowly in his hand. Across the yard, you and Sarah were crouched over something involving popsicle sticks, a measuring tape, and entirely too much glitter for a school night.

“…I still say we should’ve remembered our own anniversary,” you were saying, laughing under your breath as Sarah carefully sprinkled glitter like a scientist handling explosives.

“We did remember,” Joel called. “Just… late.”

Sarah looked up immediately at you. “You are such a mess.”

You didn’t even try to deny it. “Hey, we both forgot,” you said with dignity.

Joel shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Busy being old,” Sarah corrected.

You snorted.

You’d celebrated anyway. Late. Takeout, a movie after Sarah went to bed, and Joel giving you a small gold pendant he’d clearly spent weeks picking out and pretended he hadn’t. It had been quiet. Perfect. Very you.

The flower bed near the fence where Sarah decided to play next was considerably less successful. You had planted it yourself months before… and most of it had not survived the experience.

“They're dormant,” you insisted when Joel brought up removing them for the eighteenth time.

“They're dead,” Joel replied.

“You don't know that.”

“Sweetheart, they're brown.”

Sarah settled the debate by making little popsicle-stick grave markers for three of them, which you still claimed that was deeply disrespectful.

Now the evening felt settled. Easy. The kind of ordinary that had taken a long time to earn.

The side gate creaked, and none of you reacted at first; people came and went enough that it wasn’t unusual, but then a familiar voice carried across the yard.

“Y’all just gonna sit out here without me now?”

Sarah froze. Actually froze. Then she spun so fast she nearly knocked over the stick bucket.

“TOMMY?!”

He stood just inside the gate like he’d always belonged there. Duffle bag slung over one shoulder. Leaner. Cleaner. Hair a little shorter. Eyes clearer than Joel had seen them in years.

Sarah launched at him full force. He barely got the bag off his shoulder before she hit him, arms locking around his middle. He let out a surprised grunt and then laughed, a real one, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her clean off the ground.

“Well, damn,” he said into her hair. “That’s a welcome.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” she accused, already halfway to tears and smiling at the same time.

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” he said.

You reached them next, slower. Like you needed to see it properly.

“You look…” you stopped, shook your head once. “You look good.”

Tommy’s grin softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then you stepped forward and hugged him. Tight. No awkwardness, and absolutely no hesitation. He returned it just as firmly, one hand coming up to the back of your shoulder in a quick squeeze that said more than words.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly enough only you could hear.

You squeezed once in answer. Let go before it got too heavy.

Joel hadn’t moved yet. He was still by the chair. Watching. Tommy looked up and met his eyes.

For a second neither of them said anything. Months of history. Years of history. All of it sitting there between them, quieter now but not gone.

Tommy shifted his weight. Cleared his throat.

“…You gonna just sit there lookin’ grumpy,” he said, voice rough but trying for normal, “or you comin’ over here.”

Joel stood. Crossed the yard in a few slow steps. Stopped in front of him.

They stared at each other for half a second.

Then Tommy said, low, almost sheepish, “Hey, big brother.”

Joel pulled him in. Hard.

One arm around his shoulders, the other at the back of his neck, hauling him close in a grip that was more bone than gentleness. Tommy returned it just as hard, their shoulders colliding like they needed the impact to make it real.

It wasn’t graceful. Wasn’t pretty. It was the kind of hug men gave when words weren’t enough and never had been.

Joel squeezed once, rough. Let out a breath against Tommy’s shoulder.

“…Missed you, you idiot,” he muttered.

Tommy huffed a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Missed you too.”

They separated with a couple of hard claps to each other’s backs like neither of them was interested in making a scene about it.

Tommy glanced around the yard, hands settling on his hips.

“…So,” he said, like he’d just walked in from work. “What’s for dinner.”

You burst out laughing. Sarah whooped.

Joel just shook his head and muttered, “Unbelievable,” but there was no heat in it at all.

Dinner ran long. Tommy talked. Steady. Present. He ate like someone who hadn’t had a home-cooked meal in a while and didn’t plan to waste the opportunity.

Sarah filled him in on everything he’d missed. School drama. soccer scores. The anniversary she’d helped ‘fix’. He listened to all of it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Afterward, when dishes were done and Sarah finally dragged herself to bed after insisting on one more hug, one more question, one more everything; the house settled.

Tommy ended up at the kitchen table with a glass of water instead of beer. You, sitting across from him. Joel leaning back in his chair, watching both of you. No one rushed the conversation.

Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Program was… good,” he said finally. “Hard. Real hard. But good.”

You nodded once, letting him set the pace.

“They don’t let you bullshit,” he added. “Not even a little. First week I thought I was gonna walk out twice.” A small huff of self-awareness. “Wouldn’t have made it two days on my own.”

Joel stayed quiet. Listening.

“Group therapy,” Tommy went on. “Individual. Veteran meetings. Turns out… lotta guys like me.” A faint, humorless smile. “Who knew.”

Your voice stayed gentle. “You stayed.”

“Yeah.” He glanced at you. Then at Joel. “I stayed.”

He took a sip and then sighed loudly.

“They set me up with a therapist here,” he added. “And there’s a veterans AA group on Thursdays. Already got the schedule.” He tapped the table lightly. “Gonna stick with it.”

Joel nodded once.

“Good,” he said.

Tommy looked at him then. Really looked. Like he needed to know where he stood.

Joel held his gaze.

“…I’m proud of you,” he said.

Simple. Rough. No decoration.

Tommy swallowed hard. Looked down for a second. Nodded once.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Tryin’ to give you a reason to be.”

You reached across and squeezed his hand briefly. 

The three of you sat there a while after that. Quiet. No big speeches left to make.

****************

Morning came quieter than the night before. Joel woke early out of habit, the house still dim with that pale blue light that came just before sunrise. For a moment he stayed where he was, one arm stretched across the other side of the bed. Empty.

He blinked once, frowning slightly, then heard movement downstairs. Cabinet doors. The soft scrape of something on the counter. He pushed himself up, dragged a hand through his hair, and pulled on a T-shirt before heading down.

You stood in the kitchen tying your hair back into a loose ponytail. You were already dressed for your run. Dark stretchy pants, worn sneakers, and one of those fitted tops that stopped just short of your waist. When you lifted your arms to tighten the elastic, the movement exposed a strip of skin across your stomach.

Joel stopped halfway down the stairs. Well now.

You turned when you heard him.

“Morning,” you said lightly.

Joel leaned against the railing, arms folding slowly.

“…You goin’ somewhere dressed like that?”

You blinked once, then glanced down at yourself.

“Running,” you said. “Like always.”

“Mm.”

You grabbed a bottle of water from the counter, completely unfazed.

Joel pushed off the railing and wandered into the kitchen, eyes still on you.

“You know,” he said casually, “I could think of a better use of the next thirty minutes.”

You didn’t even look up while you adjusted the watch on your wrist.

“Oh really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He stepped closer, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you.

“Could make it worth your while,” he added.

That got your attention. You looked up slowly, one eyebrow lifting. Joel leaned in a little, voice dropping.

“Very worth your while.”

You studied him for a moment like you were actually considering it. Then you leaned forward and kissed him, quickly. When you pulled back you were already smiling.

“Nice try.”

Joel sighed dramatically.

“Woman,” he muttered, “I am offerin’ you a perfectly respectable alternative to cardio.”

You grabbed your keys.

“You know what happens if I skip a run.”

Joel snorted.

“Yeah,” he said. “You get grumpy and start reorganizin’ the spice rack.”

“That was one time.”

“You alphabetized paprika.”

“It needed structure.”

He shook his head slowly.

“…Unbelievable.”

You walked toward the door, but paused long enough to brush your fingers lightly along his jaw as you passed.

“Make coffee for me?” you said.

Joel caught your wrist briefly.

“You’re really leavin’ me like this?”

You leaned in just enough to murmur against his ear.

“Taking a rain check,” you said softly. “I plan on collecting later,” you reached the door and opened it “Also… we both know you wouldn’t be satisfied with thirty minutes.”

Then you slipped out before he could answer. Joel stood there for a second staring at the closed door.

“…Cruel,” he muttered.

Outside, he heard the quick rhythm of your footsteps fade down the street. He made himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, watching the early light stretch across the backyard.

It still caught him off guard sometimes. How easily you had slipped into this life. Into the house. Into the mornings. Into him.

Sarah adored you. Tommy trusted you. The house felt different when you were there. Lighter. 

Joel took a slow sip of coffee. And for a man who’d spent most of his life expecting things to fall apart sooner or later, that kind of quiet happiness still felt a little unbelievable. But he’d take it. Every damn morning.

A while later, Joel was halfway through his second cup of coffee when he heard footsteps upstairs. Heavy. Uneven. Dragging. Sarah appeared in the doorway a moment later, hair pointing in six different directions. She squinted at him.

“…I’m hungry.”

Joel chuckled.

“Of course you are.”

She stared at the coffee.

“Gross.”

He snorted and pushed a bowl across the counter.

“Eat.”

Sarah climbed onto one of the stools, still half asleep, and started spooning cereal into a bowl like someone operating heavy machinery. Joel was reaching for the milk when the back door burst open.

“Smells like coffee and poor decisions in here.”

Joel didn’t even look up.

“…Mornin’, Tommy.”

Sarah perked up instantly.

“Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy stepped inside like he’d been invited, wearing jeans, boots, and the same jacket he’d been living in lately. His hair was still damp like he’d showered five minutes ago. He spotted the coffee pot immediately.

“Oh hell yes.”

“Don’t,” Joel said automatically.

Tommy was already pouring himself a cup.

“Too late.”

Sarah slid off the stool and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You didn’t say you were coming!”

Tommy grinned down at her.

“Didn’t know I had to schedule breakfast now.”

Joel reached past him to grab the milk.

“You do if you plan on drinkin’ my coffee.”

Tommy took a long sip and sighed like a man tasting heaven.

“Worth it.”

Sarah was already rummaging through the fridge.

“We’re out of waffles.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” Tommy said.

Joel closed the fridge door with his hip.

“You ate the last ones yesterday.”

Tommy looked offended.

“I was helpin’ reduce inventory.”

Sarah turned toward Joel.

“He ate four.”

“Three,” Tommy corrected.

“Four,” she insisted.

“Small ones.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his face.

“…Jesus.”

The front door opened just then.

You stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the run, ponytail loose and slightly messy, breathing lightly but steady. Joel took one look at you and felt his body react immediately…Yeah. That rain check was gonna be a problem.

You’d stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Took in the scene: Sarah standing on a chair digging through the freezer. Tommy drinking Joel’s coffee like he paid for it. Joel leaning against the counter looking ten seconds from mutiny.

“…I was gone forty minutes,” you said.

Tommy lifted his mug toward you.

“Mornin’.”

You walked in slowly.

“You’re eating our breakfast again.”

Tommy shrugged.

“I’m contributing emotional support.”

Sarah held up the empty waffle box accusingly.

“He’s the reason we have none.”

You dropped your keys on the counter.

“Well,” you said mildly, “that explains the crime scene I guess.”

Joel pushed another mug toward you without looking.

“Coffee.”

You took it with a grateful hum.

“Thank you.”

Tommy eyed your running clothes.

“Joel try to convince you not to go?”

You took a sip.

“Of course.”

Sarah perked up.

“Why?”

You glanced at Joel, then smiled slightly.

“He had… other plans.”

Joel pointed his finger at Tommy without turning around.

“Don’t.”

Tommy burst out laughing.

“Oh man.”

Sarah frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Joel grabbed the waffle box from the counter and tossed it in the trash.

“It means you’re eatin’ more cereal.”

Tommy leaned against the counter, still grinning.

“This house is chaos before eight a.m.”

You took another sip of coffee, eyes flicking briefly to Joel.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “It really is.”

And Joel realized he didn’t mind that at all.

You disappeared upstairs a minute later, mumbling something about a “two-minute shower before work.”

Joel watched you go for a second. Tommy noticed.

“Man,” he said, leaning against the counter with his coffee, “you got it bad.”

Joel didn’t look at him.

“Eat your cereal.”

Tommy snorted. Sarah was still perched on the stool, crunching loudly through her bowl.

“So,” Tommy said after a moment, like the thought had just occurred to him. “Buddy of mine from the program’s got a cabin out near Lake Buchanan.”

Joel reached for the coffee pot.

“Mm.”

“Nothing fancy,” Tommy went on. “Just a little place. Dock, old fishing boat, couple rooms.”

Joel poured more coffee.

“Good for him.”

Tommy watched him a second.

“He offered it to me next weekend.”

Joel glanced at him.

“And?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Figured we could go.”

Joel frowned slightly.

“Go where.”

Tommy gestured vaguely.

“Fishin’. Like we used to.”

That made Joel pause. Not long. Just long enough. Sarah looked between them.

“You guys went fishing?”

“Used to,” Tommy said. “Your dad here used to catch the biggest ones.”

Joel scoffed.

“That’s because you kept scarin’ the fish away with your loud blabberin’.”

Tommy grinned.

“Still do.” He took another sip of coffee. “Place is only like two hours out, tops,” he added. “Quiet. Trees. No phones goin’ off every five minutes.”

Joel leaned his hip against the counter.

“Sounds nice.”

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah.” A moment passed, and then he said it plainly. “Come with me.”

Joel shook his head immediately.

“Nah.”

Sarah frowned.

“Why not?”

Joel ruffled her hair as he walked past.

“Because someone’s gotta stay here and make sure you eat something besides cereal.”

“That’s not a reason,” she protested.

Tommy watched him carefully.

“It’s two days, Joel.”

Joel grabbed the waffle box out of habit before remembering it was empty.

“Still.”

Tommy leaned back against the counter again.

“Sarah’d survive forty-eight hours without you.”

Joel tossed the empty box in the trash.

“Would she.”

Tommy tilted his head.

“You ain’t been fishing in years.”

Joel didn’t answer. Upstairs, the shower turned off. Water pipes rattled softly through the walls.

Tommy glanced toward the ceiling. Then back at Joel.

“…Think about it.”

Joel took another sip of coffee.

“I am thinkin’ about it.”

But the way he said it didn’t sound like thinking. It sounded like a no. Tommy noticed that too. He didn’t push. Not yet…

Sarah climbed into the back seat with her backpack and immediately started talking. Joel didn’t think she’d taken a breath since the front door.

“…and Emma says frogs can freeze in the winter and then wake up again in the spring.”

Tommy twisted slightly in his seat to look at her.

“That so.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said seriously. “Her dad told her.”

Joel pulled away from the curb.

“Sounds like somethin’ her dad made up.”

Sarah gasped.

“No he didn’t.”

Tommy grinned.

“Science is mysterious, Joel.”

Joel snorted. They reached the school drop-off line a few minutes later, the cars inching forward one by one. Sarah leaned forward between the seats.

“Uncle Tommy, are you coming to my soccer game Saturday?”

Tommy glanced at Joel.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She beamed. Then the car ahead moved and Joel rolled forward. Sarah grabbed her backpack.

“Bye, Dad.”

Joel reached back and squeezed her shoulder as she climbed out.

“Have a good day.”

The truck was quiet for a minute. Tommy stretched his legs in the passenger seat.

“…She’s growin’ fast.”

Joel nodded once.

“Yeah.”

Another block passed. Then Tommy cleared his throat.

“So.”

Joel exhaled.

“No.”

Tommy blinked.

“I didn’t even say nothin’ yet.”

Joel kept his eyes on the road.

“You’re gonna bring up that cabin again.”

Tommy shifted in his seat.

“…Yeah.”

Joel shook his head.

“Still no.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his jaw.

“C’mon, man. It’s two nights.”

Joel turned onto the highway.

“Still got a kid at home.”

Tommy leaned back against the seat.

“Juliet’ll be there.”

Joel didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. Tommy studied him.

“She’s good with Sarah,” he said.

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly.

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem.”

Joel stared ahead at the road.

“There ain’t a problem.”

Tommy snorted softly.

“Sure sounds like one.”

Joel tightened his grip on the wheel.

“It’s two days.”

Tommy shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Joel shook his head.

“Not happenin’.”

Tommy looked out the windshield for a moment. Then he said, quietly:

“You used to love fishin’.”

Joel didn’t respond. Just kept driving. After a moment Tommy added:

“…Just think about it.”

Joel didn’t answer… But he didn’t say no again either.

And Tommy noticed that.

***************

Joel knew the moment he opened the front door that peace and quiet were not going to happen.

“DAD!”

Sarah came skidding across the living room in socks like a small, loud tornado.

Joel barely had time to close the door before she collided with him.

“Whoa,” he said, steadying her by the shoulders. “Easy.”

“You forgot to sign my permission slip.”

Joel blinked.

“…What permission slip.”

“The museum trip,” she said urgently. “Tomorrow.”

Joel dropped his keys on the table and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Alright, hold on.”

From the kitchen, your voice drifted out.

“It’s on the counter.”

Joel followed the smell of dinner and stepped into the kitchen. You were at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Your hair was still slightly damp from your shower earlier, tied up loosely now, and you’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings. You glanced over your shoulder and smiled when you saw him.

“Hey.”

Joel felt some of the day loosen in his shoulders immediately.

“Hey.”

Sarah slid the paper across the counter toward him with dramatic urgency.

“If you don’t sign it I can’t go.”

Joel grabbed a pen.

“I’m signing it.”

“You said that about the library trip and forgot.”

You snorted softly from the stove. Joel shot you a look.

“Don’t encourage her.”

Sarah watched him sign like a hawk.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly.

Joel handed it back.

“You’re welcome.”

She grabbed the paper and ran off toward the living room again, already talking about something else. Joel leaned his elbows on the counter and exhaled.

You slid a glass of water toward him.

“Long day?”

“Yeah.”

You stirred the pan once more, then glanced at him sideways.

“…That rain check still stands, you know.”

Joel looked at you.

“Does it now.”

You gave him a small, amused shrug.

“Depends how tired you are.”

Joel huffed a quiet breath through his nose.

“Never too tired for those kinds of rain checks.”

You smiled to yourself and turned back to the stove. Joel reached for the glass of water. That was when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. Tommy. Joel sighed and opened the message.

A photo filled the screen. A small wooden cabin sitting right at the edge of a quiet lake. Dock stretching out over the water. An old fishing boat tied to the side. Trees everywhere.

The caption read: Told you it was nice.

Joel rubbed his forehead. You noticed immediately.

“What is it?”

“Tommy…”

“What’s he sending you.”

Joel hesitated a second, then handed you the phone. You wiped your hand on a towel and looked at the picture. Your eyebrows lifted.

“That’s beautiful.”

Joel leaned back against the counter.

“Cabin up near Lake Buchanan,” he said. “Friend of his offered it for next weekend.”

You studied the photo another moment.

“Fishing?”

“Yeah.”

You looked up at him.

“And?”

Joel shrugged.

“He’s been trying to drag me out there.”

You glanced back at the picture. Then back at him.

“That actually looks pretty great.”

Joel shook his head.

“Not happenin’.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“…Why not?”

Joel shrugged like it was obvious.

“Two nights.”

“So?”

Joel nodded toward the living room where Sarah’s voice was drifting in and out as she talked to herself about the museum trip.

“Kid.”

You leaned your hip against the counter.

“I’m aware you have one.”

Joel ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Just doesn’t make sense.”

You glanced at the phone again.

“It’s two days, Joel.”

“Still.”

You studied him for a second.

“You think Sarah can’t survive a weekend without you?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It kind of is.”

Joel rubbed his jaw, already annoyed with the direction the conversation was going.

“She’s eight.”

“And?”

“And I’m not leavin’.”

Your brow furrowed slightly.

“You wouldn’t be leaving her alone.”

Joel didn’t answer immediately. You saw it.

“Joel.”

He sighed.

“I just… don’t like it.”

You waited.

“For two days?” you asked quietly.

Joel gestured vaguely.

“I mean, what if somethin’ happens.”

“What exactly do you think is going to happen in forty-eight hours?”

Joel exhaled hard. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

Joel searched for the words and found the worst possible version of them. “I’m not gonna leave her here.”

The sentence landed like a dropped plate. You didn’t move.

“Here,” you repeated.

Joel realized too late how that sounded. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your voice stayed calm, but something in it had cooled. “Isn’t it.”

Joel pushed off the counter.

“You’re twisting it.”

“No,” you said softly. “I’m listening.”

From the living room Sarah laughed at something on TV.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face.

“I just don’t see the point of goin’,” he muttered.

You looked at him a second longer. Then you turned back to the stove and stirred the pan again.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” you said.

Joel knew that tone. And suddenly the cabin photo on the counter felt like a much bigger problem than a fishing trip.

****************

The house settled slowly that night. Dinner had been normal on the surface. Sarah talked through most of it, describing the museum trip she was apparently going to lead personally, and you listened and smiled and asked questions at all the right moments.

Joel answered when he needed to. But something had shifted. It was just… off. By the time Sarah was finally tucked into bed and the lights in the house started going out one by one, the quiet felt heavier than usual.

You were already in the bedroom when Joel came in. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off your jewelry for the day. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm pool of light across the room.

You glanced up when he entered.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Joel pulled his shirt off and tossed it toward the chair. Neither of you mentioned the kitchen. Neither of you mentioned the cabin.

You set the wristwatch down in the nightstand and slid under the covers first. Joel shut off the lamp a minute later and climbed in beside you.

At first you both just settled into the mattress, the house creaking softly around you the way houses always did at night.

Usually by now you would have made space for him. And Joel would move in behind you automatically, his arm sliding around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You slept like that most nights. You tucked against him, Joel wrapped around you like it was the most natural place in the world.

Tonight you stayed where you were. Facing the other side of the bed. Completely still.

Joel stared up at the dark ceiling for a while. He told himself it didn’t mean anything. But after a minute the space between you began to hurt. It wasn’t much. Maybe six inches. But it felt colder than the rest of the bed.

Joel shifted slightly, almost without thinking. Usually that would have been enough. You would drift back toward him automatically, fitting into the space against his chest like you always did. Tonight you didn’t move.

Joel lay there a while longer. He thought about saying something. About explaining. But every version of the sentence sounded wrong in his head.

I didn’t mean it like that. You know that’s not what I meant. You’re twisting it.

None of it sounded right.

Across the mattress you breathed steadily, already drifting toward sleep. Or pretending to.

Joel turned his head slightly toward you in the dark. He could just make out the shape of your shoulder under the covers. Close enough to reach. But he didn’t.

That morning you’d joked about a rain check. Joel had half expected you’d collect before the night was over. Now it felt like that belonged to a completely different day.

After a while he rolled onto his back again. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling the cold space between you. And knowing damn well he had put it there.

************

The next couple of days felt… wrong. Joel noticed it in small things. You still talked to him. Still smiled. Still asked about his day, about Sarah’s homework, about whether the truck was making that noise again.

Nothing had changed on the surface. But something underneath had shifted. You hadn’t had a fight like this before. Hell, you’d barely fought at all.

You weren't the kind of person who let things sit and rot. If something bothered you, you said it. Straight out. You’d talk it through, fix it, move on. That was how it had always worked between you. Until now. Now you were… quieter. 

Joel didn’t know what to do with that. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of a long time ago.

Sarah’s mom had been the opposite of you when it came to fights. She never said what was wrong. Never said what he’d done. She’d just go silent for days at a time, walking around the house like he wasn’t there, letting him stew in it.

Joel had hated that more than the yelling. With you it had never been like that. Being with you had felt like sailing on a calm sea after years of bad weather. Until now.

And the worst part was he knew damn well he’d caused it. He just didn’t know how to fix it.

By Saturday morning he felt like a man walking around his own house with a rock in his boot. Sarah’s soccer game didn’t care about any of that. The field was already full when they arrived. Kids running everywhere, parents setting up folding chairs along the sidelines, whistles blowing from three different directions.

Sarah’s team was warming up near the far goal.

“There she is,” you said, spotting her first.

Sarah waved the second she saw you all. Tommy waved back like he was greeting a celebrity.

“Star player,” he said.

Joel set up the chairs while you grabbed the cooler from the trunk. You settled along the sideline with the rest of the parents.

Sarah’s team took the field a few minutes later. For a while the game gave Joel something else to focus on. Kids chasing the ball in a chaotic pack, parents yelling encouragement, the occasional dramatic fall that looked much worse than it was.

You clapped when Sarah managed a decent pass.

“Nice one!” you called.

Joel noticed Tommy watching you two. Not the game. You and him. Tommy leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“…Alright,” he said finally. “What’s goin’ on.”

Joel kept his eyes on the field.

“Nothin’.”

Tommy snorted.

“Bullshit.”

You didn’t say anything. Tommy looked from one to the other.

“You two been weird all mornin’.”

Still nothing. Tommy tried again.

“Did I miss somethin’?”

Joel shifted in his chair.

“No.”

Tommy frowned.

“Did y’all fight or somethin’?”

You looked at him.

“No, Tommy.”

The tone wasn’t sharp. But it was… close. Tommy blinked slightly. He wasn’t used to that from you.

“…Alright,” he muttered, backing off. He watched the field for a few seconds, scratching his jaw. Then he changed subjects. “So,” he said, nudging Joel with his elbow, “you think about the cabin?”

Joel sighed quietly.

“Tommy.”

“I’m serious,” Tommy went on. “Jeff offered it again last night. It’s a great spot. Quiet lake, nobody around, fish big as your arm.”

Joel didn’t answer. Tommy leaned forward again, still trying.

“Two days, man. That’s all I’m askin’.”

Joel stared at the field.

“Drop it.”

Tommy frowned, confused.

“Why?”

Joel didn’t respond. Tommy gestured toward the field where Sarah was chasing the ball.

“Look, Sarah’ll be fine. Juliet’s a champ with her.”

Joel muttered low.

“Tommy-”

Tommy kept going. “Can’t she just stay with Juliet for a couple days?”

Silence. Joel closed his eyes briefly.

“…Tommy.”

You stood up. “Apparently not.”

Joel exhaled sharply. “…Fuck.”

You grabbed your keys from the chair. “I’ll be in the car.”

Right then the referee blew the final whistle.

The field erupted with noise; kids cheering, parents clapping. Sarah had scored at the last second. She turned immediately toward the sideline looking for you.

Tommy watched you walking across the grass toward the parking lot. Then he slowly looked back at Joel.

“…Oh.”

Now he understood. And judging by his face, he wished he didn’t.

The ride home was quiet. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that sat heavy in the truck, pressing against the windows. Sarah talked the whole way. About the goal. About how the goalie had almost blocked it. About how Coach Jones said she might get to play forward next week. Joel nodded when he needed to. Said ‘that’s great, baby’ at the right moments. But his hands stayed tight on the wheel. You stared out the passenger window.

Tommy sat in the back seat, unusually quiet, like a man who had finally realized he’d stepped straight into the middle of something he didn’t understand.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, the silence had thickened into something uncomfortable. Inside the house, Sarah kicked off her shoes immediately.

“Did you see the way I kicked it?” she said.

“I did,” Tommy said quickly.

He clapped his hands together once.

“Hey. C’mere a second.” Sarah followed him automatically. “Wanna show me how you did it?” he asked. “Like the whole play.”

Her face lit up. “Yeah!”

Tommy glanced once toward the kitchen where you and Joel had both drifted without speaking. Then he jerked his head toward the hallway.

“Let’s go to your room,” he said. “You can draw it for me.”

Sarah grabbed his hand and dragged him upstairs, still explaining the play at full speed. Their voices faded down the hallway.

The house went quiet. Joel leaned against the kitchen counter. You stood on the other side of the room, arms folded tight across yourself. Neither spoke for a moment. Joel finally exhaled.

“Tommy didn’t mean anything by it.”

You laughed once. Not amused. “I know he didn’t.”

Another silence stretched. Joel shifted his weight.

“You’re makin’ this bigger than it is.”

Your head snapped up. “Bigger than it is?”

“It’s a stupid fishing trip, Juliet.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Your voice rose slightly. “The point is you don’t trust me with her.”

Joel shook his head. “That’s not-”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.”

“You said it!” you snapped. “You said you couldn’t leave Sarah with me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you wouldn’t go because you couldn’t leave her with me!”

Joel’s temper flared. “I said I wasn’t comfortable leaving.”

“Leaving her with me,” you shot back.

Joel ran a hand through his hair. “You’re twisting what I said.”

You stared at him, disbelief creeping into your voice. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god, Joel.” You paced once across the kitchen, frustrated energy radiating off you. “I have been living in this house with you and Sarah for months.”

Joel didn’t answer.

“I help with homework,” you continued, voice shaking now, “I cook, I drive her places, I sit through soccer practice and school meetings and dentist appointments-”

“I know that.”

“-and she trusts me,” you pressed on. “She talks to me. She comes to me when she’s upset. We have built a relationship.”

“I know.”

“And yet somehow,” you said, voice cracking now, “I am still not someone you can leave her with for two days.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?”

“No.”

You stared at him. “What exactly would make it fair, Joel?”

He didn’t answer. You laughed again, bitter this time.

“Another year? Two? A background check? Should I submit references?”

“Juliet-”

“No, really,” you pressed. “Tell me what I have to do.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

Your voice jumped an octave.

“I am not blowing this out of proportion!”

“You are!”

You stepped closer now, tears bright in your eyes.

“This isn’t about the fishing trip!”

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s about the fact that you just made it very clear that no matter how much I love her, no matter how much she loves me, I will never actually count.”

Joel’s temper snapped.

“She’s not your daughter.”

The words hit the room like a gunshot. You went completely still. For a split second Joel looked like he might take it back. Instead he doubled down.

“This is my decision.”

Your eyes filled. “And that’s it?” you asked quietly.

“Yes.”

Your voice shook. “You don’t even want to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Joel-”

“This discussion is over.”

The words were loud enough to echo. You swallowed. Then you turned away and grabbed your keys from the counter.

Joel frowned. “…Where are you going.”

“I’m going to my mom’s.”

The words were tight.

“For how long?”

You shook your head, already walking toward the door. “I don’t know.”

“Juliet-”

But the front door opened. Closed. A second later the sound of your car starting filled the driveway. Joel stood frozen in the kitchen. The engine faded as you drove away.

Upstairs, footsteps hurried. Tommy came down first.

Sarah was right behind him.

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

Tommy glanced out the window at the empty driveway.

“…Your dad and Juliet just had a disagreement,” he said carefully.

Joel still hadn’t moved. Tommy looked at him.

“What the hell happened?”

Joel didn’t answer. The house felt very quiet. And suddenly very empty.

*************

The afternoon dragged. Joel tried to keep busy. He cleaned the kitchen twice. Rearranged a stack of mail that didn’t need rearranging. Walked out to the driveway and back for no reason.

The house felt wrong without you in it. Too quiet. Tommy had figured that out fast. He stayed mostly in the living room with Sarah, watching TV with the volume low.

Every now and then Joel caught Sarah glancing toward the kitchen like she was trying to read his mood. Around four he gave up pretending he wasn’t waiting. He pulled his phone out and called you. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail. Joel hung up before the message could start. He stared at the phone for a second. Then shoved it into his pocket.

From the living room Sarah’s voice carried over.

“Dad, did you see my goal? It went like this!”

Joel leaned in the doorway. “Yeah,” he said shortly.

“It was pretty good, right?”

“Yep.”

Sarah tilted her head. “You didn’t even look.”

Joel sighed and said, probably a tad angrier than he meant: “I saw it earlier, kiddo.”

She frowned and looked back at him. “You’re being a grump.”

Joel felt something inside him tighten. “I’m not a grump.”

“You kinda are.”

“I said I’m not.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “You’re mad because Juliet left.”

Joel’s head snapped toward her. “That’s enough.”

“But you made her leave.”

“She left.”

“Because you yelled at her!”

Joel felt his temper spike. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I do too!”

“You weren’t even part of that conversation.”

“I heard it!”

The words landed harder than Joel expected.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“Well I did!” Sarah stood up now. “You said you couldn’t leave me with her.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said.”

“Yes it is!”

“No it isn’t.”

“You said you couldn’t go fishing because you couldn’t leave me with Juliet!”

Joel ran a hand over his face. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?!”

“That’s enough.”

“No it isn’t!”

Her voice cracked now. “We’re together all the time,” she said. “She helps me with everything. She makes dinner with me. We watch movies. She's the best.”

Joel stayed silent.

“So why can’t I stay with her?” Sarah demanded. “Why can’t Uncle Tommy take you fishing?”

Joel snapped. “BECAUSE I SAID SO!”

The words rang through the room. Sarah flinched. Joel pointed up the stairs.

“Go to your room.”

She stared at him. “No.”

That did it.

“Go. To. Your. Room.”

The shout cracked through the house. Sarah froze. Her face changed immediately. Shock first. Then hurt. Her eyes filled so fast it made Joel’s stomach drop. She almost never cried. Almost never. She turned and ran down the hallway.

Her bedroom door slammed. The sound echoed through the house. Joel stood there breathing hard. The silence afterward felt enormous. From the hallway doorway Tommy had been watching the whole thing. He hadn’t said a word. Now he stepped into the room slowly.

Joel still hadn’t moved.

Then Tommy said quietly, “…Well.”

Joel didn’t answer. He was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the hallway where Sarah had disappeared.

Tommy pushed himself off the wall and walked a few steps into the room.

“You gonna tell me what this is really about?”

Joel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Tommy…”

“Cause I refuse to believe this is about you not trusting Juliet,” Tommy went on. “Not after everything.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “You’re one to talk.”

Tommy blinked once. “…About what?”

Joel shrugged, but there was an edge to it. “I dunno. Maybe the part where you spent the last few years drunk out of your mind.”

The words hung in the air. For a second Tommy just stared at him. Then he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice wasn’t angry. Just steady. “I did.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Tommy crossed his arms.

“But I got my shit together. I went to rehab,” he continued. “It’s been hard as hell, it still is, every day. But I got sober.”

Joel’s eyes flicked toward him.

Tommy held his gaze. “And you know what?” There was a small pause. “It was mostly because of her.”

Joel didn’t respond.

Tommy shook his head slowly.

“I swear to God,” Tommy said quietly, “if you lose that woman because of your fucking pride…”

He didn’t raise his voice. That somehow made it worse.

Joel’s head snapped up. Tommy held his gaze.

“You remember what you were like before she showed up?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Tommy pushed off the counter and took a step closer.

“You were miserable, man.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

“You worked. You slept. You snapped at everybody who got within ten feet of you. House felt like a damn bunker half the time.”

Joel looked away. Tommy kept going.

“Then she comes along and suddenly you’re laughing again.”

Joel didn’t respond.

“You cook together,” Tommy said. “You sit outside at night. Hell, you even started listening when I talk about my stupid shit instead of just grunting at me.”

Joel’s shoulders shifted slightly. Tommy shook his head.

“And Sarah?” He gestured toward the hallway. “She looks at Juliet like she hung the moon. She loves her, man.” Silence. Tommy’s voice softened a little. “You got lucky, Joel. Real lucky.”

Joel still didn’t speak.

Tommy exhaled through his nose.

“And now you’re about to blow the whole damn thing up because you’re scared.”

The silence between them stretched. Heavy. Then Joel snapped.

“You don’t know what it feels like.”

Tommy frowned.

“What?”

“Having responsibilities,” Joel said, voice rising. “Being the one person that kid depends on for every damn thing.”

Tommy held his gaze. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “I know I’m not a dad. That’s true. But I do know a good thing when it hits me in the face.”

Joel scoffed. “You think this is about Juliet?”

“What else would it be?”

Joel paced once across the kitchen, agitated now. “You don’t get it,” he said. “It’s always been me.”

Tommy said nothing.

“School. Doctors. Bills. Food on the table. Every decision,” Joel went on, words coming faster now. “Every damn thing that kid needs.” His voice hardened. “There ain’t nobody else if I screw it up.”

Tommy watched him quietly.

Joel gestured toward the hallway.

“That’s the job.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly. “…Yeah,” he said. “It is. But you’re not alone anymore.” Joel didn’t answer. Tommy leaned forward slightly. “You’re acting like letting someone help you is the same thing as abandoning your kid.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

“I’m not abandoning anything.”

“No,” Tommy said calmly. “You’re just refusing to share the load.”

Joel looked away.

Tommy nodded toward the door you had left through.

“That woman’s been standing next to you carrying half of it for months. You just won’t let yourself admit it.”

Joel didn’t move.

Tommy studied him for a long moment. Then he said quietly,

“Man… you’re not protecting Sarah. You’re protecting the version of yourself that had to survive doing it all alone.” The words hung there. And Joel didn’t have an answer. “And instead of tellin’ her you’re scared to let someone share the load with you…” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “…you told her she ain’t the kid’s mother.”

Joel winced.

Tommy nodded once.

“Yeah.” A small silence stretched. Then Tommy said, quieter now, “You know what you should’ve said?” Joel didn’t look up. Tommy shrugged. “Somethin’ like… ‘I’ve been doin’ this shit on my own for so long I don’t know how to stop’.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

Tommy continued. “Or maybe… ‘I’m scared if I let you carry some of it and you leave, it’ll break my heart’.”

Joel finally looked up.

Tommy held his gaze. “That,” he said simply, “would’ve made sense.”

The kitchen went quiet again. Joel stared toward the front door. Then back at Tommy. For the first time since you left, the anger had drained out of him. What was left looked a lot more like fear.

Tommy watched it happen. “…Well,” he said quietly.

Joel rubbed both hands over his face. “I’m such a fuckin’ idiot.”

Tommy didn’t argue.

Joel let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the counter. “What do I do now?”

For once, Tommy didn’t have a joke ready. He shrugged a little. “Same thing the rest of us do when we screw up. Apologize.”

Joel looked up.

Tommy jerked his chin toward the stairs. “Start with the kid.”

Joel followed his gaze. Sarah’s door was still closed.

Tommy pushed himself off the counter. “I’m gonna head out,” he said.

Joel frowned slightly. “You don’t gotta-”

“Yeah,” Tommy said gently. “I do.” He clapped Joel once on the shoulder as he passed. “This one’s yours.”

A second later the front door closed behind him. The house went quiet again. Joel stood there for a moment. Then he walked up the stairs and knocked softly on Sarah’s door. No answer. He knocked again.

“Sarah?”

A quiet voice came from inside. “…What.”

Joel opened the door slowly. Sarah was curled up on her bed with her back against the headboard, knees pulled up. Her face was swollen and her eyes red from crying. That sight hit him harder than anything Tommy had said. Joel stepped inside.

“Hey.”

Sarah didn’t look at him.

Joel sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a little space between them. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then he said quietly,

“I’m sorry.”

Sarah sniffed. “You yelled.”

“I know.” Silence. Joel rubbed his hands together. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Sarah picked at the corner of her blanket. “You never yell like that.”

Joel swallowed. “I know.”

Finally she looked up at him. “Is Juliet coming back?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Sarah’s eyes filled again immediately.

Joel felt his chest tighten. “Hey,” he said softly. “Come here.”

She hesitated. Then she scooted closer and leaned against him.

Joel wrapped an arm around her automatically. She was still sniffling.

“I heard what you said,” she mumbled into his shirt.

Joel closed his eyes. “…Yeah.”

“You said she’s not my mom.”

His throat tightened. “I did.”

Sarah pulled back slightly so she could look at him. “But she’s still… kinda ours.”

Joel didn’t have a response to that.

“She makes bracelets with me,” Sarah continued quietly. “And she helps me with math. And she watches movies with us.”

Joel nodded faintly.

“And she makes you laugh,” Sarah added. Her voice got smaller. “I don’t want things to go back to before.”

Joel froze. “What do you mean?”

“You were sad a lot,” she said simply.

Joel looked down.

“And the house was quieter,” she continued. “I like it better now.” Her fingers twisted in his shirt. “Can you fix it?”

Joel swallowed. “Fix what?”

“Whatever you did.”

The words were painfully direct.

Sarah looked up at him with wet eyes. “Please.”

Joel pulled her into a hug, and for a moment he just held her there. His chin rested on the top of her head.

“…I’ll try,” he said quietly.

Sarah sniffed again. “Try really hard.”

Joel let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I will.”

***************

Joel stayed in Sarah’s room until she fell asleep. It didn’t take long. Crying always wore her out. Her breathing had gone slow and steady against his arm, her hand still fisted in his shirt like she was making sure he wouldn’t disappear too. Joel carefully untangled himself and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. For a moment he just stood there looking down at her. Then he turned off the lamp and stepped into the hallway.

The house felt different now. Quieter. He walked back to the kitchen automatically, like he didn’t know what else to do with himself. Your mug was still on the counter. Half a cup of tea gone cold. Joel stared at it for a second before picking it up and rinsing it in the sink. Then he stopped halfway through and set it back down.

The silence pressed in again. He checked his phone. Nothing. No message. No missed calls. He wondered briefly if he should call you again. Then decided he probably shouldn’t.

He leaned his hands against the counter and stared out through the dark window above the sink. Minutes passed. Maybe more. At some point he sat down at the table. Then got up again. Walked to the living room. Turned the TV on. Muted it almost immediately. Turned it off again.

He was standing in the middle of the room when he heard it. Headlights sweeping briefly across the front windows. Joel froze. The sound of a car engine outside. His chest tightened instantly. A door closing. His heart kicked once, hard.

Joel moved before he even realized it, crossing the living room in four quick strides. By the time he reached the front hallway the front door was opening. You stepped inside. The porch light spilled in behind you. Your eyes were red. But your face was calm. Joel felt the tension that had been sitting in his chest all evening loosen all at once.

You’d come back. He hadn’t been sure you would. You closed the door behind you and set your keys on the small table by the wall. Only then did you look up at him. Joel was still standing a few feet away, like he wasn’t sure if moving closer would break something fragile between you.

You broke the silence first.

“I went to my mom’s.”

Joel nodded once.

“I figured.”

You slipped off your jacket and hung it on the back of the chair by the door. The movement was slow, deliberate, like you were giving yourself something simple to focus on. Joel watched you the whole time.

When you turned back toward him, the porch light behind the curtains caught the redness in your eyes.  You looked tired. Not angry. That worried him more.

“My mom made tea,” you said quietly. “And sat me down.”

Joel didn’t say anything.

You let out a small breath. “She’s very good at… putting things into perspective.”

Joel shifted his weight slightly.

You folded your arms loosely, more to hold yourself together than to defend. “She asked me a couple questions,” you continued. “About what actually upset me… And about what part of it was mine… and what part wasn’t.”

Joel felt his stomach tighten a little.

You looked at the floor for a moment, then back at him. “She reminded me that you’re right, Sarah isn’t my daughter.”

The words were calm. Measured. Joel’s chest tightened anyway.

“She said that means some decisions about her are always going to be yours.” You shrugged faintly. “And she’s right.”

Joel frowned slightly. You kept going before he could interrupt.

“I think I got… carried away earlier.” Your voice didn’t shake. But there was something restrained underneath it. “She’s your kid,” you said quietly. “You’re the one responsible for her.”

Joel stared at you.

“And if you’re not comfortable leaving her with someone,” you continued, “that’s your call to make.”

A moment passed. The distance in those words sat heavily in the room. You lowered your eyes briefly.

“I’ll try to get past it,” you said.

Joel’s chest tightened. You weren't angry. You were stepping back.

You looked up again. “I just… need a little time.” Another pause. “I didn’t realize how much that would hurt,” you admitted softly.

Joel felt something twist sharply in his chest. You held his gaze, steady.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to completely get over it,” you said.

The words were gentle, but they landed like a blow. And in that moment Joel understood something that made his stomach drop. You thought he had meant it. That you didn’t belong in that part of their lives.

Joel took a slow step toward you.

“That ain’t what I meant.”

You didn’t move. You just watched him, waiting.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking like a man who had been dropped into a conversation he didn’t know how to finish.

“I know that’s how it sounded,” he muttered. You didn’t interrupt. Joel paced once across the living room, restless. “I said the worst possible thing I could’ve said… And I know that.”

Your voice stayed quiet. “Then why did you say it?”

Joel stopped. He stared at the floor for a second before answering. “Because I panicked.”

That made you blink. Joel let out a breath.

“I been doing this alone for a long time, Juliet.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Every decision. Every mistake. Every damn thing that kid needs.” Joel shook his head, frustrated with himself. “And somewhere along the way I got it in my head that if I let somebody else carry any of that…” He hesitated. “…then I ain’t doing my job.”

Your expression softened slightly, but you didn’t speak.

Joel ran a hand through his hair. “You asked me why you couldn’t stay with her,” he continued. “And instead of tellin’ you the truth…” He scoffed bitterly. “…I turned it into something ugly.”

Your voice was careful. “What was the truth?”

Joel finally looked at you. His voice dropped. “I don’t know how to stop doin’ it all myself.”

The words hung there between you. Joel gestured helplessly.

“You moved in here and started helping with everything and… I didn’t even notice how much lighter it got.”

Your throat moved.

Joel shook his head again.

“And I swear to God,” he said quietly, “if you think I meant that you don’t belong with us…” He shook his head. “…then I screwed up way worse than I thought.”

Silence filled the room again. But it felt different now. Less sharp. Less final. Joel didn’t move closer. He just stood there, waiting. Because for the first time all day… He had actually said what he meant.

You looked at him for a long moment. The hurt was still there. That hadn’t vanished. But the distance you’d walked in with… had shifted.

“You really scared me today,” you said quietly.

Joel nodded. “I know.”

“I thought…” you stopped, searching for the words. “I thought maybe I had misunderstood everything.”

Joel frowned slightly. “About what.”

“About where I fit here.”

Joel took another small step toward you. “You didn’t misunderstand that.”

You held his gaze. “Because when you said she wasn’t my daughter,” you said carefully, “what I heard was that I wasn’t really part of this.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t true.”

You watched him.

