La petite mort | Frankie Morales x f!reader | 4,4k
Summary: Meeting Frankie in a bar, you take him home for the night, and discover someone who is very patient with your needs.
CW: smut (oral f receiving, protected p in v, use of a sex toy, this is porn with very little plot), mention of cigarettes and alcohol, Frankie is a consent king, discussion of medication and side effects, mention of depression (slight description), Frankie is bi and that's that (in this house we ship FishBen), Frankie made me feel too many things as I wrote this fic and that deserves it's own warning.
Reader is abled body and almost no physical description, she has hair that can be tied up, and that's it, but if you notice anything please let me know.
A/N: Hey everyone, let me warn you before you read this, just in case. This is porn but with some realism. Sometimes, when you take medication, it affects your sex life resulting in sexual dysfunction: it lowers your desire, can result in anorgasmia (absent, delayed, infrequent or lacking intensity despite being aroused) etc... And that sometimes sucks. So, for once, I wanted to write a reader who experiences this but finds the perfect man to understand and help her. Yes this very self indulgent. Hope you enjoy it!
Edit: the title means « the little death » and it’s a metaphor for orgasm and more specifically to the post-orgasm sensation.
I'm always happy for comments and/or reblogs, so please don't be shy !
Main masterlist | Read on AO3
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
You met him in a bar, like you met most guys recently. Apps didn't really get you anywhere. Swiping, trying to hold a one-sided conversation, receiving barely written messages, like "WYD?" (What you doing?), while you tried to get to know them. Profile pictures of them holding fish, of them with friends at a party, but rarely good ones of them alone. Not that looks mattered the most, but damn, women took so much time to look pretty, choosing the right picture, coming up with the perfect bio, while guys barely took time to take a good picture or try to get to know you.
So bars it was, more often than not. That was your dating service. Even if it rarely lasted longer than the night. It was fine. Not that you didn't want more. But the spark never sparked. It felt more like scratching an itch. And since you slept on the first night, you were considered damaged goods. Not someone good enough to date. Just someone to pass the time with.
You could try harder, but what was the point, at your age, after everything? You didn't feel the energy, the will to look for more. Lately, life was… well, hard. Hard to get out of bed, hard to go to work, hard to see people. Life was just hard to live.
And sex was one of the only times you felt something: desired, sexy, a person. Even if it sometimes made you feel some shame, slightly disgusted in yourself, at least for a moment, you felt like more.
But this guy managed to spark your interest. He was handsome, nice, and he made you feel butterflies when he smiled at you. Everything in his looks made you tingle, from his broad shoulders, the curls of his brown hair under his hat, to that dimple when he smiled. He even made you laugh, something that happened less these days.
He talked to you, asked you questions about yourself, made you feel human, not because of your body, even if he seemed to like what he saw, but because of who you were.
When you asked him if he wanted to go back to your place, he looked deep into your eyes. You thought you saw a flash of disappointment, but it went away so quickly that you weren't sure. He paused, interrogation in his look, seeing if you meant it, before leading you to his car.
You must have imagined the disappointment, because the way he kissed you made you very well aware of the hunger he had for you. Pressed against the passenger side door, his heat radiated through his gray t-shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders, his mouth claiming yours, making you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. His hard length under the denim gave you a sense of the desire he had for you. When he pulled away, and you chased him with your mouth, he pressed his forehead to yours and asked you if you really wanted to take him home, eyes boring deep into you, like he wanted to hear your thoughts, like he almost could. The thoughtfulness of his words and actions made you falter a moment. Maybe you should take it slow, maybe take his number instead, maybe try something different. But you needed to feel something, anything, erase any other thoughts, so you pulled him in for another kiss, one to close those brown eyes, one so he wouldn't see your hesitation, one so he couldn't guess your thoughts, and see the emptiness you felt inside.
The drive was quick, and his hand never left your body. On your knee, on your leg, climbing up the inside of your thigh.
Now, on your couch, the touches and kisses are getting heated, the desire is pooling in your body, as his mouth slowly gravitates down your neck, with little bites that drive you crazy. He murmurs sweet nonsense, little praises, about how you make him feel, the effect you have on him. Your core is pulsing, your hands gripping him wherever you can, and your voice shakes when you plead, "Frankie, I need you, please." He lets out a growl, kissing his way down your body, pushing you gently down so you lie on the couch. His mouth is delicate and urgent at the same time, on your clavicle, between your breasts, on your still covered nipples, on your stomach.
"Let me taste you first, let me make you feel good with my mouth." His voice is strained, like it takes everything from him not to devour you right away. You want it, you want to feel him between your legs, but the thought of what might happen, what will inevitably be the outcome, makes you freeze, just for a moment, while your mind races to try to find an excuse. He feels it instantly.
"What is it?" His face levels with yours, eyes seeking yours.
You feel ashamed, but you try to brush it away, "Nothing, nothing." You start kissing him again, your hand going to his pants to unbuckle his belt. But he stops you, "What is it? Did I do something?" You can see the worry in his gaze, the way he tries to look into your soul.