Joel rubbed his hands over his face, frustrated with himself again. “I told you,” he muttered. “I panicked.”

A quiet moment passed. You looked down briefly.

“I know she’s your daughter,” you said softly. “I’ve never tried to take that place. And if it felt like I did, I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head immediately. “I know you haven’t.”

You looked back up. “I just… love her. So much,” you said.

Joel nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

You let out a small breath. “And when you said that earlier…” you added, “it felt like you were telling me I shouldn’t.”

Joel closed the last bit of distance between you. “That ain’t what I was sayin’.”

You studied his face, like you were trying to measure whether you believed that.

Joel hesitated. Then he said it. Rough. Quiet. Almost like it surprised him too. “…I love you.” Joel held your gaze, steady. “I don’t say that much,” he added gruffly. “But it’s true.”

The room went very still.

“I love you,” he repeated. “And I love the way you are with Sarah.” His voice softened a little. “That kid loves you.”

Your composure cracked just slightly at that.

Joel continued, slower now. “I ain’t scared of you hurting her,” he said. “Not really.” There was a small pause. “I’m used to carryin’ everything myself,” he said quietly. “If I let you carry some of it…” He shook his head a little. “…and then you’re gone one day…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Silence filled the room again. But this time it felt fragile.  Joel shifted his weight slightly, like standing still suddenly felt too exposed. He rubbed his thumb across his palm, a nervous habit he barely noticed.

“…you should know’,” he said finally. You didn’t interrupt. Joel glanced toward the hallway for a second before looking back at you. “About today. About what I said.” His jaw tightened slightly. “That was… the worst possible way I could’ve put it.”

You watched him carefully.

Joel exhaled slowly. He looked up at you again.

“From the start. I’ve always been terrified that one day you’d decide that you were done playing house with us, that you didn’t sign up for so much. But…” Another breath. “You should know. If I trust someone to stay…” His voice softened. “…that’s you.”

For a moment you didn’t react. Then something in your expression shifted. 

Joel watched you carefully, like a man standing on thin ice who wasn’t quite sure if it would hold.

“And…” he added, quieter. Joel looked down at the floor for a second before finishing the thought. “…God, I hope you do.” He shook his head faintly, like he hated how exposed he sounded. “Because I don’t…” He stopped, corrected himself. “…I ain’t real sure I’d know how to live without you anymore.”

Your breath caught almost imperceptibly.

Joel looked up at you again. “And I don’t think I’d want to know.”

The room went quiet. Then you stepped forward. Straight into him. Your hands caught his shirt first, bunching the fabric at his chest before your arms slid around him.

Joel froze half a heartbeat. Then his arms came around you automatically, strong and tight, like he’d been holding that back for hours.

He buried his face against the side of your head with a long exhale. The tension that had been wound through him all day finally loosening.

“…I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair.

You didn’t answer right away. You just held him. One hand sliding up the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair the way you always did when you were trying to calm him down.

After a moment you leaned back just enough to look at him. Your eyes were still a little red. Joel’s hands were still at your waist, like he hadn’t quite convinced himself you were really there yet.

You studied his face for a second, searching it. Then you reached up and pulled him down by the front of his shirt.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was the kind that came after too much fear, too much anger, too many hours thinking the other person might be gone. Your mouth crashed into his and Joel answered instantly, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer.

For a moment the rest of the house disappeared. The argument. The silence. The knot that had been sitting in his chest for two days. Gone. When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing a little heavier.

You kept your forehead resting against his. Joel’s thumb brushed absently along your side.

“…I’m going,” he said quietly.

You frowned faintly. “Going where?”

“With Tommy. That fishing trip.”

Your eyes searched his again. “I don’t want you doing that because of me.”

Joel shook his head immediately. “It ain’t because of you.” Then his mouth softened. “It’s thanks to you.” Joel shrugged a little, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable explaining it out loud. “He’s been tryin’ to drag me out there for years,” he admitted. “And I kept sayin’ no.”

“Why?”

Joel huffed quietly. “Because I’m used to bein’ needed here every second.” He looked at you again. “But Tommy was right about somethin’.”

You tilted your head.

Joel’s hand tightened slightly at your waist. “Now you’re here. With Sarah.”

Your expression shifted.

Joel continued, voice low but steady. “And if I can’t trust you with her…” He shook his head faintly. “…then I ain’t learned a damn thing.”

You stared at him for a moment. “You’re sure?”

Joel didn’t hesitate. “Positive.”

Your eyes searched his face. “Hundred percent?”

“Yes.”

Something in you finally settled. You grabbed his jaw and kissed him. Harder this time.

Joel let out a quiet breath against your mouth before kissing you back just as fiercely, one arm tightening around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Your fingers slid into the back of his hair, holding him there.  You broke apart only long enough to breathe before you leaned in again, slower this time but no less intense.

When you finally separated for real, you rested your forehead against his. “…Wait, wait.”

Joel blinked down at you. “What.”

You leaned back just enough to see his face properly, eyes narrowing with sudden realization. “…So you’re telling me you got relationship advice, actual good relationship advice… ” Joel already looked tired. “…from Tommy.”

He sighed. You shook your head slowly, incredulous.

“Wow.” you chuckled. “You’re fucked.”

Joel huffed a laugh under his breath and dropped his forehead against yours again. “Yeah,” he muttered.“That was about his wording too.”

Joel was still looking down at yoi when the smile faded from your mouth.

The air between you had shifted again. Your hands were still resting against his chest. Joel noticed the way your breathing had slowed. The way you were looking at him now. Different.

He swallowed.

“…What,” he asked quietly.

You shook your head faintly. “Nothing.”

But you didn’t move away. Joel’s hand slid from your waist to the small of your back almost without him realizing it.

“Darlin’...”

You kissed him again before he finished the sentence. This one slower. Deeper. Not desperate like before. Intentional.

Joel let out a quiet breath into the kiss, one arm tightening around your waist and pulling you closer. His hand slid up your back, fingers spreading across your shoulder blades like he needed to make sure you were really there. When you broke apart, both of you were breathing a little heavier. You rested your forehead against his again.

“…Sarah’s asleep?” you murmured.

Joel nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved for a second. Then you added quietly: “You still owe me that rain check.”

Joel blinked once. Then a slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Do I.”

Your fingers slid lightly along the front of his shirt. “You said you’d make it worth my while. Very worth my while if I’m not mistaken.”

Joel glanced instinctively toward the hallway leading to Sarah’s room. Then back at you. “…We’re gonna have to be real quiet.”

Your mouth curved. “I’m a lawyer,” you whispered. “I’m excellent at discretion.”

Joel huffed softly under his breath. Then he kissed you again. This time he didn’t stop.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“You like trouble.”

“That I do.”

You kissed him again. This time Joel didn’t hold back. One hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, the other tightening at your waist as he deepened the kiss, slow and hungry, like he was making up for the last two miserable days all at once.

You laughed softly against his mouth when he started steering you backward. “Joel,” you whispered.

He paused just long enough to murmur against yoir lips: “…Bedroom.”

You nodded once, then moved through the dim house quietly, half-kissing, half-laughing, bumping into the wall once before Joel caught you again, his hands warm and steady at your sides.

When the bedroom door closed (and locked) behind you, the rest of the house fell away. His hands were already at your clothes, impatient, fingers tugging at fabric like the last two days had finally snapped something loose in him.

“Joel-”

“Mm.”

He didn’t even look up, already pulling your shirt over your head.

You laughed under your breath. “Wow.”

Joel’s hands moved to the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your hips with very little ceremony.

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

He finally looked up at you then, eyes dark, jaw tight. You raised a brow.

“What happened to your famous patience?”

Joel’s mouth brushed your shoulder as he muttered: “No time.”

You snorted softly, fingers already working at the buttons of his shirt. “Well,” you murmured, leaning into him again, “good thing I came prepared.”

And the teasing didn’t slow him down even a little. He pushed you down onto the mattress, following you immediately after disposing of his own pants.

You barely had time to laugh before Joel’s mouth found your neck again, slowly this time, the urgency from before giving way to something deeper. His lips moved downward, unhurried now, tracing a wet path from your throat to the curve of your breast. Your fingers slid into his hair as you let out a soft breath.

Joel paused there for a second, forehead resting briefly against your skin.

“Fuck…” he murmured, voice rough. “I missed this.”

His hand followed where his mouth had gone, brushing your nipple, rougher now, familiar and confident as he moved over you. You gasped softly, your back arching instinctively against him.

Joel’s mouth lingered at your breast, slow and unhurried now, like he was making up for every second he’d spent missing you. One of his hands tightened gently against your side, holding you steady as you shifted beneath him.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, a quiet breath escaping you as you tried, not very successfully, to stay silent. Joel felt it immediately. He huffed a low laugh against your skin.

“You’re teasing,” you whispered, breath still uneven. “That’s cruel.”

Joel lifted his head just enough to look at you.

“Teasing?” he said, feigning innocence. “Why? What do you want, darlin’?”

You let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “You know exactly what I want, you arrogant, little-”

The rest of the insult died halfway out of your mouth. Because Joel suddenly bent lower and dragged his tongue slowly across your folds, suckling on your clit. You jerked, a strangled sound escaping you before you clamped a hand over your mouth.

Joel looked up at you, eyes gleaming with pure trouble. “…That what you meant?”

You glared down at him, breath still uneven. “I’m so getting back at you for this later.”

Joel didn’t even look worried. “Can’t wait.”

His fingers teased at your entrance and, when he finally got one inside you, he began to stroke you  slowly, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. He felt your body tightened around him, your fingers gripping the sheets beside you. He knew you were close.

Your head finally fell back against the pillow as the tension finally broke through you. A breath tore from your throat, rough and unguarded, your body trembling as the last of it rolled through you. Joel held you there for a moment, feeling the aftershocks fade beneath his hands. He looked down at you, breath still uneven.

“Worth your while yet?”

Your lips curved slowly. “No…” you murmured.

Then you pulled him down into a kiss. It was deep and hungry, the kind that left no doubt you weren't finished with him. Your hand slid down his stomach, deliberate and slow, and Joel felt the promise in it immediately. You broke the kiss just enough to whisper against his mouth:

“…but it will be.”

Before he could react, you pushed him back onto the mattress and slipped down beside him. Your hand slid over him first, slow and deliberate, making Joel suck in a sharp breath.

Then you moved lower, and Joel’s head tipped back against the headboard as he realized exactly what you were doing. You took his deliciously hard cock in your right hand and began stroking him softly.

“Juliet…” he murmured, already half-wrecked by it.

“Ohh… not so cocky now, are you?”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh. “Funny you should say it like that…”

But the words cut off halfway when you dipped lower, and his head fell back against the pillow. Your mouth tightened around the tip of his length and Joel forgot how to think. He grumbled something that wasn’t even close to words, and when you laughed, the vibration made him groan.

“I thought the plan was to stay quiet,” you whispered, your hand still moving lazily over the base of his cock.

“I’m not real good at remembering plans when you do that, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough as you resumed, tracing your way slowly along him, bottom to top, before taking him fully in your mouth again.

Joel’s hand slid to the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. He let out a shaky breath.

“Jesus, fuck, Juliet…” he muttered. His thumb brushed lightly against your hair as he added, voice rough, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He tugged lightly at your arm. “Hey.”

You looked up.

Joel’s mouth curved faintly. “Get up here.” He caught your wrist gently and drew a slow breath. “…You gonna ride this cowboy?”

You blinked up at him for half a second. Then a slow smile spread across your face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

You swung a leg over him and settled on his hips, hands braced lightly against his chest.

At first you moved slowly against him, testing the rhythm, a soft brush of your wetness that made Joel’s breath hitch. His hands slid up your sides before settling at your chest, stroking your nipples lazily like he had no intention of rushing this.

“You’re being a tease…”

“You love it,” you murmured, a playful smile on your lips.

Joel looked up at you. “I love you.”

The words hung between you, heavier than the teasing that had come before.

For a second you just stared at him, something in your expression softening, the last of the tension from the past days finally melting away. Then you leaned down and kissed him, slow and deep, like you needed to feel that sentence again.

When you pulled back, you sank slowly into him, the playful edge gone now, replaced with something warmer. He moaned into your mouth, the sound swallowed by a kiss.

For a moment you stayed perfectly still, your warmth enveloping him, eyes closing as you held there, letting the closeness of it sink in. Then you began to move, slowly at first, finding a careful rhythm. Your breath caught, and you bit your lip, fighting to stay quiet in the dark house. Joel thought he might come just from that sight of you alone.

Then you began to move faster, steadier, finding a rhythm that made Joel’s breath catch. His hands found your hips instinctively, holding on as the movement between you deepened.

“God… I love you,” he murmured, voice rough.

His body answered yours without thinking, matching your pace, pulling you closer. He felt himself sliding even deeper. You leaned forward then, needing the closeness, until your chest pressed against his and your foreheads nearly touched.

He felt your rhythm start to falter. Joel knew that sign by heart. His hands tightened slightly at your hips before one of them slid between your legs, his touch gentle now but deliberate. Your breath caught.

“Joel…”

He leaned closer, voice low against your ear. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Come for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you fought to stay quiet, your breath hitching again and again until you finally broke, a small, strangled sound escaping you as you buried your face against his neck.

Joel held you there, feeling the tremor run through you.

Watching you come undone like that was enough to push him over the edge a few strokes after.

He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing hard but silent, his arms tightening around you as the moment passed.

For a moment you just stayed there, tangled together. The only sound left in the room was your breathing, still uneven in the quiet darkness.

You shifted slightly where you lay against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

Then you let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“So,” you whispered, “this is what people mean when they say make-up sex, huh?”

Joel was quiet for a second. Then he muttered, voice rough with sleep and satisfaction:

“…Hell of a way to end an argument.”

You lay half on top of him, your breathing slowly returning back to normal.

Joel watched the ceiling for a while. Then he spoke.

“I’m goin’ with Tommy.”

Your hand paused. You lifted your head just enough to look at him.

“To the cabin?”

“Yeah.”

A small silence followed. Then you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his chest.

“Good,” you murmured.

Joel’s hand slid into your hair.

“Figured it was time.”

You rested your cheek back against him.

“…Sarah and I will survive.”

Joel huffed quietly.

“I know.”

Another quiet moment passed. Then you added, half amused:

“Tommy’s going to be insufferable when he finds out.”

Joel snorted. “Yeah.”

But his arm tightened around you anyway.

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[notyourlovemonkey]

Hi! Was just wondering if we will get a new chapter of the Joel series "The Right Life, " this week? Or maybe 2 chapters? (Asking hopefully! Lol.) Sorry but I just love it!

I'm about to publish right now 😬​😬​😬​😬​

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 9: The Crack

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.

Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Alcoholism. Mentions of death (not any main characters). Legal inaccuracies (probably). Chapter word count: 8.2k words.

a/n: This chapter reflects on alcoholism and the consequences it may have. If this topic triggers you, maybe you should go right to the end when the conversation between Tommy and Juliet starts (the start and end will be marked with ***).

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

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PART 9 - THE CRACK

Joel slept light. Always had. Years of early mornings, job sites, and a kid who used to wake at ungodly hours had wired it into him permanently. Even now, with the house quiet and the day behind him, some part of his mind stayed half-alert.

But tonight… he was out.

You lay tucked against him, warm and familiar, your back pressed into his chest, his arm heavy around your waist. The fan hummed softly overhead. The faint glow of the alarm clock painted the room in dim red numbers.

His nose was buried lightly in your hair, breathing slow, steady. One leg tangled with yours beneath the sheets. The kind of sleep that only came when everything felt right.

Then the phone rang. It cut through the dark like a blade.

Joel jerked awake instantly, heart slamming hard against his ribs before his brain caught up. For half a second he didn’t know where he was. Then the room settled back into focus. You shifted in his arms with a soft, disoriented sound.

The phone kept ringing. Nightstand. His side. Joel groaned under his breath and reached blindly, fumbling until his hand closed around it. The screen lit up harsh and bright in the dark.

He went still. Every muscle in his body tightened at once.

You felt it immediately. You pushed up onto one elbow beside him, hair mussed, voice thick with sleep. “…Joel?”

He swallowed once and answered.

“Yeah.”

The voice on the other end was professional. Flat. Tired in that middle-of-the-night way.

“Is this Joel Miller?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Yeah.”

“Sir, this is officer Davidson with the Austin Police Department. We have a Thomas Miller here at central booking requesting you come down. There’s been an incident this evening. He’s being held pending possible charges. He asked that you be notified.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. Of course. Of fucking course.

“…He hurt?” Joel asked, voice already rough.

A small pause. Papers shuffling on the other end.

“He’s been involved in an altercation. Some visible injuries. Nothing life-threatening as far as we can tell.”

Joel sat up fully now, already swinging his legs off the bed. You pushed yourself upright beside him, fully awake now, reading his face before he even spoke.

“Yeah,” Joel muttered into the phone. “Alright. I’m comin’.”

Another pause. Then the officer added, almost casually:

“Sir, I’d advise you bring legal counsel. The other party is likely pressing charges. If Mr. Miller doesn’t retain representation, one will be assigned but he’ll have to wait here until tomorrow morning.”

Joel’s jaw set. “Yeah. Got it.”

He hung up before the man could say anything else.

The room went quiet again except for the faint hum of the fan. You watched him in the dark.

“…Tommy?”

Joel scrubbed a hand down his face hard. “Yeah.”

He stood, already reaching for his jeans on the chair. Movements clipped. Efficient. Angry under the surface in that tight, controlled way you’d learned to recognize.

“What happened?”

“Bar fight, sounds like.” His voice was flat. “He’s at county. They’re talkin’ charges. Shit.”

You absorbed that quickly. Fully awake now.

“Did they tell you to bring a lawyer.”

Joel paused halfway through pulling on his shirt and looked at you.

“…Yeah.”

The look that crossed your face then wasn’t sleepy or confused anymore. It sharpened. Focused. Something cool and precise sliding into place behind your eyes.

“Okay,” you said simply.

Joel blinked once. “Okay what.”

“I’m coming.”

He shook his head immediately. “You don’t gotta-”

“I know.” You stood and reached for clothes in the dim light, already moving. “I’m coming anyway.”

There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in your tone.

Joel watched you for a second, jaw tight.

“…Juliet.”

You pulled on a sweater, fingers quick but steady. “They said to bring a lawyer, Joel, I’m a lawyer.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. Couldn’t argue with that. Didn’t really want to.

“…Alright,” he muttered.

Then his eyes flicked toward the hallway automatically. Toward Sarah’s room. Both of you stilled. You couldn’t just leave her.

You caught the look and nodded once. Already thinking ahead. “I’m calling my Mom.”

Joel hesitated. Shame flickering across his face before he could hide it. It was past two in the morning. Calling Annie for this… Christ.

You touched his arm lightly. “She won’t mind.”

He huffed under his breath. “Still.”

“Joel.”

He met your eyes. Saw no judgment there. None. Just calm certainty.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “Alright.”

You grabbed yout phone and stepped into the hallway to make the call while he pulled on his boots. He could hear your voice low and soft in the kitchen, explaining just enough. Apologizing even though you didn’t need to.

Annie must’ve agreed immediately, because you came back less than a minute later already tying your hair up.

“She’s on her way.”

Joel nodded once. Relief and embarrassment twisting together in his chest.

You moved around each other in quiet efficiency; grabbing keys, wallets, jackets. The house felt different now. Too bright. Too awake for the hour.

Within fifteen minutes, headlights swept across the front windows. Joel opened the door before Annie even knocked.

She stepped inside in a cardigan thrown over sleep clothes, hair hastily pulled back, expression alert but calm. Her eyes went first to you, then to Joel.

“Is he alright?” she asked gently.

“Yeah,” Joel said. “Just… in some trouble.”

She nodded once like that told her everything she needed to know.

“I’ll stay with Sarah,” she said simply. “Don’t you worry about anything here.”

Joel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly feeling about seventeen instead of a grown man.

“…I’m sorry. Wakin’ you up like this.”

Annie’s expression softened.

“Joel,” she said quietly. “Don’t you dare apologize to me, we are family.”

It settled heavier than she probably realized.

He swallowed once and nodded. “Thank you.”

She squeezed his arm briefly. Warm. Steady. No judgment.

“Go,” she said.

You grabbed your bag. Joel grabbed the truck keys. The night air hit cool and sharp as you stepped outside together. By the time you pulled away from the curb, the house lights were already dimming again behind you.

You drove through the empty Austin streets toward the sheriff’s station. Toward Tommy.

********

The station was colder than it needed to be. Fluorescent lights. Pale tile. The kind of place designed to make people feel small and tired.

Joel pushed through the glass doors first. You right beside him. The deputy at the desk looked up, mildly annoyed at 2:42 AM.

“Thomas Miller,” Joel said.

The deputy typed something slowly.

“Yeah. Holding.”

You stepped forward half a pace. Calm. Polite. Controlled.

“I’m counsel,” you said. “Juliet Harper.”

The deputy’s eyebrows flicked up briefly at that, but he didn’t comment.

“Other party pressed charges,” he said. “Assault causing bodily injury.”

Your voice stayed level. “Has my client been formally charged?”

“Pending.”

“Has he been read his rights?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Has he signed anything?”

“No.”

“Has he been medically evaluated?”

Another pause. “He declined.”

You didn’t blink.

“He declined, or he wasn’t offered?”

The deputy’s jaw tightened slightly. “Ma’am-”

Joel felt it shift right there. The temperature of the room. You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t sharpen your tone. You just held the man’s eyes steadily.

“I’ve been told my client has visible head trauma,” you said calmly. “If he was not properly offered medical evaluation, that becomes an issue.”

Silence.

The deputy cleared his throat. “He was treated on site.”

“By whom?”

“EMS.”

“Documented?”

Another pause. Joel saw it. The crack.

You nodded once. 

“We’d like to see him.”

They led you to a holding room.

Tommy was sitting on a bench behind a half-door barrier this time. Not just waiting. Processed.

His lip was split. One eye swollen almost shut. Dried blood at his temple. Shirt torn at the collar.

Joel stopped dead for half a second. You didn’t.

You walked straight up to the barrier and crouched slightly to see him at eye level.

“Who hit first?” you asked.

Tommy blinked. “Hi to you too.”

“Tommy.”

He looked at Joel briefly, then back at you.

“He swung first,” he muttered. “I finished it.”

You inhaled slowly.

“Witnesses?”

Tommy shrugged. Winced. “Bouncer saw it. And plenty other customers. Place was packed”

You stood and turned back toward the deputy.

“Was the other individual detained?”

“He was treated and released.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“Released.”

“Yes.”

“Despite initiating the physical altercation?”

The deputy shifted his weight. “Ma’am, the other individual retained counsel immediately.”

Joel felt something hot and ugly rise in his chest.

Your tone changed, not louder, but colder.

“So let me clarify. Two men fight. One has visible injuries. One hires a private attorney quickly. The one with representation is released. The other is detained.”

The deputy stiffened. “That’s not-”

“Was there a field sobriety test administered to both parties?”

Silence. Your eyes didn’t move.

“Were statements taken from both parties before detention?”

Another pause.

Joel saw it now, the imbalance. Tommy hadn’t refused medical help. He hadn’t been offered properly. The other guy hadn’t been held. And now charges were being pushed.

You folded your arms loosely.

“I’ll need the incident report number,” you said. “Body cam footage confirmation. And the name of the supervising officer on duty.”

The deputy hesitated.

Joel felt a strange mix of pride and fury watching you. This wasn’t even your field of expertise. Tommy watched too, different expression on his face now. Less bravado, more awareness.

The deputy left the room.

You turned back to Tommy.

“You hit him.”

Tommy didn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

“You escalated.”

“He swung first.”

“And you escalated.”

Silence. Tommy looked down. Joel stepped forward finally. Voice low.

“Christ, Tommy.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed.

“He was mouthing off.”

“And?” Joel snapped. “That new?”

You lifted a hand slightly without looking at either of them. Enough.

You looked back at Tommy.

“You’re being charged because the other man’s lawyer pushed for it before you had representation. That’s what happened.”

Tommy let out a slow breath.

“…Thank-”

You turned so fast he flinched.

“Don’t.”

Your voice wasn’t loud. It was worse. It was tight. Controlled. Furious.

“Don’t you dare thank me,” you said, eyes locked on his. “I am so incredibly mad at you right now.”

The room went still. Tommy blinked. Joel didn’t interfere. You stepped closer to the barrier.

“You scared us,” you said, nodding toward Joel. “You woke us up at two in the morning. My mom is at our house with Sarah. Because you were drunk and wouldn’t walk away.”

Tommy’s face shifted slightly at that.

“And now,” you continued, voice steady but sharp, “I’m standing in a police station at three a.m. pointing out procedural errors so you don’t end up with a record because someone with better connections moved faster than you.”

You held his gaze a moment longer. Not softening. Not letting him hide in jokes or apologies.

Then you exhaled slowly and shifted back into something cooler. Controlled. Professional.

“Alright,” you said. “Listen carefully.”

Tommy straightened a little on the bench without meaning to. Even bruised and half-drunk, he recognized that tone.

“You are not being formally charged tonight,” you continued. “They’re holding you pending review because the other party filed first and retained private counsel. That gave him priority.”

Tommy frowned. “So what-”

“So,” you cut in calmly, “we fix the order of things.”

You turned slightly as the deputy came back into the room with a thin file and a tablet. He handed it over with visible reluctance.

You skimmed it quickly. Efficient. Focused. Joel watched your eyes move line by line. Watched the moment you found what you needed.

There. You looked up.

“My client will not be held,” you said evenly. “There’s insufficient cause for detention.”

The deputy’s mouth tightened. “Ma’am, he was involved in-”

“In a mutual altercation,” you replied smoothly. “Where the initiating party has already been released. Without a field sobriety test administered to both individuals. Without documented medical evaluation for my client despite visible injury. And without witness statements attached to justify selective detention.”

Silence. 

You set the tablet down gently on the counter between you.

“If you’d like to continue holding him,” you added politely, “we can escalate that conversation to your supervising officer and the county desk. I’m happy to make that call.”

Joel almost smiled.

The deputy exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…One moment,” he muttered, and left again.

Tommy watched you like you’d just performed a magic trick. Joel stayed quiet.

A few minutes passed. Low voices somewhere down the hall. A door opening. Closing. Then the deputy returned, different posture this time.

“Mr. Miller will be released pending review,” he said stiffly. “No bail required.”

Tommy blinked. “Just like that?”

You didn’t even look at him.

“It’s not ‘just like that,’” you said calmly. “You got lucky there isn’t sufficient legal ground to hold you.”

Paperwork was placed on the counter. You reviewed it line by line before sliding it back.

“Sign here,” the deputy told Tommy.

He did.

Five minutes later, you were walking out. Just like that. Except not really.

The night air hit you cool and quiet when the station doors closed behind you. Tommy stood on the curb for a second like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he was free.

Joel stayed a step away. Arms crossed. Not touching him.

You stood between them, bag over your shoulder, posture still straight but the tension in it finally showing around the edges.

Tommy glanced at you.

“…So,” he started carefully.

You didn’t look at him.

“You’ll have a court date coming,” you said flatly. “They’ll review statements and decide whether to pursue charges formally. I’ll handle it. You will not talk to anyone about this without me present. You will not return to that bar. You will not contact the other party. Understood?”

Tommy nodded quickly. “Yeah.”

You finally looked at him then. Still angry. But steadier.

“Good.”

Joel stepped forward.

“Get in the truck.”

Tommy obeyed without a word.

The drive back was quiet. Heavy. But quieter than the ones before. And when you pulled up outside Tommy’s apartment, he hesitated before getting out.

Looked at Joel. Then at you. Didn’t try to joke this time. Didn’t try to charm. Just a rough, quiet:

“…Night.”

He got out. Closed the door gently.

Joel watched him go inside without moving. Then he leaned back in his seat and scrubbed a hand over his face hard.

“…Jesus,” he muttered.

You sat beside him, finally letting some of the steel drop from your shoulders.

“He’s okay,” you said quietly. “Tonight.”

Joel nodded once. Still staring ahead. After a moment, he reached across the console and took your hand. Squeezed it tight.

Didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to.

*********

Tommy got lucky. Again.

Two days after you filed the paperwork and made three very pointed phone calls that left a junior assistant district attorney audibly sweating, the other party decided not to press charges.

Official reason: insufficient grounds.

Real reason: messy mutual fight, bad optics, and a lawyer who clearly wasn’t in the mood to play.

Case dropped. No record. No court. Clean. Too clean.

Joel didn’t say much when you told him. Just nodded once.

“Good.”

But the tightness in his shoulders never really left. It sat there for days. 

Tommy kept his distance more than usual. Still showed up around the house, still stopped by after work sometimes, still brought Sarah candy he pretended not to have bought specifically for her.

But something between the brothers had shifted.

Joel wasn’t yelling. Wasn’t picking fights. He just… wasn’t letting anything slide.

Every joke landed flat. Every deflection got ignored. Every attempt Tommy made to turn things into ‘no big deal’ died on contact.

You saw it. Felt it. Didn’t interfere… yet.

A week later, Tommy showed up for dinner like nothing happened.No call. No warning. Just the familiar knock and the sound of the back door opening before anyone could answer.

“Smells illegal in here,” he announced, stepping inside like he payed part of the mortgage. “You make enough for one more?”

Joel didn’t even turn from the stove.

“…Tommy.”

“What.”

“…We’re eatin’.”

Tommy paused halfway to the cabinet. Looked at the table. Plates already set. Sarah in her chair swinging her legs. You pouring iced tea.

“Okay,” he said.

He grabbed a plate and served himself like nothing had happened and dropped into the empty chair at the table with a satisfied sigh.

“Long day, huh?” he said, reaching for the bread.

Joel set the pan down harder than necessary.

“Then go home and eat,” he said flatly.

Sarah’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.

Tommy blinked. “I just got here.”

“Yeah,” Joel said. “I noticed.”

You set the pitcher down carefully. Very carefully.

“Joel-”

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel went on, not raising his voice but somehow making it worse. “Man could call first. Maybe check if we’re busy.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair slightly, posture shifting.

“Didn’t realize I needed an appointment,” he said, light but edged.

“Common courtesy ain’t an appointment.”

“Alright,” Tommy said, holding up one hand. “My bad. I’m here now.”

Joel let out a humorless breath through his nose and finally sat down across from him.

Dinner started. Or tried to.

For about thirty minutes, it was normal. Sarah talked about school. You asked questions. Tommy made a comment about a teacher assigning too much homework.

Then Joel cut in.

“You been drinkin’.”

Not a question.

Tommy stilled. “No.”

Joel just looked at him.

You felt the shift before anyone spoke again.

“Had a beer after work,” Tommy added. “One.”

Joel’s jaw flexed. “Mm.”

Silence pressed down over the table.

Sarah looked between them. Then at you.

You forced a small smile. “Hey, kiddo. Why don’t you show me that drawing you were working on earlier?”

Sarah caught the tone immediately. Smart girl.

“Okay,” she said, sliding off her chair.

You stood and took her hand lightly.

“C’mon. Let’s go see it in your room.”

You left the kitchen together.

The moment Sarah’s bedroom door clicked shut upstairs…

The air snapped.

Joel pushed his chair back. “You think this is funny.”

Tommy’s fork hit the plate. “Jesus Christ, Joel-”

“No,” Joel cut in, voice low but sharp as glass. “You don’t get to ‘Jesus Christ’ me. Not after last week.”

Tommy stood too, chair scraping.

“It’s handled.”

“Handled?” Joel barked a humorless laugh. “You call that handled? You got hauled into a station at two in the mornin’.”

“And I walked out,” Tommy shot back. “No charges. No record. Done.”

“That ain’t the damn point.”

“Then what is,” Tommy demanded. “Huh? What exactly do you want from me here?”

Joel stared at him. Really stared.

“I want,” he said slowly, “to stop gettin’ calls about my brother like he’s a goddamn problem I gotta solve.”

Tommy flinched. Just barely.

“Wasn’t your problem,” he said, quieter but stubborn. “I handled it.”

Joel stepped forward.

“You didn’t handle it. My girl did,” he said, sharp and low. “Then you got fuckin’ lucky. Like you always do. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you take the fall for your own fuckin’ mess.”

Silence cracked between them.

Tommy ran a hand over the back of his neck, frustration rising. “I said it won’t happen again.”

“You always say that.”

That landed. Heavily.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “I mean it this time.”

Joel let out a slow breath that sounded almost like a laugh. But wasn’t.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “You always do.”

“That’s not fair,” Tommy yelled at something Joel said.

Joel let out a humorless huff. “Not fair? You wanna talk fair?”

He leaned forward, forearms on the table, voice tightening instead of rising.

“You’re pushin’ thirty, Tommy. How many times we done this? How many calls in the middle of the damn night? How many rides home? How many fuckin’ times I gotta look my kid in the eye and pretend her uncle ain’t slowly wreckin’ himself?”

Tommy’s jaw set. “I said I got it handled.”

“No,” Joel snapped. “You keep sayin’ that. You don’t ever do it.”

The words hung there. Heavy.

Tommy looked down at his plate like he might throw it, then pushed it away instead.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “So don’t stand there actin’ like you do.”

Joel’s mouth flattened. That one always came out eventually.

“Try me,” he said.

Tommy laughed once. Short. Bitter. “You didn’t see what I saw over there.”

Joel stilled. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t rise to it. But something in his eyes hardened.

“No,” he said, voice low and steady. “I didn’t. But I see what it’s doin’ to you now.”

Tommy looked up sharply.

Joel held his gaze. Didn’t look away.

“You think I don’t get it?” Joel went on. “You think I ain’t spent the last decade watchin’ you drink and fight and run from every damn thing that gets too close? You think I don’t know what that is?”

Tommy swallowed. Hard.

“PTSD ain’t an excuse to burn your fuckin’ life down,” Joel said, not cruel, just tired. “And it damn sure ain’t an excuse to keep hurtin’ the people who gotta stand here and watch you fuckin’ kill yourself!”

Silence hit the room like a dropped weight.

Tommy pushed back from the table fully this time.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Alright.”

He didn’t look at Joel. Didn’t slam anything. Didn’t raise his voice. Just walked to the front door, grabbed his jacket, and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a quiet, final click.

Joel stayed where he was for a second, breathing hard through his nose, hands braced on the table like he’d just finished a fight he hadn’t meant to start.

Outside, the porch boards creaked faintly as Tommy moved. Pacing. Or maybe just standing there trying to get air.

Joel scrubbed a hand down his face. He knew that silence. Knew that kind of retreat. And it didn’t feel like a win.

He went to the sink with his back turned, rinsing the same plate for longer than it needed. The house felt… tight. Like sound carried differently after yelling.

He heard your footsteps before he saw you.

“Sarah?” he asked without turning.

“On a video call with Frank,” you said softly. “He’s showing her something with the strawberries in his garden. She’s… okay.”

That eased something in Joel’s shoulders, just slightly. .

He nodded once, drying his hands slowly on a dish towel before turning around. Your face looked calm, but he knew you well enough by now to see the tension sitting just under it. The kind you wore when you were choosing your next move carefully.

You came a step closer. Not all the way. Close enough.

“Hey,” you said quietly. “Can I… talk to him?”

Joel didn’t answer right away.

Out on the porch, Tommy’s boots scraped faintly against wood as he shifted in the rocking chair. A low creak. Then stillness again.

Joel exhaled through his nose, jaw tight.

“Ain’t gonna do any good,” he muttered. Not harsh. Just tired.

“Maybe,” you said gently. “Maybe not. But I’d like to try.”

He studied you for a second. Saw the steadiness there. Not judgment. Not anger.  That mattered. Finally he nodded once toward the door.

“…Yeah,” he said. “Go on.” He went on, almost apologetic in a way he’d never say out loud: “Don’t let him bullshit you.”

You nodded once and moved toward the front door, pausing only long enough to slip yout feet into your shoes by the mat. The porch light was already on; it cast a soft amber glow across the wood outside, long shadows stretching over the yard.

Joel stayed where he was. Didn’t follow. Didn’t hover. Stood at the sink with his hands braced on the counter for a second before forcing himself to move again, picking up a glass that didn’t need washing and running water over it anyway.

The front door opened. Soft creak. Then shut behind you.

There was a moment of quiet. He could picture it without looking; Tommy out there on the old bench or leaning against the railing, shoulders hunched, head down like he always got when the anger burned off and left something heavier behind.

He heard your voice first. Calm. Low. Careful not to carry inside.

(***)

“…Hey.”

Tommy shifted. A faint scrape of boot against wood.

“Hey,” he answered, rougher than usual. Not defensive. Just… worn.

There was a small pause. The kind that came when two people stood near each other and neither quite knew how to start.

Joel hadn’t meant to listen, but the kitchen window was cracked open from earlier; to let the heat out while they cooked. And sound carried differently at night. Softer and clearer.

“…You okay?” you asked quietly.

A short huff from Tommy. Half a laugh, half something else. “That depends. You here to yell at me too?”

“No,” you said. Simple. Honest.

There was a longer pause.

Tommy shifted again, wood creaking under his weight.

“…He tell you everything?” Tommy asked.

“No,” you said gently. “Didn’t have to… You two weren’t exactly whispering.”

Silence stretched between you for a few seconds. The kind that wasn’t empty, but careful.

Joel felt it in his chest. Tight. Familiar.

“I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. If that’s okay,” you said.

Tommy let out a slow breath. The fight had gone out of him. Joel could hear that much.

“... ‘bout what,” he muttered. “How I’m the fuckin’ screwup of the family and there ain’t nothing I can do to fix it?.”

You didn’t rise to the bite in it. Didn’t rush either.

“I don’t think you’re a screwup,” you said quietly, with so much love and patience it hit Joel right in the chest.

A short, humorless breath left Tommy.

“Well,” he muttered, staring somewhere out into the dark yard, “I do.”

Silence settled between you. Not hostile. Just heavy. You let it sit. Let him hear it settle without trying to fix it too fast.

“God,” you said softly after a moment, almost to yourself. “You remind me so much of my dad sometimes, you know?”

Tommy shifted a little on the step. “That supposed to be good or bad?”

“Depends on the day.”

You huffed a quiet breath. 

“Did you know he was a vet too?” you asked.

Tommy glanced over, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You kept your voice even. “Vietnam.”

Tommy went still. The kind of still that came from recognition, not curiosity.

“…That’s,” he muttered, voice roughening, “that’s fucked up.”

Another small silence settled in. Not awkward. Just real.

You nodded once. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “It was.”

Joel swallowed and set the dish down a little too carefully. The faint clink sounded louder than it should’ve.

“He was also everyone’s favorite,” you went on quietly. “Played with the kids for hours. No complaints. Just… down on the grass with them, hands-on. Exactly like you.”

Tommy didn’t move. Didn’t joke.

“He was a jokester,” you added. “Always had people laughing. People gravitated to him without even trying. Barbecues, birthdays, random Tuesdays… he lit up a room just by walking into it.”

A small breath left you.

“He was always happy. Always fun. Or at least… that’s what it looked like from the outside.”

Tommy’s shoulders shifted slightly, like the words had weight.

You gave a faint, almost embarrassed huff.

“I was such a daddy’s girl it’s honestly a little embarrassing now. Followed him everywhere. He could do no wrong.”

You let out a long sigh.

“Then I grew up a little,” you continued softly. “Started… noticing things.”

Tommy stayed very still.

“The little stuff first. Beer bottles where they hadn’t been before. Days when he’d come home and he wasn’t… him. Grumpy. Tired in a way that didn’t make sense. Didn’t want to play. Didn’t want to talk.”

There was a small pause.

“Fights with my mom,” you added quietly. “The kind you try not to hear as a kid but… you do anyway.”

Tommy swallowed, gaze dropping somewhere to the porch boards.

“The first time I remember her having to go pick him up from a bar, I was about Sarah’s age,” you said. “Maybe a little younger. Bill tried to cover it. Told me Dad was helping a friend, that he’d be late. But you know how kids are. You can feel when something’s off.”

Your voice softened further.

“After that… it stopped being something they could hide. Not really.”

Joel’s fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.

“I loved him so much,” you went on, voice thinner now but still steady. “I made all kinds of excuses as a kid. Thought maybe it was our fault somehow. Maybe we just weren’t… enough to make him happy.”

“Juliet…” Tommy said quietly, almost a protest.

You shook your head a little. “No. It’s okay. I know better now. The truth is… he needed help. Real help. The kind we couldn’t give him at home. The kind he wouldn’t ask for.”

“Yeah…” Tommy muttered. “I get it.”

“He had episodes,” you continued. “Regressions. Loud noises would set him off. Fourth of Julys were always hard. New Year’s. Fireworks…” you let out a humorless breath. “He just couldn’t deal. Every year he’d end up drunk as a damn sailor by sundown.”

Joel rubbed a hand slowly over his mouth.

“When I was eleven,” you said, “I cleaned up his vomit for the first time. Didn’t want my mom to find him like that. Didn’t want Bill to see. So I cleaned the floor. Helped him into the shower. Put him to bed.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. Joel stared down at the sink. Christ.

“He was crying,” you added softly. “Apologizing. Kept saying he was sorry.”

You swallowed once.

“He told me… ‘You deserve better than me, baby girl. I ain’t built right. Don’t you grow up lovin’ men like me’.”

Silence settled heavy between you and Tommy. Your voice didn’t crack. It just thinned.

“He kept telling us he’d change,” you went on quietly. “Said it was the last time. Every time.”

You let out a small breath.

“It never was.”

Tommy stared out into the dark yard, unmoving.

“When I got old enough to drive, sometimes I’d go pick him up myself,” you continued. “Some bar across town. Some parking lot. I’d help him into the car so my mom wouldn’t find out how bad it’d gotten.”

Your fingers twisted together loosely in your lap.

“I hated when they fought,” you admitted. “Hated that part more than anything. The yelling. The slammed doors. The way the whole house felt like it was holding its breath.”

Tommy huffed.

“I kept thinking if I just… handled it better,” you said softly, “if I got to him first, if I made it easier, maybe it wouldn’t get that far.”

“Fuck, Juliet…” Tommy muttered, voice rough. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Joel swallowed hard at that. Hearing Tommy apologize for something that wasn’t even his… that already said enough.

You gave a small shrug that wasn’t really a shrug. Just a movement to keep yourself steady.

“When I was seventeen,” you said, “he picked me up from a friend’s house. I wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d secretly let me go. Mom never would’ve let him drive me anywhere alone at night by then.”

A faint, distant smile touched your mouth.

“He seemed fine. Happy. Laughing. Making jokes the whole drive. I remember thinking… Maybe this time he really is okay.”

Joel’s chest tightened painfully. He knew that hope. That stupid, fragile hope.

Yout gaze dropped to your hands.

“Then I noticed he was slurring a little. Just a little. I told him to pull over. Let me drive.”

You let out a small huff.

“He got mad. Told me he was perfectly capable.”

Silence stretched for a second.

“And then… I just remember the noise,” you said softly. “A loud crash. Metal. Glass.”

Joel’s hand tightened on the counter. 

“Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital.”

You lifted one hand slowly and brushed your fingers along the side of your ribs, then higher toward your shoulder; a place usually hidden.

“I’d been in a coma for five days,” you said. “They told me later I almost bled out. Missed an artery by an inch.”

You sighed faintly.

“I lived. He… wasn’t so lucky.”

Tommy dragged a hand down his face. “Shit… Juliet. I’m so sorry.”

Joel swallowed thickly.

You nodded once, accepting it without dwelling there.

“The day I first met you,” you went on quietly, “you reminded me of him so much it hurt.”

Joel’s head lifted slightly at that. His gaze shifted toward the back door now. Fully listening.

You looked at Tommy. Not accusing. Just honest.

“Same charm. Same way of making everyone laugh. Same way of dodging anything that actually mattered.”

There was a small moment of silence.

“Same… way of pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”

Silence settled over the house. Heavy. Real.

At the sink, Joel stood very still… and for the first time since the fight started, he wasn’t angry.

“I couldn’t save him,” you said quietly. “Not from himself. Not from what he carried. But I can tell you what comes after, Tommy, if you keep going down this road.”

He didn’t look at you.

“Your loved ones will suffer,” you went on, voice steady but soft. “More than you realize. They’ll never stop wondering what they could’ve done differently. What they missed. What they should’ve said sooner. It doesn’t end when you’re gone. It just… keeps echoing.”

From the kitchen, Joel’s throat tightened. He gripped the edge of the counter without meaning to.

Outside, Tommy scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he muttered. “I’m so fucked up, Juliet.”

You didn’t flinch at the language. Didn’t soften the truth.

“You need help,” you said. “Real help. But you can only get it if you actually want it.”

Tommy let out a quiet scoff. “I tried AA,” he said. “Didn’t do a damn thing. They didn’t get it. None of ’em. Just… talkin’ in circles.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. He’d heard that before.

“Then get a therapist,” you said simply. “A good one. I’ll pay for it. Every cent. Gladly.”

“That’s not the issue,” Tommy said, almost under his breath.

You leaned forward a little. “Then what is?”

Silence stretched. When Tommy spoke again, it was rougher. Harder to get out.

“…What if it ain’t worth it,” he muttered. “Worth the trouble. All of it. Everything’s already hard enough as it is.”

The words settled heavy in the air. Inside, Joel’s chest went tight.

A flash of anger, sharp and immediate, rose in him; not at you, not even fully at Tommy, but at the hopelessness in that sentence. At how close it sounded to something he’d heard too many times from men who didn’t make it out.

On the porch, you didn’t rush to fill the silence. You let him sit in it.

Then, gently, you said, “Most things worth having are hard.”

Yout voice softened even more.

“You already have more than most people ever get,” you said quietly. “People who truly love you. Your brother. Your niece.”

A small breath left your lips.

“…Me. I love you, Tommy. You’re family to me. You know that.”

Out on the porch, Tommy went very still. His face crumpled before he could stop it. He looked away immediately, dragging a hand over his mouth like he could physically hold himself together if he pressed hard enough.

“Don’t-” he muttered hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”

“I mean it,” you said gently. “You matter to us.”

His shoulders started to shake. Just slightly at first. Then more.

You didn’t move closer yet. Gave him the dignity of a second to breathe.

“Can you imagine yourself in that car that killed my daddy?” you asked.

Tommy’s head snapped toward you. “Juliet-”

“He hit a lightpost,” you continued softly. “Could’ve been a family. Could’ve been a kid crossing the street. Could’ve been me. Could’ve been someone else’s daughter sitting in that passenger seat.”

Joel felt that one hit like a physical blow. 

“Could be Sarah,” you finished, voice barely above a whisper. “In the wrong place. With the wrong driver. One night that was supposed to be normal.”

Silence.

Then Tommy broke. A choked sound tore out of him before he could swallow it back. He bent forward hard, elbows on his knees, hands coming up to his face as if he could hide from it. But the sob that followed was unmistakable. Raw. Shaking. Years overdue.

“Jesus,” he gasped. “Jesus Christ…”

You moved then. Slowly. Carefully. You stepped closer and knelt beside him, one hand coming up to the back of his neck.

He didn’t resist. He folded toward you like something in him had finally given out. Arms wrapping around your waist, face pressed against your shoulder as the sobs came harder. Messier. 

Inside, Joel stood frozen. He had never, in his entire life, heard his brother cry like that. Not when they were kids. Not when he came back from the army. Not when their world fell apart a dozen different ways.

Something twisted deep in Joel’s chest. Pain. Relief. Fear. Gratitude. All tangled together.

Out on the porch, you just held him. One hand steady on the back of his head. The other on his shoulder. Not shushing him. Not rushing him. Just… there. Letting him fall apart without trying to stop it.

Tommy’s sobs had quieted to something rougher. Uneven breaths. The kind that scraped on the way out.

You didn’t move away. Didn’t try to fix it. Just stayed there with him like you’d decided he wasn’t going through it alone.

Joel wiped his hands on a dish towel that didn’t need it and stared down at the counter. His brother was breaking open out there. Wide open. And for the first time… maybe that wasn’t the worst thing.

He moved toward the back door quietly. Heard Sarah talking to Frank still. He got a bit closed, not enough to interrupt, just enough to be there if needed.

Tommy had slumped forward now, elbows on his knees, both hands hanging loose between them. Drained. Spent. You still knelt beside him, one hand resting steady between his shoulder blades.

The night pressed in soft around them. Crickets. Distant traffic. The low hum of a neighborhood settling down.

Finally, Tommy dragged a shaky breath in.

“…I don’t know how to stop,” he said hoarsely.

Not defensive. Not joking. Just… honest.

You didn’t answer right away. When you did, your voice was quiet but steady.

“Then we figure it out,” you said. “One step at a time.”

Tommy let out a broken little laugh that wasn’t really humor.

“You still mad at me?”

“Yes,” you said simply. “But I’m not giving up on you.”

Silence settled again. Different now. Not as sharp.

After a while, Tommy scrubbed both hands over his face and let out a long breath.

“…I’ll try,” he said roughly. “For real this time. I’ll… try.”

You squeezed the back of his neck once. Firm.

“I know.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. Not relief exactly. But something close enough to breathe.

Tommy stayed on the porch a while after his breathing evened out. Not crying anymore. Empty. Drained in that deep way that came after something finally broke loose.

You gave his shoulder one last squeeze and stood slowly, giving him space without making it a production. No speeches. No ‘we’ll talk tomorrow’. Just a quiet presence.

After a minute, Tommy pushed himself up too. Didn’t look toward the kitchen. Didn’t look for Joel. He just muttered a rough, “Night,” that barely carried past the porch light, and headed down the steps.

Truck engine. Headlights sweeping once across the living room wall. Then gone.

(***)

You stepped back into the kitchen slowly, like you weren't sure what you’d find there. Joel was still by the sink. Exactly where you’d left him.

One hand braced on the counter. The other hanging loose at his side. Shoulders tight in a way that told you he’d been holding himself together by force alone.

“…He didn’t say goodbye,” he muttered.

You shook your head softly. “He couldn’t.”

Joel nodded once. Like he already knew that. 

Silence settled again. Heavy, but not uncomfortable. He finally looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes a little red. Jaw tight. Something raw sitting just under the surface.

“You okay?” he asked.

It came out rough. Low. Careful in a way that made it clear the question wasn’t casual.

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You put your face in both your hands.

“That was hard.”

Joel’s mouth tightened.

“Shouldn’t have been on you,” he said immediately. “Ain’t your mess to fix.”

“I know,” you answered softly. “I wasn’t fixing it.”

He watched you a long second. Like he was weighing that. Testing it against everything he’d just heard.

Then something in his face shifted. He pushed off the counter and crossed the space between you in two strides.

Didn’t ask. Just reached for you. One arm came around yout waist. Firm. The other slid up your back and into your hair, pulling you in against his chest like he needed the contact more than air.

You went easily, arms wrapping around him in return.

He held you tight. Solid. Like he needed to feel something real in his hands.

For a few seconds he didn’t say anything, he just stood there breathing against your temple.

“…You shouldn’t know that kinda pain,” he murmured. “Not at your age. Not ever.”

Your hands landed on his chest.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He shook his head faintly against you.

“Yeah. You are.” He swallowed what felt like a huge lump on his throat “Still shouldn’t have had to be.”

Silence stretched again. Not empty. Full of things neither of you needed to spell out.

His hand slid up and down your back slowly. Grounding. Reassuring. Maybe for himself as much as for you.

“…Thank you,” he said finally. Voice low. Thick. “For not givin’ up on him.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“I’m not giving up on you either,” you said softly.

He swallowed once. Hard.

“Ain’t plannin’ on lettin’ you,” he answered.

A faint, tired huff of breath left him then. Something almost like a broken laugh.

“…Christ,” he muttered. “Family’s a mess.”

Your mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. But it’s our mess.”

He looked down at you again. Eyes softer now, but still raw around the edges.

He leaned down then and kissed you. Deep. Slow. Full of everything he didn’t quite have words for.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. He let out a slow breath. Shook his head once, almost to himself.

“…How the hell did I get this lucky,” he murmured, voice rough and low.

And this time when he pulled you into his arms, it wasn’t urgency or heat driving it. It was something steadier. Something protective. Something that felt a lot like choosing each other all over again after seeing the worst parts laid bare.

Sarah padded down the hallway a minute later, socks whispering softly against the floor. She’d changed into her pajamas already, hair loose and slightly tangled from brushing it herself.

She slowed when she saw you standing there together in the kitchen, like she’d walked into something quiet and important without meaning to.

“…Frank says he’s bringing me strawberry seeds next weekend,” she announced, because seven-year-olds didn’t ease into anything gently. “So we can plant them before it gets too hot.”

You smiled immediately, softening. “That’s a very serious responsibility.”

“I know,” Sarah said gravely. Then you glanced around the room. “Where’s Uncle Tommy?”

Joel and you exchanged the smallest look. Quick. Silent.

“He headed home,” Joel said evenly. “Wasn’t feelin’ too great.”

Sarah’s face shifted at that. Concern, simple and immediate.

“Oh.”

She stood there a second, thinking it through in that open way kids did. Then she went:

“Should I make him a drawing?”

Joel blinked. “A… drawin’?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged like this was obvious. “He always gets happy when I give him one. Even if they’re kinda bad.”

“They are not bad,” you said gently.

Sarah looked unconvinced but continued anyway. “I could make one with the strawberries. And maybe a dinosaur. He likes dinosaurs.”

“…Yeah,” Joel said quietly. “Think he’d like that a lot.”

Sarah nodded once, decision made, and turned back toward the hallway with purpose. “Okay. I’m gonna do it now before I forget.”

You listened to her footsteps retreat, then the soft thump of her bedroom door.

The house settled again. Quiet and full.

Joel exhaled slowly and reached for you without really thinking about it, hand settling at your waist. You leaned into him easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You just stood there in the kitchen, holding onto something fragile and real and worth fighting for.

************

Joel found it before the coffee finished brewing.

He came into the kitchen half-awake, hair still sleep-rough, reaching automatically for the pot when he saw the folded paper on the counter. His name on it. Tommy’s handwriting.

Something in his chest tightened immediately. He picked it up.

Joel,

By some miracle they had a spot open starting today. Vet program outside San Antonio. Sixty days inpatient. If I didn’t take it now, I wasn’t gonna take it at all.

I know I should’ve said this to your face. I just… couldn’t. 

I’m sorry. For all of it. Every time you had to come get me. Every time I made you worry. Every time Sarah saw more than she should have. You didn’t deserve that.

I need some distance to do this right. Need to get my head straight without dragging you both through it again.

Juliet,

I don’t know how to thank you without sounding like an idiot. 

No one’s ever talked to me the way you did last night. No one ever told me the truth and still made it sound like I was worth saving.

I’m gonna carry that with me. I mean it.

Tell Sarah I’ll call Sundays if they let me. Tell her I kept the drawings.

Don’t come down there unless I ask. I need to do this on my own feet.

Love you all.

Tommy

He read it once. Then again, slower. By the time he got to the end, his jaw had locked so hard it hurt.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hiss of the coffee maker. Morning light just starting to push through the window over the sink. Ordinary. Calm. Completely at odds with the way his chest felt like it had been split open.

He set the letter down carefully. Then braced both hands on the counter and stared at nothing.

Relief hit first. Sharp. Almost dizzying. He’s going. He actually went.

Right behind it came something heavier. Guilt. The memory of every time he’d yelled. Every time he’d dragged Tommy out of a bar by the collar. Every time Sarah had asked why Uncle Tommy looked tired.

And under all of that… pride. Quiet. Fierce. Almost painful.

“…Stubborn idiot,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough.

He heard soft footsteps behind him.

You stopped when you saw his posture. Saw the letter on the counter.

“…Joel?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just picked up the paper and held it out without turning.

You came closer, taking it gently from his hand. He watched your face as you read; the way your eyes moved across the lines, the way your mouth pressed together halfway through.

By the time you reached the part addressed to her, your vision blurred. You blinked fast, but it didn’t stop the tear that slipped free anyway.

“Oh, Tommy…” you whispered.

Joel dragged a hand down his face and finally sank into one of the kitchen chairs like his legs had given out all at once. Elbows on his knees. Hands clasped loosely together.

“He found a spot,” he said quietly. “Starts today.”

You nodded, still holding the letter. “That’s… fast.”

“Yeah.” He let out a slow breath. “That’s Tommy. If he’d waited, he’d’ve found a reason not to go.”

You set the letter down carefully on the table and moved to him without thinking, one hand coming to rest at the back of his neck. Warm. Steady. He leaned into it a fraction, eyes closing briefly.

“I’m proud of him,” he admitted quietly. Like it cost something to say out loud. Then he said, rougher this time: “And I hate that it took this much to get him there.”

You slid your arms gently around him from behind, cheek resting against his temple. 

“You didn’t put him there,” you murmured. “But maybe… you helped him get out.”

He swallowed hard at that. Didn’t trust himself to answer right away.

After a moment he reached back, pulling you forward until you stepped around the chair and into him properly. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held on. Firm. Grounding. Like he needed something solid under his hands.

“…Lucky bastard,” he muttered quietly against your shirt.

You frowned slightly. “Who?”

He leaned back just enough to look up at you. Eyes a little red. Honest in that way he only got when everything else had been stripped out.

“Me.”

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[inkandstardusts]

Save The Last Dance For Me

based on this prompt! anon, i hope you see this and enjoy it. thank you for the inspo <3

summary: You and Joel are friends with benefits. There's obviously no feelings involved. Not one bit.

rating: 18+, MDNI

word count: 8.3k, one-shot

chapter tags: Age Gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s although it's not specified and Joel is 60), Reader is AFAB with no overt descriptions except for having hair long enough to braid, Joel's insecure about being older, Smut (but with feelings), Dirty Talk, Fingering, Unprotected p-in-v, Resolved Tension, Angst with a happy ending, Jackson!Joel

a/n: this was a nice break from grad school stuff which is actually making me lose my mind so that's how life has been going. as always, please let me know what you think! not super edited so sorry for any mistakes!

credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider!

The first time you had sex with Joel Miller, it had been borne out of one too many whiskeys and a Christmas party that the town of Jackson was hosting. You had worn your best and only dress and had even shaved your legs. Somewhere in the night, Maria had convinced you to take to the dance floor and somehow Joel was there. His hand had been hot and large on your waist, and before you knew it, the two of you had been tangled together in a storage closet, tucked away from everything and everyone else. He had held your hips down as he had entered you, hot and throbbing and oh so good that you had to muffle your moans against his shoulder, mouth pressed open against the soft material of his flannel. There had been a wet spot on the collar of his dark shirt when you had pulled away, after you had come so hard your legs had trembled with it.  If you hadn't been tipsy, you might have felt shy. And you had thought it was a one time thing. Something that stemmed from the remnants of the before the world had gone to shit, when people could get tipsy and hook up and then never see each other again. But this was Jackson. There was no avoiding anyone, even if you had wanted to and although you suspected it might be awkward afterwards, surprisingly it hadn’t been. For as serious and silent as Joel had always been around others, he hadn’t shied away from you after that. 

And to your surprise, it had happened again. And again. And again. And so somewhere along the way, you and Joel became acquaintances with benefits. Patrol partners with perks. Which is why you’re currently lowering yourself onto him in a shoddy cabin a few miles away from a patrol path. 

“Fuck,” Joel grunts as you slowly sink your way down. Even now, after countless times together, he’s still so thick. It always feels like a lot, like he’s reaching a place inside of you that you didn’t know existed. 

“Joel,” you whimper, looking down at where he spears you open. You’re glistening, coating him in your own wetness and when you look up, you meet his dark eyes. His pupils are so blown you can barely see the hazel brown of his irises. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and you don’t think it’s from the warm spring day. He gives you some time to adjust, and you shift your hips, adjusting your knees so you can move. You can feel the callouses of his fingers against the soft flesh of your hips, and he squeezes gently as you begin to move.

“Attagirl,” he says when you begin moving your hips with more vigour. It feels so good. He leans forward, pressing his plush mouth to your sweaty collarbone, licking at the saltiness there before he cranes his neck lower. You flutter around him when he takes your nipple into his mouth and he groans against your hot skin.

“Joel,” you say again, unable to say anything else. This is how it mostly goes. Sometimes you’re more talkative, telling him about all the ways you like how he makes you feel, watching as his eyes become lidded and heavy. But for the most part, you’re pliant in his hands. As surly as you thought he was, Joel Miller has a surprisingly filthy mouth when it comes to sex. He pulls away from your sensitive nipples, wrapping a big arm around the small of your back and pulling you closer so your stomach is pressed against his. You can feel the hair on his chest against your sensitive skin and it makes you whine.

“You always get like this,” Joel says, mouth against your ear. “So desperate for me, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

You nod against him, feeling your cheek brush against the side of his face. His hands anchor you, guiding your movements. His hips move as well, thrusting up into you in a steady rhythm. Your hips move faster, chasing the hot feeling of pleasure building in your stomach. You feel dizzy with it, flushed and needy. This time, it was your idea. Joel had said something about taking a break in the cabin to cool down and that had been your intention, truly. But then you had seen the flex of his arm and the now greying curls of his hair, messy against his tanned skin. You had followed the line of his strong shoulders, the crook of his nose and you had felt ravenous. So you had pushed him onto the rickety old couch, and he had let you gaze heavy as he watched you step out of your jeans and pull your underwear down. He had continued to watch as you unbuttoned his pants and pulled him out of his boxers, half hard already. And only when you had aligned the flushed tip of him against your wet folds, had he cracked, his hands coming up to grip you. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice breathy. Joel hums, pulling you even closer now. You tuck your head against his neck, allowing the waves of pleasure to consume you. The tightness in your stomach releases and you shudder. Your walls flutter around him and you hear Joel curse. He grips you tighter, his hips speeding up as you swivel your own. You move back so you can look at him. It’s when your eyes meet his own that you feel his hips stutter, and then he’s pulling you up and off of him. Your thighs grow wet as he comes between them and you feel yourself pulse again. 

The two of you take a minute, catching your breath. The heat feels even more stifling now, Jackson far too warm for so early in the spring. Eventually, you stand up on shaky legs and shuffle away, looking for something to wipe yourself with. You rifle through your pack, eventually finding some toilet paper. Joel clears his throat and you look at him.

“Here,” he says, holding out a checkered handkerchief. It looks soft and worn. “It’s softer.”

Something warm cracks open in your chest, and you tamp it down quickly. 

“Thank you,” you say instead, reaching out for it. Your fingers brush and you turn away, wiping between your legs. You can hear Joel shuffling around, zipping up his pants grabbing his pack. You slip into your clothes as well, the material feeling too thick for the weather. When you’re ready, you turn back around to find Joel near the door. He’s pushed his hair back from his weathered face which is still slightly flushed. His navy t-shirt stretches over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. Even at sixty, he’s one of the strongest men you know. 

“Ready?” Joel asks and you nod. The two of you make your way back towards the main path. It shouldn’t be more than an hour back to Jackson but it’s definitely going to feel longer with the sun beating down on you. 

“Are you going to the karaoke thing on Friday?” you ask him. 

“Ellie wants me to,” he says, sounding defeated. 

“Oh come on,” you say. “It could be fun. Jesse got the machine working and everything.”

A scouting trip earlier in the week at an electronics store hadn’t yielded much but a few batteries and a karaoke machine. When the news had spread that it worked, The Tipsy Bison decided to host a twenty-one and over event which, after the insistence of Ellie and Dina who had argued that the legal age in the rest of the world was lower, had become a nineteen and over event, instead. 

You watch his mouth pull into a frown and it makes you chuckle. He glances at you and then shakes his head, still unamused. 

“I don’t wanna hear a bunch of teenagers get drunk and sing. When you’re my age, you’ll understand,” Joel says and you scoff.

“You’re not that old, Joel,” you say and this time the scoff comes from him.

“I’m twice your age,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice. You would’ve missed it five months ago but now, you know him well enough to hear it. It’s not that you and Joel are close friends or anything, but having sex at least once a week for five months lets you know a person, even if that isn’t the intention of it. 

Knowing you can’t win this argument, you change tactics. 

“I heard Seth found some fancy whiskey,” you say. “Glen-something. And he said it was really old too. Twenty one years or something like that.”

And just like that you watch Joel’s interest suddenly pique. You’re not even sure why you want him to come so bad, really. Or at least, that’s the lie you tell yourself even though it’s unconvincing. Somewhere along the way, you’ve grown to enjoy Joel’s company and it’s not even because of the mindblowing sex. You’ve started looking for him in crowds and wanting to speak to him more and you know it’s bad. The one rule of all this, although unspoken, is that it’s casual. No strings attached and just for a release. Somewhere along the way, you lost sight of that and now you’re nursing a crush on the man you’re sleeping with who’s given you no inclination of the same feelings. 

“Glenfiddich?” Joel says, voice drawling. 

You hum. “That’s the one.” 

“Well damn,” Joel says, sounding impressed. “I never had that even before the world went to shit.”

It’s rare for him to bring up his life from before. You understand. You had been far too young when the world had ended, and even then, the idea of thinking about your life from that time is too heavy. There’s no one left who knows you from when you were just a pre-teen and you’re most definitely not the same girl who had posters on her wall and loved cheap jewellery from Claire’s. And you doubt Joel is the same man he was back then too. So you get it and you never press for too much information, and neither does he. Some wounds split open at the gentlest suggestion of pressure and both you and Joel have your fair share of them. 

“Was it expensive?” you ask and he nods.

“Went for around three hundred a bottle, back then,” he says. “Didn’t have that kind of money.”

“All the more reason for you to come,” you say, hoping you don't sound too eager.

“That so?” Joel says, looking at you more directly now. His dark eyes trace over your face, as if he can read you and you look away. 

“If you want,” you say. You look past the trees, now covered in green leaves, hoping you’re playing it cool. The air smells rich with spring, wild jasmine and hyacinths invading your senses. When you glance back at him, Joel is still watching you. 

“Alright,” he agrees. “Maybe I’ll stop by.” 

You say nothing but you do look away so that he doesn’t catch the small smile that you can’t seem to hide. 

Tommy Miller is singing a song you’ve never heard before and frankly, hope you won’t ever hear again. He doesn’t sound bad per se, but it’s some old country song with strummy banjos and a crooning tune. You watch him point at Maria, who laughs in delight, as he sings about his girl on the ranch and how he’d die for her. When the song ends, he walks towards her and she pulls him into a kiss. The next song starts up and now it’s Jesse and a friend of his you’ve seen a few times but whose name you don’t know, singing into the mic. The evening’s been progressing into something a bit more rowdy now that almost everyone here is tipsy, at the least. It’s a pleasantly cool evening thankfully, but even then, the inside of The Tipsy Bison is hot from all the bodies and liquor. 

“Don’t think the whiskey was worth listenin’ to my brother butcher that song,” a voice says, and suddenly, Joel is standing next to you. He looks good, hair slick as if he just showered. The apples of his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glossy in the dim light of the bar. 

“I dunno,” you say. “I kinda enjoyed it. I liked the part where the banjo sounded like a screeching cat.”

To your delight, Joel grins. His cheeks bunch up, dimples denting the side of his face and his crows feet become even more prominent. 

“Country music don’t do it for you then?” he asks and you crinkle your nose. You hear him chuckle. Before you can say anything, a voice interrupts you. 

“Are y’all gonna go up and sing then?” Tommy asks, looking between you and Joel. His cheeks are flushed, likely from the whiskey. Maria’s standing next to him, a big smile on her face. Her eyes are glassy too. 

“No way,” you say, too quickly. The idea of standing in front of half of Jackson let alone singing in front of them leaves you feeling queasy. Maria chuckles, shaking her head. 

“What about you, big brother?” Tommy asks, voice teasing. He looks at you again, a twinkle in his eye. “Did you know he wanted to be a singer?” 

Now this, you didn’t know. The news delights you and your face breaks into a smile before you can stop it. You look up at Joel to find him glaring at Tommy, the apples of his cheeks red. 

“Shut your mouth,” Joel grumbles, although he doesn’t sound too annoyed. It’s the tone he always has when Tommy pulls his leg and you imagine it’s what he always sounded like, even when they were younger and Tommy was his annoying kid brother. 

Tommy chortles, shaking his head. Maria says your name, and your attention shifts.

“So there’s someone I thought you might like to meet,” Maria says, cryptic as ever. You know why. She’s been trying to set you up with eligible bachelors for the last few months and so far, you’ve managed to evade her but now, there’s no getting away. You know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it. Really, she’s doing it because you had grumbled to her a while ago about how lonely you felt sometimes but after your thing with Joel had started, those feelings had disappeared. Of course, you hadn’t told her that, since this thing between you and Joel was purely physical. 

“Maria,” you say but she keeps going. 

“His name is Adam,” Maria says. “Came to Jackson a few weeks ago. He’s kind and smart, and honestly, pretty easy on the eyes. I think you’d get along.”

It’s only after she finishes speaking do you realize that Tommy and Joel have gone quiet too. You glance at Joel through the corner of the eye and he’s already watching you. 

“He’s doin’ shifts at the clinic, pretty good medic from what I’ve heard,” Tommy chimes in, and  Maria nods. 

“I really think you’d like him,” she says and you can feel your face growing hotter. The three sets of eyes on you suddenly feel like too much and you don’t want Joel to hear this. You don’t want him to think of you with a man unless it’s himself. 

“Maybe,” you say, quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Maria nods, looking satisfied. “Just let me know, and I can introduce you two.”

You nod, giving her a weak smile. Needing to change topic, you ask her about the new craft centre and some of the tension in your shoulders ease as she tells you about how helpful the supply run you were on last week was, when you had stumbled upon art supplies. It had been a good haul. There were bags of crayons that, shockingly, hadn’t broken down yet, and even some acrylic and gouache paints that had somehow stood the test of time. You had also found watercolour paper and sketching pencils. When you had brought them back into town, Maria and the rest of the council had been elated. They had been pushing for a creative outlet for the children and teenagers in Jackson, wanting them to have some semblance of creative outlets and freedom, even in this version of the world, as unwelcoming as it was. 

“I could keep an eye out for beads and stuff,” you say once Maria’s done telling you about the set up. “Used to love making jewellery when I was younger. Could be fun for some of the boys and girls.”

“You shouldn’t be puttin’ yourself in harm's way for things like that,” Joel says, voice low. 

“Oh, I don’t mind,” you say and it’s clearly the wrong thing to say, given the way his teeth clench, the sharp line of his jaw bone becoming prominent. 

“I know,” Joel says, sounding less than pleased. You bristle at his tone, almost condescending. Looking back at Maria and Tommy, you find that they’re watching you and Joel curiously. 

“Well,” Tommy says, cutting through the sudden tension. “I’m goin’ to dance with my girl.” 

“Have fun,” you say, giving him and Maria a real smile. Your annoyance at Joel’s mood swing still simmers but it’s no fault of Tommy and Maria that he’s so crabby all of the sudden. Once they’ve rejoined the crowd, who are now doing some sort of line dance, you turn to Joel.

“I’ll see you,” you say, rather shortly. You’re suddenly tired from the long day, and the evening has felt even longer. The alcohol now feels sluggish in your system and all you want to do is sleep. You stand up, shrugging on your flannel before stepping past Joel’s broad frame. A warm hand snares your wrist, stopping you from walking towards the door. You glance down to find Joel’s big palm on you.

“Wait,” he says. You meet his eye and he still looks tense but there’s something else on his face. You cock your eyebrow at him and his shoulders grow rigid.

“M’sorry,” he says, words rumbling. “Shouldn’t have gotten like that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” you say. “I’m not a kid, Joel.”

“I know,” he says, quickly. “Didn’t mean to be condescendin’ or anythin’.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say under your breath and you watch as Joel’s mouth twitches. 

“I just don’t want you gettin’ hurt for somethin’ as silly as beads,” he says, the confession tumbling out almost like he doesn’t mean for it to. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re unsure of what. You feel the annoyance you had bleed out, replaced by something else entirely. Before you can think of anything, he speaks again.

“If you’re still headin’ out, I’ll walk you home. S’late,” he says and before you can think, you’re nodding. 

“Alright,” you agree. You lead the way, pushing past giggling couples and around the rowdier bunch of crowd, Joel’s presence like a wall behind you. You’re not touching but you can feel the heat of him, hot on your heels. Outside, the coolness of the air is a fresh relief. The chilled wind is pleasant against your hot face and you shiver at the sensation. 

“Did you have fun?” Joel asks, once the two of you are on the side street that leads to your house, sitting nestled among similar one story townhomes.

“It was alright,” you say. “It was nice watching everyone let loose. Not so sure I enjoyed the singing as much though.”

Joel lets out a huff, an almost laugh. 

“Was the whiskey everything you dreamed it would be?” you ask and this time, he does let out a laugh. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” he says. “Tasted damn good. I get why it was three hundred a bottle. Did you have any?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I might’ve had the wrong one though, because it tasted awful. Burned my throat.”

This time, he does chuckle. You look at him, taking in the dimple in his cheek. 

“Just don’t think you like whiskey much,” he says and you hum.

“Beer’s better,” you say and Joel shakes his head, scoffing. 

“Beer’s basically a loaf of bread,” he says and you snort.

“Aren’t they made from the exact same things?” you ask and Joel shrugs, a smile still playing on his plush mouth. 

“Whiskey’s stronger,” Joel says. 

“And it tastes like ass,” you say, just to see him grin again. When he does, you look away, your own smile threatening to break across your face. 

“We’ll agree to disagree then,” he says.

“Seems fair,” you say, just as you reach the walkway that leads to your porch. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“I’ll walk you to your door,” Joel says in answer and you want the extra time with him so you let him. It seems silly, walking the few steps to your porch together, as if something bad could happen in the short distance, but you’ll take the extra couple of seconds it gives you in his presence. You like knowing he’s nearby, like hearing the low drawl of his voice and the huff of his laughter. You like it even more when it’s directed at you. At your door, you face him. His eyes are so dark in the dim porch lighting, as they trace over your face. 

“You thinkin’ of going’ out with that guy?” Joel asks and the question throws you off. Your brows furrow, momentarily confused as to why he’s even bringing it up. 

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Probably not. Maria’s been trying to set me up for a while now but I’m not really interested.” 

Joel nods, mouth pursed. Suddenly, you feel the warmth of his palms against your face. 

“Can I?” he murmurs, so much closer than he was a moment ago. The suddenness of it all leaves you dizzy. You nod, eyes wide. You can feel your heart beating against your ribcage, pulse quickening. His mouth presses to yours hotly. Once, twice and then he’s prodding at your lips with his tongue. You let him in. It’s a reflex now, after so many times. His broad frame traps you against your door, his tongue hot in your mouth. You moan, arching into his chest and pushing your hand into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. You tug just to hear him groan against your mouth, his hips bucking into your stomach. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans. 

Joel pulls back, his hands still framing your face. He rubs his thumb across the soft skin below your eye and you lean into it, like a cat. His hand moves lower, down your chest and towards the button of your pants. You watch in a daze as he undoes them, slipping his hand so that it cups your mound. Even through the fabric of your underwear you know he can feel how wet you are. He pets you through the soft cotton, his eyes trained on your face. You can’t seem to look away from him either, hypnotized by his dark stare.  

“Let me make you feel good,” he murmurs, breath hot against your mouth and you nod. You like being so close to him, like breathing the same air as him. He pushes the gusset of your underwear aside, plunging fingers into where your cunt and you whimper, bucking into his touch. He’s slow, as he curls his fingers, gently petting the spongy part inside of you that has a pressure building between your thighs. His palm is still almost entirely covering you and you move your hips, brushing your clit against the rough skin of his hand.

“Joel,” you say, moving your hips. You’re not sure what you’re asking for but he seems to know, given the gentle smile he gives you. 

“It’s okay baby,” he says. “Fuck my fingers, just like that. You’re doin’ so good for me.”

You nod, your forehead brushing against his mouth. He moves his fingers faster now, and you shift your hips in tandem, the pressure of his hand perfect against you. You’re so wet that you can hear the squelch of it as he moves, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Everything feels too good and you can feel yourself slipping closer to release.

“C’mon sweetheart,” Joel urges, now circling your clit with his thumb. He curls his fingers just right and you buck up, your orgasm crashing into you. Your moan is muffled against his mouth, as he kisses you frantically. His fingers keep moving, petting inside of you until it’s too much. Your thighs are trembling as you reach for his wrist, holding him in place so he doesn’t move anymore. He listens, stilling his fingers. 

“Wow,” you say and you can feel more than hear his laugh, against the side of your face.

“Okay?” he asks and you nod. 

Gently, he pulls his fingers out of you and you watch with a lidded gaze as he brings his fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean. Your cunt throbs and you shiver. You glance down to where he’s hard before reaching for his belt buckle. His hand moves, stopping you. 

“That’s alright,” he says. Your brows furrow in confusion. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask, but Joel shakes his head. He doesn’t seem upset or anything, and you know he’s turned on so you wonder why he’s stopping you.

“You’re tired,” Joel says. 

“I want to,” you say, even though he’s right. Your eyes feel heavy with sleep, and so does your body. Joel hums.

“S’alright,” he says, voice gentle. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“Joel,” you start but he shakes his head again. He reaches back into your pants and for a second you’re confused until you feel him fix your underwear, pulling it back so it covers you. Your cheeks burn but Joel seems unphased, button your pants.

“Go to bed, sweetheart,” he says, his hand still resting on your hip. He rubs your hipbone once, twice, and then steps back. Something cracks open in your chest. 

“Okay,” you say. “Goodnight Joel.”

He nods and watches as you unlock your door. It’s only when you’re inside your house do you watch as he heads back down your porch and towards the direction of his own home. 

Once you lie down, sleep takes you almost instantly. Your last thought is of Joel’s eyes. 

There’s a frantic knock on your door. It’s so sudden that you jolt, dropping the book you’re reading with a thump. It’s almost midnight and the only noise that fills the air is the hum of the grasshoppers and the occasional rustle of the window. You stand up slowly, making your way to your door. You glance through the peephole and your heart stutters. You swing the door open, greeted to the sight of Joel. He looks rough. His hair is wet from a shower and his face is tired. There’s a bruise on his cheekbone, harsh and purple.

“Joel?” you say, stepping aside. He comes in. His hands are clenched into fists as his side. “Is everything okay?”

“Had a rough patrol,” Joel says, voice tired. It’s all he says. You say nothing, instead taking his hand and leading him towards the kitchen. 

“Sit down,” you instruct and Joel acquiesces, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. You put the kettle on, pulling out two chipped mugs. You know what it’s like. To almost see death and then to come back and have to act as if you were unperturbed. To have to seem strong all the time because that’s the way the world is now. It’s odd how quickly humans can learn to live with the new, and so now there’s no space to be scared when you have run-ins with death. It’s the norm. So you get it. The kitchen is silent except for the slow build of the kettle whistle. When you suspect that it’s sufficiently hot, you pour the water into the cups, now holding chamomile tea bags that you had made yourself. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, as you hand Joel a cup. He looks up at you, as if your voice has broken some train of thought. He holds himself stiffly, shoulders rigid and tense. 

“Not much to say,” Joel says, sounding defeated. “Was supposed to be a regular patrol. Me and a few others. A new kid named Kai, just turned eighteen and it was his second patrol. Clicker came outta nowhere, got him before I could even draw my gun.” 

“Oh Joel,” you say. The grief settles over both of you heavily. You reach towards him, and to your surprise, he doesn’t flinch when you cup his face. Instead, he leans into it, a shudder running through his body. 

“I didn’t hear it,” he says. “Because of my ear. I didn’t hear the goddamn clicker because I’m half deaf.”

You shake your head, moving closer. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say. “Even if you had heard it, clickers are fast, Joel. And you weren’t the only one there. If the others couldn't get it in time, then it had nothing to do with your hearing.”

Joel scoffs, turning his face away from you with a clenched jaw. You don’t let him go too far, gently tugging his head so that he’s facing you. When he meets your eyes, they’re glossy. 

“I mean it,” you murmur. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. It’s like it breaks something in him because suddenly, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging you closer so that you’re between his thighs. He presses his face to the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. You feel him shudder when you run your nails against his scalp. The two of you stay like that for what could be hours. He’s so warm against you, so human. You hold him until you feel his shoulders relax, the tension slowly bleeding out of him. Eventually, he pulls back, his hands still tight around your waist. Your hand is still in his hair, gently raking through the greyish brown curls. 

“M’sorry for showin’ up and mopin’,” Joel murmurs, voice rough. You shake your head almost immediately. Your hand moves so that it cups his jaw again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, not wanting to break the quietness between the two of you. You’re not sure which one of you moves first but the kiss isn’t frantic, not like the times before. This kiss is soft and wanting. You prod at his mouth with your tongue and he yields for you, groaning against your mouth. You’re not sure how long you stay like that. Eventually, Joel stands up, hands now moving to your hips. You kiss him once more before you pull back. Tugging on his arm, you lead him to the couch. Along the way, you lose your soft sleep pants and Joel his sweats. When he pushes you against the worn cushions, you’re naked except for your baggy t-shirt and Joel is in his boxers. 

You pull them down, wrapping your hand around where he’s hot and throbbing. You tug and his hips twitch with it. He pushes your shirt so that it bunches up against your armpits. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. You shudder, arching into the wet heat of sensation. He stays like that for a bit, lavishing your breasts with attention. When he pulls back, his mouth is red and wet. 

Joel’s hand joins you, covering the base of him. The two of you look down as he swipes the head of his cock through your wet folds, and you let out a noise. Your legs widen even more, suddenly needing him to be as close to you as he can. He’s here and alive and okay. You push your hips up so that his tip breaches you and you both groan. You’re both still looking down at where you’re connected, speared open for him. You shift your hips even more, wanting to take him further in and when he realizes what you’re doing, he pushes in, so slow that you can almost feel every ridge and vein of him. When he bottoms out, he grunts. 

“I needed to see you,” he says, slowly moving his hips back. “When I was out there, all I was thinkin’ of was how I had to get back and see you.”

The confession spills out of him, unbidden. It makes you clench around him, your walls fluttering. 

“I’m glad you did,” you say, moving your hips. “I’m glad you came to me.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and he holds you firmly as he begins thrusting more frantically. This time feels different. You reach for his face, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, he’s lifting up, so he’s on his knees and your hips are resting against his strong thighs. A curly lock of hair falls against his forehead, and the new angle has him reaching a place so deep inside of you that you see stars. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips pushing in and out. He’s looking down at where you take him and so are you. His cock glistens with your wetness and you’re split open, leaking and flushed. 

“You’re so good, Joel,” you say. “You make me feel so good.”

He moans, pressing your hips down and thrusting into you again.

“Just me,” he says and you nod. He leans forward so his mouth is against yours. It’s a hairsbreadth away from being a kiss, his breath hot against your own. “I’m the only one who gets you like this.”

You nod, your hips moving frantically against his own. One of his hands snakes down to your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. 

“Say it, darlin’” Joel says, voice commanding. He moves his thumb away from your clit and you whine, arching towards his touch. He tuts but doesn’t make a move. 

“Just you,” you agree because it’s true. There’s no one else. There won’t be anyone else. No one has had you like this and no one will. Surely, Joel must know that. “It’s always been just you, Joel.”

He circles your clit once more, moving faster now. You can feel yourself crashing towards your orgasm as his thrusts pick up the pace. He leans down, biting at your chin and that’s when you snap, feeling something wet between your thighs. For a second, you think he’s come but when you look down, he’s still hard and moving inside of you. The wetness is from you. It’s never happened before and you can feel your ears burn.

“Attagirl,” Joel says, looking down at the mess you’ve made. You flush, suddenly feeling shy. As if sensing it, Joel shifts, pushing a finger under your chin so that you’re forced to look at him.

“You’re perfect,” he says, almost reverently. His eyes are so full of something – devotion maybe? You can’t be certain and your mind is still clouded by your orgasm. You only come back to yourself when you remember that Joel’s still hard and wanting. You clench around him, watching as he shudders. 

“C’mon Joel,” you murmur, pulling him down to kiss him. It’s filthy and frantic, and so are his thrusts. He presses down so that his stomach is against yours, and you flutter your walls, just to hear him groan again. 

“You’re gonna be the end of me,” he says against the corner of your mouth and you smile, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. He pulls out just in time to come on your stomach, his face pressed to the crook of your neck. The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, catching your breath. 

Eventually, he sits up and tucks himself back into his boxers. You watch him head towards the kitchen and when he comes back, there’s a damp paper towel in his hand. You reach for it but he shakes his head, instead wiping your stomach down himself. When you’re clean, you pull your shirt down and slip back into your underwear. Joel’s already dressed by the time you’re done tying the drawstring of your sleep pants.

The air feels heavy now, with a new sort of tension. You’re not sure where it came from but it doesn’t feel good.

“Feeling better?” you ask Joel, but it sounds off. Your voice catches and he looks torn when you meet his gaze. 

“You should go out with that guy Maria was tellin’ you about,” he says instead, and he might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water on you with how shocked you feel. It must show on your face, because he continues. 

“I think we should stop this,” he says. You feel sick all of the sudden, like you might just throw up. 

“What?” you say, unable to think of anything else. Had you just imagined the last hour? Had you not just had sex?

“He’s your age, seems decent,” Joel explains like that’s what you’re asking. You feel anger ignite in you, something bitter and sharp. 

“Right, and you’re a matchmaker now, are you?” you ask, and the words are heavy in your mouth. They come out sharp and angry. Joel runs a hand through his hair. 

“I just mean, he seems like he’d be good for you. Like the kind of man you deserve,” Joel says, voice gentle. You scoff, feeling your nose tingle in a telltale sign that you’re going to cry pretty fucking soon. 

“Get out, Joel,” you say, but there’s no firmness in your tone. You sound as hurt as you feel and he must see it. Surely he can tell that he’s breaking your heart. You want him to fight, to say that he’s sorry and that he didn’t mean any of it. So when he nods, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, it hurts even worse. You hear the door shut behind him and it’s only then that you allow the tears to fall. 

Joel Miller might be a masochist. It’s the only reason why he’s sitting at The Tipsy Bison, tucked in a corner booth away from the rest of the crowd, and watching you on your date with the new medic. He hadn’t planned to be here, not really. But it’s been a long week and patrol was tiresome today. Whiskey sounded like a good idea when he had returned from patrol but now he’s not so sure. He watches as you nod along to something that man says, a small smile on your face. You look as beautiful as always, your hair pulled into a braid and your face bright in the golden light of the bar. He doesn’t think you’ve seen him and he hopes you don’t. 

God, what was he thinking? Starting this thing with you all those months ago knowing damn well how strongly he felt about you. But he was a weak man after all, and when you had looked at him that night, with glossy eyes and a gentle smile, he knew he had to taste it. Had to have you, however you’d let him. And then he had gone and fucked it all up. 

“You’re an idiot,” Maria cuts through his thoughts, sliding into the booth. She nudges another glass of whiskey towards him.

“Evenin’,” Joel greets, ignoring her words. 

“What were you thinking, Joel? Really? What was the game plan, the big idea. Because to me, it seems like you’re dumber than  a bag of rocks,” Maria says and he can’t even argue because he knows she’s right. 

“She tell you anythin’?” he asks instead, and Maria scoffs.

“She didn’t have to,” she says. “Anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell that there was something up between you two and I’ve seen the two of you come out of supply closets. You’re not as covert as you think, you know. I had to beg Tommy not to get involved because I was hopeful you would tell her how you feel.”

Joel slumps against the booth, taking a sip of his drink. When he meets Maria’s eyes, her glare softens into something gentler. 

“Why didn’t you?” she asks, voice softer now. Joel looks down at his worn palms, full of scars and callouses. He thinks of your soft hands, gentle and seemingly untouched by violence. 

“She deserves better than a weathered old man. I can’t give her what she deserves,” Joel finally says and Maria sighs. 

“You can’t just decide things for people, Joel,” she says. “And you can’t just write yourself off because you think something that isn’t even true.”

This time, it’s Joel who scoffs. 

“If you’re implyin’ that I’m not old then that’s mighty kind of you, Maria,” he says, but the joke falls flat. 

“I know how you care for people,” Maria says. “I know what she deserves too.”

“I might have messed it up too much already,” Joel says. When he looks back to where you are, something curdles inside of him. You’re no longer there and neither is your date. Maria follows his line of sight.

“You have to try,” Maria says. “You have to try or else you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.” 

The sharp knock on your door brings a terrible sense of deja-vu. You think of that night a week ago and how Joel had shown up. And then of how he had left. You had found Maria the next day and told her you were open to the date with Adam, fueled by rage and something sadder. And the date had been fine, really. Adam was sweet and nice and smart and all the things that Maria had said he was. But you had felt nothing but a vague interest in friendship. Your cheeks had hurt by the end of the night, from all the put-on smiling you had done. It had been a relief when he had mentioned that he had an early shift the next morning and so he had to head home. You had nodded in understanding and gently refused his offer to walk you home. 

When you swing the door open this time, the deja-vu is even worse. Joel stands there, in a dark t-shirt and faded jeans. It’s like you’re dreaming. Or maybe it’s a nightmare and what happened last week is going to replay again and again until you wake up. 

“Howdy,” Joel greets and any other time, the greeting and the drawl of  his accent would make you smile. Now it settles like a heavy weight in your stomach.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice sharp. Joel looks down at his hands, rubbing his thumb against the meat of his palm. 

“I was hopin’ we could talk,” he says.

“I think you’ve said everything you wanted to,” you say even though your heart stutters in your chest. Joel shakes his head, stepping forward. 

“If you want me to leave after this, I swear I will. Just please let me explain, sweetheart,” he says. The term of endearment softens something in you and you contemplate for a few seconds, before you nod. You step aside to allow him to come in, his boots heavy against the wooden floors. You make your way towards the living room, sitting on your armchair so that you’re far enough away from him not to do something stupid like crawl into his lap. 

“I owe you an apology,” Joel says once he’s seated on the couch. “I should have never said those things about endin’ things or about that kid you went out with.”

“Adam,” you supply and enjoy the way Joel clenches his jaw at the mention of his name. But he nods.

“Adam,” he echoes. “Did you enjoy your date with him?”

He sounds genuinely curious, even if his jaw is still clenched.

“It was fine,” you say. 

“Would you go out with him again?” Joel asks and you snap.

“What is this, Joel? You came over because you want a review of my date? What do you want me to say? That it sucked because all I could think about is you? That you broke my heart? What do you want?” you say, voice raised. You can feel your ears heat up and your vision blurs with unshed tears. You look away, swiping at your eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel says, suddenly sounding closer. When you open your eyes, he’s in front of you, kneeling. His eyes are wide with concern. 

“Don’t say things if you don’t mean them,” you say, voice catching on the last word.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Joel says. “I messed this whole thing up.”

“Why did you end things?” you ask, suddenly feeling small. “Did I do something wrong that night?” 

And really, that’s the thought that’s been plaguing you. Was it how you had confessed that it was only ever him? Was it how you had clung to him? 

“No,” Joel says quickly. “You did nothin’ wrong, darlin’. It was me. I got in my head about this. Thought I was too old for you, that I’d be holdin’ you back.”