It makes you feel vulnerable, seen, something you try to avoid, to hide from. But he won't let it go. Sitting back up, you pull yourself together, folding your legs up to your chest.
You can see he's keeping a respectful distance, trying to give you space and agency in the situation, and that he is afraid of crossing a line. You feel miserable, everything was going so well. The moment is gone, and the beautiful man standing in front of you is just going to leave now that what you have to offer seems off the table. Your own desire is slowly slipping away, leaving in its wake shame and distaste for yourself. You didn't expect him to offer to go down on you. They rarely do and never during a hook-up.
Your silence prompts him to ask you, "Do you want me to… go? Or stay? I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you or anything…"
Before he even finishes his sentence, you cut him off, "Can you hold me?" You barely have time to finish talking, that he is holding you in his arms, a hug that makes you feel safe. Gently caressing your shoulder and back, holding you tight, he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"
Even though you had been kissing merely seconds before, even if you were already in your bra and panties and he was just in his boxers, he still takes time to check everything. He makes you feel secure.
"Yes."
A few quiet moments, some light kisses on your temple, cheek, nose, and then mouth. It's tender, and you start relaxing. Pulling slightly away, he looks at you, asking, "What did I do wrong?"
He's so vulnerable, so respectful that you put your arms around his neck and kiss him with intent before answering.
"It's not you. It's me. And it's not even me. It's just…" You sigh, stretching on the couch. He's looking at you expectantly. "You really want to know?" you ask him.
Frankie nods, still a little uneasy. You sigh again and start playing with a string on a cushion, avoiding his eyes.
"I'm taking antidepressants. I have been for a few months now, and…" Your eyes go up, looking at him. His gaze doesn't falter, he just gives a slight nod of the head, and you continue.
"And I don't really have orgasms anymore."
There is a slight pause, he swallows, your eyes are drawn to his throat, to the freckles you see there and on his neck and shoulder. You can't help the small sigh as you wait for him to find an excuse to leave.
Instead, he just asks, "Never?"
"Well… almost never… but… never with anyone."
There is another silence, one where Frankie looks at you and then continues to ask you questions.
"And the guys before?"
"I just fake it… Orgasm isn't always an endgame. I mean, I take a lot of pleasure in sex, I just fake it after a while when I know it's not going to happen."
"But then why didn't you want me to…"
"I've never had a guy want to go down on me in this kind of situation." You interrupt.
"You mean, a one-night stand?"
"Yes… I didn't think I could fake it. And I don't want you to feel forced or…" You don't finish the sentence, still uneasy at the whole situation.
You see him relax somewhat. Now that he knows that he didn't cross a boundary, that he didn't hurt you, he closes the gap between you, eyes turning black again, making you hungry for his touch. The air shifts, and you can tell he's not going to leave. His hands go to your waist, and he starts kissing you deeply. His voice turns low and sultry.
"Let me be blunt. I love eating pussy, I get off on it. I can even come just from it. This is not something I would feel forced to do. I very much want to do that now, but only if you want to. I want to try to make you come with my mouth, make you feel good, even if it lasts hours. And we can stop whenever you want. Would you want that?"
The desire that had left you is back in a second. You can feel it in your cunt clenching around nothing, in your pulse quickening at his words, in the slick between your legs ruining your underwear. The hunger in his eyes makes you feel weak. You nod.
"I need your words. I want to make sure you want this."
"Yes," You wish your voice was stronger, but it's still a little meek.
"Then let's get you comfortable, show me your bedroom."
He never leaves your body, always touching you on the way to your bed, with his mouth and fingers. Both of you lying down, he starts kissing your body with reverence, taking off your bra and then your panties, licking, nipping everywhere. You're at a point where you could scream from heat and lust. You need him now, anywhere, anyway, you just want to feel him, your cunt feels heavy, almost painfully.
"You tell me whenever to stop." Frankie rasps, eyes looking up to you from between your legs. The sight makes you shiver.
He takes his time, kissing your hips, your thighs, and then slowly drags his tongue between your folds, uttering a sinful sound like you are the best meal he's ever had. His tongue then gives a few kitten licks on your clit, circling it before going back to your folds.
The sensation is bliss, you can tell he's enjoying this as much as you are, and he is trying to see what feels good for you. You watch him and his eyes look up, giving you a wink before circling your clit with his mouth and sucking, the action making you moan loudly and close your eyes, head rolling back. Your hands go to grab his arms that have you pinned to the mattress, his big hands gripping your thighs, holding them apart, and pulling your cunt closer to him. He lavishes you, all his previous restraint is gone as he hears you cry out from pleasure. Lapping and sucking, tongue fucking you, then swirling it back to your clit, alternating slow and fast motions, light and hard, making you see colors through your closed eyes. You feel it coming, the orgasm, something you didn't think possible, it's right there, you can almost reach it, if you hold out your hand, you could grab and bring it closer, but it recedes. Your voice falters, something like a whine comes out of you. Frankie pushes a finger inside you, slowly fucking you. Your pleasure starts climbing again as he adds a second one and starts curling them inside you, his mouth and tongue working in unison. It's almost there, almost on you, you screw your eyes shut in concentration, willing the orgasm to wash over you, but again it evades you. You feel like crying.