“So you just ended things,” you say. “You didn’t even give me a chance to say how I felt. What I wanted.”

Joel nods, mouth pulled into a frown. “I know.”

“You hurt me, Joel,” you say, a tender admission. You’re not the type to ever say things like this. You know how much strength is valued in the world you live in. But your heart feels tender and raw. 

“I know,” Joel agrees, again. “I hate that I did. I should’ve talked to you instead of runnin’ off.”

“Why’d you change your mind then?” you ask and Joel looks sheepish now. You watch a light blush form across the tops of his cheekbones.

“Maria said I was bein’ mighty foolish,” he says. “Said she knew the whole time. Saw us, uh, comin’ out of supply closets.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling yourself grow warm. You had thought you and Joel had been rather stealthy, really. 

“I really am sorry, darlin’,” Joel says. “I was bein’ a coward. I like you. Hell, I more than like you and it scared me because I haven’t felt like this in so long.”

The confession blooms inside of you like a flower in spring, and the grief in your heart seems to dissolve into nothingness. 

“You were being a coward,” you agree. “I don’t care that you’re old, Joel. Really. I don’t like you in spite of it or anything like that. I just like you.”

A gentle smile graces his face and he shifts so he’s closer. You spread your knees to make room for him, sitting up straighter. 

“I can’t promise I’m goin’ to be perfect, but I’m going to try. If you’d let me and only if you want this,” Joel says. 

You let his words sink into you and finally, you nod. You watch his soft smile turn into a grin. You tug him forward, pressing your forehead to his own. The two of you stay like that for minutes, eyes closed and listening to the soft sound of each other's breathing. Eventually, you yawn and Joel chuckles.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” he says and you nod. He stands up, his knees creaking and you smile. He helps you up. 

“You can stay, if you’d like,” you offer. Joel nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards your bedroom. You find a shirt for him to sleep in and take turns brushing your teeth. You let him use your toothbrush and the whole thing feels so domestic. It settles warmly in your chest. He pulls you towards him once you both lay down, pressing a gentle kiss to your mouth. When you pull back, he follows, giving you another slow kiss. You curl around him, giving him access to your mouth. There’s no intent to these kisses, no build up for a quick hook up or to let off some steam. You’re kissing just to kiss. Like lovers do. You smile against his mouth and he pulls back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I wanna take you out tomorrow,” Joel says, murmuring into your mouth. 

“Like a date?” you ask and he hums in affirmative. 

“Okay,” you agree. He gives you a soft kiss. And then another. You feel him press his mouth against your chin, and then your cheekbone. The soft skin under your eye. The tip of your nose. It’s the feeling of Joel’s mouth, gently mapping your face, that lulls you to sleep.

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 8: The Brightness

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Fluff. Alcoholism. Chapter word count: 15k words.

a/n: Here's another monstrosity 😅😅 Hope you like it! Had to remove the shortest bit (non-vital) to fit the whole chapter here... didn't want to have to post it in two parts! You can read it all in aO3 (it's a teeny tiny, really small Tommy/Bill scene).

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

aO3 Link | PREVIOUS | NEXT | MASTERLIST

PART 8 - THE BRIGHTNESS

Joel woke before the alarm, like he always did. For a few seconds he didn’t move. Just lay there on his side, staring at the faint line of early light cutting across the far wall while the slow, familiar sounds of the house settled around him; the faint hum of the refrigerator down the hall, pipes ticking softly in the walls, morning just starting to stretch awake.

And then he felt it. Warmth tucked along the front of him. Soft hair under his chin. The steady, quiet rhythm of someone breathing, pressed back into his chest. You.

You were curled on your side in front of him, his arm draped heavy across your waist, his hand resting low on your stomach like it had settled there sometime during the night and never bothered moving. One of your hands rested lightly over his forearm, fingers half curled in sleep, keeping him there without thinking about it.

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, careful not to shift too much. Didn’t want to wake you yet. Didn’t really want to move at all.

It still hit him sometimes. Not in some big dramatic way. Just in small, quiet moments like this, when the house was still and he had half a second to notice how different everything felt. How full.

He adjusted his chin slightly against the crown of your head, just enough to breathe you in; shampoo, warmth, something distinctly yours that had started to feel as familiar as the smell of his own house.

Something in his chest tightened in that quiet, familiar way it always did when he let himself notice it too long.

Down the hall, a door creaked. Then small footsteps. Light. Quick. Joel closed his eyes briefly. Right on schedule.

A second later, the bedroom door opened just enough for a small head to peek through. Messy hair. Sleepy face. Assessing the situation like a tiny general planning her morning.

“Are you awake,” Sarah whispered loudly.

You stirred faintly at the sound but didn’t wake. Just shifted a little deeper into him, your back pressing more firmly against his chest. Joel lifted his head slightly from where it rested near your hair.

“Am now,” he murmured.

Sarah grinned and slipped fully into the room, padding across the floor in mismatched socks. She climbed onto the bed without invitation; never needed one; and carefully wedged herself into the narrow space in front of you like this had always been the arrangement.

Maybe it had.

The mattress dipped. You made a soft, confused sound, blinking awake slowly. Your eyes focused, found Sarah first, then Joel behind you, arm still wrapped around your middle. A sleepy smile tugged at your mouth like the sight of both of them there made immediate sense.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Sarah chirped back immediately. “I’m hungry.”

Joel huffed softly behind you both.

“Course you are.”

You shifted onto your back with a small stretch, his arm sliding with you automatically before he let it fall away so you could sit up. You rubbed at your eyes, hair a mess, and glanced between them.

“I can make pancakes,” you offered, still half asleep.

“You made ‘em yesterday,” Joel pointed out.

“And they were excellent,” Sarah added firmly.

Your mouth twitched. “See? Public demand.”

Joel watched you two for a second. Just… watched. The easy way Sarah leaned into your side without thinking. The way you brushed a hand over the kid’s hair like it was second nature now. It had stopped feeling new a while ago. Somewhere along the way, this had just become… life.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a quiet exhale. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get coffee goin’ before y’all start a coup.”

Sarah slid off the mattress immediately and darted for the door. You followed slower, still waking up, stealing one quick, soft kiss against Joel’s shoulder as you passed like it was habit now. Like it belonged there. It did.

He sat there for a second after you left. Just listening to your voices drift down the hallway toward the kitchen. Sarah talking a mile a minute. You laughing softly in response. Cabinets opening. The familiar clatter of morning starting.

For a long time, mornings in this house had been about getting through them. Getting Sarah fed. Dressed. Out the door. Work waiting. Bills waiting. Life pressing in from every side. Now… Now they felt different. Fuller. Warmer. Like something solid had settled into place without him realizing when it started.

Joel pushed to his feet and headed down the hall after you two, the sound of your voices pulling him forward before he even reached the kitchen.

You were halfway through pouring coffee when the back door creaked open and Tommy wandered in like he owned the place, already halfway through a yawn.

“Smells like chores and responsibility,” he announced, dragging a hand down his face as he crossed into the kitchen. “I’m against both.”

Joel didn’t even turn from the counter. “You own a coffeemaker.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, reaching for a mug. “But I keep telling you, yours tastes better.”

“That’s because I make it right.”

“Exactly my point.”

He poured himself a cup like this was routine; which, lately, it was; and slid into one of the chairs just as Sarah came skidding into the kitchen in her socks, hair wild, eyes already bright with intent.

Joel noticed immediately.

He leaned back against the counter, mug in hand, watching the way Sarah squared her shoulders like she was about to present a business proposal.

“So,” she said, very seriously. “What are we doing for my birthday?”

Joel didn’t even glance up. “Havin’ one.”

“Dad.”

“What.”

“I’m turning eight.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s big.”

He finally looked at her. “Every year’s big when you’re eight.”

Tommy nodded. “Right. We gotta make it count.”

Joel pointed at him with his mug. “Keep it reasonable.”

Tommy looked offended. “I am always reasonable.”

You made a quiet sound into your coffee that definitely wasn’t agreement.

Sarah leaned forward. “Emma had a bounce house last year.”

Joel exhaled slowly. “We are not gettin’ a bounce house.”

“I didn’t even say I wanted one.”

“You were about to.”

Tommy rested his elbows on the table. “Bounce houses are overrated anyway.”

Sarah blinked. “They are?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You bounce for like ten minutes, then somebody gets kicked in the face and it’s over.”

You choked on your coffee trying not to laugh.

“Okay,” Sarah said, already amused. “What should I have then.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair like he was thinking hard. “Well. We could do a medieval theme.”

Joel went still. “No.”

“Full suits of armor,” Tommy continued. “Jousting in the driveway. I’ll build a catapult.”

“I swear to God.”

Sarah was laughing now. “A real catapult?”

“Small one,” Tommy said. “Water balloons. Mostly safe.”

You pressed your lips together, shoulders shaking.

Joel dragged a hand down his face. “Next idea.”

Tommy didn’t miss a beat. “We rent a mechanical bull.”

“She is eight.”

“Start ‘em young.”

Sarah had slid halfway out of her chair, giggling. “I’d fall off!”

“That’s the fun,” Tommy said.

Joel looked at you for backup. You just lifted your mug and shook your head, refusing to get involved.

“Alright,” Joel said finally. “Real ideas now.”

Sarah leaned her chin on her hands, thinking. “I want it outside.”

“Good,” Joel said.

“And water stuff,” Sarah added thoughtfully. “If it’s hot.”

You smiled. “We can do water balloons.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair. “Or,” he said, like a man about to change history, “we can bring a princess.”

Absolute silence.

Joel looked at him slowly. “A what.”

“A princess,” Tommy repeated, unfazed. “Kids love that stuff. One of those party ones. Crown, big dress, sparkles. Shows up, does the whole royal wave.”

Sarah blinked. “Like… a real one?”

“Closest thing Texas has,” Tommy said.

You pressed your lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “You want to invite royalty to an eight-year-old’s backyard?”

Tommy shrugged. “Sets a tone.”

Joel rubbed his face. “We are not hostin’ the monarchy.”

But Sarah had gone very still.

“…Could we?” she asked quietly.

All three adults looked at her. Not bouncing. Not demanding. Just… hopeful.

You softened first. “You want a princess?”

Sarah nodded once. “Maybe. Just… for a little bit.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, already losing the battle. “You don’t even like princess movies.”

“I like dresses,” she said reasonably. “And it’d be fun.”

Tommy slapped the table softly. “Kid’s got vision.”

Joel shot him a look. Then looked back at Sarah.

“…One princess,” he muttered. “Shows up, waves, eats cake, leaves. That’s it.”

Sarah’s entire face lit up. “Really?”

You smiled into your coffee. “Guess we’re hosting royalty.”

Tommy raised his mug. “I bet she’ll be pretty.”

“Don’t,” you and Joel said at the same time.

Sarah leaned forward, serious. “She has to be a good one. Not scary.”

Tommy nodded solemnly. “Only the finest kingdom.”

Joel shook his head, but he was smiling now. Couldn’t help it.

“…Princess,” he muttered into his coffee. “Unbelievable.”

Sarah launched out of her chair and threw her arms around Joel’s neck. “BEST BIRTHDAY EVER.”

He caught her automatically, huffing a quiet laugh. “We ain’t even had it yet.”

She ran for her room almost immediately. “I HAVE TO MAKE A LIST.”

Her footsteps thundered down the hall. The kitchen settled again, easy and familiar.

You stood to refill the coffee, brushing past Joel’s shoulder on your way to the counter. Tommy stretched his legs out under the table like he planned to stay awhile, chair tipped back just enough to be annoying.

Joel watched him over the rim of his mug.

“…So,” he said, casual. “What’ve you been doin’ lately, anyway.”

Tommy reached for the sugar bowl like this was an interview he’d been preparing for. “Work.”

“Mm.”

“Here and there.”

Joel didn’t look convinced. “You been doin’ a lotta ‘here and there.’”

Tommy stirred his coffee slowly. “Keeps life interesting.”

Joel set his mug down. “Heard you left the bar on Mason with a redhead Tuesday.”

Tommy didn’t even blink. “She had excellent conversational skills.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Wednesday,” Joel added.

“Different redhead,” Tommy said. “Also excellent. And Mark has the biggest mouth.”

Tommy took a slow sip of coffee like he was settling into a story he planned to enjoy telling.

“What?” he went on, stretching his legs out under the table, “some of us are still livin’ a little.”

Joel didn’t look up. “You mean rotating through the same three bars and pretendin’ you invented flirting?”

Tommy scoffed. “It’s called variety.”

“It’s called bein’ thirty and exhausted,” Joel muttered.

“That’s you,” Tommy shot back immediately. “You’re the one who turned into a suburban husband before forty. Don’t drag me down with you.”

Joel finally looked up. “Suburban husband.”

“You got a woman. A kid. A backyard. You say things like ‘we need more paper towels’.” Tommy pointed his spoon at him. “That’s a man who’s settled.”

You, at the counter, hid a smile.

Joel leaned back in his chair. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with settled.”

“Didn’t say there was,” Tommy said easily. “Just ain’t for me.” He glanced toward youthen, grin sharpening. “Some of us still enjoy the chase.”

You didn’t even turn around. “Do you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, pleased with himself. “Met a brunette Thursday. Smart. Funny. Thought about callin’ her again but-”

“But?” Joel asked flatly.

Tommy shrugged. “Didn’t wanna give her the wrong idea.”

Joel huffed. “The wrong idea bein’ you might call twice?”

“Gotta keep expectations low,” Tommy said sagely. Then looked toward you again like he expected applause. “It’s a gift, really.”

You turned slowly, leaning one hip against the counter, expression perfectly mild.

“…Do you think I’m someone else?” you asked.

Tommy blinked. Joel snorted into his mug.

Tommy ignored him. “Anyway,” he went on, warming back up, “I’m just sayin’, I could’ve settled down three times this month alone if I wanted. Women love me.”

You held up a hand lightly.

“Alright, I cannot stress enough how not sorry I am to interrupt this deeply moving autobiography,” you said calmly, “but my family’s having a barbecue next Saturday.”

Tommy stopped mid-brag. “A barbecue.”

You nodded, setting your mug down. “Mm-hm. Backyard. Loud. Too much food. My aunt will absolutely interrogate anyone new within five minutes.”

Tommy leaned back, slow grin spreading. “Well. Now I’m interested.”

You pointed at him immediately. “You are not allowed to flirt with my cousins.”

“No promises,” he said.

“Tommy….”

He held up both hands. “Alright, alright.”

Then he glanced between you and Joel, smirk returning.

“…We all invited?”

“All,” you said calmly. “My mother insisted. Very thoroughly.”

Joel lifted his mug, dry as dust. “Not displeasin’ her then.”

You shot him a look. “You afraid of her or what?”

Joel didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s just say I know whose temper you inherited.”

You blinked. “I have a temper? And not you, mister ‘if you screw that up again I will personally bulldoze this entire project with you inside, and then you can go fuck yourself’?”

Joel didn’t even look remotely ashamed. “He hung the cabinets crooked.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Well I, for one, am grateful for the invite.”

Joel snorted softly. “You say that now.”

Tommy pointed at him. “What, your in-laws scary?”

You lifted a brow. “They’re not scary.”

Joel turned slightly in his chair, settling in like he was about to deliver a weather report.

“A’right,” he said. “Since you ain’t met ‘em.”

You sighed quietly. “Joel-”

“No, it’s public service,” he said, holding up a hand. Then to Tommy: “Listen.”

Tommy straightened immediately. “I’m listening.”

“Her mom,” Joel began, “is nice. Real nice. Feeds you, asks about work, makes you feel welcome.”

Tommy nodded. “See? Easy.”

Joel shook his head. “That’s the warm-up. She’s takin’ your measure the whole time. You won’t notice it happen, but by the end she’ll know your job history, whether you return shopping carts, and what kind of man you are.”

You muttered, “She does not profile people like that.”

Joel ignored her. “Answer straight. Don’t try to charm her. Don’t oversell anything. Just… be normal.”

Tommy frowned. “I am normal.”

“…Be a quieter version of normal. Like half.” Joel amended.

Tommy considered that. “Alright. Who else.”

“Aunt Linda,” Joel said. “Loud. Means well. Will ask you why you’re not married yet.”

Tommy perked up. “I got answers for that.”

“You will not use those answers,” Joel replied immediately.

Juliet smiled.

“Cousins,” Joel went on. “A lot of ’em. They’ll tease you. That’s good. Means they like you. If they stop teasin’, then you worry.”

Tommy nodded seriously. “Understood.”

“Kids everywhere,” Joel added. “If one hands you a water gun, you accept. Refusin’ is seen as weakness.”

You laughed under your breath. “That part is true.”

Tommy grinned. “I excel at water warfare.”

Joel pointed at him. “Do not escalate. God knows Sarah will do enough of that.”

“No promises.”

“Uncle Bill,” Joel continued.

Tommy perked up. “Oh, he the grumpy one you’ve told me about?”

Joel’s mouth twitched. “He’s blunt. He’s quiet. He’s gonna stare at you like he’s measurin’ you for a coffin.”

Juliet sighed. “He does not-”

“He does,” Joel said. “Just let him. Don’t try to impress him. Don’t talk too much. If he likes you, he’ll offer you a beer.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Tommy asked.

Joel shrugged once. “You’ll know.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling.

“Frank, Bill’s husband,” Joel continued, tone easing slightly. “Frank’s your safe zone. Stick near him if you get overwhelmed. He’ll talk to you. Feed you. Make sure you don’t accidentally insult anybody important.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “So Frank’s my handler.”

“Frank is everyone’s handler,” you said, smiling.

Joel leaned back. “He’s the reason those barbecues end without casualties.”

Tommy considered all this, then took a long sip of coffee.

“…Am I allowed to drink?” he asked.

“Yes,” you and Joel said at the same time.

Then you added calmly, “But you are not allowed to flirt.”

Tommy looked personally wounded. “With who.”

“With anyone,” you said. “Cousins. Neighbors. People walking by the house. No one.”

Joel added without looking up, “Don’t care if they start it.”

Tommy lifted both hands in surrender. “Alright. Alright. I’ll behave.”

You raised a brow. “Will you.”

Tommy gave you his most charming grin. “I will… try.”

The kitchen door opened and Sarah walked in mid-conversation, notebook in hand.

“Why is Uncle Tommy smiling like that?” she asked immediately.

Tommy looked offended. “This is my normal face.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “We were talkin’ about the barbecue next weekend.”

Sarah froze. “The one at Bill’s house?”

You nodded. “That one.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Did you tell him about the water guns?”

Tommy straightened. “I have been informed.”

She looked at Joel, betrayed. “You warned him?”

“It’s called risk management,” Joel said calmly.

Sarah turned back to Tommy, narrowing her eyes. “…You gonna escalate?”

Tommy leaned in. “Kid, if I get hit, I retaliate.”

Her grin was immediate. “Good.”

Joel groaned softly. “I just said, don’t escalate.”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s a barbecue, Dad.”

Tommy pointed at her. “Exactly.”

You sighed. “This feels like a bad idea already.”

“It is,” Joel muttered.

Sarah grabbed an apple from the counter. “I’m wearing my fast shoes.”

Tommy nodded approvingly. “Me too.”

Joel shook his head, but he was smiling.

“…This is gonna end badly.”

Sarah bit into the apple. “No, it’s gonna end wet.”

And walked out like she’d just declared war.

************

The house had gone quiet an hour ago.

Sarah had crashed hard after insisting she wasn’t tired, then almost falling asleep halfway through brushing her teeth, and now the only light left on downstairs came from the living room lamp and the soft blue flicker of whatever movie had been playing unnoticed for the last twenty minutes.

Joel barely registered it.

You were stretched along the couch, one leg tucked under his thigh. You’d started out just sitting there. Talking. Half watching something neither of you cared about.

At some point you’d shifted closer. At some point his arm had settled around your waist. At some point the space between you had stopped existing altogether.

Now his mouth was at your neck, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything and still managed to promise plenty. Your hand slid up into his hair in response, nails lightly grazing his scalp in a way that made his shoulders tighten.

“Joel,” you murmured softly, not a protest. Just his name.

He hummed against your skin in answer, one hand braced beside your hip as he shifted over you properly, weight settling between your legs on the couch. The cushions dipped under you. Familiar. Easy. The kind of closeness you’d slipped into so naturally over the past months it no longer felt like a decision.

Your fingers brushed along the edge of his jaw, then down his throat, feeling the way his pulse had picked up. He caught your wrist gently, pressing a brief kiss to the inside of it before letting it go again.

“House’s finally quiet,” he murmured against your mouth.

You smiled faintly. “Mm. Miracles happen.”

He kissed you again, slower this time. Deeper. The kind that made the rest of the room fall away. One of his hands slid to your waist, thumb brushing under the hem of your shirt without really thinking about it, just following the pull he always felt when you were this close.

You shifted beneath him with a soft breath, hips tilting up instinctively, and he felt that familiar low heat settle in his groin. His mouth moved back to your neck. Your hand started removing his shirt.

And then… His phone rang. Loud in the quiet room.

Joel froze. For half a second he considered ignoring it. Letting it go. The world could wait five damn minutes.

Then he checked the screen. Not work. Not a random number. Tommy. He closed his eyes briefly.

You felt it immediately; the shift in him, the way his body stilled where it hovered over yours. Your hand slid from his collar to his cheek.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “Go.”

He exhaled through his nose once, low and reluctant, then pushed up off the couch enough to reach the phone on the coffee table. He sat back slightly on the edge of the cushion, running a hand over the back of his neck before answering.

“…Tommy.”

He didn’t say hello. Didn’t need to.

There was noise on the other end. Music low. Glass clinking. The kind of background that said bar closing time or close enough.

Then a familiar voice; older, tired, apologetic.

“Joel? Hey. I’m sorry man.”

Joel scrubbed a hand over his face, already knowing.

“…Where is he.”

A sigh crackled through the line. “Still here. I cut him off about half an hour ago. He’s not happy about it.”

Of course he wasn’t.

Joel leaned forward slightly, forearms on his thighs, phone pressed to his ear. You stayed where you were on the couch, quiet, watching him without interrupting. Your hand drifted to his shoulder, grounding without making a show of it.

“He try to drive?” Joel asked.

“He wanted his keys. I didn’t give ’em,” the owner said. “Told him he could call someone or I’d get him a cab. That… did not improve his mood.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly.

In the background he could almost hear Tommy’s voice; raised, not shouting exactly, but carrying that edge he got when he’d had too much and didn’t want to be told what to do.

“He ain’t swingin’, is he,” Joel asked quietly.

“Not yet,” the owner admitted. “But he’s getting louder. And you know how that goes.”

Yeah. He did. This wasn’t new. Not by a long shot.

“How many,” Joel asked.

“Enough.”

The owner sighed loudly.

“I didn’t want to call you, man. But he won’t take a cab, won’t call anybody else. Just keeps sayin’ he’s fine to drive and I’m not lettin’ him walk out like that.”

Joel nodded once to himself, jaw tight.

“…Alright. I’m comin’.”

“Appreciate it,” the owner said quietly. “I’ll keep him here.”

Joel ended the call and sat there for a second, phone still in his hand.

The room felt different now. The quiet broken. The warmth from a minute ago cooling into something heavier.

You shifted closer on the couch, studying his face.

“Tommy?” you asked softly.

He nodded once. Didn’t look at you yet.

“…Bar on Mason,” he said. “Won’t hand over the keys. Won’t leave.”

Understanding settled over your features immediately. A quiet kind of concern.

“Okay,” you said. Simple. Steady. “Go get him.”

He looked up then, meeting your eyes.

There was no annoyance there. No frustration. Just… calm acceptance. Like you understood this came with him. With the life he’d always had with his brother. That eased something tight in his chest even as the rest of him braced.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t,” you said gently. “He’s your brother. Take him home alive. Preferably not bleeding.”

He huffed quietly despite himself, pushing to his feet and reaching for his keys on the side table.

“…I’ll try.”

*********************

When Joel pulled into the lot, the bar’s neon sign buzzed faintly overhead.

Late enough that most of the crowd had thinned; a couple trucks still parked out front, low music leaking through the door every time someone stepped out for a smoke. Joel killed the engine and sat there a second, hands tight on the wheel.

Same place. Same call. Same damn routine.

He stepped out, boots heavy on the asphalt, and pushed through the door. The owner spotted him immediately and gave a small, relieved nod toward the far end of the bar.

Tommy was there. Elbows on the counter, head bent toward an empty glass like it might refill itself if he stared long enough.

He looked up when the door shut. Saw Joel. And for half a second something like guilt flashed across his face before he smoothed it over into a crooked grin.

“Well,” Tommy said, pushing off the stool like this was all perfectly normal. “There he is. I’m sorry man, I told him it was a misunderstandin’.”

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t say a word. Just walked up, stopped a few feet away, and held his gaze.

The grin faltered a little. Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels like he could still spin this into something funny.

“Guy here thinks I can’t handle a couple beers,” he went on, gesturing loosely toward the owner. “Got all dramatic about it. Wouldn’t give me my keys. You know how people get.”

Joel’s jaw flexed once.

“Thanks for calling Liam, keys?” he said flatly, holding out his hand without looking away from his brother.

The owner slid them across the bar immediately.

Tommy huffed a small laugh, slurring. “C’mon, man. It ain’t that serious.”

Joel’s hand closed around the keys. Still didn’t smile.

“Let’s go.”

Tommy lingered a second like he expected more conversation. A joke. A lecture. Something.

Joel just turned toward the door. That did it. Tommy followed, muttering under his breath as they stepped out into the cooler night air.

Once the bar door shut behind them, Tommy tried again.

“Seriously, it got blown outta proportion,” he said, hands up in a half shrug. “I wasn’t gonna drive like that. I just didn’t wanna leave my truck overnight. You know how that lot is.”

Joel kept walking. Didn’t slow. Didn’t look at him.

Tommy jogged a step to catch up. “Joel. Hey. I got it handled. You didn’t have to come out here.”

That stopped him. Joel turned then; slow. Controlled. The kind of turn that meant whatever came next had been sitting under his skin a while.

“I always gotta come out here,” he said, voice low and even. “Don’t I.”

Tommy opened his mouth. Closed it. A beat of silence stretched between them under the dim lot lights.

Then Tommy forced a small grin, trying again for humor. “Ain’t that bad.”

Joel stared at him. No smile. No give.

“Bar owner’s callin’ me,” he said. “Middle of the night. Again. ’Cause you won’t hand over your keys and won’t take a cab. Again.”

Tommy’s grin slipped.

“Joel-”

“And I gotta walk in there,” Joel went on, quieter if anything, which made it worse. “Look him in the eye. Apologize. Again.”

Tommy shifted his weight. “I said I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head once.

“No,” he said. “You said it was a misunderstandin’.”

Silence.

A car passed on the road beyond the lot, headlights sweeping over them briefly before fading.

Tommy dragged a hand through his hair. “Look, it ain’t gonna happen again, alright? I’ll just- next time I’ll take a cab. Problem solved.”

Joel let out a short breath through his nose. Not quite a laugh.

“Next time,” he repeated.

Tommy spread his hands. “Yeah.”

Another pause. Joel’s gaze hardened just slightly.

“…I got someone at home now,” he said.

Tommy stilled.

Joel didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.

“She saw me walk out tonight,” he went on. “Had to tell her where I was goin’. Why.”

Tommy’s jaw tightened. For a second he actually looked ashamed.

Then he shoved it down under another crooked half-smile. “Aw, c’mon. She ain’t gonna think less of you for helpin’ your idiot brother.”

Joel stepped closer. Not aggressive. Just enough that Tommy had to look at him properly.

“I ain’t worried about what she thinks of me,” he said quietly. “I’m worried about what she sees.”

That wiped the smile clean off Tommy’s face. Silence stretched again. He shifted, suddenly restless.

“…It won’t happen again,” Tommy said, softer now. Still dodging something. Still not quite landing on it.

Joel held his gaze a moment longer, then he turned toward the truck.

“Get in.”

Tommy didn’t say much on the drive. That, more than anything, told Joel the words had landed somewhere. Usually there’d be chatter. Deflection. A joke thrown out like a lifeline. Tonight there was just the low hum of the engine and the occasional tap of Tommy’s fingers against his thigh.

They pulled up outside his apartment building ten minutes later. Joel parked, cut the engine, and handed the keys over without looking at him.

Tommy took them. Turned them over once in his hand.

“…You didn’t have to come get me,” he said quietly. No swagger left now. Just tired.

Joel leaned back against the seat, staring out the windshield. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

Silence sat between them.

Tommy exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’ll figure it out,” he muttered. “Ain’t gonna keep doin’ this.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He’d heard that before. Enough times that the words didn’t land the way they used to.

But he didn’t push. Not tonight.

“…Night, Tommy,” he said finally.

Tommy nodded once and pushed the door open. Paused halfway out. “Tell Juliet… sorry she had to see any of that.”

Joel’s jaw shifted.

“Yeah,” he said. “I will.”

He waited until Tommy was inside before pulling away from the curb, the quiet streets stretching out in front of him. The drive home felt longer than it should’ve. He kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping once against it before going still again.

Same old knot in his chest. Familiar. Heavy.

By the time he turned into his street, most of the houses were dark. Porch lights on timers. Windows dim. Normal night. His night.

He parked in the driveway and sat there a second, forehead resting briefly against the steering wheel. Just one breath. Then another. Letting the frustration drain somewhere it wouldn’t spill over inside the house.

When he finally stepped in, the living room lamp was still on. You were curled at one end of the couch, a book open in your lap you clearly hadn’t been reading. You looked up the second the door clicked shut.

Relief crossed your face first. Quick. Unfiltered. Then it smoothed into something gentler.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Joel closed the door behind him and dropped his keys into the bowl by habit. “Hey.”

You studied him as he stepped into the room, eyes scanning his face like you were checking for something. Tension. Anger. Whatever he might’ve carried back with him.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded once. “Yeah. Got him home.”

You let out a small breath you’d probably been holding. “Good.”

Joel shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, moving slower than usual. The house felt warmer than outside. Quieter. Safer in that way it always did when you were there.

“Was it bad?” you asked carefully.

He shook his head. “Nah. Just… same old.”

That told you enough. He saw it in the way your mouth tightened just slightly, the way you set the book aside completely and turned toward him.

“You shouldn’t have to keep doing that,” you said softly.

Joel huffed under his breath. Not quite a laugh. “He’s my brother.”

“I know.” You held his gaze. “Doesn’t make it fair.”

That landed somewhere deep, somewhere he didn’t always let himself look too closely at.

You hesitated a moment, then asked quietly,

“…How’d you do it before me?”

Joel glanced at you. “Do what?”

“This,” you said gently. “Nights like this one. With Sarah.”

He leaned back against the couch, exhaling through his nose, eyes drifting upstairs, towards the dark hallway where Sarah slept.

“…Addlers helped,” he said after a moment. “Elderly couple next door. Good people. If I had to go get Tommy or deal with somethin’, I’d call ‘em. They’d come sit with her. Or I’d carry her over there half asleep.”

There was a faint huff of a smile, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

“Didn’t like doin’ that,” he added. “Hated wakin’ her up. But… didn’t have much choice.”

You watched him quietly.

“You did it alone,” you said softly.

Joel shrugged once. “You do what you gotta.” He sighed. “…Easier now.”

His hand found yours without looking. You shifted closer without thinking about it. One hand resting lightly against his arm. Not asking. Just there.

“You tired?” you asked.

“Little.”

He turned his head then, finally looking at you properly. Soft lamplight. Hair loose like you’d been waiting awhile.

“You didn’t have to stay up,” he said.

You mouth curved faintly. “I wanted to know you got back okay.”

Something in his chest eased at that. Just a notch. He reached for you without really deciding to, hand settling warm at your waist, drawing you a little closer until you leaned into him easily. Familiar. Right.

You sat there a minute without talking. Just breathing the same quiet air. The kind of silence that settled things instead of stretching them thin.

“…He say anything?” you asked eventually.

Joel shrugged once. “Said it won’t happen again.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. 

He tipped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes for a second. Felt your fingers slide lightly along his forearm. Absent. Grounding.

“I hate that you had to see that,” he said finally, voice low.

Your hand stilled. Then shifted, sliding up to his shoulder instead.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I saw you.”

He opened his eyes.

You held his gaze steadily. No judgment. No pity. Just… understanding that went deeper than he’d expected.

“You showed up,” you went on quietly. “You handled it. You didn’t make excuses for him. You didn’t ignore it. That matters.”

Joel swallowed once, jaw tightening briefly before easing again.

He let his hand drift from your waist up along your back, pulling you fully against him this time. You came easily, folding into his side, your head settling near his shoulder like it belonged there.

The house was silent around you. Sarah asleep down the hall. Night settled in deep.

“…C’mere,” he murmured, more to himself than anything, pressing a brief kiss into your hair.

You exhaled softly and relaxed into him.

The tightness in his chest finally started to loosen.

******************

Nobody mentioned Tuesday night again.

Tommy showed up to work the next morning like he always did; coffee in hand, jokes ready, acting like nothing had happened. Joel let him. It was easier that way. Always had been.

You didn’t push either. You treated Tommy the same; warm, normal, like you hadn’t seen the tight, ugly edge under the charm.

But Joel noticed the way your eyes lingered on him a little longer now. Not judging. Just… seeing. It sat there between you all week. Unspoken. Unresolved. Waiting.

The next Saturday, Joel stood at the base of the stairs with his keys in one hand and his patience running on fumes.

“Sarah,” he called up, already halfway into the tone that meant business. “We’re gonna be late.”

No answer.

Tommy lounged against the kitchen counter behind him, drinking juice he absolutely hadn’t paid for and had no intention of thanking anyone for.

“Relax,” he drawled. “She’s almost eight. Not the groom.”

Joel shot him a look. “It’s a barbecue. People notice when you show up late.”

Tommy grinned. “You notice. Normal people just eat.”

Joel ignored him and tipped his head back toward the stairs again. “Sarah!”

A muffled voice floated down. “COMING!”

Tommy leaned in slightly, just to be annoying. “You nervous, Miller?”

“I ain’t nervous.”

“You’ve checked the time four times in two minutes.”

“Shut up.”

Tommy smirked. Behind them, the soft sound of cabinet doors closing.

Joel turned automatically. You stepped out of the kitchen carrying a baking dish wrapped carefully in aluminum foil, one hand steadying the bottom as you moved. The late light from the window caught you just enough to make him pause mid-breath.

Sundress. Light. Easy. Soft color that did absolutely nothing to help his ability to think like a normal person. Hair loose. Bare shoulders. Like you’d stepped out of some domestic daydream and into his actual house.

Tommy saw his face and went very still with interest.

Joel stared for a second too long. You caught it immediately, your mouth twitched at one corner.

“…What,” you asked, already suspicious.

Joel leaned a little closer as you reached the entryway, lowering his voice just enough that Tommy wouldn’t catch it.

“I thought you said you wanted to leave the house today,” he muttered under his breath. “What’re you doin’ dressed like that.”

Your lips pressed together, trying not to laugh.

“That’s a normal dress,” you murmured back.

“Mm,” he said. “Don’t feel real normal.”

Tommy made a quiet choking noise behind you.

You shot him a quick glance, then looked back at Joel, eyes bright with amusement. “Behave.”

He didn’t answer. Just took the dish from you automatically so you could grab your bag.

Right then, thunder on the stairs.

“READY!”

Sarah came flying down at full speed, nearly missing the last step in her enthusiasm, already talking before she’d fully landed.

“Did you make the brownies? Did you make the good ones? Is Uncle Bill gonna be there? I mean, of course, it’s his house. Can I sit in the front? No, wait, I can’t sit in the front, never mind-”

Joel stepped aside automatically so she didn’t crash into him. “Easy. Shoes on?”

She lifted a foot. Sneakers. Untied.

He pointed. She groaned and dropped to tie them at record speed.

Tommy pushed off the counter, setting his empty mug aside. “Alright,” he said, stretching. “Let’s go meet the infamous in-laws.”

You shot him a look. “You’re meeting people. Not performing.”

He grinned. “Same skill set.”

Joel opened the door and stepped out first, dish in hand. You followed, Sarah bouncing ahead toward the truck like she’d been shot out of a cannon.

Tommy paused beside Joel as they reached the driveway, lowering his voice just enough.

“…You’re in trouble,” he said mildly.

Joel didn’t look at him. “Shut up.”

But he was still watching you as you walked ahead of them toward the passenger side, sunlight catching in your hair, and there was absolutely no bite behind the words at all.

The drive wasn’t long, but Sarah treated it like a cross-country expedition.

“Is Uncle Bill gonna have the grill going already? He always does it too early. Last time everything was done before people even got there.”

You laughed softly from the passenger seat. “He likes being prepared.”

“He likes control,” Joel muttered from behind the wheel.

Tommy snorted from the back. “Respect.”

You turned down a quieter road lined with older houses and big yards, the kind with deep porches and trees that had been there longer than any of you. By the time Joel pulled up along the curb, the place was already alive.

Cars lined the street. Voices carried through the warm afternoon air. Somewhere, a radio played low classic rock under the steady hiss of a grill.

Bill and Frank’s place sat back from the road, solid and lived-in, with a wide backyard partially visible through the side gate. Folding tables. Coolers. People moving around with plates and drinks. Easy chaos.

Joel killed the engine.

Sarah was halfway out of the truck before it had even fully stopped.

“WALK,” Joel called automatically.

“I AM WALKING,” she yelled back, already jogging toward the open gate.

You watched her go with a soft smile, then reached for the baking dish Joel had set on the console. He got there first.

“I got it,” he said.

You let him take it, your fingers brushing briefly. Familiar. Easy. Still enough to send that quiet, steady warmth through his chest.

Tommy climbed out last, stretching like he was arriving at a resort. “Alright,” he said under his breath. “Game face.”

You shot him a warning look over the roof of the truck. “Normal face.”

“Normal is subjective.”

Joel shut the driver’s door and jerked his chin toward the gate. “C’mon.”

They stepped into the backyard together.

It was already in full swing. Kids running through the grass with plastic cups of juice. Someone tossing a football near the fence. A long table covered in food that kept growing as people added dishes. The smell of grilled meat and charcoal hung thick in the warm air.

And near the grill, tongs in hand like a man born holding them, stood Bill.

Sarah didn’t even slow down.

“Uncle Bill!” she yelled, already halfway across the yard.

Bill turned from the grill, expression stern by default, until he spotted her. The stern cracked just enough.

“There she is,” he said, like he’d been waiting.

She barreled into him. He absorbed it without complaint, one large hand settling briefly on the back of her head before he gently redirected her out of splash range from the grill.

“Watch it,” he muttered. “Hot.”

Frank appeared from the patio carrying a bowl of something green and unnecessary-looking.

“Joel,” he said warmly, like they’d seen each other last week. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Joel replied.

Frank pulled him into a quick half-hug anyway. No ceremony. Just easy familiarity.

You were already being pulled into conversation near the tables, one cousin hugging you, another immediately handing you a drink. You slid into it effortlessly; laughter, shoulders loose, completely at home.

Joel watched you for a second before Bill’s voice cut in again.

“You bring the brownies?”

Joel held up the foil-wrapped dish. “As requested.”

Bill took it with a nod that meant approval and disappeared toward the table without further comment.

Then Bill’s eyes shifted. To Tommy. Tommy stood up straighter without meaning to. Joel almost smiled.

“This one’s new,” Bill said flatly.

Tommy stepped forward, hand out, grin calibrated to “respectful but charming.”

“Tommy,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot.”

“Hope not,” Bill replied, taking his hand. Firm. Testing.

Tommy held eye contact. Didn’t overdo it. Didn’t crack a joke. Joel noticed that.

Frank, mercifully, slid in beside them. “We’ve heard about you too,” he said lightly. “You behave?”

Tommy glanced at Juliet across the yard, who was already watching him with narrowed eyes.

“I am on my best behavior,” he assured.

Bill grunted. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, Tommy had been admitted. Not embraced. Not rejected. Filed on: Under Observation.

Joel exhaled slowly without meaning to. Sarah was already soaked from the sprinkler and screaming with laughter near the fence. You glanced back again; quick, instinctive…  checking. Joel met your eyes and gave you the smallest nod.

All good.

You smiled and turned back to your aunt. For a while, it was just easy. Food passed around. Frank insisting everyone eat something. Someone turning the music up too loud. Sarah dragging two of your little cousins toward the cooler like she’d been promoted to chaos coordinator.

Joel moved through it naturally. Helping shift a table. Handing Bill a fresh beer without being asked. Laughing at something an uncle said about the Cowboys.

He didn’t feel like an outsider here anymore. He felt… included. Which was its own kind of dangerous.

Then your mother drifted into view near the drinks table.

Annie always moved like she belonged anywhere she stepped; calm, composed, the kind of woman people made space for without realizing they were doing it. She had a glass of iced tea in one hand and a dish towel slung over her shoulder like she’d been helping in the kitchen five minutes ago and would be again in five more.

“Juliet,” she called, warm but firm.

You turned immediately. “Hi, Mom.”

You crossed the yard and let yourself be pulled into a hug that was brief but tight, Annie’s hand coming up to cup your cheek for half a second afterward like she still couldn’t quite help herself.

“You look rested,” Annie said, studying you.

“That’s because I finally am,” you answered easily.

Annie hummed like she’d expected that answer. Then her eyes shifted past her daughter and softened.

“Joel.”

He straightened a little without meaning to. Always did around her. Respect, more than nerves.

“Afternoon, Annie.”

She stepped forward and hugged him without hesitation; firm and familiar, like he’d earned that place a while ago.

“Good to see you,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at him properly. “You’ve been working too much.”

He huffed softly. “Tryin’ not to.”

“Well,” she replied, satisfied enough. Then her attention shifted to the man hovering a step behind.

Tommy. Who, to his credit, didn’t look intimidated. Just alert. Curious. Slightly more upright than usual.

Joel tipped his head toward him. “Annie, this’s my brother. Tommy.”

Tommy stepped forward, easy confidence back in place but tempered; respectful. He offered his hand first.

“Ma’am. Heard a lot about you.”

Annie took his hand, grip steady. Measured. She held it just a fraction longer than strictly necessary, studying him the way she studied everything.

“Only good things, I hope.”

Tommy’s mouth curved. “Depends who you ask.”

That got the faintest lift at the corner of her lips.

“Honest answer,” she said. “I appreciate those.”

Joel watched the exchange carefully, waiting for the moment Annie decided what she thought. She always did it quietly. Internally. But he could see the result in how she held herself afterward.

Tommy didn’t rush. Didn’t oversell. Just met her gaze, relaxed but attentive, like he understood he was being weighed and wasn’t offended by it.

After a second, Annie released his hand.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” she said. “Anyone Juliet trusts enough to bring here is already halfway approved.”

Tommy blinked once. That landed.

“Well,” he said lightly, “I will do my best not to ruin that.”

“I’m sure you’ll try,” she replied calmly.

You hid a smile into your glass, and Joel felt something inside, ease. Tommy had passed the first test. Maybe even impressed her a little.

Annie glanced toward the yard where Sarah was now organizing what looked like a full-scale water balloon operation with three other children.

“She’s happy,” Annie said quietly, mostly to Joel.

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you look it too,” she added, softer. Then, just as easily, she shifted back into hostess mode. “Come, all of you. There’s too much food and Frank will be personally offended if you don’t eat.”

Tommy brightened instantly. “I already like it here.”

You laughed and nudged him toward the tables.

Joel lingered half a second longer beside Annie.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, really looked. Understanding more than he’d said out loud.

“Don’t be silly, you’re family,” she replied simply.

Then she moved off again, calling for someone to bring out more plates, leaving Joel standing there for a second with that word settling somewhere deep.

Then he felt it. The scan. He looked up to find three older women standing a few feet away, plates in hand, sunglasses perched low on their noses like they were conducting an official inspection.

Your aunts. Or great-aunts. Or second aunts. The exact ranking was unclear. The authority, however, was not.

One of them (tall, silver hair pinned into something architectural) tilted her head.

“Well,” she said slowly.

Another leaned in, not subtly. “Hello again, darling,”

Joel glanced behind him, just to be sure.

“Ma’am?”

They ignored the question.

“Juliet,” the third called across the yard, voice strong and delighted, “oh… you picked well.”

“So well!” said another one.

You froze mid-sip of lemonade. Joel felt heat creep up the back of his neck.

The silver-haired one stepped closer, peering at him with frank appreciation.

“He looks like an old cinema movie star,” she declared.

“Very Clark Gable,” another nodded decisively.

You walked over, mortified and amused all at once. “Please ignore them.”

“We will not be ignored,” silver-hair replied calmly. Then she turned to Joel: “You have very serious eyes.”

Joel didn’t know what to do with that.

“Well,” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I ain’t sure about the movie star thing.”

You muttered, “They’ve been watching TCM all week.”

He glanced at you then. Really glanced. You were slightly flushed from the heat, hair slightly wild from the humidity, smiling in that half-exasperated, half-fond way you only did with your family.

He didn’t overthink it.

“Truth is,” he said, voice steady but quiet enough that it didn’t feel like a performance, “I’m the lucky one.”

The aunts leaned in immediately. He didn’t look away from you.

“She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he added simply. “And to my girl. So if anybody picked well… it was me.”

One of the aunts made a small sound like her heart had physically shifted.

“Oh,” silver-hair breathed.

Another reached out and patted Joel’s forearm like he’d just passed an unspoken exam.

Your face had gone pink. From somewhere behind you all, one of your younger cousins, maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen, stage-whispered loudly:

“Marry him.”

You choked on your lemonade.

Tommy clapped once. “I second that.”

Joel shot him a look.

The cousin grinned, unfazed. “I’m just saying. We don’t get upgrades like this often.”

You hid your face briefly in your hand. “I’m related to all of you.”

“Yes,” the aunt said serenely. “And we are invested.”

Joel couldn’t help it. He laughed.

But when he looked back at you, the humor softened. Just a fraction. Because under the teasing and the heat and the noise of the yard, something inside him had gone very still… And very certain.

A little while later, Annie stood beneath the shade of the wide canvas umbrella near the drinks table, refilling glasses with a calm efficiency that somehow never looked like work. Joel lingered beside her with a plate he’d stopped pretending he was still eating from, both of them facing the yard.

You stood on Annie’s other side, leaning lightly against the table, one hand wrapped around a cold glass of lemonade. You’d been half-listening to your mother, half-watching Sarah race across the grass.

Tommy was in the middle of it, knee-deep in a growing alliance of children armed with water balloons and absolutely no sense of proportion.

He’d started responsibly enough; tossing a few gentle throws, letting the younger ones land hits, playing referee when arguments broke out. That had lasted all of six minutes.

Now he was crouched behind the inflatable pool like it was a combat position, whispering strategy to three kids who were listening to him like he was a general.

Joel watched, already knowing where this was going.

“…He’s escalatin’,” he muttered.

You followed his gaze immediately, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Oh no.”

Annie looked out over the yard as well, expression composed but warm. “Yes,” she said calmly. “I can see that.”

Across the grass, Tommy popped up and launched a perfectly aimed water balloon that took out one of the teenagers trying to sneak up behind him. The kid yelped, dissolved into laughter, and immediately joined Tommy’s side like he’d been recruited.

Within seconds, sides were forming. Lines drawn. Water weapons distributed.

“Tommy says we need higher ground!” one kid shouted.

Joel dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

You laughed softly under your breath. “He’s organizing them.”

“He’s startin’ a militia,” Joel corrected.

Annie’s lips pressed together, not quite suppressing a smile. “They seem… very loyal to him.”

“He’s gonna start a war,” Joel said flatly.

Right on cue, Tommy grabbed two water guns, handed one to Sarah, and pointed toward the porch like he was briefing a tactical unit.

“Remember,” he told them loudly, “no survivors.”

The kids erupted in delighted chaos.

Joel closed his eyes briefly. “…I’m gonna be fixin’ hoses for a week.”

You bumped your shoulder lightly into his. “You love it.”

“…Maybe a little.”

Tommy made a dramatic dive behind the pool as a volley of balloons came flying back toward him, emerging soaked but triumphant. A moment later he jogged toward the adults’ side of the yard, dripping, shirt clinging, grin wide and unrepentant.

He paused near you, hands braced on his hips, catching his breath.

“…I regret nothing,” he announced.

Joel stared at him. “You started that.”

“They started it,” Tommy shot back immediately. Then leaned toward Annie with conspiratorial seriousness. “I’m providing leadership. Structure. Emotional growth.”

Annie laughed outright this time.

Tommy straightened, satisfied with himself, then jogged back toward the battlefield as Sarah shouted for backup.

Joel watched him go, shaking his head despite the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “…Idiot,” he muttered, laughing. Fond. Helpless.

Beside him, Annie’s expression softened as she followed Tommy’s path across the grass. For a moment she didn’t say anything. Then she turned slightly toward you.

“He reminds me of your daddy.”

The words were gentle. Almost absent-minded. Spoken from somewhere deep and old.

You stilled. It was subtle; so subtle most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Joel did. He saw the way your shoulders tightened just a fraction. The way your smile paused, then resumed a second too late. The way your fingers tightened slightly around your glass.

Across the yard, Tommy lifted Sarah onto his shoulders so she could throw water balloons from “higher ground,” both of them laughing like they’d never known a hard day in their lives.

Joel felt something shift in his chest.

Annie didn’t seem to notice the impact of what she’d said. Or maybe she did and simply let it sit there, quiet and honest.

You didn’t answer. Just watched the yard. Joel glanced at you. Saw it clearly now; the flicker behind your eyes. The shadow that hadn’t been there a second ago.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t draw attention to it. Just stayed where he was, close enough that if you leaned even a fraction, he’d be there.

After a moment, Annie moved off toward the grill to check on something Frank was calling her about, leaving the two of you standing side by side.

You exhaled quietly. Almost inaudible.

Joel didn’t look at you directly. Just kept his eyes on the yard.

“…He’s good with kids,” he said softly, like nothing had happened.

“Yeah,” you answered. Quiet. Steady again. “He is.”

And the moment passed on the surface. Even if something deeper had shifted underneath.

**************

The sun had started to dip by the time the chaos finally began to slow.

Not all at once. Nothing in this family ever did. It happened in waves; kids tiring out mid-sprint, someone calling last rounds on the grill, Frank appearing with foil containers like a benevolent general announcing leftovers.

Joel leaned back in his chair and watched it happen.

The inflatable pool had gone from battlefield to floating graveyard of popped balloons. Towels were being handed out. Someone had put music on lower now; something soft and old drifting through the warm evening air. Conversations shifted from loud and overlapping to smaller, slower clusters.

That comfortable end-of-day feeling.

You stood near the table with your mother and one of your aunts, packing slices of leftover cake into containers Annie insisted everyone take home. You moved easily among them; familiar, loved, completely at home.

Sarah was sprawled on the grass with two of your cousins, half-dry and sun-flushed, lazily tossing an empty balloon back and forth while they argued about something that no longer mattered. Every few seconds she glanced toward Joel like she was checking he was still there. He lifted his chin once. She grinned and went back to her game.

Across the yard, Tommy stood with Bill and Frank near the grill, deep in conversation about something that involved hand gestures and what looked suspiciously like a debate over tools. Bill wasn’t scowling. Frank was laughing. Tommy looked… settled.

That alone felt like a small miracle.

Joel let out a slow breath and stretched his legs out in front of him, boots scraping lightly against the grass. His body ached in that good, tired way that came from being outside all day, from eating too much, from watching people he cared about exist together without friction.

He hadn’t grown up with this. Not really. Big families. Loud afternoons. Kids everywhere. People who just… folded you in without asking what you had to offer in return.

He found himself watching you again without meaning to. You laughed at something your aunt said, head tipping back slightly, then glanced across the yard and caught him looking. Your expression softened instantly; that small, private smile that was only ever meant for him.

Something in his chest shifted. Warm. Steady. Almost too full.

You excused yourself from the table a moment later and crossed the grass toward him, stepping over a rogue water gun and nudging his boot with your toes when you reached his chair.

“You still with us?” you asked lightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… sittin’.”

You studied him for half a second like you knew there was more behind that. Then you rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, casual but grounding, before sitting on the chair beside his.

He turned his head slightly toward you. Close enough now that he could see the faint sheen of sun on your skin. He didn’t say anything. Just reached out, almost absentminded, and hooked a finger gently into one loose strand of hair near your forehead, tucking it back where it belonged.

You stilled for a breath, then looked at him. He leaned in just enough to press a quiet kiss to the corner of your mouth; brief, warm, familiar. The kind that didn’t ask for attention but lingered anyway.

When he pulled back, your expression had softened.

“Mom’s sending us home with enough food to last three days,” you warned.

He huffed. “I ain’t fightin’ her on that.”

“Good. You’d lose.”

They sat there a moment, just watching the yard wind down. Sarah eventually wandered over and leaned against your knee without asking, sun-tired and happy. Your hand automatically drifted to her damp hair, smoothing it back.

Joel watched that too. Didn’t try to hide it.

After a while Tommy approached, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like a man pleasantly wrecked by too much sun and social interaction.

“Alright,” he announced. “I’m callin’ it. If I eat anything else, I’m gonna need mechanical assistance gettin’ into the truck.”

You laughed. “Frank’s packing you leftovers anyway.”

“Of course he is.”

Bill followed a step behind, cooler in hand, Frank beside him carrying three foil containers like offerings.

“You’re takin’ these,” Frank said firmly, handing them to Joel before he could protest. “Non-negotiable.”

“Yes sir,” Joel said, accepting defeat.

Goodbyes started soon after; not rushed, just gradual. Hugs passed around. Promises to do this again soon. Sarah received at least four separate reminders about her upcoming birthday and left looking deeply satisfied with her popularity.

Annie hugged you, then Joel, holding his arm a moment longer than necessary.

“Drive safe,” she said. “Text when you get home.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Tommy got a handshake from Bill that turned into a brief, solid clap on the shoulder. Frank hugged him outright. He looked faintly startled but didn’t complain.

Then they were heading toward the car; evening air cooling, sky streaked with soft orange.

Sarah climbed into the back seat already half-asleep, clutching a container of leftover cake like treasure. Tommy tossed the cooler into the truck bed. You slid into the passenger seat beside Joel, dress brushing his arm.

For a moment, before he started the engine, Joel just sat there. Looked at the house. The yard. The people still waving from the driveway.

Then he glanced at you. You were watching the same scene. Quiet. Thoughtful. Still carrying that earlier shadow somewhere deep, but softer now. Held.

You felt him looking and turned slightly.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded once. Started the truck.

“Yeah,” he said.

Then, after a moment, almost to himself…

“Yeah… I am.”

***************

Tommy was still talking when Joel pulled up in front of his apartment, words trailing off into a yawn as he pushed the passenger door open.

“Good barbecue,” he declared, stepping out and stretching like a man twice his age. “I have been fed, socially approved, and mildly traumatized by children.”

“You’ll live,” Joel said.

Tommy leaned back in through the open window, glancing toward the back seat where Sarah was sprawled sideways, completely asleep, cheek pressed to the glass.

He smiled softer at that. Then clapped the roof twice and stepped back. 

“Night, lovebirds.”

“Get inside,” Joel muttered.

Tommy saluted lazily and disappeared toward his building.

The drive the rest of the way home was quiet. Easy. The kind of quiet that came after a long day in the sun and too much food and laughter.

You turned in your seat once to check on Sarah, then settled back, one hand resting loosely near Joel’s on the console. He brushed his thumb against your knuckles once without looking. You left your hand there.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, Sarah was fully out. Joel killed the engine and sat there a second, listening to the soft tick of cooling metal.

“I got her,” he said.

You nodded. “I’ll put the food in the fridge.”

He moved around to the back seat and lifted Sarah carefully, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She stirred just enough to curl instinctively into his chest, face tucking against his neck.

“Home?” she mumbled.

“Yeah, baby girl,” he said quietly. “Home.”

He carried her inside, up the stairs, into her room, moving with the automatic care of a man who’d done this a thousand times. Shoes off. Blanket pulled up. A soft kiss to her hair when she settled back into sleep without waking.

He stood there a second longer than necessary. Then turned off the light and eased the door half-closed.

Downstairs, the house was dim and quiet. The front porch light cast a warm spill across the steps, and through the screen door he could see you sitting on the wooden rocking bench, a glass of iced tea in your hand. Bare feet tucked up beneath you. Dress shifted loose around your knees.

He stepped out onto the porch and let the screen door close softly behind him.

You glanced up.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

He sat beside you. The bench creaked gently under your weight, rocking once. Twice.

For a moment you didn’t speak. Just listened to the night settling in; distant crickets, the low hum of someone’s air conditioner down the street.

Then you shifted closer and curled into his side like it was second nature, resting your head against his shoulder. His arm came around you automatically, hand settling warm at your upper arm.

He exhaled slowly.

“…You okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said, “You?”

You hummed something noncommittal into his shirt.

He let the silence stretch a little longer before speaking again, voice quieter.

“Back there,” he said. “Your mom.”

You went still. He didn’t push. Didn’t crowd it. Just kept his arm around you, thumb moving slow along your arm in absentminded strokes.

“I saw your face,” he added gently. “When she said that. About Tommy.”

A long breath left you.

“…Yeah,” you admitted.

They rocked once. Softly.

“Wasn’t… bad,” you said after a moment. “Just… caught me off guard.”

Joel nodded against your hair. “He must’ve been somethin’.”

You were quiet a long time this time. Long enough that he thought you might not answer. When you did, your voice was softer. Thinner at the edges.

“He was,” you said. “Big personality. Funny. Loud. Everyone loved him.” A faint pause. “Especially me.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“He could walk into a room and suddenly everything felt… brighter,” you went on. “Safer. Like nothing bad could really stick if he was there.”

Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of Joel’s shirt without you realizing.

“…That’s why it catches me sometimes,” you said. “When someone reminds me of him.”

Joel tightened his arm just slightly. Not enough to trap. Just enough to anchor.

“He was… a lot of good things,” you said quietly.

“But he was also a man who didn’t know how to live with what he’d seen. Or what he felt after.”

You let out a big sigh.

“Most days he was the best father in the world.”

Your voice thinned just slightly. “Some days he wasn’t someone I could reach at all.”

You swallowed once. “It… ended the way those stories usually do when nobody gets help.”

You sat there like that a while longer; rocking softly, the last of the day settling out of your bones. His hand kept its slow path along your arm. Your breathing gradually evened.

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat there, staring out at the quiet street.

Tommy laughing earlier. Water balloons. Beer in his hand. The edge underneath it Joel tried not to see.

“…Yeah,” he said finally. Rough. Quiet. “I seen how that story goes.”

After a time you lifted your head slightly, just enough to look at him.

“You okay?” you asked.

He huffed a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

Then, after a second, his voice sounded rough but honest:

“…Just wish I could’ve known your daddy. Anyone who made you that happy.”

Your eyes softened. You leaned up and kissed him; slow, unhurried. Not heavy. Just full of something deeper than the day had been able to hold.

When you settled back against him, it felt quieter inside his chest. Safer.

For a while he just held you. Thumb moving absentmindedly against your arm. Breathing you in. Letting the steady rhythm of your body against his smooth out everything the day had stirred up.

Then his hand drifted. Slow. Almost careful. From your arm to your waist. From your waist to the curve of your hip where the soft fabric of your sundress gathered. He let his palm rest there a second, like he was asking without words. Feeling the warmth of you through the thin cotton.

You didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned into it.

His thumb slid under the edge of the fabric at your side, tracing the bare skin there. Warm. Familiar. A touch he’d been thinking about since the moment you’d walked out of the kitchen earlier, sunlight catching on that damn dress and knocking the air out of him.

“…Been tryin’ not to think about you in this thing all day,” he murmured quietly against your hair.

You huffed a soft laugh. “You hid it well.”

“Did not,” he said, voice low. “Nearly forgot how to walk.”

That earned him a quiet smile against his shoulder. He felt it more than saw it.

His hand moved again. Up your back this time, slow and steady, fingertips grazing along your spine beneath the light fabric. Like he needed to touch you now that the house was quiet and the world had finally slowed down.

You tilted your head back slightly to look at him, eyes soft in the dim porch light, moving softly until you fully straddled him.

“Hi,” you murmured.

He huffed under his breath. “Hi.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you properly this time. Deep. Warm. The kind of kiss that came from relief as much as want. His hand slid from your back to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek as he held you there, slow and sure. His other hand traced slowly up your thighs like he couldn’t help himself, fingertips grazing warm skin beneath the hem of your dress, the touch unhurried but deliberate enough to pull a quiet breath from you.

He felt it, your heat against his hardness, that small intake of air when he brushed himself against you, the way you leaned into him instead of away, and something low in his stomach tightened, a mix of want and relief and the simple fact that you were here. Still here. In his arms. In your home.

“Been a long day,” he murmured against your temple, hand finding the curve of your breast, voice roughened by more than just exhaustion.

Your fingers curled lightly into the front of his shirt. “Mm. Think we deserve a better ending.”

Then, without another word, he stood and pulled you up with him.

You laughed quietly when he gathered you close, one arm firm around your waist as he nudged the door open with his foot.

“Joel-”

He bent to murmur against your ear, voice low and full of something that made your stomach flip.

“C’mon,” he said. “Before a cop shows up for what I’m about to do to you.”

**************

Sarah’s birthday started five days before the actual day. Joel realized this when he walked into the kitchen Tuesday morning and found you standing at the table with a notebook, a pen tucked behind your ear, and a level of focus usually reserved for court cases and structural blueprints.

You didn’t even look up when he came in.

“Morning,” he said cautiously.

“Mmh,” you replied, already flipping a page. “Quick question.”

That tone alone should’ve warned him.

“How many children are we expecting to host?”

He blinked. “Host?”

“For the party,” you clarified patiently. “Saturday.”

He leaned against the counter, reaching for the coffee pot. “Dunno. Couple friends. Backyard. Cake. Done.”

You finally looked up. Just looked at him. A long, quiet stare that made him feel like he’d shown up to a job site without permits.

“Joel,” you said gently. “She is turning eight.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s… important.”

He poured coffee. Took a sip. Considered.

“…We got balloons,” he offered.

You closed your eyes briefly like you were praying for strength.

By Wednesday, the house looked like a low-level craft store explosion. Colored paper. Ribbon. Markers. A suspicious number of glue sticks. Sarah had taken over the living room floor with the intensity of a small general preparing for war, and you sat cross-legged beside her, fully invested.

“What if we do little favor bags,” you were saying, sketching something quickly. “Nothing big. Just candy, maybe stickers, those little glow bracelets-”

Sarah gasped. “Glow bracelets!”

Joel stood in the doorway with his coffee and just… watched.

You leaned over the paper, hair falling forward, listening like Sarah’s every word mattered. Like this wasn’t just a kid’s party. Like it mattered.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you with Sarah. Hell, you’d been orbiting each other for months now like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But this… This was different. This was effort. Care. Planning. Showing up without being asked. Showing up like you belonged there.

He leaned his shoulder against the frame, quiet, just taking it in.

You glanced up eventually and caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, smiling a little.

“Nothin’,” he said.

But he didn’t look away. Because there was something about watching the woman you loved help your kid plan her birthday party like it was the most important event of the year that did strange, dangerous things to a man’s insides.

Things that made him think, not for the first time, that he’d somehow stumbled into a life he hadn’t dared build on purpose.

Sarah suddenly looked up. “Dad.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Can we get a second cake?”

He blinked. “Why.”

“One for eating,” she said reasonably. “One for throwing at Uncle Tommy if he’s annoying.”

You choked on a laugh. Joel stared at his daughter. Then slowly nodded.

“…I’ll consider it.”

Sarah beamed. You shook your head, smiling down at the notebook again, already writing something.

And Joel just stood there a moment longer, coffee forgotten in his hand, watching the two of you together in the middle of his living room like you’d always been there. Like maybe you always would be. God help him, he hoped so.

********

By Thursday evening, Joel understood two things very clearly:

One; children’s birthday parties were no longer simple affairs involving cake and a backyard hose.

Two; you approached party planning the way some people approached litigation; thoroughly, strategically, and with terrifying attention to detail.

He and Tommy came home to a dining table that had disappeared entirely under pink tissue paper, ribbons, paper crowns, and what looked like at least three different types of glitter.

Sarah sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, tongue between her teeth in concentration, carefully pressing plastic gems onto something that vaguely resembled a tiara. You sat beside her with a glue gun, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, fully committed. Not supervising. Participating.

Joel stopped in the doorway with his keys still in his hand and just… stared a second. It had been months and the sight still got him sometimes.

You glanced up first.

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

Sarah didn’t even look up. “Don’t step on the capes.”

Joel blinked. “The what.”

“The capes,” Sarah repeated patiently, pointing to a row of pink satin-looking fabric draped over the backs of the chairs. “For when the princess comes.”

Right. The princess. Tommy looked at him silently saying ‘...duh’.

He set his keys down slowly. “Looks… good.”

Your smile softened just a little at that. You always noticed when he tried. Even when he had no idea what he was looking at.

“You survived work?” you asked.

“Barely.” He loosened his boots with a toe and stepped carefully around a glitter explosion near the table. “What’s all this?”

“Royal accessories,” Sarah said importantly. “Every guest gets a crown. And a wand.”

You held one up; a wooden dowel, ribbon, and an alarming amount of rhinestones. “We’re assembling.”

He took the offered wand. Turned it in his hand like it might detonate.

“…Weaponized craft supplies,” he muttered.

Sarah beamed. “Do you like it?”

He met her eyes, serious. “It’s lethal.”

She looked thrilled.

He moved around the table, resting a hand briefly on the back of your chair as he passed; a small touch, automatic now. Your fingers brushed his wrist without looking up. Just a second. Just enough.

Domestic. Easy. Dangerous in how right it felt.

They worked like that a while. Sarah issuing instructions. You gluing things with impressive precision. Tommy and Joel mostly staying out of the blast radius and handing over whatever was requested.

At some point you set the glue gun down and reached for your notebook; the one that had become mildly concerning in its thoroughness.

“Okay,” you said, scanning a page. “Cake is confirmed. Decorations are mostly done. Goodie bags tomorrow.” You flipped a page. “Oh, Joel.”

He looked up from trying to figure out where a roll of pink ribbon had come from. “Yeah.”

“Did you pay the deposit for the princess?”

He blinked. Once. Twice. The room seemed to go very still.

“…For the what,” he said carefully.

You didn’t look up from the notebook. “The princess. Saturday. Two hours. Story time, games, photos.” You turned a page. “I sent you the number Monday.”

Joel’s stomach dropped clean through the floor.

Monday. Monday had been concrete deliveries and a subcontractor threatening to walk off site and three separate calls from the supplier and-

Oh, hell. He said nothing.

You slowly lifted her gaze.

“Joel.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

In his peripheral vision, Tommy strolled in through the back door like he’d been summoned by chaos itself.

“Why’s everyone look like somebody died,” he asked mildly, coffee mug in hand.

Joel turned toward him like a man spotting a life raft in open water.

You didn’t look away from Joel. “He forgot to pay the princess.”

Tommy stopped mid-sip. Slowly lowered the mug. Looked at Joel. Joel looked back with the silent intensity of a man begging for divine intervention.

Tommy’s mouth twitched.

Then he shrugged casually and took another sip.

“Nah, he didn’t.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“I paid it,” Tommy said easily. “Tuesday. Called the number you left on the fridge. Figured it was part of my gift.”

Silence. Joel stared at him.

Sarah’s head snapped up so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash. 

“SO WE DO HAVE A PRINCESS?”

Tommy grinned. “We got a princess.”

Sarah shrieked and launched herself off the chair like a missile, tackling him around the middle. Tommy laughed, staggering back a step but catching her easily.

Joel was still staring. Tommy met his eyes over Sarah’s bouncing head and gave the smallest, most deliberate smirk.

You’re welcome.

Relief hit Joel so fast it almost made him dizzy.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “Jesus Christ.”

Your shoulders finally dropped, tension dissolving into something softer. You shook your head once, looking between them.

“…You two are unbelievable.”

Tommy bowed slightly from the waist, still holding a wildly excited Sarah. “We aim to provide full royal service.”

Sarah gasped into his shoulder. “Uncle Tommy, I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, patting her back. “Remember that when I’m old and need expensive things.”

Joel let out a low breath and finally leaned back against the counter, crisis narrowly avoided. Tommy caught his eye again and lifted his coffee in a small salute.

Joel shook his head once, but there was no heat in it. Only gratitude. They were gonna survive this party after all.

**********

Saturday arrived like a small, glitter-covered hurricane.

By two in the afternoon, the backyard no longer resembled the Miller’s backyard. It looked like a pastel-colored kingdom had staged a polite but aggressive takeover.

Streamers. A rented pink canopy. A long plastic table covered in paper plates shaped like crowns.

And, because you had somehow made it happen without him fully understanding how, a banner stretched across the fence that read:

HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY SARAH

In gold.

Annie had arrived early, of course. Armed with two folding tables, a tray of sandwiches, and the kind of efficient cheerfulness that made it clear this was now a coordinated operation. She kissed your cheek, hugged Sarah tight, and greeted Joel like he’d always been part of the plan.

“You need anything, sweetheart?” she’d asked him, already rearranging the drink station.

“I’m stayin’ outta the blast zone,” he’d answered.

She’d laughed like that was correct.

Bill and Frank showed up not long after. Bill in a faded button-down and his permanent expression of mild suspicion; Frank balancing a cooler and greeting everyone like he was hosting the event himself.

Bill gave Joel a single nod that said everything it needed to. Approval still intact.

Joel stood in the doorway now with a mug of coffee and just… took it in.

He’d built houses from the ground up. Framed walls. Installed roofs. Managed crews of grown men with power tools and questionable judgment. None of that had prepared him for this.

You moved through the yard like you’d been doing this for years; tying ribbons, adjusting table placements, answering Sarah’s rapid-fire questions without missing a beat. You wore a simple summer dress, hair pulled back loosely, already a little flushed from the heat and movement. Completely at ease. Completely in your element.

He watched you direct two eight-year-olds toward the drink table, then crouch to fix a crooked paper crown on one of Sarah’s friends like it actually mattered. Like they mattered.

A couple of the other moms hovered near the canopy, pretending to rearrange napkins while very obviously watching you. Measuring. The way people did when they realized the single dad they’d quietly categorized as “potential” was no longer available.

You smiled at one of them politely, unaware of the full effect. Joel noticed and something pulled tight in that now-familiar way.

Tommy wandered out onto the porch beside him with a bowl of chips and the energy of a man here purely for entertainment.

“…You’re starin’ again,” he observed.

Joel didn’t deny it. Just took a slow sip of coffee. “She’s got it handled.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, crunching loudly. “That woman could organize a military operation.”

Joel huffed. Didn’t argue.

From across the yard, you glanced toward the house like you felt his eyes on yourself. You caught him watching and gave him a quick smile before turning back to help Sarah line up goodie bags.

The gate creaked open just before four. And then… The princess arrived. Full gown. Tiara. Glitter that could probably be seen from space.

Every child in the yard collectively lost their minds. Sarah froze for exactly half a second before sprinting across the grass like her life depended on it.

Annie pressed a hand to her chest dramatically. “Oh, she’s going to remember this forever.”

Frank laughed softly beside her. “We all are.”

Joel had seen Sarah excited before. Christmas mornings. Winning a game. Getting a new bike. This was different. This was pure, unfiltered eight-year-old magic.

Your hand found his without him noticing when it happened. Just slipped into his like it belonged there while they watched Sarah launch herself into a very careful, very royal hug.

“…Worth it,” you murmured softly.

Joel squeezed your fingers once.

“…Yeah,” he said.

The next two hours passed in a blur of organized chaos. Story time under the canopy. Crown decorating. Photos with a cardboard castle someone had brought. A truly aggressive game of ‘freeze dance’ that left half the kids breathless and the other half feral.

You moved through all of it refilling juice boxes, coordinating turns, keeping everything flowing without ever looking stressed. You laughed easily, crouched to kid-height when needed.

Joel found himself leaning against the fence more than once just watching. Not helping much. Just… watching you.

One of the dads; tall, polo shirt, trying a little too hard, sidled up beside him while the kids were decorating wands.

“Man,” he said casually, nodding toward you. “You did good.”

Joel’s jaw shifted just slightly. “Yeah.”

The guy squinted toward the canopy. “She got a sister?”

Joel didn’t even look at him. “No.”

“Shame,” the guy said lightly.

Joel finally turned his head. “For you, maybe.”

The man laughed awkwardly and drifted away.

Across the yard, one of the moms whispered something to another, eyes flicking toward you again. Annie noticed it too and casually inserted herself into that conversation with a smile that said this family was not up for subtle competition.

Tommy, meanwhile, had fully embraced his role as chaos coordinator. He refereed a wand duel with entirely too much enthusiasm. Helped a group of kids build a “royal fort” out of folding chairs. At one point let three small girls braid his hair with pink ribbon without complaint while Bill watched from a lawn chair, deeply unimpressed but faintly amused.

Joel caught sight of him later crouched near the canopy, speaking very seriously to the princess while she signed something. He narrowed his eyes.

You noticed too. “…What’s he doing.”

“Schemin’,” Joel muttered.

A minute later Tommy sauntered back across the yard looking far too pleased with himself. He leaned casually against the table beside Joel and popped a chip into his mouth.

“…You’re unbelievable,” Joel said without looking at him.

Tommy smirked. “Relax. Just thanked her for the performance.”

Joel slowly turned his head. Tommy lifted a small folded slip of paper between two fingers and tucked it into his pocket.

You stared. “…Did you just get the princess’ number?”

Tommy shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “Networking.”

Bill made a low sound that might have been a laugh.

Frank shook his head fondly. “He works fast.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly.

“Jesus Christ.”

You pressed your lips together, fighting a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

Tommy grinned. “She’s got great availability and competitive rates. I respect professionalism.”

Joel pointed at him without heat. “You are not callin’ Cinderella.”

“No promises.”

Before Joel could answer, a chorus of small voices rose up:

“CAKE!”

Sarah stood at the center of the yard, crown slightly crooked, cheeks flushed, practically vibrating.

Joel moved first; bringing out the cake like it was something ceremonial. Pink frosting. Eight candles. Carefully written lettering.

They gathered around the table. Kids pressed in. Annie hovering proudly. Bill standing a little straighter than usual. Frank filming on his phone. Tommy leaning over Sarah’s shoulder making ridiculous faces.

Joel set the cake down gently in front of Sarah and stepped back, next to an apparently teary-eyed you.

For a second everything slowed. Sarah looked around at all of it; friends, decorations, the princess hovering nearby, Uncle Tommy’s braided hair, Annie smiling through suspiciously shiny eyes.

Then she looked at you. Then at Joel. Something in Joel’s chest shifted hard enough to almost hurt.

“Make a wish, sweetie,” you said softly.

Sarah closed her eyes. Blew out the candles in one determined breath.

Cheers erupted immediately. Chaos resumed. Kids chanting for cake like a mob.

But for just a second, just before you reached for the knife… your hand brushed Joel’s where it rested on the edge of the table. He looked at you. You looked back. No big gesture. No words. Just that quiet, shared moment of we did this. Of something that felt dangerously close to family.

His throat tightened. He didn’t trust himself to speak. So he just squeezed your fingers once and let go before anyone noticed.

By the time the last kid left and the decorations sagged slightly in the evening heat, the backyard looked like the aftermath of a very cheerful war.

Annie packed leftovers into containers like she was stocking them for winter. Frank helped fold tables. Bill clapped Joel once on the shoulder before heading toward his truck.

Tommy hauled trash bags toward the curb, still humming some princess song under his breath.

Sarah was half-asleep on her feet, clutching a gift bag and still wearing her crooked crown.

You stacked plates at the outdoor table, hair falling loose from whatever had held it earlier.

Joel watched you all for a second; this loud, warm, stitched-together circle that had somehow grown around him.

He realised he didn’t feel like he was bracing for something to go wrong. He just felt… full. Warm. Like maybe this, all of this, was something worth holding onto with both hands.

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[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 7: The Home

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.

Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Fluff. Chapter word count: 7.1k words.

a/n: Here's another step in their relationship. Hope you like this one!

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

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PART 7 - THE HOME

Monday mornings had their own rhythm now. Joel was up before the alarm most days, moving through the house on instinct. Coffee first. Then breakfast for Sarah. A quick scan of the weather because apparently that mattered for seven-year-old outfit decisions. Boots by the door. Backpack checks. The usual.

By the time he was pouring Sarah’s cereal or packing her lunch, you were already halfway across town in heels and a pressed blouse, unlocking your office and stepping straight into whatever chaos the day had lined up for you. Sometimes he’d get a text around nine. Nothing big. A joke. A complaint about opposing counsel. A reminder to drink water like he was one of your clients.

He didn’t always answer right away. Work got loud. Busy. Hands full. But every time the phone buzzed and your name lit up the screen, something in his chest eased without him having to think about it.

It threaded through the day like background noise. Steady. Familiar. There.

Weekends were yours. Everyone knew it without saying it out loud. Friday nights with takeout or movies. Saturday mornings that started slow and stretched into errands or Sarah’s games or whatever plan the kid had decided you were all doing together. Your overnight bag had a permanent place now; tucked on the right side of his closet. A spare toothbrush beside his. One of your sweaters draped over the back of a kitchen chair half the time because you always ran warm and then forgot it.

By Sunday evening, when you packed up to head back to your place, the house always felt a little too quiet for a while.

It wasn’t dramatic. Wasn’t some big life shift he’d stood back and noticed all at once. It was normal now. Which was the dangerous part.

Because normal meant he didn’t question it anymore. Didn’t brace for it to disappear. Didn’t second-guess whether this was temporary or fragile or one wrong move away from falling apart. It just felt… right. Steady in a way he hadn’t let himself have in years.

Maybe that was the difference now. Things still went wrong. Work still went to hell. Life still did what it did. But it didn’t feel quite as heavy as it used to.

In that precise moment, he was halfway through checking measurements when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He almost ignored it. Almost let it ring out and finish the line he was marking first.

Then he saw your name on the screen…

He answered immediately, already stepping away from the noise of the site without thinking about it.

“Hey.”

Silence. Not dead silence. Not an empty line. Breathing. He stopped walking.

“…Juliet?”

A small inhale on the other end. Controlled. Careful. Like someone trying very hard to sound normal and not quite managing it.

“Hi,” you said.

Too even. Too measured. Something in his chest tightened instantly.

“What’s wrong.”

Not a question. Just a quiet statement.

Another breath. He could hear faint voices behind you; distant, professional, someone talking about “water damage” and “coverage” like it was happening in another room.

“I’m… fine,” you said automatically. Then the control slipped a fraction, “I’m not fine.”

Joel was already moving for the truck.

“What happened.”

“I came home on my lunch break and…”

You stopped, sighed and tried again.

“There was water. Everywhere. From the upstairs unit. The ceiling’s… I don’t know. It’s bad, Joel.”

A pause like you were swallowing something down.

“There’s a man from the building and someone from insurance here and they keep asking me questions and I’m answering them, I am, I just-” Your voice hitched, barely there. “I don’t… know what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’m comin’,” he said immediately.

“No, you’re working, I just- I needed to hear a familiar voice for a second and I-”

“I’m comin’,” he repeated, already in motion, keys in hand. Not louder. Just final. “You there alone?”

“…Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

A small exhale on the other end. Not quite a sob. Just something fragile loosening.

“Okay, thank you.” you said quietly.

He hung up before you could try to talk him out of it and climbed into the truck, already turning the key.

Across the lot, Tommy was arguing with the guys about something entirely unimportant when he saw Joel peel out faster than necessary. He frowned, then jogged over as Joel rolled down the window just enough.

“What happened?” Tommy asked.

“Juliet’s place flooded,” Joel said, already shifting gears. “Bad. I gotta go.”

Tommy’s expression changed immediately. All joking gone.

“I’ll hold it here,” he said. “Go.”

Joel nodded once and pulled out.

The drive felt longer than it should’ve. Every red light an insult. Every slow driver a problem. His jaw stayed tight the whole way, one hand drumming against the steering wheel like he could force time to move faster.

He could still hear it in your voice. That careful control. The way it cracked just enough when you said you didn’t know what to do.

You were the most composed person he knew. The one who handled everything. Courtrooms, contracts, disasters that weren’t yours. If you sounded like that…

He pressed a little harder on the gas. He’d be there.

**************

He found your building faster than he should have. Didn’t bother looking for proper parking. Just pulled half onto the curb and killed the engine, already out of the truck before it finished ticking.

The front door to your building was propped open. Bad sign.

He took the stairs two at a time and followed the sound of voices down the hallway; low, professional tones layered over the unmistakable smell of damp drywall and something faintly metallic.

Your apartment door was open. Joel stepped inside and stopped.

Water. Not a little leak. Not a manageable mess. Water.

The living room rug was soaked through, dark and heavy. A bucket sat in the middle of the floor catching a steady drip from the ceiling. One corner of the plaster above it had bubbled and split open, leaving an ugly brown-edged crack that ran toward the light fixture. Towels were scattered everywhere; already saturated and useless.

And your things… Books stacked on a low shelf had swollen, pages warped and fanning open like they’d tried to breathe underwater. A cardboard box near the wall had collapsed in on itself, photographs inside curling at the edges where the water had reached them. One corner of the couch was dark with damp. A small pile of clothes on a chair had clearly been moved in a hurry; half folded, half wet.

It wasn’t just a leak…. It was your life, sitting there soaked through.

You stood near the kitchen counter with your arms folded tight across your stomach, nodding at something a man in a polo shirt was saying. Another older guy in maintenance overalls hovered near the ceiling damage, scribbling notes on a clipboard.

You looked composed. Too composed. Joel saw the tension in your shoulders anyway. The way your fingers pressed into your own arms like you were holding yourself together by force.

Your eyes flicked up when he stepped fully into the room. Relief hit your face so fast it was almost painful to watch.

His arms went around you automatically, one hand coming up to the back of your head, holding you there against his chest. Not a quick hug. Not polite. Solid. Grounding. The kind you stayed in until breathing evened out again.

He felt you exhale against him. Long. Shaky. Controlled.

“I gotcha,” he murmured, low enough that only you heard it.

For a second you just stayed there. Then you pulled back, clearing your throat, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear like you were reassembling yourself piece by piece.

“I’m okay,” you said softly.

He didn’t call you on it. Just kept one hand at the small of your back.

The guy in the polo turned with a professional smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sir. I’m with the insurance company. We’re just assessing the situation. It looks worse than it is.”

Joel glanced around again. At the ceiling. The floor. The warped edges of books and furniture. His jaw set.

“Doesn’t look minor.”

The insurance guy gave a small practiced chuckle. “These things always seem dramatic at first, but once we dry everything out and replace a section of drywall-”

Joel gestured lightly toward the shelving. “Those books ain’t drywall.” Then toward the collapsed box. “Those photos ain’t either.” His voice stayed calm. Even. Which somehow made it carry more. “You don’t get to tell her it ain’t a big deal.”

The maintenance guy paused mid-note. The insurance rep’s smile tightened just a fraction.

“Of course we understand it’s upsetting,” he said, diplomatic. “But structurally speaking-”

“The ceiling’s cracked,” Joel cut in. “Floor’s soaked through. Cabinetry’s already takin’ water. And if that’s been runnin’ from upstairs more than a few hours, you got moisture in the walls whether you see it yet or not.”

The maintenance guy shifted, then nodded reluctantly. “He’s… not wrong. We’ll probably need to open that whole section. Check for mold. Could be deeper than it looks.”

You went very still beside him. Joel felt it. The slight tightening of your shoulders under his hand.

“How long,” he asked.

The maintenance guy hesitated. Then, honest, “Couple weeks. Maybe three. Depends what we find.”

Three weeks.

Your apartment already half gutted. Furniture damp. Books ruined. Clothes in uncertain piles. The quiet, ordered space you’d built for yourself turned into something temporary and broken.

The insurance rep turned back to you with a sympathetic expression that felt rehearsed. “Do you have somewhere you can stay in the meantime, Miss Harper? Friends? Family?”

You opened her mouth.

Joel felt it coming; the automatic ‘I’ll figure it out’. The ‘I don’t want to impose’. The independence that usually made him admire you and now just made his chest ache.

“She’s got somewhere,” he said simply. Both men looked at him. You did too. He met your eyes, steady. Certain. “With us,” he added. “We’ll take what we can salvage today. Rest can wait.”

For a second you just stared at him. Then your shoulders dropped. Just enough to show how tightly you’d been holding everything in.

“…Okay,” you said quietly.

His hand slid back to the small of your back without thinking. Stayed there. 

For a few minutes, everything turned practical. Clipboards. Photos taken for insurance. The maintenance guy explaining where they’d have to cut into the ceiling. The steady drip into the bucket continuing like a metronome in the middle of it all.

Joel stayed close. Didn’t hover exactly, but never far enough that you’d have to look around to find him. When the insurance rep asked questions, Joel let you answer when you wanted to and stepped in when you didn’t. When the maintenance guy needed access to closets or cabinets, Joel moved things, lifted, shifted, took over the physical part of it like it was second nature.

Eventually the two men wrapped up for the afternoon.

“We’ll be back tomorrow with a crew,” the maintenance guy said, not unkindly. “Best to remove anything you don’t want damaged further.”

The insurance rep handed you a card and launched into another explanation about claims and documentation. You nodded, professional again, absorbing information you probably weren’t even processing.

Joel took the card from the guy before he could keep talking too long.

“We’ll handle it,” he said.

A polite dismissal. They left a few minutes later, footsteps fading down the hall, voices disappearing with them.

Silence settled over the apartment. Just the drip of water into the bucket. The low hum of the refrigerator. The faint smell of damp plaster and wet paper.

You stood in the middle of the living room like you didn’t quite know where to start.

Joel watched you for a second. The way you turned slowly, taking it all in now that no one else was there. The books. The clothes. The box of photos you crouched to touch, fingertips brushing the curled edges like you could smooth them back into place.

“...Most of this is probably gone,” you said quietly.

He stepped closer behind you, being very careful not to crowd you.

“We’ll salvage what we can,” he said. “Rest’s just stuff.”

You gave a small huff that might’ve been a laugh. Might’ve not.

“Some of it wasn’t just stuff.”

He knew. The books with notes in the margins. Old photographs. Pieces of a life built carefully over years. A space that had been entirely yours.

He rested a hand lightly on your back.

“We’ll take what matters first,” he said. “Clothes. Documents. Anything sentimental. I’ll bring boxes up.”

You stayed crouched a moment longer, then nodded and stood, brushing your hands on your jeans like you needed the motion.

You worked quietly for a while.

Joel texted Tommy to ask him to pick Sarah up from school and then found boxes in a closet that had escaped the worst of the water. Packed what you could. Set aside what might be salvageable. Tossed what clearly wasn’t. Every so often he caught you pausing with something in your hands; a book too warped to save, a sweater damp beyond recovery. Each time you set it down carefully anyway, like throwing it out immediately would make it worse.

After nearly half an hour, you straightened slowly and pressed your hands into the small of your back.

“…Joel.” He looked up from where he was sealing a box. You hesitated, just a fraction. “I don’t want to impose,” you said softly. “I can… go to my mom’s. For a couple weeks. It’s not far. I don’t want to just… move into your place because my ceiling exploded.”

Joel went very still. Then he set the box cutter down with deliberate care and turned fully toward you.

“Absolutely not.”

You blinked a little at the force of it. “Joel, I’m serious. I don’t want to-”

“You ain’t imposin’,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not some guest I gotta make space for. You’re comin’ home with me. End of discussion.”

Your mouth opened again. Closed. “It’s different when it’s… forced like this.”

He shook his head once, jaw tight.

“Only difference is your ceiling’s busted,” he said. “Everything else stays the same.”

You studied his face like you were trying to gauge how much he meant that. He held the look. Didn’t soften it. Didn’t joke.

After a moment he added, quieter but just as firm:“I want you there. Let us take care of you. Please.”

Something in your expression shifted; not just relief this time, but something deeper. Warmer. Like the ground under your feet had steadied.

“…Okay,” you said softly.

He nodded once, satisfied, and reached for another box.

“Good,” he muttered. “Now grab whatever you actually can’t live without. We’ll get the rest later.”

By the time Joel pulled into his driveway, the sun was lower than he liked. Tommy’s truck was already there.

You had gone quiet during the drive. Not withdrawn. Thinking. Hands folded in your lap. Staring out the window like you were recalculating your entire week.

He killed the engine and looked at you.

“You ready?”

You nodded. A small one. Brave.

“Yeah.”

He grabbed the overnight bag you’d managed to salvage and two boxes from the backseat before you could protest.

The front door opened before you even reached it. Sarah. She took one look at your face and didn’t say anything dramatic. Didn’t ask a hundred questions.

She just ran forward and hugged you. Hard. You froze for half a second. Then melted.

“Hi, bug,” you said softly.

“I’m sorry your ceiling exploded,” Sarah announced seriously into your stomach.

Joel huffed despite himself.

Tommy leaned against the doorframe behind you, arms crossed, taking in the boxes. The damp edge of your sleeve. The look on Joel’s face.

“…Bad?” Tommy asked quietly.

Joel nodded once.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “Alright.”

Simple. Understood.

Sarah pulled back and grabbed your hand.

“You can sleep in my room if you want,” she offered immediately. “I have glow-in-the-dark stars and everything.”

You smiled, and this time it reached your eyes a little.

“Tempting,” you said. “Very tempting.”

Joel stepped past you two, setting the boxes inside.

“Let’s get her stuff upstairs,” he said. “Rest we’ll figure out later.”

Tommy took one of the boxes without asking. “What’s ruined?”

“Everything. Maybe we can salvage some books,” you said quietly. “A few clothes. Maybe some photos...”

Sarah’s face scrunched in genuine offense. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” Tommy agreed solemnly. “It’s not.”

They moved into motion without ceremony.

Joel carried the bag into his bedroom and set it down at the foot of the bed. It looked different sitting there in the middle of the week. Less temporary. Less like a weekend thing. 

When he came back out, Sarah was already dragging you toward the couch.

“We can have emergency hot chocolate,” she declared. “That fixes almost everything.”

Tommy nodded. “Scientifically proven.”

You laughed under her breath. And Joel watched it happen. Watched Sarah talk too fast about how they’d rearrange the closet. Watched Tommy deliberately lighten the air. Watched you sit down in the middle of it and let yourself be absorbed.

It hit him then, sharp and quiet. This didn’t feel like someone crashing on the couch. It felt like someone coming home. He didn’t say that out loud. But he felt it settle somewhere deep.

*****

Sarah took “emergency hot chocolate” extremely seriously. There were already three mugs on the kitchen counter, one of them suspiciously overflowing with marshmallows. Tommy leaned against the fridge pretending to supervise while actually eating half the supply straight from the bag.

“Quality control,” he said when Joel looked at him.

You stood at the stove, stirring like this was just another weekday evening and not the result of a flooded apartment and a half-ruined life packed into two damp boxes.