"Frankie, stop, stop." You tug on his hair, and he stops, raising his head and looking at you, eyes dazed in lust, but soon shifting to concern.
"You're all right?" He whispers. You try to catch your breath, your heart is beating fast, like you were running a race. One to reach climax, only you didn't run fast enough.
"Yes, it was… God! Frankie, you're good, very good, but I just… It's not working."
He comes up, kisses you. The taste of him mixed with your release is intoxicating. His kiss is messy and starved, making you dizzy, holding him close to you, feeling his hard cock on you. "That's OK. Let's take it slow." He finally murmurs.
"I think… let's just fuck." You're frustrated by your desire, you feel bad, the fact that he is so hard against you, and that he probably just needs to come, makes you want to do anything so that he doesn't leave you alone. And even though he has been sweet, you doubt he won't soon get tired of your shit, so he might as well fuck you and get it over with.
He looks at you, like he understands every thought that goes through your mind.
"No. Not like that."
"But… Aren't you…"
"I'm fine, OK? We are not going to fuck just so I can come while you take no pleasure. We can stop here, I can stay, or leave, whatever you need." His tone is final. But it turns sinful when he adds, kissing your neck, "Or we can try something else."
"Something else?" You want anything he can offer, you don't want him to leave you.
"Earlier, you said you never orgasmed with someone. That means you can come while masturbating, right?" He nips your shoulder, making you gasp.
"Yeah."
"How? Fingers, toys?"
"Vibrator." Dazzed by the questions and what he is doing with his depraved mouth, you barely think of how unusual this conversation is with someone you met only a few hours ago. But it's easy, natural, with him. So you add, "On my clit."
Frankie hums, his lips circling one of your nipples, sucking before he lets go with a pop.
"What if I fucked you while using that vibrator on your clit? Would that work?" Instead of answering, you lean to your bedside table, pull out the vibrator, and condoms from the drawer.
Frankie grabs a condom, puts it on, and then lies down on his side next to you, turning you so that you have your back to him. Slowly continuing to unravel you, he touches, grabs, and pinches your body, sliding his cock between your legs, coating his tip in your release. Adjusting your leg, he slowly sinks inside you, both of you letting out a moan.
One of his arms goes under your body, hand splayed on your stomach, holding you pressed to him. The other hand is kneading your breast and pinching your nipple, as you cry out. He slowly starts to thrust, letting you feel him wholly, his mouth peppering kisses on your neck, right behind your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe, leaving you shaking in his arms.
Holding the vibrator, still off, you take time to enjoy the feel of him, the leisure drag of his cock inside of you, deep, until his hips snap hard, jerking you forward, his hands pressing you to him. He murmurs sweet words in your ear, how good you feel, how much he wants to be buried in you forever, how hot you are and how he couldn't take his eyes off you since he saw you in the bar, how he wants to do this again, how he wants to see you again, all these words that make you feel so much, feel things you can barely understand. He's working you until your pants and small gasps turn to moans, until you feel the pleasure rising and him getting worked up. His words are filthy now, asking you if you feel him, if you feel how hard you make him, how wet you are, the sound of him inside you proving his point. How good you take him, how much he wants to fuck you in every position, make you scream his name in pleasure, make you feel more than anyone ever has, how much he wants to eat you again, how good you taste.
His hands continue to work your body, gripping, kneading, as he kisses, licks, and bites. One hand is traveling between your legs, cupping your pussy. The heat of his body behind you is almost unbearable, the feeling of him inside and out of you. It's almost too much but also not enough. You feel limp in his arms, brain almost shut down as you take his thrusts that get deeper, faster, taking everything he gives you again and again and again.
His fingers circle your clit, making you sob until he pinches it. You cry out a sound so obscene and loud your neighbors probably hear it. You don't care, you're too into the moment. He appeals to all your senses, the feel of him inside, outside, your own hand gripping his arms, feeling the muscles of his strong forearms, the softness of his curls under your fingers, nails on his scalp, the sound of his deep, low voice when he talks and the growls he makes while grinding inside you, the sight of him between your legs, cock opening you up and fingers driving you insane. The smell of sweat, sex, and his cologne, the taste of beer and cigarettes when you kiss him, all of it exhilarating.
He was good with his tongue and mouth, and he is just as divine with the rest of his body.
You can feel it again, the rise of the orgasm, like a wave coming but leaving before it touches you, coming a little closer every time. Like a light you can barely reach, like a feeling close to explosion yet receding before the fireworks go off. You can't help but cry in frustration. You want him to have his own pleasure, to feel good, but it's borderline painful to be so close to your release and feel it escape you again. Before you get in your head, Frankie murmurs, "Turn it on, baby." With shaky hands, you turn on your vibrator. When it starts vibrating, he grabs it with one hand and puts it on your clit.
The pleasure spikes again, you can feel it, but it's not enough. The hand that was in his hair goes straight to the one holding the toy, giving it the pressure you want. Frankie is a fast learner and applies the exact amount of pressure you need and the exact friction you show him. Nails digging on his arms, you start climbing again, the peak so close, closer than it has ever been. You can feel it, it's finally here, the wave is touching you, the explosion is impending.
"Yes, Frankie here, like that! Don't stop, please, I think, I think… Fuck Frankie," the pleasure is so intense as it ripples through you, barely understanding what you are babbling, what he's saying. Until you shatter, a climax that seems to last forever, almost an out-of-body experience.
Senses coming back, you hear yourself whimper, and feel him behind you, losing his control, hips snapping fast, as he moans and groans in your ear. You quickly shove the vibrator away, grab his hair again, and talk him through it.
"Come for me, Frankie, come inside me, I want to feel you deep, baby. Let go for me."
His sounds are obscene in your ear, hips jerking, hands gripping you hard as he comes. The afterglow of the orgasm, coupled with the feel of him losing control, is the best you've felt in years.
You both lie for a few minutes, catching your breath, delicate touches on one another, while you shut off the vibrator with a trembling hand.
You feel relaxed, exhausted, and you want to stay in his arms forever, feeling the scruff of his beard and his mustache against your skin as he kisses you tenderly.
But you have to get up at some point, you untangle yourself slightly, and you feel Frankie's arms loosen. With a quick "I'll be right back," you slip into the adjoining bathroom to use the toilet. When you come out, it's to the sight of a very naked Frankie standing in the middle of your bedroom, looking for a trash can to throw away the tied-up used condom in his hand. You can't help but chuckle at the sight, endearing and also hot. He's confident with his nudity, but the sight of his tousled hair, the nail marks you can make out on his arms, and the hickey you gave him on his shoulder gives you a surge of electricity in your belly. You realize you don't want him to leave. You don't want him to be another one-night stand. You wonder if what he said about wanting to see you again is true. After the sex, after the time and energy he put into making you feel good, you wonder if he still wants it, what he said in the spur of the moment.
To test the waters, you ask, "Do you want to take a shower with me?" A huge smile illuminates his face, showing the dimple that made you take him home in the first place, and he follows you in the shower.
"Just don't wet my hair," you tell him as you tie it up in a high bun to avoid water on it.
You both spend a few wordless minutes washing each other. Hands discovering the other's body in another way, not heated but still with desire. And also curiosity and wonder, lightly touching marks and scars. Too soon to ask questions, but already an interrogation as to what the other one has lived before. His body tells more stories than yours, but he did mention serving in the army, so it fits with his previous occupation.
The intimacy of the moment is something you haven't felt in so long. Giving your body never felt like intimacy. Sex had been a means to feel lately, but even before that, it had always been something you never shied away from. But this, exposing yourself in this context, body and mind, the way you spoke before, makes you feel far more vulnerable. And yet he makes you feel safe and seen.
As he lightly rinses soap off your shoulder, pressing a light kiss after, your back to him, he breaks the silence.
"I also used to take antidepressants." He lets a silence settle, you don't move, so he continues 'They had an effect on my sex drive and also sometimes gave me erectile dysfunction." He speaks matter-of-factly. Not shying away. You understand it's a form of reciprocity, but he's also making you understand you aren't alone. It warms you, and you turn around to look him in the eyes as you ask, "Did it last long?"
"A while, yeah... I took medication for a couple of years. And when I started, I wasn't dating anyone anymore, so the first few times it happened wasn't with someone I really knew. It didn't feel good. And then I got in my head, and it was hard to tell if it was the medication or me sabotaging myself."
You swallow hard because that's exactly what you feel. The first few months, you knew it was because of the medication, but now it feels like you're expecting it to happen, so it does.
Frankie looks at you, like he's hearing your thoughts, "But eventually I found someone who helped me. Someone I trusted and was able to let go with." You want him to mean something else when he says this, like he could be the one you can trust, the one to help you if you want.
"How did she do it?" you ask him, instead of pursuing that thought.
You sense his hesitation, and like he's about to take a leap of faith, before he speaks again, "He… He was a friend, still is. We were in the army together, went through the same stuff, and I guess… knowing he understood, helped me." He is searching your face, gauging your reaction.
You know your eyes widened at first, but you do everything to show him it doesn't matter to you and that you are still here with him. So you put your hands on his waist, touching him and showing him instead, and ask, "Do you still see him like this?"
He smiles when you came closer, when you touch him, relief flooding through his features, and then he laughs at your question.
"No! No, I don't see Benny like this anymore. It was never more than friends with benefits, really. We needed to be with people we trusted. We are still very much friends and very open and clear on what has happened. And Benny is now happily married, and his wife knows everything." The way he explains it and the look he gives you, everything makes you feel like he's giving you these details so that you know he meant what he said earlier.