You glanced up when Joel entered the kitchen. Small smile. A little tired. A little steadier. It settled something in his chest he hadn’t realized was still tight.

Sarah carried the mugs to the table one by one, concentrating like it was delicate work.

“Careful,” she warned Tommy. “This one’s for Juliet. Extra marshmallows.”

Tommy pressed a hand to his chest. “Kid’s got bedside manner.”

You laughed softly and took the mug, wrapping both hands around it like you needed the warmth. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You all settled around the table without much discussion. Not a formal dinner. Just… presence. Tommy found leftovers in the fridge and reheated them. Joel cut bread. Sarah narrated everything she’d done at school with zero pause for breath.

Normal. Deliberately normal.

At some point your shoulders dropped another inch. Then another. The tightness around your eyes eased as you listened to Sarah explain playground politics with intense seriousness. Joel watched that happen. Watched Sarah lean into it. Watched you lean right back.

By the time plates were half-empty and the hot chocolate had gone lukewarm, the apartment felt less like a temporary refuge and more like… an extension of something already built.

Sarah kicked her legs under the chair, thinking hard about something. Then, very casually, like it had just occurred to her:

“You can stay as long as you want,” she told you.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean you already basically live here on weekends.” A shrug. Simple math. “This is just… more days.”

Tommy choked lightly on his drink and coughed into his fist. Joel shot him a warning look without even turning his head.

Sarah kept going, completely sincere. “We can put your shampoo in the shower for real and everything. Not just visiting shampoo.”

You let out a quiet laugh that turned soft at the edges. There was something fragile in it too.

“That’s a very generous offer,” you said.

Sarah nodded like she’d expected nothing less. Then leaned forward, lowering her voice a little.

“And if you’re sad about your books, we can go get new ones. Or used ones. Dad says used ones smell better.”

Joel blinked. “I do not-”

“You do,” Sarah insisted.

You smiled, eyes shining just slightly. “Used ones do smell better,” you agreed softly.

Dinner went on. By the time Sarah started yawning mid-sentence, you were leaning back in your chair, visibly calmer. Still tired. Still shaken under the surface. But steadier. 

Sarah noticed Joel watching and gave him a very serious look across the table and a ‘thumbs up’.

“She’s okay,” she informed him quietly.

Like she knew that was what he needed to hear.

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

But his eyes went back to you anyway. Just to be sure.

Sarah didn’t even make it through brushing her teeth. She’d insisted she wasn’t tired; insisted she was ‘perfectly awake’; insisted she wanted to stay up and reorganize your temporary closet ‘so it feels official’.

Five minutes later she was slumped sideways against Joel on the couch, head heavy on his shoulder, breathing slow and even.

You noticed first.

“She’s out,” she whispered.

Joel huffed softly. “Told you. Sleeps like a bear in the winter.”

He shifted carefully, sliding an arm under Sarah’s knees and lifting her without waking her. She barely stirred, just mumbled something unintelligible and tucked her face into his neck like she’d done since she was small.

He carried her upstairs, the familiar weight grounding him. Tucked her in. Pulled the blanket up to her chin. Brushed her hair back.

“Night, baby girl,” he murmured.

She didn’t wake. He lingered a second anyway, then shut off the light and eased the door closed behind him.

The house was quieter when he stepped back into the hallway. Tommy had disappeared; probably out back on the phone or giving you space without making a show of it. The living room lights were dim. The kitchen empty.

A faint voice carried from his bedroom. You. He slowed automatically as he approached, not wanting to interrupt. Your tone was soft, controlled; the kind you used when you didn’t want whoever was on the other end to worry.

“…I know, Mom. It’s okay. No, really. I know it’s just stuff. It’ll get fixed.”

There was a pause.

“Yeah. We just had dinner.”

Another pause. He could almost hear your mother speaking through the phone.

Your voice softened further.

“I will. He’s… he’s been amazing.” A small exhale. “I’m okay, I promise.”

You sat on the edge of the bed when he reached the doorway, back slightly hunched, one hand pressed to your forehead.

“…I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? Get some sleep.” A faint smile. “Love you too.”

You hung up and let the phone drop loosely into your lap. 

Joel stepped inside quietly. “Your mom?”

You nodded without looking up. “Yeah. She says to give you her regards. And… to thank you. For taking me in like this.”

He shrugged lightly. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for.”

That did it. Your shoulders hitched once. Sharp. Uncontrolled. Then again.

You pressed your lips together like you were trying to stop it, but it was already happening; the whole day finally catching up now that there was nothing left to hold together for.

Joel crossed the room in two steps and pulled you up into him before you could apologize for it.

You broke the second his arms closed around you. Quiet, shaking breaths pressed into his chest, fingers clutching at his shirt like you needed something solid to hold onto.

“Hey,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. “Hey… you’re alright. I got you.”

“I know,” you managed, voice small. “I know, I just-”

Another breath that wobbled.

He held you tighter. One arm firm around your back, the other moving slowly up and down between your shoulder blades in a steady rhythm. Grounding. Patient.

“Whole place just… gone,” you whispered against his chest. “My books, Joel. Some of those were my dad’s. And the photos- I don’t even know what can be saved yet.”

He rested his cheek lightly against your hair.

“We’ll save what we can,” he said quietly. “Rest we’ll rebuild. Piece by piece.”

You let out a shaky huff that might’ve been a laugh. Or a sob.

You stood there a long moment like that. No rush. Breathing until the sharp edge of the panic dulled into something manageable.

Eventually your grip on his shirt loosened. Your breathing steadied.

“…I hate crying,” you muttered into his chest.

He huffed softly. “Too bad. You’re allowed.”

You leaned back just enough to look up at him, eyes still damp, lashes clumped slightly. Vulnerable in a way you almost never let yourself be.

“I love you,” you said quietly.

He brushed his thumb once under your eye, catching a stray tear before it fell. Rough motion. Gentle anyway.

“Love you too,” he murmured. “You ain’t alone in this.”

***************

It settled into place without anyone formally deciding it.

At first it was just logistics. A couple of damp boxes stacked near the closet. Your stuff on Joel’s side of the room because there was nowhere else to put it. 

Then a week passed. Then another. And nothing moved back out.

Joel started noticing it in small ways. The quiet kind. The kind that didn’t announce themselves. An extra plate automatically set at dinner without anyone asking. Your laptop charger permanently plugged into the outlet near the couch.

It didn’t feel like someone staying over. It felt like someone… living there. He didn’t say that out loud. Didn’t want to overthink it. Just let it be what it was.

Sarah adjusted first. Kids did that; they didn’t overanalyze comfort. They just leaned into it. By the second week she’d started coming straight home from school and asking you what you and her were making for dinner instead of what Joel had planned.

You never seemed thrown by it. You’d drop your bag by the door, kick off your heels, and tie your hair back like you’d always done it there. Homework at the table. Dinner simmering on the stove. Sarah narrating her entire day at high speed while you asked questions like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Joel would come home from work and find you two already mid-conversation half the time. Flour on the counter. A cutting board out. Music low in the background. It hit him differently each time. Just a quiet pause in the doorway. A second where he stood there looking at both of you before stepping fully inside.

Tommy noticed immediately, of course. He leaned against the fridge one evening watching you argue with Sarah about whether glitter glue counted as a ‘necessary craft supply’.

“…You realize she lives here now, right?” Tommy murmured as Joel passed him.

Joel didn’t even slow. “Temporary.”

Tommy snorted. “Sure, sure.”

But he didn’t push. Not really.

If anything, Tommy leaned into it too. Started showing up with groceries without being asked. Took over grilling on weekends. Started calling out, “Dinner smells good,” the second he walked in like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The house got louder. Warmer. More lived in.

Your things spread gradually; not in a takeover, just… naturally. A stack of legal folders at one end of the dining table. Your sneakers mixed in with theirs by the door. A half-finished glass of water on your nightstand because you always forgot it there.

One night he found one of your earrings on the bathroom counter, small and gold and unmistakably yours. He picked it up, turned it between his fingers, then set it back down exactly where you’d left it.

Weekends blurred easiest.

Pancakes, soccer games. Grocery runs that turned into wandering store aisles because Sarah insisted on choosing “important snacks.” You and Sarah sprawled on the living room floor doing crafts while Joel pretended not to watch how easily you fit together.

Sometimes he’d catch himself just… stopping. At you laughing in his kitchen. At Sarah leaning against your shoulder on the couch. At the noise. The movement. The constant presence.

He didn’t label it. Didn’t analyze it. He just let the days stack on top of each other… And before he really thought about it, this stopped feeling temporary.

****************

The backyard had slowly become one of your favourite places without anyone formally deciding it.

A couple of folding chairs. The old wooden table Joel kept meaning to sand down and never did. Sarah’s chalk drawings fading on the concrete near the steps. Late afternoon light stretching long across the grass while the day cooled.

It wasn’t fancy. But it was all of yours.

You sat on the top step with a bowl of cut strawberries in your lap, passing pieces back and forth to Sarah, who was sprawled on the grass finishing a worksheet she’d insisted on doing ‘outside because thinking works better in sunlight’. Joel leaned back in one of the chairs, boots stretched out, a half-eaten apple in his hand.

Normal. Easy. The kind of quiet weekday moment that had started to feel… routine.

Your phone buzzed on the step beside you. You picked it up absently, still listening to Sarah explain why multiplication should be illegal, and answered without looking at the screen.

“Hello? …Hi.”

Joel didn’t pay much attention at first. Just watched a breeze lift the loose ends of your hair. Then he saw your posture change. Just a small straightening. A stillness.

“…Oh,” you said.

You paused to listen.

“Already?”

Another pause. 

“No, that’s… that’s great… Thank you for letting me know.”

Joel’s stomach dropped before he consciously understood why. You ended the call and stayed sitting there for a second, phone still in your hand.

Sarah noticed immediately, as kids always did.

“What happened?”

You looked up at them, offering a small, careful smile.

“That was the building manager,” you said. “They finished the repairs earlier than expected.”

Silence settled in the space between you. Joel felt it before anyone spoke.

“They’re done?” he asked.

You nodded. 

“Almost. Final inspection tomorrow, but… it’s basically ready. I can move back this week.”

You said it lightly. Reasonably. Like it was good news. Because it should have been.

Sarah didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t react. Just lowered her eyes back to her worksheet and stared at it without writing.

Joel noticed. So did you. But neither of you pushed.

“Well,” Joel said after a moment, voice even. “That’s… good. Means your place is alright.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah. It does.”

The conversation tried to recover after that. Halfheartedly. Sarah finished her snack. You asked about homework. Joel said something about needing to fix the back fence. Everything sounded normal. It just… wasn’t.

Sarah stayed quiet the rest of the evening. Not sulking. Just quiet in that thoughtful way kids got when they were working something out on their own.

Bedtime was softer than usual. No cartoons negotiated for five more minutes. No dramatic last requests for water or one more snack or the sudden remembering of a homework sheet that absolutely had to be signed right now.

Sarah brushed her teeth when Joel told her to. Changed into pajamas without being asked twice. Moved through the routine like she was trying to be… good.

That alone set something uneasy in his chest.

You stayed in the kitchen, giving them space without making it obvious you were doing it. He could hear the low murmur of cabinet doors, the quiet clink of a mug being set by the sink. Pretending normal. Giving him this.

Joel followed Sarah down the hallway and leaned a shoulder against her doorframe while she climbed onto the bed.

She didn’t bounce, she just pulled her blanket up and sat there for a second, small hands smoothing the fabric flat over her legs.

He sat beside her, mattress dipping under his weight, and reached out automatically to brush a piece of hair back from her face.

“You feelin’ alright?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. Too fast.

“Yeah.”

He waited. Years of being her dad had taught him that silence worked better than questions most of the time. Sure enough, after a few seconds, her shoulders dropped just a little.

“It’s been nice, Juliet living here,” she said softly, staring down at the blanket instead of at him.

Joel swallowed. “Yeah,” he said. “It has.”

She picked at a loose thread, winding it around her finger.

“Other kids talk about their moms picking them up,” she went on carefully. “Or making snacks. Or being at games.” A small pause. “I know I have you. And Uncle Tommy. I know that’s enough.”

His chest tightened hard enough it almost hurt.

“But…” She blinked quickly, and now he saw it. The shine in her eyes she was trying not to let spill over. “It kinda feels like that. When she is here all the time.”

Joel shifted closer without thinking, resting his forearm along the edge of the mattress beside her. Not crowding. Just there.

Sarah finally looked up at him.

“Does she really have to go back?” she asked, voice small nose . Careful in the way kids got when they were afraid of the answer. “Like… really go?”

There it was. A quiet, teary-eyed question she’d clearly been holding in all afternoon.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose. He hated that he didn’t have a clean answer ready. Hated that life didn’t give seven-year-olds simple guarantees.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted gently.

Her mouth wobbled before she pressed her lips together, trying to be brave about it. That nearly undid him.

“I like when she lives here,” she whispered. “It feels… more.”

The word landed deep. More.

He reached out and pulled her into him then, one arm wrapping around her shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair. She leaned into his chest immediately, like she’d been waiting for permission.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know, baby girl.”

She sniffed once, quietly, then tucked her face into his shirt. He just held her there for a minute, rocking slightly without realizing he was doing it. The same way he had when she was little enough to fit entirely against his chest.

After a while, her breathing evened out. The tension left her shoulders in slow increments.

“You get some sleep,” he said softly, easing her back against the pillows. “We’ll… figure it out. Alright?”

She nodded, eyes already drooping from the emotional exhaustion of the day. Kids burned through feelings fast once they let themselves feel them.

“Night, Daddy.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

He stayed until her lashes settled fully against her cheeks. Until her breathing turned slow and steady. Only then did he stand and step out into the hallway, pulling her door almost closed behind him.

You stood by the kitchen counter when he came back down, mug in both hands like you’d made cocoa and forgotten to drink it. You looked up immediately, searching his face.

He saw the question there before you asked it.

“…She okay?” you said softly.

Joel rested a hand on the back of one of the chairs, exhaling slow.

“…She don’t want you to go,” he said.

The words sat between you.

Your eyes flickered. Hurt. Tenderness. Something deeper that went straight through him.

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, staring at the table for a second before looking up again.

“…And to be honest… neither do I,” he added quietly.

You didn’t answer right away. You just stood there with the mug in your hands, fingers wrapped around it like it was the only steady thing in the room. Your eyes stayed on his face, searching, careful, like you didn’t want to step wrong into something fragile.

Joel shifted his weight, jaw working once. Twice. He wasn’t good at this part. Never had been. He looked down at the table for a second, then back up at you.

“I know it ain’t… practical,” he said, voice low and rough. “Your place is fixed. That’s good. That’s what we wanted.” He let go a small exhale. “You got your life. Your space. Your routines.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck again, pacing once toward the sink and back like the movement might help him get the words out.

“But this past few weeks…” He stopped. Looked at you fully. “Hell, Juliet. It’s been the closest thing to right I’ve felt in a long damn time.”

You swallowed. He kept going anyway, because if he stopped now he wasn’t sure he’d ever start again.

“I come home and you’re here. She’s here. There’s noise in the kitchen and lights on and somebody’s always talkin’ about somethin’ that matters to them like it’s the biggest thing in the world.”

A faint, crooked half-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “There’s hair ties all over my damn truck. Your shoes by the door. That ridiculous tea you drink that smells like a garden.”

You let out the smallest, shaky breath.

“And I didn’t realize how much I’d gotten used to it,” he admitted. “How much I… needed it.” His voice dropped a notch. “Needed you.”

He pushed a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, with how hard this felt.

“I ain’t good at pretty speeches,” he muttered. “You know that. But I know what it feels like when somethin’ fits. When it settles in your bones like it’s always been there.”

He looked up again, eyes steady on your now. No hiding.

“You bein’ here… it fits.”

The words hung between you, simple and raw. He stepped closer then. Slow. Careful, like approaching something that might bolt if he moved too fast.

“I’m not sayin’ you gotta give up your place,” he added quietly. “Ain’t askin’ you to turn your whole life upside down on a dime… But if you’re askin’ me whether I want you here…”

His voice roughened, truth breaking through the last of his restraint.

“...I do.”

Your breath hitched.

Joel reached for you then, not quite touching yet, just hovering close enough that he could feel the warmth of you.

“Stay,” he said, softer now but somehow heavier. “Stay here. With us. Not ‘cause the pipes burst or the walls flooded or you got nowhere else to go.”

His jaw shifted once.

“I know it ain’t even been a year,” he added roughly. “Know how that sounds.”

His hand finally came up, rough knuckles brushing gently along your jaw.

“Stay because this is home now. For you same as it is for me and her.”

He hesitated only a fraction of a second. Then, quieter, closer, like a promise he couldn’t take back, he said:

“I ain’t ever built nothin’ worth a damn that I didn’t fight to keep. And you…”

His thumb brushed once beneath your eye.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever walked through my front door.”

The room went completely still.

“…So stay,” he finished, voice low and certain. “Stay with me.”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your eyes had gone bright; shining, like everything he’d said had settled somewhere deep and fragile. You swallowed once, hard.

Joel watched it happen and felt that familiar, low panic rise in his chest. The one that came whenever he’d said too much. Pushed too far. Shown too much of himself.

“Hey,” he muttered, softer now. “You don’t gotta-”

Your head shook immediately.

“No,” you said, voice catching. “No, don’t… don’t take it back or soften it or do that thing you do.” A shaky breath left you. “Just- give me a second.”

He stilled.

You laughed once under your breath, embarrassed at yourself, and wiped quickly at the corner of one eye.

“God,” you murmured. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you.”

He huffed faintly. “Not my strong suit, no.”

Another quiet second passed. You looked around the kitchen like you needed a second to steady yourself, then back at him. And when you spoke again, it was honest. No performance. No careful wording.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admitted.

That landed like missile somewhere deep in his chest.

You swallowed once, steadying yourself, then looked back up at him.

“I mean… I can,” you said softly. “It makes sense. My place is fixed. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”

You sighed.

“But it doesn’t feel right.”

Your voice dropped a little. Honest.

“Hasn’t for a while.”

Joel didn’t move. Just watched you.

You took a small step closer.

“I don’t want to go back to an apartment that feels… empty,” you said quietly. “Not when this stopped feeling temporary a long time ago.”

His throat tightened. He didn’t answer right away. Just watched you. Took in the way you stood there, a little shaken but steady. Like you’d already crossed some invisible line and weren’t sure what waited on the other side.

“You don’t gotta do this if you ain’t ready,” he said finally.

Voice low. Even. No edge to it.

“Don’t stay ‘cause it feels easier. Or ‘cause Sarah asked. Or ‘cause I did. I don’t want you here outta obligation,” he added quietly. “Only if it’s what you want.”

You swallowed. Hard. Your eyes didn’t leave his.

“It is,” you said.

Simple. Immediate. Certain.

He held your gaze another second, making sure. Really making sure.

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You stepped closer then, until there was barely any space left between you. Close enough that he could see the shine in your eyes, the way your breath hitched just slightly.

“I’m not staying because it’s convenient,” you said softly. “I’m staying because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Something in his shoulders finally loosening.

“…Alright,” he murmured.

His hand came up almost without thinking, settling warm at the side of your neck. Thumb brushing just under your ear. Grounding himself as much as you.

The words came before he could overthink them.

“I love you.”

Rough. Quiet. Completely unpolished.

Your breath caught. He swallowed once, jaw shifting slightly.

“Don’t say it enough,” he admitted. “But I do. Every damn day.”

For a second you just looked at him like you’d forgotten how to speak. Then your face softened in that way that always hit him straight in the ribs.

“I know,” you whispered, then gave him a tiny, watery smile. “I love you too.”

He pulled you in then. Slow. Solid. Arms wrapping around you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You folded into him just as easily, fitting against his chest like you’d been standing there for years.

And for the first time since that phone call in the backyard… everything felt settled again.

aO3 Link | PREVIOUS | NEXT | MASTERLIST

[notyourlovemonkey]

Super excited to read more of your fanfics 👀🤞🥰❤️

Thank you so much! I'm in a bit of a bad place mental-health wise so everything I write feels like shit and I end up deleting everything 😰 so every project is paused for now, thank god for the 21 chapters already written for The Right Life 😅

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 6: The Call

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.

Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Fluff. Smut. PinV sex. Chapter word count: 11.5k words.

a/n: My long chapters start... and I don't think they stop! Long juicy parts from now on! Also, things start getting serious... I hope you like this one!

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

aO3 Link | PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST

PART 6 - THE CALL

Joel Miller was not in a patient mood.

The sun was already high, heat settling into the gravel and plywood like it planned to stay all day, and the delivery truck that was supposed to be there at eight still hadn’t shown up by nine-thirty. Which meant the framing crew was standing around pretending to look busy, the electrician was hovering with questions Joel didn’t have answers for yet, and the client had already called twice asking why “progress seemed slower this week.”

Because your damn materials aren’t here, that’s why.

Joel stood in the middle of the half-built structure with a pencil tucked behind his ear and a clipboard in hand, scanning the empty space where a pallet of beams was supposed to be. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. The tightness in his shoulders and the set of his jaw did the job just fine.

“They said eight,” Mark offered carefully from a few feet away, like he was stepping around a sleeping dog.

Joel didn’t look at him. Just flipped a page on the clipboard.

“It ain’t eight.”

“Nope.”

Dust drifted through a shaft of sunlight cutting across the open frame.

Joel pulled his phone from his pocket, dialed the supplier, and waited. Once. Twice. Three times. Straight to voicemail. His mouth flattened.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

A sleek red convertible rolled into the lot right then; absolutely not construction-site appropriate. Music low but unmistakably not country.

Joel looked up automatically. Tommy climbed out of the passenger side like he’d just been delivered to brunch instead of a disaster. Sunglasses on. Coffee in hand. Completely unbothered.

The woman behind the wheel leaned over the center console, saying something that made Tommy grin. He bent down to the window, said something back that made her laugh, then tapped the side of the car before straightening up. She gave him a little wave and drove off, tires crunching over gravel.

Tommy turned toward the half-built structure, took in the stalled crew, the empty space where materials should’ve been, and Joel’s face.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Tommy called, sauntering over.

Joel finally looked up. The look alone said enough.

Tommy lifted both hands. “Alright. Not sunshine. Noted.” he said, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “That don’t look festive.”

Joel stared at him.

“You just get dropped off?”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder at the disappearing car. “Yeah.”

Joel rolled his eyes “Shipment still ain’t here,” he said, voice flat. “They ain’t pickin’ up either.”

Tommy winced. “You want me to-”

“I already called.” Joel shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Three times.”

Tommy rocked back on his heels, reading the mood quickly. “Got it. So we’re in a ‘don’t talk unless necessary’ phase.”

Mark coughed to hide a smile.

Joel ignored both of them and stepped toward the open edge of the structure, scanning the street again like the truck might materialize out of spite if he stared hard enough. It didn’t.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, then turned back to the crew. “Alright. We ain’t waitin’ around all mornin’. Start on the west wall. Use what we got and we’ll adjust when the rest gets here.”

No hesitation. No second-guessing. The crew moved immediately, boots crunching over gravel, tools clanking to life. That was the thing about Joel; he didn’t waste words, but when he gave direction, people followed.

Tommy fell into step beside him as they crossed the lot.

“You’re in a mood,” he said quietly.

“I’m always in a mood.”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, but this is extra. I thought this was over since you’re now getting laid on a regular basis.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just grabbed a tape measure off the worktable and headed toward the frame they’d started yesterday, checking the alignment with quick, practiced movements. Hands busy. Mind moving faster than everything around him.

He preferred it that way. Out here, things made sense. Measurements. Angles. Deadlines. Problems you could fix with the right tools and enough time. No guesswork. No emotional landmines. Just work.

“Inspector’s comin’ by later,” Mark called from across the site.

“Then we’ll be ready,” Joel replied without looking up.

“You sure?”

Joel straightened slowly, fixing him with a look that was calm but edged enough to end the conversation.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure.”

Mark nodded once and went back to work.

For a while there was only the steady rhythm of construction; hammers, drills, the scrape of wood against concrete. Joel moved through it all like he always did, hands-on despite technically being co-owner, measuring twice, adjusting a beam himself when it sat a fraction off.

He liked knowing things were done right. Liked being able to fix them if they weren’t.

Around ten-thirty his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out automatically, already half expecting another call from the supplier or the client.

Instead, it was a text. ‘Juliet’.

He opened it without thinking.

Try not to scare your workers today. You have that face when you’re grumpy.

There was a second message right under it.

Also… still thinking about that thing you did with your mouth the other night. Hard to focus at work.

A slow pulse of heat settled low in his stomach before he could stop it, sharp enough to make him glance up automatically, like someone might’ve read the message over his shoulder.

Christ.

A flash of memory hit uninvited; your hands in his hair, the sound you’d made when he’d…

He locked his phone and shoved it back into his pocket like the damn thing knew too much.

Something in his chest eased anyway. Just… loosened.

Same site. Same heat. Same missing shipment. But the tight band across his shoulders shifted a little, like someone had quietly taken weight off without asking.

Tommy, passing behind him with a stack of boards, caught the change instantly.

“…That her?” he asked.

Joel slid the phone back into his pocket. “Yeah.”

Tommy smirked. “Thought so.”

“Shut up.”

But there wasn’t any real bite to it now.

Tommy snorted and kept walking, leaving Joel standing there a second longer than necessary. He exhaled slowly, then reached for the tape measure again and got back to work.

“Alright,” he called to the crew, voice steady, all business again. “Let’s get that beam set before the inspector decides to ruin my day completely.”

Tools picked back up. Movement resumed. The site slipped into its usual rhythm; hammering, drilling, the low murmur of men talking over the noise.

Joel moved through it automatically, checking measurements, adjusting a brace with his own hands when it sat half an inch off. He preferred fixing things himself. Always had.

But the edge wasn’t there anymore. Not like before. Same problems. Same delays. Same heat pressing down on the back of his neck. Still missing a damn shipment. Still a client who was going to complain later. None of it felt quite as heavy.

He caught himself almost smiling once when Mark muttered something about suppliers being “structurally incompetent,” and that alone was enough to make him clear his throat and reset his face before anyone noticed.

Tommy noticed anyway. 

“You’re thinkin’ about her,” he said under his breath as he passed Joel a level.

“I’m thinkin’ about this wall bein’ crooked,” Joel replied.

“Sure you are.”

Joel shot him a look that should’ve ended the conversation. It didn’t. Tommy just grinned and moved off again, entirely too pleased with himself.

He watched him go for a second, then turned back to the frame in front of him, setting the level against the wood with more focus than strictly necessary.

Joel liked this. Work. Structure. Problems you could solve with your hands. Simple.

What he had with you… wasn’t simple. Good. Easy, most days. But not simple. Because somewhere along the way it had stopped feeling temporary. Stopped feeling like something separate from the rest of his life.

Now it sat there in the middle of everything. Quiet. Steady. Permanent in a way he hadn’t fully let himself examine yet.

He adjusted the beam, stepped back, and checked it again. Perfect.

For a moment he just stood there, hands on his hips, looking at the structure taking shape around him. Wood. Nails. Lines that would hold. Things built to last if you did them right the first time.

His phone sat heavier than usual in his pocket. He didn’t reach for it again. Just went back to work.

By the time they wrapped for the day, the heat had settled into his shoulders and behind his eyes in that dull, familiar way that meant he’d sleep well later whether he wanted to or not. The shipment had finally arrived, the inspector had been tolerable, and nothing had caught fire or collapsed. By Joel’s standards, that counted as a win.

Tommy tossed the last of the tools into the truck bed and slammed it shut.

“School run?” he asked.

Joel nodded, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside. “Yeah.”

Tommy swung into the passenger seat without waiting to be invited. He did that now. Had for years.

They drove in easy silence for a while, late afternoon traffic crawling along, the cab of the truck warm and faintly dusty. Joel kept one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, eyes on the road.

Tommy, of course, couldn’t leave it alone for long.

“So,” he said casually, “I’m basically runnin’ a night shift as a babysitter these days.”

Joel didn’t look at him. “You’re not babysittin’.”

“Oh no?” Tommy went on. “’Cause from where I’m standin’, I’m the one watchin’ your kid while you’re across town… busy.”

Joel huffed. “You volunteered.”

“I did,” Tommy agreed cheerfully. “And I stand by it. But I’m just sayin’, you’re gettin’ a lotta mileage outta me bein’ a generous brother.”

Joel shook his head, but there was no real heat in it.

Tommy leaned back in his seat, tone shifting a little more serious. “I mean it, though. I don’t mind takin’ her overnight sometimes. Properly. You know. So you ain’t gotta do the whole midnight drive back, crack-of-dawn return routine every damn time.”

Joel glanced at him briefly.

Tommy shrugged one shoulder. “You could stay. Wake up like a normal person. Have coffee. Not run outta there like the house is on fire.”

Joel stared back at the road.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I know you’re fine,” Tommy replied. “I’m just sayin’. You ain’t gotta keep everything separated like it’s two different lives.”

That sat there between them for a moment, quiet and heavier than the teasing that had come before.

Joel didn’t answer. Just tightened his grip on the steering wheel slightly as the school came into view up ahead, the parking line already forming.

Kids started pouring out a few minutes later, a noisy wave of backpacks and shouting and sneakers hitting pavement. Joel rested his forearm along the open window frame, eyes scanning automatically until he spotted the familiar dark hair weaving through the crowd.

Sarah saw the truck at the same time and broke into a run.

“Dad!”

She climbed in with her usual burst of energy, cheeks flushed, backpack already halfway off her shoulders.

“Hi Uncle Tommy.”

“Hey, menace,” Tommy said. “Cause any trouble today?”

“No,” she said immediately. Then, after a second, she added: “But Mateo ate a crayon again.”

“…That kid’s got problems,” Tommy muttered.

Joel pulled back into traffic, one hand steady on the wheel. “Homework?”

“Already did most of it at recess,” she said proudly. Then she leaned forward between the seats, eyes bright. “Is today the day?”

Joel glanced at her in the mirror. “What day.”

She looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse. “Juliet’s coming,” she said. “I told you. She said after work. She’s bringing the glue gun.”

Tommy perked up. “The glue gun?”

“For jewelry,” Sarah said patiently. “We’re making bracelets and maybe hair clips if there’s time.”

Joel felt something shift in his chest at the way she said ‘we’. Easy. Assumed. Like it had always been that way.

“Yeah?” he said, keeping his tone even.

“She promised,” Sarah went on. “And she said I get to pick the colors. I already know which ones. Blue and gold and maybe the sparkly ones if they don’t fall off.”

Tommy leaned back in his seat with a low whistle. “Man, you’re done for. She’s comin’ for my favorite-uncle title next.”

“You’re not my favorite,” Sarah said automatically.

Tommy clutched his chest. “Cold. That’s cold.”

Joel hid a smile and focused on the road as Sarah launched into an extremely detailed explanation of bead hierarchy and design priorities, hands moving like she was already assembling something invisible in the air.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, she was halfway through planning what music they’d listen to while working.

She was out of the truck before Joel had fully turned off the engine, backpack abandoned in the backseat.

“Shoes,” he called after her automatically.

“They’re coming off!” she shouted from inside.

Tommy stretched as he climbed out, groaning theatrically. “If I get glitter on me, I’m suin’ somebody.”

“You’re absolutely getting glitter on you,” Joel said, locking the truck.

They stepped inside to the familiar late-afternoon quiet of the house; sunlight slanting across the living room floor, the faint hum of the refrigerator, Sarah already in the kitchen pulling open drawers like she was preparing for a major operation.

Joel grabbed three glasses and filled them with water, setting one in front of her without thinking.

“Thanks,” she said absently, still digging for something.

“For what it’s worth,” Tommy said, dropping onto the couch and kicking his boots off, “I respect the level of planning here. This is a full-scale craft assault.”

Sarah ignored him. “She said she’d come straight after work,” she told Joel, turning finally. “So like… soon, right?”

“Alright,” Joel said. “Soon.”

He leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely across his chest, and tried not to pay too much attention to the way he found himself listening for headlights. For a car door. For anything.

It was ridiculous. He saw you all the time.

Still… There was something about you walking into this house that hit differently. He didn’t examine that too closely.

Headlights swept briefly across the living room window.

Sarah froze. Then lit up.

“She’s here!”

Joel pushed off the counter before he could stop himself and reached the door just as you got there, hand closing around the knob first out of pure reflex. He opened it, and there you were.

Standing on the porch with your work bag over one shoulder and a tote in your hand that definitely looked like it contained something potentially dangerous and creative. Hair slightly mussed from the day, expression softening the second you saw them.

“Hey,” you said.

It was just a greeting. Simple. Normal. But something in Joel’s chest shifted anyway, that same quiet loosening from earlier, only deeper now.

Sarah launched forward before he could say anything, nearly colliding with you.

“You brought it?” she demanded.

You laughed, steadying yourself. “Hello to you too.”

“You brought it,” Sarah repeated.

“I brought it,” you confirmed solemnly, lifting the tote slightly. “And beads. And backup glue sticks. We are fully prepared.”

“YES.”

Sarah grabbed your hand and immediately started pulling you inside like you’d been expected all along.

You stepped past Joel in the doorway, close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest. Just a second of contact. Familiar. Warm.

“Hi,” you said more quietly to him.

“Hey,” he replied.

He wanted to kiss you. Didn’t. Just let his hand settle briefly at your lower back as you passed, a small, grounding touch that lingered a second longer than necessary.

Then you were already being dragged toward the kitchen table.

“Alright, show me the plan,” you were saying to Sarah, setting the tote down and pulling out supplies with the kind of calm enthusiasm that made it clear you were fully committed to whatever chaos this turned into.

Joel stayed where he was for a moment, just watching.

The way you rolled your sleeves. The way you listened like everything Sarah said mattered. The way you fit into the space like you’d always had a place in it. Something in his chest tightened and softened at the same time.

Tommy wandered in behind him and took one look at the scene unfolding at the table; beads everywhere, glue gun already plugged in, Sarah talking a mile a minute while you nodded seriously.

He bumped Joel’s shoulder lightly.

“We’re getting roped into this somehow… I just know it,” he murmured.

Joel didn’t answer…. He already knew.

The kitchen table disappeared under a wave of color within minutes. Beads spilled into shallow bowls. Elastic cord stretched across placemats. The glue gun heated with a faint, ominous hum that made Tommy eye it like it might explode at any second.

“Okay, safety briefing,” you announced solemnly, holding the glue gun up like a microphone. “Hot glue is hot. We do not touch the tip. We do not panic if we get a little on our fingers. We peel. We do not scream.”

Sarah nodded like she was being inducted into something sacred.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tommy raised a hand from the doorway. “I’m optin’ out.”

“You’re participating,” Sarah informed him.

“I absolutely am not.”

You looked over at him, expression thoughtful. “We could make you a bracelet.”

Tommy hesitated.

“…What kind.”

“A boy-bracelet,” Sarah said immediately. “With blue beads.”

Tommy squinted. “Define boy-bracelet.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, just watching it unfold.

You sat beside Sarah, not hovering, not directing too much, just guiding. Letting Sarah choose colors. Letting her explain her logic. Asking questions like it was the most interesting design meeting you’d ever attended.

“Why blue and gold?” you asked seriously.

“Because blue is strong and gold is fancy,” Sarah said. “And if you put the sparkly ones in the middle it looks like it’s important.”

“That’s solid reasoning,” you agreed.

Joel felt that familiar shift again. That small, quiet expansion in his chest. You didn’t talk down to her. Didn’t correct her unless it mattered. Didn’t check your phone every five minutes. You were just… there.

At one point Sarah reached for the glue gun too quickly and paused mid-air.

“Wait,” she said, frowning. “Is it ready?”

You leaned in, testing the edge carefully. “Almost. See? Patience.”

Sarah nodded like that was a revelation.

Tommy eventually got dragged into it despite his protests, seated at the end of the table with a string of beads in his hands and an expression like he’d lost a bet.

“I knew I’d end up here,” he muttered.

“You love it,” you said.

“I absolutely do not.”

“Uncle Tommy likes blue,” Sarah said.

Tommy scowled. “I do not have a color.”

“You do,” Sarah insisted. “It’s blue.”

Joel watched the whole thing like he was standing slightly outside it. Like he’d stepped into a version of his own life he hadn’t quite expected.

Your head bent close to Sarah’s as you tied off the first bracelet. Sarah’s tongue peeked out in concentration. Your laugh came soft and easy when the elastic snapped loose and beads rolled across the table.

“Abort mission,” you declared dramatically.

Sarah giggled so hard she nearly fell out of her chair.

It was loud. Messy. Warm. And it felt right in a way that made his chest ache a little.

Later, when the glue finally cooled and the bracelets were proudly displayed across the table like trophies, Joel moved toward the stove automatically.

“Dinner,” he said.

“I can help,” you offered immediately.

“You’ve done enough,” he replied.

You looked at him like you knew that wasn’t entirely true but let it go anyway, shifting to help Sarah clear beads instead.

You ate simple food. Nothing fancy. Sarah talking nonstop about bead distribution strategies and how Uncle Tommy’s bracelet ‘accidentally looks kinda cool’. Tommy took credit for that instantly.

You laughed across the table at something Sarah said, and Joel caught himself staring for a second too long before he looked back down at his plate.

He loved you. The thought didn’t scare him anymore. It just sat there, steady.

Halfway through dinner, Sarah took a sip of water and then said, casually, like she was commenting on the weather:

“Sometimes you have sleepovers at Juliet’s.”

The fork in Joel’s hand paused. Across the table, Tommy’s eyebrows lifted slowly. You blinked once but didn’t look away from Sarah.

“…Yeah,” Joel said carefully.

Sarah chewed thoughtfully for a second, then looked between you.

“Why don’t you have them here?” she asked. “With me?”

The room went quiet in a way that wasn’t heavy. Just… still. Joel felt something shift under his ribs.

Sarah frowned slightly, thinking.

“Don’t you want them with me?” she added, genuinely confused.

Tommy looked at Joel like he’d just been handed a live grenade. You stayed very still, hands resting on the table, eyes soft but attentive.

Joel set his fork down slowly.

“That ain’t it,” he said gently. “Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you?” Sarah pressed.

It wasn’t accusatory. Just practical. Joel opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Because he’d been keeping things separate. Because he thought he was protecting her. Because he didn’t want to rush anything. Because he was scared of getting it wrong.

None of that sounded right out loud.

You spoke quietly before he could.

“We can,” you said simply. Looked at Sarah, not at him. “If that’s okay with your dad.”

Sarah looked immediately back at him. Joel met your eyes across the table. His throat felt tight for no reason that made sense.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “We can.”

Sarah grinned like that had been the obvious answer all along.

“Good,” she said, and went back to eating like she’d just solved something minor.

Tommy leaned back in his chair slowly.

“Well,” he muttered. “That was efficient.”

Joel didn’t answer. He just looked at you. And felt the ground shift under his feet in a way that wasn’t frightening anymore. Just inevitable.

****************

Joel pulled up outside your building next Friday at 3:05 sharp. He told himself it was timing. School pickup traffic. Nothing else.

You were already waiting on the curb. No heels today. Just jeans, a soft sweater, hair loose. Sunglasses pushed up on your head. Casual. Effortless. You spotted the truck immediately and your smile softened before he’d even rolled to a full stop.

He leaned across and pushed the passenger door open. You climbed in like you’d done it a hundred times.

“Hi,” you said.

“Hey, you.”

You leaned over and kissed him. Quick. Warm. Comfortable. Still did something to his pulse.

“You ready?” you asked.

“For what?”

You smiled. “Public exposure.”

He huffed. “It’s elementary school pickup. Not a red carpet.”

“You sure about that?” You said, laughing.

He started the engine. 

The parking lot was already crowded when they pulled in. Joel parked where he always did. Same spot. Same line of cars. Same rhythm. Except today, when he stepped out of the truck and walked around the front, you stepped out too.

And that’s when he felt it. The shift. Heads turned. Not dramatically. Not cartoonish. But enough.

A couple of mothers near the sidewalk glanced over, then glanced again. One elbowed another subtly. A murmur. Eyes moving from Joel… to you… then back to Joel.

He’d gotten used to the looks over the years. The single dad thing. The quiet one. The contractor with the broad shoulders and permanent five o’clock shadow who kept conversations short and never lingered. Some of them had tried to chat before. Extra smiles. Casual questions about weekends. PTA friendliness that edged into something else.

He never encouraged it. Now he stood there with you beside him. And you looked like you belonged next to him.

A blonde woman in tailored leggings and an immaculate ponytail approached with a smile that was just a little too bright.

“Well,” she said lightly. “Joel. I didn’t know you had company.”

Joel kept his tone neutral. “Afternoon, Leanne.”

Her gaze slid to you. Slow. Appraising.

“And you are…?”

“Juliet,” you said easily. “Nice to meet you.”

Leanne’s smile tightened just a fraction. “Sarah talks about her dad all the time,” she said. “Didn’t realize he was… dating… someone.”

Joel felt the irritation spark low and immediate. Normally he’d dodge something like that. Keep it vague. Keep it private. Instead, he heard himself say, calm and even:

“Yeah, well… My girlfriend’s joining us for pickup.”

The word landed before he could stop it.

Leanne blinked once. “Well,” she said after a beat, smile sharpening. “How… nice.”

You didn’t miss a beat.

“Nice to meet you,” you repeated politely.

Leanne gave one last assessing look between them.

“See you at the fundraiser, Joel.”

“Sure,” he said flatly.

She walked off. Silence settled for a moment.

Then you turned your head slowly toward him, one brow lifting slightly.

“…Girlfriend, huh?” you repeated.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly aware of the word hanging there between them.

“…Aren’t you?” he said, quieter.

You looked at him for a moment. Then a slow, teasing smile crept in.

“You haven’t actually asked me,” you pointed out lightly.

He huffed. “Thought I just did.”

“That was more of a public announcement,” you said. “Very official. No prior consultation.”

Joel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth now.

“You objectin’?”

You stepped a little closer, eyes warm. “Nope.”

There was a small pause. Then you said playfully:

“But maybe you should ask anyway. You know, properly. For the record.”

He studied you for half a second, then leaned in just enough that only you could hear.

“…You my girl or not?”

Your smile softened instantly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I am.”

He nodded once, satisfied.

“…Alright then.”

For a second neither of you moved.

Then he reached out almost absently, fingers brushing your jaw, thumb warm where it settled just below your ear. He leaned in just enough to steal a quick, quiet kiss. Nothing dramatic. Just a soft press of his mouth to yours like sealing something you’d both already agreed to.

When he pulled back, his hand slid down from your face and found yours instead, fingers curling naturally with yours like they’d always done it.

The school doors burst open then and Sarah came flying out like a missile, scanning the curb. She spotted you both at the same time and her entire face lit up.

“DAD!”

Then…

“JULIET!”

She changed trajectory mid-run and launched straight into you, arms wrapping around your waist. You laughed and caught her easily.

“I said I’d be here,” you said warmly.

Sarah pulled back, already talking fast. “We need supplies. I made a list.”

Joel shook his head, but he couldn’t stop the smile.

You reached for Sarah’s hand automatically, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sarah took it without hesitation.

You made your way back to the truck together, Sarah wedged happily between you as you climbed in, already halfway through explaining something about beads and glue guns and ‘professional sparkle’.

Joel started the engine, pulling out of the parking lot slowly while Sarah kept talking from the backseat, her voice bright and nonstop.

He answered when needed, but most of his attention drifted sideways. You sat relaxed in the passenger seat, turned slightly toward the back so you could listen properly, nodding seriously at whatever plan Sarah was laying out. Completely engaged. Like there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

At a red light, Sarah finally paused long enough to dig through her backpack, muttering to herself about “inventory,” leaving a brief pocket of quiet in the cab.

Joel glanced over. You looked back. That look again. Softer now. Warmer. Different after what you’d just said outside.

He didn’t overthink it this time. Just reached across the console and took your hand where it rested on your knee. Rough fingers, steady. Certain.

You stilled for half a second, then turned your hand and laced your fingers together without hesitation. Neither of you made a big deal out of it. He just kept driving.

You stayed turned slightly toward him, thumb brushing once across the back of his hand.

From the backseat, Sarah kept rummaging, blissfully unaware. And Joel thought, quietly, that he could get used to this.

*********

By the time you got home, the truck was full of bags. Craft store first; glitter, beads, a glue gun Sarah had insisted was “professional grade”, and enough ribbon to decorate a parade float. Then the mall, because a “quick stop” for one outfit had turned into three stores, two dressing room consultations, and you crouched on a bench helping Sarah decide between sneakers like it was a matter of state.

Joel had mostly carried things. Held bags. Watched.

Watched you listen to Sarah like every opinion mattered. Watched Sarah look to you without hesitation, like you’d already carved out a place for yourself in the kid’s orbit. Easy. Natural. Unforced.

Now they were home. The front door had barely closed before Sarah had kicked off her shoes and spread supplies across the living room rug like they were setting up a workshop. You had dropped your overnight bag by the couch and sat cross-legged beside her without ceremony. Like you belonged there.

Joel leaned against the kitchen doorway with a beer he hadn’t touched, just watching the two of you bent over beads and string and a dangerously hot glue gun.

You listened seriously to every explanation. Asked questions. Laughed when something went wrong instead of fixing it for Sarah. Fully present in a way that still caught him off guard every time.

His girlfriend.

The word moved quietly through his head and settled somewhere warm in his chest.

He’d known he loved you already. That hadn’t changed. What had changed was how close the words felt now. How they hovered right behind his teeth like they might slip out if he wasn’t careful.

Every time you smiled at him. Every time you moaned his name. Every time you looked at Sarah like she mattered.

It kept rising. Uninvited. Persistent.