Smiling, you turn off the water and hand him a towel. Wordlessly, you give him a toothbrush, looking at him expectantly. He takes it with a smile, and while you both brush your teeth in silence, you can't help the grin on your face. No words are needed as you put on your pajamas and he puts on his boxers. Not a word when you slide under the covers and he joins you, holding you after you turn off the light.
In the dark, your back to him, his arm draped over you, you whisper "Are you free tomorrow morning?"
He pauses before answering and utters a yes, his breath tickling your neck.
"I know a very good breakfast place around the corner." You add and you can feel him smile on your shoulder as he kisses it.
"I would love to have breakfast with you tomorrow." He says before sleep overtakes you both.
Thank you for reading ❤️
tagglist, also adding people who showed interest in the wip (please let me know if you want to be added/removed): @grogusmum @here-briefly @iknowisoundcrazyreads @javierpenaismyhusband @mani-pedro @lillaydee @littlemisspascal @harriedandharassed @sunnytuliptime @picketniffler @sawymredfox @cuteanimalmama @berryispunk @baronessvonglitter @milla-frenchy @vindictivegranny @half-moon16
summary: life hasn't been the same since the outbreak, but still, you try to survive. you have to.
pairing: joel miller x fem!reader
content warning(s): MATURE (18+ MDNI), established relationship, flashbacks, death of a child, brief mention of violence, reader insecurities, joel is bad at feelings, boston qz!joel (for now), implied smut, minimal physical description of reader, no use of y/n.
word count: 8.1k
a/n: alright y'all - i wrote this story back in 2023 and never quite finished the story after writing 3 chapters, but i missed writing for joel and wanted to rework this story as it was one of the first series that i ever wrote for joel. anyway, stay tuned. we're in for an emotional ride. we're starting with boston qz!joel for now (will eventually get to jackson!joel though). <3
*italics are flashbacks*
pt. 2 || series masterlist. || read on ao3.
It had been five years since the outbreak. Five years since everything changed—since the world ended. You stayed close to Joel and Tommy, following their lead and doing things that you were sure neither of you would ever think of doing if the world hadn’t gone to shit.
But still, it was a way for you all to survive. You tried to tell yourself that every time you hurt someone, every time you had stole from people that were just trying to survive too.
Joel was the only one who seemed unfazed by it all. This world had hardened him much more than it did you and Tommy. He’d just tell you that it was “either them or us”, and you knew he had a point. You wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Joel or Tommy.
So, you went along with what they did.
And it kept you up every night. You couldn’t sleep longer than an hour or two without being woken up by the sounds of screaming. It was always the same nightmare too—Outbreak day and the couple of days that followed after that.
But this life had turned you into a version of yourself that you no longer recognized either. You didn’t blink twice or flinch if you had to hurt someone to survive. You’d hear Joel’s words echo in your mind when you did.
“It’s either them or us.”
You hated what the world became, hated the person you were now. Joel barely looked at you. Tommy, too. It was like the three of you were ashamed of the things you all had to do.
But sometimes, for a few moments, you’d allow yourself to reminisce about what life was like before the world ended.
You thought about Sarah—her bouncy curls and infectious smile.
You thought about how life was finally falling in place for you—you were in love and in a seriously committed relationship with Joel, talking about the future with each other.
Everything had been going just right.
But the world had ended too fast. One minute you were celebrating Joel’s birthday in the morning with Sarah, cooking breakfast alongside of her and the next, she was taking her last breath in his arms.
It wasn’t fair.
None of that should have happened.
Sarah should have still been here.
It should have been you.
You didn’t only lose Sarah that night.
You lost Joel too.
He couldn’t even properly grieve his daughter, couldn’t even bury her or say goodbye. Instead, Tommy had hoisted him up and told you both to run.
You didn’t want to. Joel didn’t either.
But you both did anyway.
Leaving the old life behind.
Leaving Sarah behind.
And it had only gotten worse from there.
That next morning, you flinched at the sound of a gunshot ringing through the woods. You stood from the ground so fast and ran towards the noise, which was probably not a good idea considering the world had ended.
But when you saw Joel—gun in hand and bleeding at the temple—you rushed to him. You could see the tears in his eyes, the distant and vacancy in those deep brown eyes. He lost his little girl and he wanted everything to end. Tommy had come rushing towards you seconds later.
You didn’t know what to do. You tried to get Joel’s attention, but he hadn’t answered. He kept his attention forward.
The only thing he said was, “I flinched. I fuckin’ flinched.”
Nothing was the same after that.
And yet, your bodies still craved each other. Long gone was the relationship you had with him and instead, it was replaced by convenience, familiarity. You didn’t talk to him like you normally did and even if you tried, he wouldn’t say much.
So, you told yourself that you’d rather have him like this than not have him at all.