I love you.

He could feel it there. Ready. Waiting. And it scared the hell out of him.

Not because it wasn’t true. Because it was. Because saying it out loud would make everything shift again. Put something fragile into the air that couldn’t be taken back. And he wasn’t sure he was ready to risk that yet, not when everything felt this… good.

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. From the rug, Sarah held up a half-finished bracelet.

“Dad. Look.”

He pushed off the doorway and walked over, crouching beside you. You glanced up at him immediately, smiling like you’d been expecting him to join them all along.

“Opinion?” you asked, holding the bracelet out.

He looked at it. Then at you.

“Think it’s perfect,” he said.

Your smile softened, something warm and private flickering there just for him. And the words surged up again so fast it almost knocked the breath out of him.

I love you.

Right there. On the tip of his tongue. He swallowed them back before they could escape, pressing them down somewhere safer.

Not yet. Soon. Maybe.

Instead he stayed there on the floor with you, shoulder brushing yours as you and Sarah worked, letting the quiet domestic warmth of it settle into his bones.

Terrified of saying it. Even more terrified of how much he meant it.

By the time everything was cleaned up and the popcorn bowl was full, Sarah was vibrating.

“Can we start now?”

“It is starting,” Joel said, dropping onto the couch.

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

She snatched the remote like it might be taken from her by force.

“I pick.”

Joel held out a hand. “Let’s discuss options.”

“No.”

“Sarah-”

“No.”

Joel looked at you as you, already curled into the corner of the couch, lifted both hands. “I’m not getting involved.”

He turned to you. “You’re sleeping here tonight. You’re involved.”

“I absolutely am not.”

Sarah scooted closer to you and whispered loudly, “If you help me I’ll let you use the glitter polish.”

Joel stared. “Is that a bribe?”

“It’s a deal,” Sarah said.

You pressed your lips together, clearly fighting a smile. “I’m staying neutral.”

“Traitor,” Joel muttered.

He reached for the remote. Sarah dodged him with surprising athleticism and hit play before he could intervene.

Bright animated colors flooded the screen.

Joel leaned back slowly.

“…Unbelievable.”

Sarah beamed. “Whiners are wieners.”

Joel blinked. “Who taught you that?”

“Uncle Tommy,” she said proudly.

Joel dragged a hand down his face. “Of course he did.”

You laughed under your breath and settled in, shoulders brushing Joel’s. “You lost fair and square.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue, stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you.

Ten minutes in, Sarah was still talking. Twenty minutes in, less. Thirty minutes in…

You glanced down first. “Joel.”

He looked over. Sarah was out cold. Completely asleep, curled against your side with a handful of popcorn still in her lap.

Joel huffed softly. “Didn’t even make it halfway.”

You smiled, brushing a piece of hair gently off Sarah’s forehead. “She tried.”

You didn’t move her yet. Just sat there, the movie playing quietly while she slept between you.

The living room felt smaller somehow. Warmer. The TV light flickering soft blues across the walls.

You kept your hand resting lightly on Sarah’s back, slow, absent-minded strokes like you’d done it a hundred times before. Protective without thinking about it. Joel watched that more than the movie.

After a minute, he leaned forward carefully and lifted the popcorn bowl from Sarah’s lap, setting it on the coffee table. She didn’t stir.

“She’s heavy when she’s out,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly. “You say that like you haven’t been carrying her since she was born.”

He huffed quietly and shifted, sliding his arm fully around you now, not just along the back of the couch but around your shoulders. You leaned into him without hesitation, automatic. Natural. The weight of both of you pressed into his sides.

“…You’re good with her,” he said quietly.

You glanced up at him. “She makes it easy.”

He nodded once, throat a little tight.

“She’s excited you’re here,” he added.

Your expression softened. “I know.”

The movie kept playing, dialogue floating softly through the room.

Joel looked down at the two of you; his daughter asleep, his girlfriend sitting beside him like you’d always belonged there.

The word hit him again. Girlfriend. And the other ones, right behind it.

He swallowed.

“Alright,” he murmured eventually. “Let’s get her to bed.”

Carefully, he shifted forward and lifted Sarah into his arms. She curled automatically against his chest, barely waking.

You stood quietly beside him as you walked up the stairs together, the house dim and hushed now. It felt like something sacred. And he felt it again. Too close to the surface. Too close to saying. Not yet.

You put her to bed with as little movement as possible. Joel eased Sarah down onto the mattress and pulled the covers over her, careful not to wake her. She barely stirred, just turned her face into the pillow and went completely still again.

“Told you,” he murmured softly. “Sleeps like a log.”

You stood by the doorway watching, arms loosely folded, something warm in your expression. “That’s a gift.”

He brushed a hand once over Sarah’s hair, a quiet habit, then straightened and stepped back. He left the door cracked open and moved with you down the hallway in that instinctive, quiet way people did when a child was asleep.

The house felt different now. Quieter. Slower.

In his bedroom, you set your overnight bag on the chair and slipped off your shoes. Familiar movements already. Like you’d always belonged in this space, even if it was only your first night staying.

Joel grabbed a clean shirt from the dresser and handed it to you without thinking.

“Here.”

You smiled, taking it. “Thank you.”

You moved around each other easily; brushing teeth at the sink, trading places without bumping, the small domestic choreography that came naturally when two people were comfortable together.

You stood at the mirror tying your hair up loosely, his shirt already falling soft around your hips. Joel paused in the doorway for a second just watching you. The quiet of the house. The normalcy of it. It settled deep.

He stepped behind you without a word and slid his arms around your waist.

You stilled for half a second, then leaned back into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. His chin brushed your shoulder. He pressed a slow kiss just below your ear, then another along the side of your neck, unhurried. Familiar.

Your breath softened.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured.

“Just… like this,” he said against your skin.

His hands rested at your hips, thumbs moving absentmindedly where the fabric of his shirt met your waist. The quiet closeness of being together at the end of a long day enveloping him.

You turned in his arms then, facing him properly, hands settling against his chest. Close enough that he was sure you could feel his arousal through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs.

You stood there a moment. No rush. No noise. Just the soft, shared understanding of the night settling around them.

He kissed you again as you moved toward the bed, slower this time, until the back of your knees hit the mattress and you dropped onto it with a quiet laugh he swallowed with his mouth.

The bed creaked immediately. You both froze. Listened. Nothing.

You pressed your lips together, eyes bright. “This bed’s a snitch.”

Joel huffed under his breath. “We’re gonna have to behave.”

You pulled him down by the front of his shirt. “You don’t behave.”

He didn’t.

The kiss deepened, warmer now, less careful. His hands slid along your waist, down, drawing you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you. You shifted under him and the mattress gave another soft protest that made you both pause again, then laugh quietly against each other’s mouths.

“Real smooth,” he murmured.

“Shh,” you whispered, already pulling him back.

You moved slower after that, but not gentler. Careful only when the bed betrayed you, then losing yourselves again the second the house stayed quiet. The whole thing threaded with low laughter and warm breaths traded into skin, playful and a little reckless in that conspiratorial way that came from knowing you shouldn’t be making noise and not quite managing it anyway.

When he finally settled fully between your thighs, the humor faded into something deeper. He paused just long enough to look at you, really look, hair spread across his pillow, eyes warm and steady on him.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded once, already drawing him closer.

The moment he eased inside you, the breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale he couldn’t quite hide. He pressed his forehead briefly to yours, grounding himself there, letting the rhythm build slowly, quietly, every movement measured so the bed wouldn’t give you away again.

You buried your face in his shoulder at one point to muffle a soft sound, laughing under your breath when he did the same against your neck a moment later.

“Gonna get us caught,” you whispered.

And somewhere in the middle of it, with your arms around him and the dim room wrapped close and safe, the thought rose again, steady and unavoidable.

I love you.

It sat heavy in his chest while he moved within you, while he held you close and careful, while you tried and failed to stay completely quiet. Not new. Just louder. Closer to the surface than ever.

He didn’t say it.

But it was there in the way he kissed you, in the way he stayed close even after you both stilled, breathing slow together in the dark while the house slept around you.

*******************

Morning came in soft through the blinds; pale gold light stretching across the bed, catching on rumpled sheets and warm skin.

Joel woke first.

For a few seconds he didn’t move. Just lay there on his side, looking at you. Hair a little wild across his pillow, one arm tucked under it, breathing deep and even. Comfortable. Safe. In his bed.

It did something to him.

Carefully, he shifted closer, sliding an arm around your waist, letting his hand settle low on your stomach. You stirred almost immediately, like you’d learned his weight already, like your body recognized his before you were fully awake.

“Morning,” he murmured against the back of your shoulder.

You made a soft sound and leaned into him, still half asleep. “Mm… morning.”

He pressed a slow kiss to your shoulder, then another a little lower, his hand drifting lazily along your breast beneath the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. 

You turned in his arms after a moment, blinking up at him, eyes still heavy with sleep but already smiling. “What time is it?”

He glanced toward the clock without moving away from you. “…Early.”

Your mouth curved. “Define early.”

“Early enough.”

You huffed a sleepy laugh and slid one leg over his without thinking, fitting against him like that was just where you belonged now. The contact sent a slow, warm pulse through his groin that had nothing to do with urgency and everything to do with proximity. With you.

He kissed you again; slow and unhurried, the kind that built instead of rushed. Your hand drifted lower inside his boxers, fingers warm against his cock, and the quiet of the house seemed to deepen around you.

There was something almost giddy about it; the awareness that Sarah was still asleep down the hall, that morning hadn’t properly started yet, that you had these few stolen minutes just for yourselves. It made everything softer, quieter. More deliberate.

He let his forehead rest against yours for a second, breathing you in. You smiled, brushing your nose lightly against his.

“Ten minutes,” you whispered.

“...maybe less,” he answered.

You didn’t argue.

The intimacy stayed quiet but certain; familiar already in a way that surprised him. Slow touches, quiet laughter when the bed creaked once and you both froze instinctively, then dissolved into muffled amusement against each other’s shoulders. It felt less like urgency and more like something shared; something that belonged only to you in that early-morning hush.

When he came inside you again, your head tucked under his chin, Joel closed his eyes for a second and let the feeling settle. Warm. Grounded. Right.

“…Mornin’,” he murmured again, softer this time.

You smiled against his chest. “Morning.”

You eventually pulled yourselves out of bed with quiet reluctance, moving around each other in the small space with that new, easy choreography you were still getting used to. You tugged on a soft pair of pajama shorts and a sleep shirt you’d brought, tying your hair back loosely while Joel pulled on sweatpants and headed for the kitchen to start coffee.

By the time you joined him a few minutes later, the apartment smelled faintly of coffee and butter warming in a pan. You leaned your hip against the counter as you reached for a bowl like you’d done it a hundred times before.

It hit him again then. That quiet sense of rightness. Of something settling into place.

He watched you for a moment longer than necessary. You caught him staring almost immediately.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked quietly.

“Like what.”

“Like…” you tilted your head slightly, studying him, “like you haven’t seen me all morning, and all of last night.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you a second longer, like he was trying to memorize the way the morning light hit your face in his kitchen.

“Just lookin’,” he said, softer now.

Your expression shifted, teasing fading into something warmer. “Joel.”

He exhaled slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Feels good,” he admitted. “That’s all.”

You searched his face like you knew there was more there than he was saying.

“Good how?”

He hesitated, then shrugged lightly, almost embarrassed by it.

“Like I don’t gotta brace for anything,” he said. “Like this… fits.”

The teasing was gone now. Your smile softened completely.

“Yeah?” you asked gently.

“Yeah,” he answered, steady.

You handed him a plate, your fingers brushing, and moved easily around the kitchen, comfortable in his space without hesitation. It felt domestic in a way that made his chest ache a little. Good ache. The kind that scared him because he didn’t want to lose it.

Footsteps padded down the hallway a moment later; quick, purposeful, already awake.

Sarah appeared in the doorway in mismatched pajamas, hair a mess, eyes bright. She took one look at the kitchen; at you by the stove, at Joel by the counter; and broke into a full, satisfied grin.

“Good,” she said, like this confirmed something important. “You’re still here.”

You turned, smiling. “I told you I would be.”

Sarah walked in without hesitation and climbed onto her chair like this was the most normal morning in the world.

“Dad’s not a great cook,” she informed you matter-of-factly, reaching for her juice. “But sleepover pancakes are the best.”

Joel huffed into his coffee. You bit back a laugh.

“You did say that,” you admitted.

Sarah nodded, pleased with herself, then glanced between you both with open, uncomplicated happiness.

“I like you being here in the morning,” she added. “It feels… cozy.”

The word hit Joel harder than it should have. Cozy. Like this was already something familiar. Something established.

Your expression softened completely. “Me too,” you said quietly.

Sarah accepted that answer and went straight to her pancakes like the matter was settled.

Joel moved past you to grab another plate, his hand brushing lightly along your lower back as he did. Small. Instinctive. He didn’t even think about it until you glanced at him, warmth in your eyes.

Normal. It all felt disarmingly normal.

Sarah swung her legs under the chair and announced through a mouthful of pancake, “After breakfast we’re building a pillow fort.”

Joel blinked. “We are?”

“Yes,” she said confidently. “It’s part of the sleepover.”

You hid a smile behind your coffee mug. “Sounds official.”

Joel looked between you; at Sarah already planning the day, at you in his kitchen like you belonged; and just shook his head, unable to stop the quiet smile tugging at his mouth.

Planned or not… he had a feeling he wasn’t going to want mornings without this anymore.

By late afternoon the easy warmth of the weekend had settled into that quiet, reluctant feeling that came before leaving.

Sarah had extracted every possible minute out of your stay; crafts, pancakes, a pillow fort that had somehow taken over half the living room, and a very serious discussion about whether glitter should be considered a ‘necessary supply’. She’d asked you to stay Saturday night too, with such open hope in her face that neither of you had really stood a chance.

You had stayed. Another full and amazing day.

But now it was Sunday evening, and reality was creeping back in.

“I should go,” you said softly, slinging your overnight bag over your shoulder near the door. “If I don’t look at my briefs tonight, Monday is going to eat me alive.”

Sarah hovered nearby, already looking a little mournful but trying to be brave about it.

“You’ll come back?” she asked.

You crouched to her level immediately. “Of course I will. I promised I’d come to your game next weekend, remember?”

Sarah brightened a little. “You’re wearing blue.”

“I’m wearing blue,” you confirmed solemnly.

Satisfied, Sarah hugged you tight. You hugged back just as hard, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head before standing again.

“Alright,” Joel said gently. “Teeth. Pajamas. Give us a minute.”

Sarah nodded and disappeared down the hall, trusting you completely.

The front door closed softly behind them when you stepped onto the porch. Evening air. Quiet street. The kind of stillness that always came right before goodbye stretched a little longer than usual.

Joel leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he was trying to memorize something again.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“For what.”

“For… all of it.” He gestured vaguely toward the house. “This weekend. Bein’ here with her. With us.”

Your expression softened. “Joel, I wanted to be.”

“I know.” He swallowed once. “Still.”

A small silence settled between you, heavy with things neither of you quite said.

He stepped forward, almost without thinking, and pulled you into him. One hand sliding around your waist, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck as he kissed you.

Slow. Deep. Unrushed.

It lingered in a way that made his chest tighten, like something was pressing up against the inside of his ribs, trying to get out. The words sat right there. Right on the edge of his tongue.

I love you.

He felt them rise. Felt them almost break free.

His mouth parted slightly against yours, breath catching like he was about to say something. About to cross that line he’d been circling for weeks now.

But the fear came with it. Quiet. Old. Familiar.

What if he said it too soon. What if it changed something. What if he scared you off.

So he swallowed it back down. Instead, he rested his forehead briefly against hers, exhaling slow.

“...Get home safe,” he murmured as the Uber you’d asked parked in his driveway.

You studied his face for a second like you knew there was more there. Like you could almost hear the words he hadn’t said. But you didn’t push.

“I will,” you said softly.

You kissed him once more; quick, warm; then stepped back down the porch.

He watched you walk to the car. Watched you get in. Watched until the taillights disappeared down the street.

Only then did he let himself breathe properly again… even if the house felt a little too quiet without you in it.

***************

The normalcy of it crept in slowly. Quietly. So quietly Joel almost didn’t notice when it stopped feeling new.

Your overnight bag had a permanent place now; tucked on the right side of his closet. A spare toothbrush beside his. One of your sweaters slung over the back of a chair in the living room that neither of you ever bothered moving.

Weekends blurred into a rhythm that felt… steady.

Friday nights with movies. Saturday mornings with pancakes. Sarah’s soccer games. You at the table with her, listening to whatever seven-year-old crisis or triumph had happened that week like it mattered just as much as anything in a courtroom.

And every Sunday evening, when you left, the house felt a little emptier than it had before you arrived.

He didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t need to. It was there anyway.

By Monday morning the house still carried traces of you; shampoo in the shower, a mug you’d forgotten by the sink, a hair tie looped around the gearshift of his truck.

Domestic. Easy. Dangerous in how right it felt.

You had started showing up to Sarah’s home games too; standing by the chain-link fence in jeans and sunglasses, clapping louder than most of the parents and somehow managing to look like you belonged there more than anyone else. It hadn’t taken long for a few of the mothers to notice. Or to start hovering. The kind of overly friendly curiosity that sharpened into something else when they realized you weren't going anywhere. 

Once, one of them had asked, with a thin smile, if you were ‘helping him out’ with Sarah. Another had remarked how ‘nice it must be for him to have support now’.

You had answered politely, calm and unbothered on the surface; until Sarah, overhearing enough to understand exactly what they meant, stepped forward with the unfiltered confidence of an almost eight-year-old and announced:

“She’s not help. She’s my dad’s girlfriend. And Uncle Tommy says when grown-ups act like middle schoolers it’s because nobody wants to date them.”

The stunned silence that followed had been instant. No one had said another word after that. Joel still chuckled to himself every time he remembered it.  Which was why the call from the site office that afternoon landed like a brick.

Joel had just stepped out of the truck when Mark came jogging across the gravel, already shaking his head.

“Don’t tell me,” Joel muttered.

“It’s bad.”

Joel closed the door slowly. “How bad.”

Mark gestured toward the far end of the structure. “City inspector showed up early. Like, early early. Wants to sign off today or he pushes us to next week. But-” he dragged a hand down his face, “-the support beams on the west side shifted. Not a lot. Enough.”

Joel went very still.

“Shifted how.”

“Enough he won’t sign anything until it’s corrected. Today.”

Today meant now. Now meant hours.

Joel turned and walked the length of the site without another word, boots crunching hard over gravel. By the time he reached the west side and saw the slight but unmistakable misalignment, his jaw had locked tight.

“Who set this?” he asked.

“Crew from yesterday,” Mark said carefully. “But it’s not bad work. Ground settled weird overnight. Heat maybe.”

Didn’t matter why. It mattered that the inspector was standing there with a clipboard and a schedule Joel couldn’t afford to miss.

He rolled his shoulders once, already calculating.

This wasn’t something he could delegate. Not if they wanted it signed off today. He had to be hands-on. Every adjustment. Every measurement. Every correction.

He checked his watch. 2:07. Pickup was at three.

Joel pulled his phone out and stepped away from the noise, dialing before he could talk himself out of it.

Tommy answered on the third ring. “What’d you break.”

“We got a beam shift,” Joel said without preamble. “Inspector’s here now. I’m stuck.”

A low whistle came through the line. “Yeah, that’s bad.”

“You near the school?”

A pause. Then a frustrated exhale.

“Man… no. I’m across town with Alvarez’s remodel. And the plumbing just went to hell. Water everywhere. I can’t leave this.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly. Of course.

“You tryin’ to make pickup?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah.”

“You ain’t gonna make it…”

Joel leaned a hand against the truck, staring out across the site. Crew moving. Inspector waiting. Everything pressing in at once.

“No,” he admitted.

“Call her,” Tommy said immediately.

Joel didn’t answer.

“Joel,” Tommy repeated, firmer. “Call her.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t like askin’.”

“I know,” Tommy said. “But you ain’t got another option. And she’ll be pissed if you don't.”

That part was probably true.

Joel exhaled slowly, staring down at his phone.

“…Yeah,” he said.

“Good,” Tommy replied. “Now stop bein’ stubborn and do it.”

The line clicked dead.

Joel stood there a second longer, phone in his hand, thumb hovering over your name. Then he hit call.

You picked up quickly. Second ring.

“Hey,” you said, warm and easy, like you’d been expecting him without actually knowing why. Background noise behind you; papers, maybe traffic. Still at work.

Joel turned slightly away from the site out of habit, even though no one was close enough to overhear.

“Hey.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. “You’re busy.”

“A little,” you admitted. “Why? What happened?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, staring out at the mess of lumber and scaffolding like it might judge him for this.

“Got a situation here,” he said. “Inspector showed early. Something shifted overnight. I gotta fix it before he walks or we lose the whole week.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

He appreciated that more than he could explain.

“And Tommy’s stuck on another job,” he added after a second, because that mattered. Because it made this feel less like he’d gone straight to you. “I’m not gonna make pickup.”

A brief pause settled. Not hesitation. Just you processing.

“Okay,” you said simply. “Want me to get her?”

Relief hit fast. Immediate. Still tangled with something that felt a lot like guilt.

“…You mind?” he asked anyway, quieter now.

“Joel.”

Soft. Firm. The way you said his name settled something in his chest.

“I can leave now,” you continued. “I’ll be there before the bell. You just text me if there’s anything I need to know.”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, looking down at the gravel.

“She’s got practice,” he said automatically. “Homework’s probably math. And she-” He stopped himself. Exhaled. “You don’t need all that.”

“I don’t mind all that,” you said gently. “I’ve got her.”

Those three words did something to him. Grounded him. Steadied something that had been tight all afternoon.

He nodded even though you couldn’t see it. “Yeah. Okay.”

He sighed loudly.

“…Thank you,” he said finally. Low.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied.

But he did. He really did.

“I’ll call when I’m on my way home,” he said.

“Drive safe,” you answered automatically, “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

We.

He swallowed once. “Yeah.”

He ended the call and stood there a second longer than necessary, phone still in his hand, before shoving it back into his pocket and turning toward the site again.

Still a mess. Still a long afternoon ahead.

But knowing you were heading to pick up Sarah; knowing his kid wouldn’t be standing there wondering where he was; knowing someone he trusted completely had stepped in without hesitation… It took some of the weight off his shoulders. Not all of it. But enough that he could breathe.

Joel stayed on that west beam longer than he’d planned, longer than his shoulders appreciated, adjusting and readjusting until the inspector finally stopped hovering like a vulture and moved off to check something else. It should’ve given him breathing room. It didn’t.

Every time he checked his watch, the numbers felt personal.

Three-ten. Three-thirty. Four.

He kept picturing the school curb. Sarah walking out. Not seeing his truck. That split-second of worry before she spotted you instead. He trusted you completely. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was him not being there.

He wiped sweat from the back of his neck and forced himself back into the work, but his focus kept splitting; half on the beam, half on the quiet awareness that someone else had stepped into his place for the afternoon.

He lasted nearly two hours before pulling his phone out. He didn’t call. Didn’t want to interrupt if things were going fine. Just a quick text.

Everything alright?

He stared at the screen a second, thumb hovering like he might add more. ‘You good?’ ‘She give you trouble?’ ‘You need anything?’.

He deleted all of it. Sent the simple version. Went back to work.

Ten minutes passed before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He stepped away from the noise to check.

We’re good. Homework in progress. She’s very strict about snack breaks.

He exhaled slowly without realizing he’d been holding it.

I’m sorry you got dragged into this.

The reply came a minute later: 

Joel. It’s fine.

He stared at that for a second longer than necessary. The steadiness in it. The lack of complaint. Like this wasn’t a burden. Like you meant it.

He slid the phone back into his pocket and returned to work.

Another hour. More adjustments. The inspector finally signing off on the beam with a noncommittal grunt that felt like winning a minor war.

Joel checked his watch again. 5:12. It was fucking late. He pulled his phone out again before he could talk himself out of it.

You sure you’re okay?

This time it took longer for you to answer. Long enough that he felt mildly ridiculous for sending it twice. Long enough that he considered calling. But then you finally replied:

We’re making dinner.

She’s telling me about a girl in her class who is apparently ‘sooooo dramatic’.

I’m taking notes.

A corner of his mouth lifted despite everything. He typed:

That sounds like her.

Then you replied:

Drive safe when you leave. We’re good here. Promise.

He stood there with the phone in his hand, dust and noise and late-afternoon sun all around him, and felt something loosen in his chest.

Guilt was still there. But underneath it… something steadier. Trust.

He put the phone away and went back to work, moving faster now. Not because he was panicking anymore. Just because he wanted to get home.

By the time Joel finally turned into his street, the sky was already deepening into evening. The kind of late light that made the whole neighborhood feel quieter than usual.

He cut the engine and sat there for half a second, hands still on the wheel, letting the day drain off him in slow layers. Dust on his boots. Sweat dried into his shirt. Shoulders aching.

Home.

He stepped inside and barely had time to close the door before-

“DAD!”

Sarah came skidding out of the hallway like a rocket, socks sliding on the floor as she launched straight into him. He caught her automatically, letting out a tired huff that turned into a real laugh when she kept talking without breathing.

“You missed everything,” she informed him dramatically. “We went to the store and Juliet let me pick dinner and we did homework and she says my math is actually good and we watched half a movie but not the scary half and-”

He looked up over her head.

You stood in the kitchen, leaning lightly against the counter, watching them with that small, steady smile that always hit him somewhere in the chest. Relief settled into his bones so fast it almost made him lightheaded.

“Homework’s done,” you said. “Backpack’s ready. She ate something green voluntarily.”

“I did,” Sarah confirmed proudly. “Twice.”

He glanced back at you. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Your expression softened slightly. “I know.”

That did something to him. Something quiet and heavy and warm all at once.

Dinner was already done. Leftovers for him. Kitchen clean. Sarah bathed, fed, and buzzing with excitement. Joel barely had to do anything except listen while she narrated every detail of the afternoon like a rapid-fire report.

By the time he tucked her into bed, she was still talking.

“And then Juliet said I could show her my drawing tomorrow and we’re gonna make that bracelet again but better and-” she yawned mid-sentence, blinking slowly. “You’re lucky,” she added sleepily.

He paused, tucking the blanket around her shoulders. “Lucky, huh.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “She’s really cool.”

Something in his chest pulled tight.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “She is.”

Sarah was asleep less than two minutes later. Out completely.

Joel stood in the doorway a moment longer than necessary before pulling the door mostly closed and heading back down the hallway.

You were rinsing a glass at the sink when he stepped into the kitchen. You glanced over your shoulder.

“Hey. She crash?”

“Like a rock.”

He leaned his hip against the counter, watching you. Really watching you. The way you moved comfortably in his kitchen. The quiet ease of it. 

You set the glass aside and turned fully toward him, smiling faintly.

“She told me the funniest thing before dinner,” you said, reaching for a towel. “I swear, Joel, she’s the best. She goes, ‘If you ever stop-’”

“…I love you.”

The words cut clean through the sentence. Blunt. Direct. No buildup. No warning.

You stopped mid-motion.

Joel didn’t look away. Didn’t soften it. Just stood there, shoulders tired, face still carrying the day on it, voice rough and honest.

“Couldn’t get outta there today,” he went on quietly. “Everything goin’ sideways and… you just stepped in. Took care of her. Took care of my house. Didn’t make a big deal outta any of it.”

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck once, like the admission sat heavy there.

“Ain’t used to havin’ someone I can trust with everythin’,” he said. “Not like that.”

The words weren’t polished. Weren’t gentle. They were Joel. Plain. Solid. Real. He met your eyes again.

“…I love you.”

Silence settled between them. Full and steady.

You didn’t move for half a second. Just looked at him like you were letting it settle properly. Like you knew what it cost him to say it that way.

Then you crossed the kitchen in two quick steps and took his face in both hands.

“Joel,” you said softly.

He went quiet.

“I love you too.”

Simple. Certain.

It hit him low and deep. Knocked something loose in his chest that had been tight for longer than he’d realized. He pulled you into him almost immediately, one hand sliding to the small of your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his face briefly into your hair.

“…Took me a while,” he admitted quietly.

You huffed a small laugh against his chest. “You’re allowed.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing along your jaw. Something steadier now. Lighter.

“Didn’t wanna rush it,” he said. “You and her… this. Wanted to be sure.”

“I know,” you answered. “I felt it anyway.”

That surprised him enough to huff softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A quiet settled between them. Full. The kind that came after something important finally got said.

You rested your forehead lightly against his. “I should probably go,” you murmured. “Weeknight.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

Then, low and certain: “Stay.”

You studied him for a moment. Not surprised. Not hesitant. Just… taking in the weight of everything that had shifted between them tonight.

“Okay,” you said softly.

The word settled into the room like something final. Certain.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and pulled you back into him, slower this time. The steady warmth of finally saying what had been sitting between them for months.

He kissed you again; deeper now, more certain; one hand sliding to the small of your back as he guided you gently toward the bedroom. The house felt quieter than usual. Softer. Like the whole place had exhaled with you.

By the time you reached the bedroom, the distance between you had already disappeared. His hands settled at your waist; yours at the back of his neck; both of you moving with that quiet confidence that came from knowing exactly where you stood now.

Clothes were shed without ceremony. Kisses deepened. The kind of slow, grounding intimacy that came from trust more than urgency. He took his time with you; like he didn’t want to miss any part of this version of you; this new, steadier ground.

When you finally fell onto the bed together, it felt less like a moment stolen and more like something earned.

He sank into you and the rest of the world fell away; the disastrous workday, the tight knot of stress that had lived between his shoulders since morning, the low hum of nerves that never quite left him. None of it mattered now.

All that existed was the warmth of you around him; the way you held him close, breath catching softly against his ear as his rhythm deepened, steadied. The quiet sounds you made went straight through him, undoing every last bit of tension he’d carried home.

It had been a long damn time since he’d let himself say those words to anyone. Since he’d felt this at ease, this safe. Since he’d given himself so freely. Since he’d made love to someone. Until her.

He felt you tighten around him as your orgasm rolled through you, the pulse of it pulling him under with you. He came hard, breath rough, holding you close afterward; one arm draped heavy across your waist, your head resting against his shoulder. Your breathing slowed together, bodies still warm, tangled and quiet in the aftermath.

Neither of you spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

He traced little circles along your arm, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, feeling that quiet, settled certainty sitting low in his chest. Not the sharp rush he’d felt when he first realized it. Something deeper. Calmer.

Right.

You shifted slightly, pressing closer, your hand resting over his heart. “You okay?” you murmured.

He turned his head just enough to look at you. One corner of his mouth lifted.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m real good.”

And for the first time in a long time, he meant it without reservation.

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[luna-azzurra]

Ways to write Slow Burn Romance!!

┈୨୧┈ Give them reasons they CAN'T be together that aren't just manufactured drama. Not miscommunication. Not love triangles. Not arbitrary "I push people away" trauma with no real exploration. Give them REAL obstacles: they're on opposite sides of a conflict, timing is wrong, there are actual consequences to being together, they have incompatible life goals, there's a power imbalance they need to resolve first. The obstacles should be meaningful and require actual character growth to overcome, not just a conversation.

┈୨୧┈ Make the friendship foundation SO STRONG that readers ship them before the romance even starts. They should genuinely LIKE each other. They should have inside jokes. They should seek each other out just to hang out. They should trust each other. They should have fun together. When the romantic feelings start developing, it should feel like "oh no, I don't want to ruin this friendship" because the friendship is genuinely valuable. Readers should be able to believe they'd still choose to be in each other's lives even if romance never happened.

┈୨୧┈ Let the tension BUILD in layers over time. First they notice each other. Then they start seeking excuses to be near each other. Then they start getting jealous. Then they start having Moments. Then they start thinking about each other constantly. Then comes the almost-kisses. Then the accidental intimacy. Then the barely-hidden feelings. Each phase should have time to breathe before moving to the next level. Slow burn means SLOW - readers should be desperate for them to get together LONG before they actually do.

┈୨୧┈ Show how they change each other gradually. He starts smiling more because of her. She becomes braver because he believes in her. They adopt each other's habits and phrases. They start to see the world differently because of the other person's influence. Slow burn is about showing two people gradually becoming essential to each other's lives. They should be woven into each other's character development, not separate from it.

┈୨୧┈ Make the payoff WORTH the wait. After chapters or books of tension, the moment they finally get together should be EARNED and SATISFYING. A CONVERSATION where they're finally honest. A moment where they choose each other despite the obstacles. A confession that feels like a dam breaking. The first kiss should feel like the conclusion of a long journey and the beginning of something new. Readers have been waiting for this, so make it count. Make it feel like YES, THIS WAS WORTH IT.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 5 - The Introduction

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.

Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Fluff. Chapter word count: 4.9k words.

a/n: This is also a short one so I'm bringing it a little early! Worry not, there are some of my usual monstrosities coming up 🤣​🤣​ Important step coming up… hope you like this one!

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91 @pedroncigarettes

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PART 5: THE INTRODUCTION

Joel woke up slow. Not because he meant to… Just habit. His body never really slept past sunrise anymore, didn’t matter if it was Monday or Saturday or the world ending.

For a second he didn’t open his eyes. He just lay there, listening. The place was quiet in a different way than his house quiet. No pipes knocking. No neighbor’s dog. No Sarah padding down the hallway looking for cereal. Just the low hum of the city outside the window and the soft whirl of a fan somewhere in the room.

Different ceiling. Different mattress. Right. Your place.

He cracked one eye open. Morning light slipped through thin curtains, painting everything gold and soft and unfamiliar.

Your dresser. Your chair with clothes tossed over it. That sad little plant by the window that was somehow still alive out of spite.

And you. Half on top of him. One leg hooked over his thigh, arm thrown across his stomach, hair everywhere like you’d fought the pillow and lost. Dead asleep. Warm. Breathing slow against his chest.

He smiled before he could stop himself. Didn’t even try to hide it anymore. It just happened now. This stupid, soft smile every time he woke up next to you. Like some part of him still expected you to be gone. Careful, he slid his hand up your back, thumb tracing lazy circles through your shirt.

Most nights he didn’t stay this long. Never until morning like this unless it was a weekend. He always made sure he was home before Sarah woke up, before cereal bowls and cartoon theme songs filled the kitchen.

That particular morning… He just didn’t want to wake you. Didn’t want to move either. Staying here felt… easy. Too easy. Like this had been your routine for years instead of a little more than a month.

His boots by your door. His shirt on your chair. Your shampoo in his hair. Pieces of him scattered around your apartment like he’d started living here by accident.

And the weird part? He didn’t feel out of place. He felt comfortable. Like he fit. That scared him more than anything.

He caught himself noticing dumb things. The mug you always used. The way you organized your books. How you hummed when you cooked. How you stole the blankets in your sleep.

Little, everyday stuff. Domestic stuff. The kind of stuff you only learned when you stuck around. The kind of stuff that made you care too much.

And then there was Sarah. Talking about you like she already knew her.

Juliet probably likes that.

I’m sure she has one like this.

When is Juliet coming over?

Like it wasn’t even a question. Like she’d already made room.

He stared at the ceiling a while longer. Thought about how careful he’d always been. How he’d dated here and there, sure, but never let anyone close to Sarah. Never risked it. Never trusted anyone enough.

But you… Didn’t feel like a risk. Didn’t feel temporary. Didn’t feel like someone who’d walk out the second life got messy.

You felt steady. Safe. Like home.

The thought came quiet and simple: I want her to meet my kid.

And right behind it, surprisingly: I trust her.

That one hit harder than anything else. Because Joel didn’t trust easy. Which probably meant he was already falling. Maybe already gone.

You stirred against him, mumbling something into his chest.

“…You awake,” you muttered.

“Yeah.”

“What time.”

“Too early.”

You groaned and tried to burrow closer. “Illegal.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. For a while you just lay there tangled together, sunlight creeping across the sheets, nowhere to be.

“You uh… you don’t have plans today, right?”

One of your eyes opened a little more. “No…?” you said, confused but amused. “Why?”

He hesitated.

God, this was stupid. It was just a question. Still felt bigger than that. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in a loose thread on the blanket.

“…You wanna meet Sarah this afternoon?” he asked, quieter than he’d intended.

Simple. Blunt. Like it wasn’t the biggest thing he’d asked anyone in years.

You blinked. Went still. 

“…Yeah?” you said gently.

“She keeps askin’ about you,” he added. “Kinda… dying to meet you.”

He sighed and said, a tad quieter: “And I want you to.”

There it was. Truth. No speeches.

Your hand slid up to his cheek. Warm. Careful.

“Yeah, Joel,” you said softly. “I’d really like that.”

Something in his chest unclenched so fast it almost hurt. He nodded once. Didn’t trust himself to talk, so he just kissed you. Slow. Sleepy. Morning-soft. The kind of kiss that didn’t rush anywhere. The kind that said ‘we’re okay’.

**********

By the afternoon, Joel had reorganized the living room twice. For no reason.

Nothing looked different. Still the same couch. Same coffee table with the dent Tommy swore “was already there.” Same stack of Sarah’s coloring books shoved under the TV.

Didn’t stop him from straightening the cushions again.

“You’re pacing,” Tommy said.

“I ain’t pacing.”

“You’ve walked past me six times.”

“Shut up.”

Tommy was sprawled across the couch like he paid rent, boots kicked off, eating cereal straight out of the box like a raccoon. Zero stress. Zero shame. Joel envied him a little.

Sarah, meanwhile, had changed outfits three times. Three. For absolutely no reason.

The current one was a yellow shirt with glitter stars and jeans with one knee already grass-stained. She came skidding into the living room in her socks.

“Is she here yet?”

“No,” Joel said.

“Now?”

“No.”

She groaned dramatically and flopped backward onto the couch next to Tommy.

“You said five.”

“It ain’t five yet.”

She checked the microwave clock like she didn’t trust him.

“It’s four fifty-two.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s basically five.”

“That is not how time works.”

Tommy nodded solemnly. “Kid’s got a point.”

Joel shot him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

Sarah popped back up. “Do you think she’ll like my drawings? Should I show her the soccer trophy? Or is that bragging? Coach Liam says bragging’s lame.”

“Bragging is confidence,” Tommy said through a mouthful of cereal.

“Bragging is annoying,” Joel corrected.

“I’m showin’ her everything,” Sarah decided.

“Okay, maybe not everything,” Joel muttered.

She gasped. “Should I call her Miss Juliet?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Just Juliet,” Tommy added. “She ain’t your principal.”

Sarah nodded like this was very serious information and ran off again. Joel watched her go, then scrubbed a hand down his face.

Tommy clocked it instantly.

“You’re more nervous than she is,” he said.

“I ain’t nervous.”

“You cleaned the counter three times.”

“It was dirty.”

“It was spotless.”

Joel leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His stomach felt weird. Tight. Like before a job inspection. Like before court.

Which was stupid. It was just you. You who stole his hoodies. You who argued with Tommy about football like you’d grown up with them. You who had already half moved into his life without trying.

Still. This was different. This was Sarah. If Sarah didn’t like you… He didn’t even finish that thought.

Tommy softened a little.

“She’s gonna love her,” he said quietly.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Tommy said. “Kid’s got good instincts. She tolerates me, remember?”

“…That ain’t the same.”

Tommy snorted. “Man, if Juliet survived me flirtin’ with her the first day, she can survive a seven-year-old.”

Joel huffed despite himself.

“DAD, WHICH ONE’S BETTER, THE PINK CLIPS OR THE BLUE ONES?” Sarah yelled from upstairs.

He closed his eyes.

“…Both!” he yelled back.

Tommy grinned. “You’re doomed.”

Joel checked the clock again. 4:58. Jesus Christ. Why was time moving like this.

Then he heard a car park in the driveway. A knock. Soft. Normal. But it might as well have been a gunshot.

Everything froze.

Sarah’s door slammed open.

“IS THAT HER?”

“…Yeah,” Joel said, throat suddenly dry.

Tommy stood, stretching. “Showtime.”

Joel shot him a look. Then headed for the door. Heart beating way harder than it had any right to.

He opened the door… And there you were.

You stood on the porch with one hand still half-raised from knocking, the late afternoon light catching in your hair, a small paper bag hooked around your wrist like you hadn’t come empty-handed. You’d dressed simply; soft blouse, jeans, flats. Nothing intimidating. Nothing too polished.

Still managed to knock the air out of him anyway.

“Hey,” you said, smiling a little when you saw him. Not nervous exactly. Just… careful. Like you knew this mattered.

“Hey,” he answered, stepping back immediately. “C’mon in.”

You crossed the threshold like you’d done it a thousand times, even if you hadn’t. Natural. Easy. The smell of your perfume drifted past him; something light and warm that instantly made the house feel smaller.

He shut the door behind you and turned. For half a second, it was just them.

“HI!”

Sarah launched down the hallway like a rocket. Joel barely had time to register your eyes widening before Sarah skidded to a stop directly in front of you, hands clasped behind her back like she was meeting a head of state.

Up close, you looked momentarily stunned. 

“Hi,” you said softly, crouching down a little so you were eye level. Always that instinct. Meet people where they were. “You must be Sarah.”

Sarah nodded once. Very serious.

“I’m Sarah,” she confirmed.

Joel pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

You held out your hand solemnly. “I’m Juliet.”

Sarah looked at the hand. Looked at you. Then ignored the hand completely and hugged you. Full-body. Immediate. No hesitation.

Joel blinked. 

You blinked too, just for a split second, then you laughed softly and hugged her back without missing a beat, one hand coming up to cradle the back of Sarah’s head like it was the most natural thing in the world. Something in Joel’s chest shifted. Hard.

Behind him, Tommy made a tiny choking sound that was definitely not emotional and absolutely cereal-related.

Sarah pulled back but didn’t go far. Still holding onto your arm like she’d already decided this was permanent.

“I like your shirt,” she announced.

You glanced down. “Thanks. I like yours too. Very… glittery.”

“It’s for special occasions,” Sarah said gravely. “This is a special occasion.”

Joel looked away before either of you could see his face.

Tommy stepped forward then, clapping once. “Alright, introductions successful. Nobody cried. I call that a win.”

Sarah shot him a look. “Uncle Tommy.”

“You’re a traitor,” he said, pointing at her. “You hug her like that but I get side hugs?”

“She smells better,” Sarah said immediately.

You snorted. Joel gave up and smiled outright.

You straightened slowly, still with one hand resting lightly on Sarah’s shoulder, and glanced at him. Just checking. ‘Everything okay?’

He nodded once. Yeah. More than okay. The tight knot in his chest loosened. Not gone. But eased.

Sarah was already talking again.

“I have drawings,” she informed you. “And a trophy. And also I can do a cartwheel but not inside because Dad says insurance.”

You nodded very seriously. “Wise choice.”

Tommy leaned toward Joel, low voice. “Told you.”

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He just watched them.

Sarah held your left hand. “Do you wanna see my room?”

You didn’t even look at Joel for permission. You just smiled at Sarah.

“I’d love to.”

And just like that, Sarah took your hand and started dragging you upstairs like you’d always been there.

Joel stood in the middle of the living room, watching you go.

Tommy leaned over slowly. “We’ve become useless now.”

Joel didn’t even try to argue.

He just watched you disappear up the stairs with his kid like it was the most natural thing in the world, and felt something deep within him settle into place.

Joel lasted about three minutes. Three. Then the quiet from Sarah’s room started feeling suspicious. He glanced toward the stairs. Tommy noticed immediately.

“You’re gonna hover, aren’t you,” Tommy said.

“I ain’t hoverin’.”

“You’re absolutely gonna hover.”

Joel ignored him and headed for the stairs anyway. Tommy followed, because he was a nosy bastard and couldn't stay away.

Halfway up they could already hear Sarah talking. Not just talking; full-speed commentary. The kind that meant she’d forgotten to breathe between sentences.

“…and this is my trophy but it’s not a big deal except it kinda is because Coach Liam said I run fast but not like Emma fast, like smart fast-”

Joel stopped at the doorway.

You sat cross-legged on the floor of Sarah’s room like you’d been there a hundred times. Shoes off. Listening. Actually listening. One of Sarah’s notebooks open in your hands while Sarah pointed at every drawing like she was presenting museum pieces.

“And this one I did when I was mad at math,” Sarah explained.

You studied it like it belonged in a gallery. “I can feel the rage.”

Sarah beamed.

Joel leaned against the doorframe without announcing himself. Just watched.

You didn’t rush her. Didn’t do the polite adult nod-and-smile. You leaned forward slightly, elbows on your knees, studying one of the drawings Sarah held up.

“This one’s my team,” Sarah explained. “But that’s not how Emma actually looks. She moves too much to draw.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Some people are hard to catch on paper.”

Sarah glanced up, surprised. “Yeah.”

“What position do you play?” you asked.

“Midfield. Coach says I see things.”

Your brows lifted just a little, like that genuinely impressed you. “That’s a good one. Means you’re paying attention all the time.”

Sarah shrugged, but she straightened a little. “I like knowing where everyone is.”

“Smart,” you said easily. “That’s the kind of player everyone wants on their team.”

Sarah stared at you, processing that like it mattered. Really mattered. Then she grabbed another drawing.

“This one I did when I got benched for five minutes,” she said, pointing. “Because I talked back.”

You studied it carefully. “Were you wrong?”

“…No,” Sarah admitted.

You nodded once. “Then maybe next time just say it in a way that doesn’t get you benched.”

Sarah stared at you. “You sound like Dad.”

“High praise,” you said solemnly.

Joel, from the doorway, felt something tighten unexpectedly in his stomach.

Sarah flipped to another page, already talking again, and you listened like there was nowhere else in the world you needed to be.