“I’m tired, Joel,” Tommy said, rifle slung over his shoulder. The three of you had staked out an abandoned store, having noticed a couple of people come in and out of it. They didn’t look threatening, just two people trying to survive like the rest of the population.
“Either we do this, or we starve,” Joel mumbled. “Take your pick.”
You knew not to get in between them. Before, you had no problem trying to calm them down, but that was when Sarah was still here—when she’d be there to back you up. You sighed quietly under your breath, mind drifting to memories of before. You were tired too, and you knew Joel was also.
But you had to keep going.
“It’s either them or us.”
“Why can’t we—just try to join a bigger group? There’s strength in numbers,” Tommy suggested.
“No.” Joel said. “I ain’t trustin’ anyone else but the two of you.”
“We can’t survive like this, Joel.”
“I’d say we’re doin’ just fine,” he answered.
Tommy sighed.
Then, his gaze fell on you. For a moment, his eyes softened. Tommy knew the toll it took on you—seeing a man you once loved turn into someone you didn’t know anymore.
“What about you?” He asked.
Joel turned to look at you, and for a moment, when your eyes met, you noticed a quick glimpse of the man from before. It had softened just a fraction, but as quickly as that came, it passed—almost like Joel remembered where they were and what this world was.
“We keep going,” you answered. “We’re all exhausted, Tommy, but we—we have to keep going.”
Joel nodded once. Didn’t give you a smile or anything, just a single nod before looking back at Tommy.
“There’s a QZ nearby. Boston. Maybe—maybe we should head there. After this, after… what we’re about to do.”
Joel sighed.
You bit your lower lip.
It wasn’t a bad idea, but you weren’t sure about it. Going to a QZ meant giving up any sense of freedom you had now in exchange for shelter and food.
“Think about it. We’ll have a place to lay our heads every night, food we can eat,” Tommy continued. “We won’t have to worry about the infected killin’ us, or—or other people who are also tryin’ to survive too.”
“Right. We’ll just have to worry about FEDRA tryin’ to do that instead,” Joel muttered.
He sighed. “We’ve done this…for the last five years, Joel. Ain’t you tired? Wouldn’t you want to give her some place safe to stay?”
You shook your head. You hated when Tommy used you as a way to get through to Joel.
He looked at you again. His gaze lingered. His jaw clenched as he placed both hands on his hips. Joel hadn’t been the same since he lost Sarah and he wished he could say that he opened up to you, to let you in, but instead, he did the opposite. Joel put his guard up around everyone, including Tommy, putting people he loved at arm’s length. He loved you from afar because if he held you close and lost you the way he lost Sarah, Joel knew it’d break him.
“Of course I want to give her some place safe to stay,” Joel finally answered. “I ain’t doin’ this because I like it. I’m doin’ it to survive, Tommy.”
“We ain’t survivin’, Joel. We’re just waitin’ for our turn,” he said quietly.
Joel cleared his throat. He dropped his gaze to his boots.
“Fine,” Joel mumbled. “After this, we head to Boston.”
Tommy’s eyes widened just slightly. He hadn’t expected Joel to agree. “Really?”
“But we still stick together, you hear me?” Joel said.
“Yeah, yes,” Tommy nodded.
“You hear me too?” Joel asked you, looking over at you.
You nodded.
Then, Joel took you by surprise by taking your hand in his. You gasped quietly, feeling the roughness of his palm against your own. He usually only initiated any kind of physical touch at night, away from Tommy and in the dark where neither of you could see.
“I’m just tryin’ to protect you,” he whispered.
“I know, baby,” you said.
Joel cleared his throat. Almost like he had woken up from whatever was clouding his mind, he pulled his hand from yours immediately. “You stay by my side, okay?”
“Always,” you whispered.
There was hope that simmered in your chest. Hope that maybe Boston would become a home for the three of you, but while it was still a long trip to get there, you still had to do your job.
And right now, that meant having to hurt two innocent people in order for you, Joel and Tommy to survive.
To make it to tomorrow.
You were covered in blood. The two people that you were going to steal supplies from didn’t make it easy. They begged—pleaded for you to just take what you needed and leave. They promised they wouldn’t go after you, promised that they were just trying to survive too.
But you knew letting them go was a risk that you couldn’t take.
Not in this world.
You took shelter elsewhere. After stealing their supplies—which were a handful of canned goods and a first aid kit—the three of you kept walking. Onto the next one.
Joel didn’t say a word.
Neither did Tommy.
You kept your eyes straight ahead and tried to block out the sounds of their screams, their cries. Your hands shook, staring down at them like they no longer belonged to you. It blended in with memories of the day of the outbreak—the sound of Joel pleading with Sarah to just hang on, the sound of Sarah’s whimpers at the pain she felt.
You hated the person you became.
No matter what you told yourself, there was a part of you that knew that there was no redeeming yourself. Not after the things you did to people who didn’t deserve it—just like the couple that you killed for a few canned goods and a fucking first aid kit.
“We should take shelter here,” Tommy said, motioning ahead. “We start moving again at dawn.”