Tommy appeared beside him, quiet for once.

“…Told you,” he muttered.

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Sarah suddenly gasped. “WAIT.”

You blinked. “That sounded important.”

“My nail kit.”

She scrambled to her feet and dove under the bed, emerging with a plastic box like it contained state secrets.

Your eyes lit up immediately. “Oh, wow. That’s serious equipment.”

“I do manicures,” Sarah informed you. “Hands and feet. But only if you sit still.”

You held out your hands solemnly. “I am an excellent sitter.”

Joel pushed off the doorframe. “Oh no.”

Both of you looked up.

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “You’re next.”

“I am not next.”

“You are so next,” she said, already grabbing a bottle of glitter polish.

Tommy tried to back away. Too slow.

“Oh no,” Sarah said, pointing. “You too.”

“Now hold on,” Tommy protested, hands up. “I came up here in good faith.”

You glanced between them, then grinned; that dangerous, conspiratorial grin Joel already recognized.

“C’mon,” you said lightly. “Support the artist.”

Joel crossed his arms. “I ain’t gettin’ glitter on my hands.”

Sarah gasped like he’d personally insulted her craft. “It’s not glitter. It’s shimmer.”

“Worse.”

Tommy muttered, “Man, just accept your fate.”

Joel shot him a look. “You ain’t helpin’.”

You was already patting the floor beside you. “Sit down, Miller boys.”

He stared at you. At Sarah. At the tiny nail kit that was somehow now a weapon.

“…This is blackmail,” he muttered.

Sarah grabbed his hand and pulled. “Sit.”

He sat.

Tommy made a show of sighing and dropping down on the other side. “For the record,” he said solemnly, “I’ve survived worse things in this house.”

Joel turned slowly. “Like what.”

Tommy ticked them off on his fingers. “Sarah’s slime phase. That time she tried to pierce my ear with a thumbtack. The glitter explosion of ’98. And whatever the hell that casserole you made in ’01 was.”

“That casserole was fine.”

“That casserole violated several international treaties.”

You laughed outright.

Sarah clapped once, delighted. “Okay! Pick colors!”

Joel looked at his life. At his brother willingly offering up his hands. At you already rolling up your sleeves. At Sarah vibrating with joy.

He exhaled.

“…No glitter,” he warned.

You met his eyes, absolutely unrepentant.

“Don’t stop creativity, Joel.”

And somehow, sitting there on the floor of his kid’s bedroom with his hand in yours and a seven-year-old preparing to paint his nails, Joel felt something warm and steady settle deep inside.

This… This felt right.

********************

Dinner ended up happening almost accidentally.

At some point Sarah declared everyone was staying. At some point you volunteered to help in the kitchen. At some point Tommy appointed himself “assistant supervisor,” which meant he leaned on the counter and stole any edible thing he found lying around.

Joel barely tasted his food.

He kept replaying the afternoon instead; Sarah’s bedroom floor covered in drawings, you sitting cross-legged like you’d always belonged there, listening to every explanation like it mattered. The way Sarah had walked you through every single trophy, every crooked poster on the wall, every story about teammates and recess politics with the gravity of a press conference. You had taken it all in without rushing her once, asking questions that made Sarah light up, not the polite kind adults asked but real ones.

Then the nails. God, the nails.

Sarah ordering them around like a tiny general, you holding perfectly still while Sarah painted with absolute concentration, Tommy muttering about constitutional rights and male dignity while letting his hand get covered in shimmer anyway. You laughing. Sarah bossing them both. The three of you on the floor like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Not once had you checked your phone. Not once had you looked bored or distracted or like you had somewhere better to be. You’d just been there. Present. Interested. Gentle in that quiet way that didn’t draw attention to itself but settled into the room all the same.

Joel had stood in doorways most of the afternoon pretending he had something to fix or carry or check, when really he’d just been watching it unfold. Watching Sarah open up. Watching something fragile and important take shape without either of you forcing it.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened.

Just that somewhere between the drawings, the manicure disaster, and Sarah declaring your nail color “elite,” something in his mind had shifted into place.

And now, sitting at the table with you all like this, it felt almost unreal how smoothly it had all gone. He just knew the house felt louder. Warmer. Better.

Sarah had insisted you sit next to her at the table. Not across. Right next to. Tommy raised his eyebrows at that but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Joel watched the two of you trade lines like they’d rehearsed it. You didn’t dominate the conversation. Didn’t overperform. You let Sarah talk. Let her interrupt. Let her explain things twice. And every time Sarah looked at you to see if you were still paying attention… you were.

Joel kept having to look down at his plate. It was ridiculous how much that did to him.

At one point Sarah leaned closer to you and whispered loudly, “Dad gets grumpy when he’s hungry.”

“I do not,” Joel said.

You tilted your head, studying him thoughtfully. “You do, a little.”

Tommy clutched his chest. “Finally. Validation.”

Joel pointed his fork at both of them. “I regret everything.”

You all laughed. It wasn’t loud or forced or awkward. It just… worked.

You fit at that table like you’d been sitting there for years. Like you belonged in the middle of the noise and teasing and off-topic arguments. And Joel felt it settle somewhere dangerous.

After plates were cleared and Tommy volunteered to “supervise dessert quality,” Sarah twisted in her chair toward you, suddenly serious.

In the middle of explaining why Uncle Tommy’s pasta ratio was “just too much,” Sarah turned to you like the thought had just occurred to her that second.

“I have a game next Saturday,” she said, mouth still half-full.

Tommy kept chewing. “Breaking news.”

You glanced over immediately. “Yeah?”

Sarah took another bite, chewed, swallowed, then; like it was the most obvious next step in the world, she asked: “Do you wanna come?”

Just like that. No buildup. No ceremony.

Joel’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. You didn’t react big. Didn’t make it a moment. You just looked at her, then briefly at Joel, a quiet check-in rather than permission.

“If your dad’s okay with it,” you said simply.

Sarah turned in her chair toward him without missing a beat.

Joel cleared his throat, trying very hard to sound normal and not like his heart had just stopped for absolutely no reason.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s okay.”

Sarah nodded once, satisfied, and went right back to eating like she hadn’t just rearranged Joel’s internal organs.

“Okay,” she said. “We wear blue on home games. You don’t have to but it helps.”

You nodded like this was now official business.

“I’ll make sure I wear blue then,” you said.

Sarah looked pleased. Decision made. Filed away.

Joel glanced at you across the table and caught you looking at him already; a small, warm look that didn’t make a big deal out of any of it, but carried the weight of it anyway.

He nodded once, almost without thinking. Something in his chest shifted again.

Eventually Sarah slid off her chair and padded into the living room. A moment later the television flicked on; the familiar theme song of one of her favorite shows filled the house.

She reappeared long enough to grab a blanket and drag it back with her, already halfway invested in whatever animated crisis was unfolding on screen.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, watching her with that soft, attentive look that kept undoing Joel in quiet ways.

Tommy caught it too.

“…Man,” he muttered under his breath, mostly to Joel. “You are in deep.”

Joel nudged his shin under the table. Hard.

Time passed the way it did when the house felt full; comfortably, without anyone tracking it too closely. Plates got cleared. The show ended. Another almost started.

Joel stood and clapped his hands once, gentle but decisive.

“Alright,” he said. “Bedtime.”

A chorus of protests rose automatically from the couch.

“Five more minutes,” Sarah tried.

“Nope.”

“Three.”

“Two and I’m negotiatin’ against myself,” Joel replied.

She huffed but slid off the couch anyway, dragging the blanket behind her like a cape as she headed toward the stairs.

Halfway there, she stopped. Turned. Looked at you.

“Will you read with me?”

Tommy gasped like he’d been personally stabbed. “Unbelievable.”

Sarah ignored him completely.

You glanced at Joel first. Always that small check. Not asking permission per se, just making sure he was included. He gave you a soft nod. 

“Sure,” you replied. 

Sarah beamed and held out your hand like this had already been decided hours ago. You took it without hesitation.

Tommy clutched his chest as they passed him. “I have been replaced. After everything I’ve done for this family.”

“You snore,” Sarah informed him.

“That is slander.”

Joel watched them head up the stairs together; Sarah talking already, you listening like you had nowhere else to be. He stayed where he was for a second longer than necessary.

Sarah hadn’t made it past the fifth page. You had finished the story anyway, voice low and steady until the last line, then eased the book aside and brushed Sarah’s hair back from her forehead like it was instinct. Joel had stood in the doorway and watched, something tight and bright expanding inside him with every second.

Now the hallway was dark again. Sarah asleep. Blanket kicked halfway off. Completely out.

You stepped down the last stair and reached for your shoes by the door.

“She was out in two minutes,” you said softly, like you were still inside a library instead of his living room.

“Yeah,” Joel replied. His voice sounded rougher than he meant it to.

You slipped your shoes on, straightened, and turned toward him. For a second neither of you spoke. The house felt too quiet suddenly. Too full at the same time.

“You’ve got a great kid,” you said.

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

You smiled, quietly, almost like you weren't sure if you should say the next bit.

“…I had a really good time.”

That did it. It hit him all at once. A sharp, overwhelming swell in his chest that made it almost hard to breathe.

He loved you.

God, he loved you.

The realization sat heavy and bright and a little terrifying. Too big to say out loud. Too new. Too important to risk breaking by naming it too soon.

So he didn’t say it. He stepped forward instead. One hand coming up to your jaw. Gentle. Certain. Like he needed to hold something steady.

And then he kissed you. Not a casual kiss. It was slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that started soft and then lingered, then deepened without either of you quite deciding to let it. His thumb brushed your cheek while he held you there, like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into it. Gratitude. Want. Something heavier underneath.

You leaned into him immediately, one hand coming up to his chest, arms crossing around his neck like you felt it too.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were a little breathless. You looked at him for a second like you might say something. Didn’t. Just smiled softly. 

“Goodnight, Joel.”

He swallowed. “Night.”

You stepped out into the porch light. He watched until you reached your car. Watched until the engine started. Watched until the taillights disappeared down the street. Then he closed the door.

“…Well,” Tommy said from the couch.

Joel didn’t turn around.

“That,” Tommy continued, “was the most emotionally loaded kiss I have ever witnessed in my life.”

“You’re such a jerk...”

“No, seriously. I almost applauded.”

Joel dragged a hand down his face and headed for the kitchen like he needed somewhere to stand that wasn’t the doorway.

Tommy followed, because he couldn’t help himself.

“You’re in love with her,” Tommy said quietly. Not teasing now. Just stating.

Joel stopped at the counter. Rested both hands on it. Exhaled slowly.

“…Yeah.”

It came out low. Honest. Like something he hadn’t meant to say out loud yet.

Tommy didn’t grin. Didn’t make a joke. He just leaned back against the fridge, arms crossed, studying him.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

Joel huffed under his breath. “Don’t you start.”

“I ain’t startin’.” 

Silence settled between them again. Comfortable, but heavier now. The kind that held things instead of avoiding them.

Tommy shifted his weight.

“You gonna tell her?”

Joel shook his head immediately. Too fast. Instinct.

“Not yet.”

Tommy watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly. Not pushing. Just… waiting.

“Why not?”

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose. Rubbed a hand over his jaw. He hadn’t planned on explaining it. Hadn’t even fully put it into words for himself yet.

“…’Cause this is good,” he said finally. “Right now. It’s… steady.”

Tommy didn’t interrupt.

Joel glanced toward the stairs, like he could somehow see through the ceiling to where Sarah slept.

“She’s good with Sarah,” he went on quietly. “Sarah’s good with her. Nobody’s walkin’ on eggshells. Nobody’s tryin’ too hard. It just… works.”

Tommy nodded once, listening.

Joel swallowed.

“Last time I said those words,” he admitted, voice lower now, “everything fell apart not long after.”

There it was. Not dramatic. Not self-pitying. Just fact.

Tommy’s expression softened.

“That ain’t this,” he said gently.

“I know,” Joel answered. And he meant it. “But… sayin’ it makes it real in a different way. Makes it… bigger. And if I say it too soon-” He shook his head. “I don’t wanna spook somethin’ that’s already good.”

Tommy let that sit for a moment.

Then he pushed off the fridge and moved a little closer, leaning a shoulder against the counter beside him.

“You ain’t wrong,” he said. “But she ain’t fragile either. She’s been here this whole time. She ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘cause you care about her.”

Joel’s mouth twitched faintly.

“…I know.”

Tommy nudged his shoulder lightly. “You look happy, man.”

Joel looked down at the counter again. Then toward the door you had left through. Then up the stairs.

“…Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

Tommy smiled at that. Not big. Just real.

“I like her,” he said simply.

Joel glanced at him. Nodded once.

“…Me too.”

They stood there a while longer in the quiet house. Sarah asleep upstairs. Dishes done. Night settled in.

Joel didn’t feel restless. Didn’t feel like something was about to go wrong. He felt full. Steady. A little terrified of how much he had to lose now… but not enough to wish it away.

Tommy clapped his shoulder once before heading for the couch.

“Don’t take too long to tell her,” he said over his shoulder. “Some things deserve to be said out loud.”

Joel stayed at the counter a moment after he left. Let the words settle. Then he turned off the kitchen light and headed upstairs, carrying that quiet certainty with him.

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[notyourlovemonkey]

The Right Life | Part 4 - The Night

Summary: Joel Miller’s life is already full; work, responsibility, long days, and Sarah at the center of everything. He is not looking for change, much less for someone who unsettles the careful balance he has built around himself.

Then he gets sued and risks losing money he doesn't have. He needs a lawyer... And he gets someone competent, sharp, impossible to keep at a distance for long, and somehow fitting into places he never intended to make room for.

Because some things do not arrive all at once; they settle quietly, in ordinary moments, until one day life no longer looks quite the way it used to.

Pairing: Joel Miller / f!Reader (reader is a lawyer, minimal physical description). Story rating: E (+18). Chapter tags/warnings: No outbreak AU. Smut. PinV sex. Oral sex (male and female receiving). Creampie. Basically, this is pure filth. Chapter word count: 6.6k words.

a/n: Totally self indulgent chapter, lol. I hope you like this one!

Taglist: @sunnytuliptime @mystickittytaco @jothenurse91

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PART 4 - THE NIGHT

Two months went by without Joel really noticing. There wasn’t a moment where things shifted or locked into place, no big declaration or talk about what you were doing. It just… happened.

One day it had been one date. Then somehow it had been four. Five. Enough that he stopped calling them dates in his head and started thinking of them as just seeing you. Normal. Part of the week.

You didn’t do anything fancy, half the time it wasn’t even planned. You’d text him that you had an hour between meetings and he’d show up with sandwiches and you’d sit on the hood of his truck outside your office building, sharing fries and talking about nothing while lawyers hurried past pretending not to stare at the construction guy in dusty boots.

Sometimes you’d drive by one of his sites with coffee and stand there in heels on gravel like you belonged, arguing zoning permits while he pretended not to stare at how out of place and perfect you looked.

More than once you’d both said goodnight at your door and ended up making out for twenty straight minutes like a couple of teenagers who couldn’t figure out how to stop, both of you laughing into it because you were absolutely too old to be acting like that.

Once you’d walked downtown after dinner with no real destination, just talking until the shops closed around you and neither of you felt like going home yet.

Nothing big. Just small things. Easy things. The kind of things that slipped into your life without asking.

He didn’t see you as much as he wanted. That part still got to him. Schedules never lined up right. Your job sometimes ran late. His ran early. Sarah had stuff; soccer games, homework. Life kept crowding the edges.

But you never complained. Never pushed. Never asked for more than he could give. If anything, you worked around him. Patient. Steady. Like you understood that his kid came first without him ever having to say it out loud. Like you weren't going anywhere.

That alone grounded him and scared him at the same time, because it meant this wasn’t casual anymore. And because it meant he liked you a great deal more than was probably smart.

Two months in and you still hadn’t really had a night that didn’t end with one of you pulling back first. Goodnights that dragged on too long, kissing at your door until both of you were half laughing and out of breath, hands wandering.

Him driving home with his head buzzing and his jaw tight like a damn teenager. He was thirty-one years old and had to take care of himself in the shower on a regular basis.

His phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced down. ‘Juliet’.

And just seeing your name was enough to reset his whole mood. He answered before the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you said, easy and warm. He could hear traffic behind you, papers shuffling, like you were walking out of the office. “You alive over there or did Tommy finally drop a wall on you?”

Joel snorted. “Still breathin’.”

“Barely, I assume.”

“Yeah, well. He tried to kill me with paperwork instead.”

She laughed softly. “Long day?”

“Always.”

“Same. I just escaped a two-hour meeting about a parking variance that could’ve been an email.”

“Sounds criminal.”

“It was. I deserve compensation.”

He leaned back in his chair, boot hooked on the desk drawer. “What kinda compensation we talkin’.”

“You busy Friday night?” Casual, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

He smiled. “Why?”

“I was thinking…” There was a small pause, like you were making an effort to say the next words. “Come over? I’ll make dinner.”

Simple. Like it was nothing. Dinner. At your place. Not standing on the sidewalk saying goodnight for twenty minutes pretending you both weren’t thinking the same thing.

Your place. Private. Quiet. The kind of invite that very clearly did not end at dessert. His throat went dry.

“…Yeah,” he said, lower. “Yeah. I’m free.”

“Seven thirty okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll cook,” you said. “Something decent, not survival food.”

He huffed. “You cook now?”

“Wow. Rude.”

“You kill plants for sport.”

“That’s different.”

He smiled into the desk. “Yeah. Alright. Seven thirty.”

“See you then, Miller.”

“See you.”

He hung up and stared at the phone for a second. Behind him, Tommy stopped mid-bite of whatever he’d stolen from the break room.

“You got that look,” he said.

“What look.”

“The ‘I’m about to do somethin’ stupid’ look.”

Joel didn’t answer.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. Dinner?”

“…Maybe.”

“At her place?”

Joel shot him a warning look.

Tommy just grinned wider. “My man.”

“Shut up.”

“Friday night?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll watch Sarah.”

Joel blinked. “I didn’t even ask yet.”

“You were gonna.”

“…Yeah.”

Tommy’s grin softened, just a little. “Good,” he said. “’Bout time.” Then he immediately added, “Try not to get arrested this time, Hot Broody One.”

Joel groaned. “You’re never lettin’ that go.”

“Never,” Tommy said, delighted.

But he looked stupidly happy for him… And Joel couldn’t stop smiling either.

************

On Friday, Tommy kept grinning at him, like he was watching a nature documentary and had just spotted something rare.

“Man,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You’re gone.”

“I ain’t gone.”

“You’re so gone.”

Joel threw a rag at him and went back to work, but it didn’t stick.

The rest of the afternoon dragged in that slow, distracted way where nothing quite held his attention. Measurements had to be checked twice. Mark asked him the same question three times. He caught himself staring at the clock like he was waiting for school to let out.

Tommy noticed that too.

“Relax,” he said. “It’s dinner, not prom.”

“Zip it.”

But he still went home early. He swung by the school, parked in the usual line of half-asleep parents and dented sedans, and waited while kids poured out the doors like a jailbreak.

Sarah spotted the truck almost immediately and ran over, backpack bouncing.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, trouble.”

She climbed in and launched straight into a very serious retelling of playground politics and how Emma absolutely cheated at tag. Joel nodded along, smiling, the sound of her voice steady and familiar, grounding him in that quiet way it always did.

By the time they got home, the sun was already starting to dip. He made her dinner. Helped with homework. Listened to a very serious explanation about why her team absolutely would’ve won if Coach Ramirez ‘understood strategy’.

Regular life. And underneath it all, that low, steady hum in his chest. Seven.

Tommy showed up right on time, already kicking his boots off like he lived there.

“You cleanin’ up?” he asked, watching Joel change his shirt.

“I always clean up.”

“Yeah, but not twice.”

Joel ignored him and ran a hand through his hair in the hallway mirror, then immediately felt stupid for doing it.

Tommy just leaned against the wall, smirking.

“Go,” he said. “Before you start pacing holes in the floor.”

Joel grabbed his keys.

“Don’t feed her junk,” he said automatically.

“I’m not an animal.”

“Bed by nine.”

“Yeah, dad.”

He crouched to kiss Sarah’s head. “Be good, okay?”

“Okay. Tell Juliet hi.”

He blinked. “How d’you-”

“She’s the only reason you smile at your phone like that,” Sarah said matter-of-factly, already back to her toys.

Tommy cackled.

Joel muttered something under his breath and headed for the door before either of them could say anything else.

The drive over felt shorter than it should’ve. Same streets. Same traffic. But everything felt sharper somehow, like the night was holding its breath.

He caught himself checking the clock twice even though he was ten minutes early. Didn’t want to look eager. Didn’t want to be late either. Ridiculous.

He parked a little down the block, killed the engine, and sat there for a second with both hands on the wheel, staring at your building.

“You’re fine,” he muttered.

Didn’t sound convinced.

He climbed the stairs slower than usual, boots heavy on the concrete, heart doing that same stupid rhythm it had done on their first date, except this time it wasn’t panic. It was something else… Anticipation. Like standing at the top of a rollercoaster.

He knocked. Footsteps inside. The lock clicked. The door opened. You stood there in soft apartment light, hair tied back loosely like you’d already been cooking, and the first thing that hit him wasn’t your smile.

It was the smell. Garlic. Butter. Something warm and rich and homemade. Something that made the whole hallway feel like home.

“Hey,” you said, a little breathless, like you’d hurried.

“Hey.”

You both just… stood there for half a second, smiling like idiots.

He noticed you’d changed into a simple shirt and jeans, nothing fancy, and somehow that made this feel more intimate than any dress ever could. Like he was being invited into youro real life, not ‘date Juliet’.

“You’re early,” you said.

“Traffic was light.”

“Liar.”

He huffed. You stepped closer, like it was automatic, hand brushing his arm, and leaned up to kiss him. Quick. Soft. Just a peck. But it lingered a second longer than necessary. Long enough that his brain went pleasantly blank.

When you pulled back, you didn’t move far. Still close. Still smiling.

“Come in,” you said.

Your apartment was warm, lights low, music playing quietly from somewhere near the kitchen. Shoes kicked off by the door. A cookbook open and facedown on the counter. Another plant by the window that looked… suspicious.

He pointed at it. “That one dead too?”

“It’s fighting,” you said defensively. “Don’t judge it.”

“Oh, I’m judgin’ someone, but it ain’t the plant.”

“Rude.”

He smiled, shrugging out of his jacket.

Normal conversation. Normal tone. Like you weren’t both hyper-aware of every time your arms brushed when you passed each other. Like he wasn’t watching the way your hips moved when you crossed the kitchen. Like you weren't glancing at him every few seconds just to check he was still there.

“What’re you makin’?” he asked.

“Pasta,” you said. “Actual sauce. None of that jar stuff.”

“Fancy.”

“Please. I have standards.”

He leaned against the counter while you stirred something on the stove, and it felt almost stupidly domestic, like this was something you’d done a hundred times before instead of the first.

You handed him a spoon.

“Taste.”

He did. Paused.

“…Damn,” he said.

You looked way too pleased with yourself. “Right?”

“Alright, I’m impressed.”

“Write that down. Won’t happen often.”

Your shoulders kept brushing when you moved around the small kitchen. Every time, it sparked. Small. Quick… But there.

He found himself watching you more than the food, the way you bit your lip when concentrating, the way you tucked hair behind your ear with the back of your wrist.

At one point you turned too fast and bumped into him. You both froze. Too close. Your hands still on his chest from steadying yourself. His hands automatically on your waist. Neither of you moving, just breathing the same air.

“…Sorry,” you murmured.

“Yeah,” he said.

Didn’t let go. Didn’t really want to.

For a second the kitchen felt a lot smaller. The pasta boiling loudly behind you being the only thing keeping it from tipping into something else entirely.

Then you cleared your throat, stepping back with a small, nervous smile.

“Food first,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

But his voice had gone a little rough.

You managed to separate like two people who absolutely knew they should. Barely.

You turned back to the stove, stirring the sauce like nothing had happened, like your hands weren’t still a little shaky. He grabbed plates from the cabinet because he needed something to do with his own hands.

It felt almost stupidly domestic. Passing each other forks, opening drawers, you bumping the cabinet with your hip to close it…. The kind of quiet choreography people only really got into when they were comfortable around each other. 

“Wine?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

You poured two glasses without measuring, handed him one, your fingers brushing again.

There it was. That spark. Every time. Like static.

You ate at your small kitchen table, knees knocking under it every now and then because there wasn’t much room, neither of you moving away.

The food was good. Actually good. The kind of good that made him slow down and pay attention.

“You weren’t kiddin’,” he said after a bite. “This’s real.”

You beamed. “Told you.”

“Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“My granny would haunt me if I couldn’t,” you said lightly. “It’s genetic.”

“Yeah, well. Remind me never to challenge you.”

You talked while you ate. Not the careful first-date stuff, not jobs and safe topics. Real things. Stories from when you were a kid. His worst construction disasters. Tommy nearly setting a shed on fire when they were teenagers. Your first court case where you almost passed out from nerves.

Easy. Laughing with your mouths full. Stealing food off each other’s plates.

At some point he realized he hadn’t checked the time once. Hadn’t thought about leaving. Hadn’t thought about anything except you. Which was new.

After, you stood to clear the dishes and he followed automatically, shoulder to shoulder at the sink, bumping elbows while you rinsed plates like a married couple who’d done this a thousand times.

“Hey,” you said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming over.”

He glanced at you. “Thanks for feedin’ me.”

You smiled, softly. The kind that didn’t have jokes behind it.

You moved to the couch with your wine after, music still low in the background, something slow and old he didn’t recognize. The lights were dimmer here, warmer.

He sank into one end of the couch and you tucked your legs under yourself beside him, close enough that your thighs pressed together.

Neither of you commented. You talked slower now. Quieter. The conversation dipping in and out. Comfortable silences stretching longer. At some point you rested your head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His brain short-circuited for a second. Then his arm came up around you automatically, like muscle memory. Like you’d always fit there.

He could feel your breathing. Slow. Warm. Your fingers tracing lazy shapes on his knee without thinking. Every touch felt louder than the music.

“…You nervous?” you asked softly, not looking at him.

“A little,” he admitted.

“Me too.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Good.”

You tipped your face up toward him then. Close. Really close. Close enough that the air shifted.

No jokes this time. Just that look. The same one from the truck. From every too-long goodnight. The one that said ‘we’re done pretending now, right?’.

His thumb brushed your jaw without him meaning to. You leaned into it… And that was it.

No big moment. No speech. He kissed you like he’d been wanting to all night. Slow at first. Then deeper.

Your hand slid into his shirt, warm against his stomach, fingers curling into the fabric like you needed something to hold on to, and he felt that same dizzy rush from the truck all over again, only this time there was no cramped console, no streetlights, no chance of some cop knocking on the window. Just your apartment. Quiet. Safe.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer without thinking, and you made that soft sound again, the one that went straight through him, half sigh, half laugh, like you couldn’t quite believe this was happening either.

The kiss turned messy fast. Hungry. Weeks of stopping yourselves catching up all at once.

You shifted in his lap, knees pressing into the couch on either side of him, and suddenly you were there, straddling him like it was the most natural place to be, hair slipping loose from whatever tie you’d used, falling around both your faces like a curtain.

He sucked in a breath.

“…Juliet,” he muttered, not even sure what he meant to say.

You kissed him again instead. Slower. Deeper. Your hands on his shoulders, then his neck, thumbs brushing his jaw like you were memorizing him.

His hands slid up your back, over the curve of your waist, holding you there like you might disappear if he let go.

The couch creaked softly when you moved closer. He felt the solid press of you against him, the heat of your thigh sliding between his, the unmistakable weight of you settling right where he was already aching for you. There wasn’t an inch of space left between you, nowhere for all that heat to go. Warm everywhere. Overwhelming.

You shifted instinctively in his lap, slow and searching, hips rolling without thinking, and the friction dragged a rough breath out of him before he could stop it.

His hands dropped to your waist, then lower, fingers digging in hard, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand even the smallest distance, gripping your ass with a low, helpless groan like his body had decided for him.

He could feel your heartbeat against his chest, fast and steady and matching his. It felt reckless. Stupid. Like they were teenagers again. And also completely inevitable.

He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe. Forehead resting against yours. Both of you a little dazed, a little flushed. He laughed under his breath, shaky.

“…Maybe,” he said, voice rough, “maybe we should take this to the bedroom.”

You blinked at him for half a second. Then smiled, soft. Warm. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah… probably.”

Then you kissed him again, quick and sweet this time, like sealing the decision.

And he stood, hands still on your hips, you laughing quietly as he nearly tripped over the coffee table trying to navigate the apartment like a man who had completely forgotten how furniture worked.

Your hallway was narrow. Dim light spilling out from somewhere behind you. Your steps slow, a little clumsy, bumping into each other like you couldn’t stop touching even long enough to walk straight.

His hand never left your waist. Yours stayed hooked in his. Every few steps one of you stole another kiss. Quick, messy. Like you couldn’t wait.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, he felt wrung out already, heart hammering like he’d run a mile. You pushed the door open with your foot. He caught a glimpse of soft sheets, warm light, a chair with clothes tossed over it, something achingly normal and private.

Your space. Something about that hit him harder than anything else. Not lust, not nerves… Just the quiet weight of being let in.

You looked up at him, suddenly shy again, like the gravity of it had landed for you too.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He brushed his thumb over your jaw.

“Yeah,” he said. Then, quieter, honest, “More’n okay.”

You smiled at that, and he took your mouth with his again as you stepped inside. The kiss deepened almost immediately. Slower. Hungrier.

Your hands settled on his chest first, then drifted down, palms sliding over his stomach, fingers tracing the firm lines there through the fabric of his shirt. He felt every inch of it, every slow pass.

“Juliet…” he breathed against your mouth.

Your hands kept moving, lower, then back up again, like you couldn’t decide where to touch first, like you wanted all of him at once. Then your fingertips hooked under the hem of his shirt, slipped beneath, warm skin meeting skin.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Jesus Christ. Your palms dragged up his bare stomach, slow and curious, and his head went light for a second.

He pressed you closer without thinking, chest to chest, hips bumping yours, like he couldn’t stand the space anymore.

His hands moved up your back at the same time, sliding under your shirt, bare skin under his palms making him feel almost feverish. Fabric bunched in his fists.

“This,” he muttered, voice rough, tugging at your clothes, “this has gotta go.”

You chuckled softly at that.

“Bossy,” you murmured. But you obliged.

Your hands slipped between you, tugging your shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind you without looking.

Joel forgot how to breathe for a second. Lace. Dark. Delicate. The kind of bra that looked unfair on you, hugging every curve, doing absolutely nothing to help his already shot self-control. His cock, already rock-hard, twitched in his jeans. 

“…Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

You caught the look on his face and smirked, a little shy, a little proud.

“What?” you teased.

He just shook his head, stepping into your space again like gravity was pulling him.

His hands found your waist, then your back, palms warm and firm like he needed to touch you just to make sure you were real.

You stumbled toward the bed together, bumping into the mattress and falling onto it in a mess of sheets and limbs. You pushed up on your elbows, breathless, hair everywhere, looking up at him like that.

“Are you gonna return the favor?” you asked, tugging lightly at the hem of his shirt.

Joel hovered over you, grinning, voice low and wrecked already.

“All in good time, darlin’,” he murmured, then kissed you again before you could argue.

He kissed you again, slow and deep, one hand sliding up your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist until they reached your back.

Warm skin. His palm spread there instinctively. God.

He leaned down, kissing along your jaw, your neck, breathing you in while his fingers searched blindly for the clasp. Found it. Or… something that felt like it.

He tugged. Nothing. He frowned.Tried again. Still nothing. Your shoulders started shaking.

He pulled back slightly. “Don’t,” he muttered.

You bit your lip, already smiling. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not-”

You absolutely were.

He squinted at the tiny hooks like they’d assaulted him.

“…Why are these things engineered like NASA equipment?” he grumbled.

You laughed outright now, soft and breathless under him.

“Need help, Miller?”

“I got it,” he said immediately.

He did not ‘got it’. Another failed attempt. A low, frustrated huff left him.

Finally you reached back and undid it in one smooth second. Click. Just like that.

He stared at you, offended.

“You could’ve done that five minutes ago,” he said.

You grinned up at him. “But watching you struggle was cute.”

He narrowed his eyes, then kissed you again like revenge, hand sliding back to your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Yeah?” he murmured against your mouth. “Keep talkin’.”

The straps slipped loose under his hands. Joel eased the lace down your arms slowly, almost absentminded, like all his focus had narrowed to the feel of your skin under his palms.

The bra fell somewhere onto the sheets.

He looked at your bare breasts, and just… stopped thinking.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Soft. Almost wrecked. Like the word got knocked out of him.

He leaned down and kissed you hard. Slow and deep and a little desperate now, like he’d run out of patience pretending he wasn’t losing his mind.

His hands followed instinct. Sliding up your breasts. Warm skin. Thumb brushing slow, reverent paths in your nipple like he was learning you by touch, like he needed to memorize every inch.

You gasped not-so-softly into his mouth when his palms settled in your hardened peaks, when his touch turned firmer, curious, exploring.

“God…” he muttered against your lips, half laugh, half groan. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’…”

Your fingers tightened in his hair. Your back arching at his touch. You pulled him closer, like you weren’t planning on stopping either.

Your hands slid down his chest again, slower this time, deliberate. Across his stomach. Lower. Until your palm pressed against his length through the denim of his jeans.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath.

“Juliet-”

You didn’t stop, just watched his face while your hand moved, slow and confident, like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“That better?” you murmured.

He groaned softly. “You’re evil.”

Your fingers hooked into his waistband, starting to tug him closer, trying to slip underneath, impatient now.

He caught your wrist gently, not stopping you, just pausing you.

You frowned, half-whining. “What?”

He leaned down, brushing his mouth against your jaw, your neck, slow.

“I ain’t done with you yet,” he murmured.

The way he said it made you shiver.

He kissed his way down your throat, over your collarbone, hands sliding along your sides, memorizing, mapping, taking his time like he planned to make you forget your own name. Slow. Unhurried. Deliberate.

His mouth trailed lower, past your collarbone, until he took one of your hard buds in his mouth and suckled slowly. You were instantly gripping the sheets and breathing a little too fast.

“Joel…” you warned softly.

He just hummed against your skin, a quiet, satisfied sound, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

A small, helpless sound slipped out of you before you could stop it, fingers tightening in the sheets, hips shifting instinctively under him.

He noticed. His hands settled firmer on your waist, holding you there, keeping you from curling in on yourself while he took his time, mouth slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any hurry at all.

“Joel…” you breathed again, half warning, half plea.

He lifted his head just enough to look up at you. Hair already a mess. Lips parted. Eyes dark. God. It was a sight that would be burned in his mind for eternity.

“Yeah?” he murmured softly.

The look on his face alone made you swallow.

“Don’t stop,” you admitted.

That did something to him. Something deep and immediate. He huffed a low, almost disbelieving laugh and dipped his head again, pressing a slower kiss to your other breast, then another, like he was savoring it, like he’d waited weeks for this exact moment and wasn’t about to rush now that he had it.

His hands drifted up again, palms warm and sure, relearning the shape of you, thumbs brushing slow circles on your nipple that made your back arch without thinking. Every touch unhurried. Confident. Like he finally trusted himself to take what he wanted. Like he trusted you to let him.

He shifted slightly above you, one hand sliding down your side in a slow, grounding stroke that made you shiver, as he then removed your jeans and panties.

For a second he just looked at you. Really looked. Like he was checking in without breaking the mood.

His thumb brushed lightly over your hip, then stilled.

“…You gonna let me taste you?” he murmured, voice low and rough.

The question settled warm and heavy between them.

You swallowed, breath still uneven, and nodded. “Yes.”

His gaze softened, something almost reverent flickering there.

He leaned down, mouth brushing the inside of your thigh first, unhurried, like he was in no rush to get anywhere but exactly where he was going.

The first touch of his tongue against your clit made you gasp, a sharp, unguarded sound that turned into a loud moan before you could stop it.

His grip tightened just slightly, a quiet, pleased hum leaving him in response, and from there he didn’t rush anything. Didn’t need to.

Every movement slow. Confident. Certain. Licking. Sucking. His fingers moving with a surety that made you grip the sheets tightly in both hands, breath catching as sensation spread warm and insistent through you. His cock twitched insistently inside his pants, pulsating, so much that he thought he might just spill himself from feeling you come undone in his tongue.

He kept that same unhurried rhythm. Every small shift of your hips, every broken breath, he answered without thinking, adjusting with a quiet confidence that made heat coil tighter and tighter inside you.

“Joel…” you warned softly, though there wasn’t much warning left in it.

He didn’t stop. Just kept licking, tightened his hold slightly, keeping you there when your thighs tried to close, like he knew you were getting close and had no intention of letting you pull away now.

The tension built steadily. Slow. Deep. Unavoidable. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping harder, breath losing any kind of rhythm as that tight coil inside you finally snapped. The sound that left you was low and helpless, your back arching as the wave rolled through you, leaving you shaking and breathless beneath him.

He stayed with you through it. Didn’t rush away. Just slowed, grounding you with warm, steady touches until the last tremor faded and your breathing began to come back in uneven pulls.

Only then did he move. Slowly. He pressed a lingering kiss low on your stomach before making his way back up, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. When he finally reached your mouth again, his expression gave him away; satisfied, a little smug, like he knew exactly what he’d just done.

You looked at him for half a second, still catching your breath, then reached up and tugged lightly at his belt.

“You’re way overdressed,” you murmured, voice rough but amused. “Off. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, low and amused.

He pushed himself up just long enough to tug his shirt the rest of the way off and let it fall somewhere to the floor, then went for his belt without breaking eye contact. Slow. Unhurried. Like he knew you were watching every move.

Which you were. Propped slightly on one elbow now, still catching your breath, hair a mess against the pillow, looking at him like you planned to enjoy this part just as much.

The soft clink of his belt buckle sounded louder than it should’ve in the quiet room.

“Bossy tonight,” he added, voice rough but warm.

You smirked faintly. “You started it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at that, stepping out of his jeans and pushing them aside before settling back over you, skin warm against yours now with almost nothing left in the way. The contact pulled a low sound from both of you; relief, anticipation, something deeper threaded through it.

He paused there a second, braced over you, one hand sliding up along your side until it settled at your jaw, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

“You good?” he asked softly.

You nodded without hesitation, hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back, drawing him closer.

“The best,” you whispered. “C’mere.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

You pushed yourself up just enough to hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, slow and deliberate. His breath hitched, watching you, chest rising and falling a little faster as you eased the fabric down his hips and off. 

The look that crossed your face when you finally took him in made something low and warm curl in his stomach; not shock, not embarrassment. Appreciation. A flicker of impressed amusement that softened into something more focused.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here,” you murmured under your breath, almost to yourself.

You reached for him then, slow and curious at first, like you were mapping something new, your touch warm and unhurried. The contact pulled a rough exhale from him before he could stop it, muscles tightening instinctively under your hand.

Heat climbed up his neck at that, a quiet, helpless huff leaving him as he let his head fall back for a second, one hand dragging across his stomach like he needed somewhere to put it.

“Juliet…” he warned softly, though there was no real warning in it.

Just his name on your lips and your hand stroking with growing confidence, like you enjoyed the way he reacted, like you meant to take your time learning exactly how.

He kissed you again; slower this time, deeper, less frantic than before but somehow more intense for it. Like you’d crossed whatever line had been holding you back and there was no reason left to pretend.

He barely had time to catch his breath before you shifted. A slow, deliberate push at his shoulders.

He blinked, surprised, as you guided him back against the pillows, hair falling around your face as you moved over him with a confidence that sent a fresh rush of heat through his veins.

“Juliet…” he started.

You just gave him a look. Soft. Certain. A little wicked.

“Fair’s fair,” you murmured.

And before he could argue, you kissed your way down his chest, slow and unhurried, like you intended to take your time the same way he had. Every warm press of your mouth pulled a rougher breath out of him, his hands already sliding into your hair without thinking, not guiding, just holding on.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath when you settled between his legs, head tipping back against the pillows.

He tried to keep some kind of composure when your mouth circled the tip of his cock. Tried. Lasted about three seconds.

Your name slipped out of him low and wrecked, one hand tightening in the sheets while the other hovered uselessly in the air before finally settling at the back of your neck, fingers flexing without direction.

“Juliet… darlin’...” he warned softly, voice already strained.

You hummed in quiet acknowledgement but didn’t stop. If anything, the sound seemed to encourage you, slow and deliberate in a way that had his control fraying fast.

His head fell back against the pillows, a low breath leaving him as he let himself feel it; the slow, deliberate attention, the warmth of your tongue, the way you took your time like you knew exactly what it was doing to him. 

When you started bobbing your head up and down faster, his breathing lost its rhythm. Shoulders tensing.

“Hey-” he rasped finally, reaching down to touch your shoulder gently. “C’mere… c’mere.”

You looked up, a little flushed, questioning.

He exhaled shakily, thumb brushing your jaw.

“I ain’t gonna last like this,” he admitted, rough and honest. “Need you. Wanna be inside you.”

The words hung warm between them.

You held his gaze for a moment, something soft flickering there beneath the heat, then nodded slowly and shifted back up toward him without hesitation.

As he reached for the bedside drawer on instinct, you caught his wrist lightly.

“I’m on the pill,” you said quietly. “You’re good.”

He stilled. Not pulling away. Just… looking at you. Making sure.

“You sure?” he asked, low.

You nodded. “Yeah.” A small, steady smile. “I trust you.”

That landed somewhere deep in his chest. He swallowed once, rough.

“…It’s been a while,” he admitted quietly. Honest. A little vulnerable in a way he hadn’t planned on being.

You brushed your fingers along his jaw. “Me too.”

The simplicity of that loosened something in him.

He leaned down and kissed you again, slower now. Less frantic. More certain. Like the last bit of distance between them had finally closed for good.

When he settled between your thighs again, it wasn’t rushed. Just a steady, careful closeness that felt less like urgency and more like finally getting where you’d been heading all along.

“Still with me?” he murmured against your mouth.

You nodded, breath warm against his lips.

“Yeah.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in, rubbing yourself against him. He felt his hardness brush your entrance, your clit, in every deliriously arousing touch. His hand moved to your hip automatically, grounding you together as the heat between you built again, different now. Mutual. Certain.

He stilled for half a second, breath heavy against your mouth, thumb dragging slow along your hip like he was memorizing the feel of you.

“Careful,” he murmured, a faint, crooked almost-smile tugged at his mouth, “I get used to this…” he murmured, voice rough against your mouth. “I ain’t lettin’ it go.”

You didn’t hesitate.

“Then don’t,” you whispered softly.

Your hand slid to his cock, guiding him closer, steady and certain as you drew him within you. He buried himself inside you in one swift stroke and then went still, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he needed a moment just to feel it. To feel you. To believe this was real.

“Fuck…” he breathed, barely above a whisper.

Then his hand tightened gently at your hip, grounding himself, and when he moved it was slow at first, careful. Your fingers tightened at his shoulders. A soft sound slipped out of you.

He let out a slow breath against your mouth, voice low and rough.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, eyes still on his.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

That was enough.

His hand slid under your thigh, lifting it slightly, changing the angle without breaking eye contact. The shift drew a sharper inhale from you, your nails pressing lightly into his back.

He noticed and a faint, almost satisfied exhale left him as he found the rhythm that made you react like that again. Slow. Deep. Unhurried. 

Your head tipped back into the pillow, his name falling from your lips in broken pieces now instead of warnings.

“Look at me,” he murmured softly.

You did. And whatever he saw there undid him a little.

His jaw tightened, movements losing a fraction of that careful restraint, not rushed but stronger now, more certain. By the time he found his rhythm, it wasn’t frantic anymore. It was steady. Intentional. Like something that had settled into place.

Every movement felt fuller than it should have, deeper than just skin and heat. The way you held him, the way your breath caught and matched his, the way your hands stayed anchored at his back like you meant to keep him there, it did something to him that went beyond want.

He’d expected it to feel good. He hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Like something closing. Like something starting.

His jaw tightened slightly, not from strain but from the weight of it. The way you reacted to him. The way you looked at him when your eyes opened and met his; not shy, not unsure. Present. Choosing him right back.

He pressed a slow kiss to your mouth, not breaking the rhythm, just needing to feel you there too. Needing the closeness. Needing all of it.

“Juliet…” he breathed, your name less a word and more a feeling.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about anything that might end this. Not tomorrow. Not fear. Not history. Just you. Just this. And how right it felt to be exactly where he was.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him closer, meeting him without hesitation. The sound that left you this time was lower, fuller, and it went straight to his groin.

“Oh, baby…” he breathed, almost reverent.

The tension built fast now. Different from before. Shared.

He pressed his forehead to yours again, breath rough, movements steady but deeper, closer, until your fingers tangled in his hair and you broke apart around him with a soft, breathless cry that made his control snap right along with it.

He followed seconds later, low and wrecked, burying his face against your shoulder as the last of it rolled through him.

And then…  Stillness. Just your breathing. Slowly settling. He stayed there, weight careful, one hand smoothing up your back in absent, grounding strokes.

After a minute you let out a soft, shaky laugh.

“Well,” you murmured.

He huffed quietly against your skin. “Yeah.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, gentler now. “Worth the wait?”

He lifted his head just enough to look at you, something warm and steady in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Worth it.”

He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him without thinking, tucking you against his chest like you belonged there. No jokes. No bravado.

Neither of you felt like you were in front of a line. You’d crossed it… Whatever it was. And neither of you wanted to go back.

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