Joel nodded in response.
You just kept walking.
Away from the main roads, you finally set your bag down to give your back a break. Joel had surprised you the second time that day by standing in front of you and taking your shaky hands in his own.
“You did good back there,” he whispered. “I know it ain’t easy.”
You didn’t answer, just kept your gaze on his hands. It was exactly what you needed—he was always what you needed, so you tried to hold onto whatever moment this was.
“Hey,” Joel said quietly. “Darlin’?”
Then, you looked up at him. Tears filled your eyes. Joel’s eyes softened for a brief moment.
“Are we really going to Boston?” You asked.
Joel sighed. “Yeah, we’re goin’ to Boston.”
“And whatever this is… we’re done?”
He nodded. “Can’t exactly be doin’ this in a QZ.”
“And us?”
“What about us?”
You sighed. “Nothing, never mind.”
Joel squeezed your hands. “You should try and get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
“Right, yeah.”
He let go and turned on his heel, his back now facing you as he walked towards his own bag. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to break down. All you wanted was for him to hold you—just like before. Instead, he retreated and only gave you glimpses of himself whenever he wanted.
And yet, you stayed.
Because it was better than losing him entirely.
It had only been a few months in the Boston QZ before you met Tess. She approached Joel first, who then introduced you and Tommy later that week. You weren’t sure exactly what smuggling meant until she broke it down in full detail—it meant more ration cards and it meant living just a bit better than everyone else in the QZ.
You noticed—for the first time since arriving—the light in Joel’s eyes. You knew he needed more than doing just a simple cleanup or fixing things around the QZ. You watched how eager he was to get back out there, even if it meant encountering people that he wouldn’t otherwise trust.
Tommy was quick to agree. He felt like he owed it to Joel to do what he wanted, especially since he had agreed to come to Boston.
That only left you.
And it unnerved you—how close Tess was to Joel, how her hand would brush against his. You knew Joel wasn’t the type of man to ever cheat on you, but things change. The world changed.
You knew you couldn’t say no, not when Joel and Tommy went on about you being such a good shot that you could shoot something with your eyes closed. Tess looked ecstatic, said that she’d have a job for the three of you soon and when she left, Joel walked her out.
You looked at Tommy.
He gave you an apologetic look.
“She ain’t his type,” he said. “‘Sides, he loves you.”
“He hasn’t said those words in years,” you whispered.
Tommy sighed. “He’s just—lost a lot.”
“I know,” you answered. “But that doesn’t mean he’s the only one.”
You turned on your heel, didn’t bother waiting for him, as you walked into the bedroom that you shared with Joel. You sat at the edge and looked down at your lap, tears filling your eyes. You didn’t know what this meant anymore, didn’t know what Joel wanted.
It only took him a few minutes before he joined you in bed. He was in a good mood, laying down in bed and gently taking you with him. You craved every physical interaction you had with him because they happened less frequently as the years went on.
But still, you both had needs.
And you felt familiar to him.
“This is gonna be a good thing, darlin’,” he whispered, lightly kissing your temple.
“Okay, Joel.”
He moved to hover above you. Joel looked down at you and cupped your cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’.”
“Don’t look like nothin’.”
“You just—you look real close to Tess.”
He sighed. “She’s just a business partner.”
“I know that. I’m trying not to let it get to my head.”
Joel knew that he hadn’t been good to you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just that he didn’t know how to anymore. He didn’t know how to love you without the fear crawling up his chest, reminding him that at any moment, he could lose you the way he lost Sarah. So, he tried to keep you at arm’s length, hoping that his actions were enough for you to know that he still loved you, that he would always love you.
“You know I ain’t ever gonna hurt you, right?”
You looked up at him and nodded, despite every inch of your body wanting to scream that he hurt you every day. You knew it wasn’t intentional either, so you didn’t say anything. He lost Sarah. She died in his arms and then the next day, he tried to kill himself because of it. Joel was broken and there wasn’t anything you could do to help fix him.
So, you stayed by his side. Hoping that it was enough for him to see that you were still here.
“I know, Joel.”
“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, lowering himself between your legs. “You’ll see.”
Months turned to years. Smuggling with Tess did make things better for you, Joel, and Tommy. You didn’t struggle like you had when you first arrived, but the dynamic between you and Joel shifted. He’d smuggle more often than you and Tommy. Sometimes, he’d even go by himself.
But things started shifting when Tommy started distancing himself from you, Joel, and Tess. He stopped smuggling and instead, became more interested in a group called the Fireflies. Said that he was fighting for something bigger than himself and Joel didn’t like that. FEDRA had been arresting anyone who was affiliated with the Fireflies and it wasn’t ever a good thing when FEDRA was involved.
So, smuggling had become a thing that you, Joel, and Tess started doing and you always felt like a third wheel whenever you were around the two of them. They just moved in sync, so familiar with each other’s movements that it made you feel empty and hollow whenever you were on a run with them. Joel would always check in with you—a gentle hand on your lower back, a light kiss on your temple, but it wasn’t enough.
It stopped being enough when he started going out on runs independently with Tess.
And it stopped being enough when he started taking the pills he’d smuggle and drink alcohol almost every night to help him sleep.
Long gone was the person who was so full of life, of love… He had become a broken shell of a man, putting up walls around himself not even you could break through. And you were tired. Tired of seeing him work himself day in and day out, busying himself of the thoughts you were sure were plaguing him.
One night after he left to go on a run with Tess, you stayed in your apartment and stared out the window. You hadn’t seen or talked to Tommy in so long and you wondered if he was safe, if he was thriving in his newfound tribe. It had been raining outside, so you watched the water trickle down the side of the glass as you waited for Joel to come home.
It was moments like this when your mind started to drift.
And you started to think about the time before outbreak day.
When you were happy, in love, and hopeful for a life that you longed for.
“Movie night?” Sarah asked, pouring the popcorn into a large bowl in your kitchen.
“Did you finish your homework?”
“Yes…”
“Uh huh,” you smiled, reaching over to plop a single popcorn into your mouth. “And what if your dad comes home and finds out that you didn’t, in fact, finish your homework?”
Sarah shrugged. “It’s Friday, come on.”
“Fine,” you said. “But if I get in trouble, I’m blaming you.”
She grinned. Her dimples appeared instantly. “You’re the best.” Then, she grabbed the bowl of popcorn and walked into your living room, sliding in the DVD of the movie she wanted to watch into the player.
When you moved into this neighborhood a few years ago, you hadn’t expected to develop such a close relationship with your next door neighbor. Sarah had been the first one to introduce herself that weekend you moved in, holding a plate of cookies. Joel was standing next to her, looking stiff and uneasy on your front porch.
“Hi, I’m Sarah! This is my dad, Joel. We live next door and we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
You looked at the young girl and then looked at Joel. He had his hands on his hips and his eyes looking everywhere but at you.
“Oh,” you smiled. “That’s real sweet of you both, thank you.” You told them your name and then looked down at the plate of cookies. “That for me?”
Sarah grinned. “Yes! I made them this morning.”
“Well, I do have a sweet tooth and I think I’m due for a break, so… y’all want to come in?”
Joel finally looked at you. When your eyes met, something stirred in your chest. Joel felt it too because he no longer could take his eyes off you. But then,“Oh no, that’s quite alright—”
“We’d love to!” Sarah interjected.
Joel sighed. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “We don’t mean to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” you smiled, opening the door even further for the two of them to step inside. “I invited you both. So long as you don’t mind the mess.”
“Whoa,” Sarah said, stepping inside and looking around with wide eyes. “You have so many pictures!”
“Ah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I like taking pictures. I collect a few cameras, actually.”
“And a record player?!”
Joel cleared his throat. “Sarah—”
“It’s okay,” you smiled, abruptly reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. The both of you looked down at your hand. You pulled it away immediately. “Sorry.”
“S’okay, darlin’.”
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks.
“Can I put a record in?” Sarah asked.
“Yeah,” you answered, walking over to her and gently taking the plate in her hands. “Pick any record you like. I’ll set these in the kitchen.”
“Dad—look, she’s got some of your favorites too.”
Joel kept his gaze on you, watched you interact so easily with his daughter that it made his stomach flutter with a feeling he hadn’t felt in years.
“Well, you’re welcome over anytime, Sarah,” you said softly. “As long as it’s okay with you, Joel.”
He nodded and glanced down at Sarah for a moment. “I reckon that’s fine.”
“I’m gonna be here every day after school,” Sarah laughed quietly.
“That’d be great. I’m new to the area, so maybe y’all both can show me around one day.”
It had only taken Joel a year later to finally make his move. You weren’t sure if the feeling had been mutual, but Sarah would be over at your place almost every day, especially when Joel was working late. It wasn’t until one night, after Sarah passed out on your couch after she said she wanted to watch a movie, that Joel climbed up the few steps on your porch only for you to open the door right before he knocked.
“Oh,” you smiled. “I was just throwing the trash out,” you said, keeping the door open for him in case he wanted to step inside. “Sarah’s asleep.”
“Let me guess… she convinced you to watch a movie and then fell asleep about half an hour into it,” he chuckled.
“Yup, that’s exactly what happened.” You laughed quietly, stepping outside in just an oversized shirt and a pair of sleep pants as you walked towards the trash bin at the front of your home.
“Here, let me,” Joel said, shutting the front door and then taking the trash bag from your hand. He was tired—exhausted from yet another late night of work, but he always enjoyed coming home.
Because coming home meant also seeing you.
Once he threw your trash away, Joel followed you back onto your porch where you both leaned against the railing, lit up only by the single porch light.
“You look tired,” you pointed out. “You have the weekend off, right?”
Joel nodded. “Figure I sleep in tomorrow,” he said. “And just be… lazy.”
“Sounds like a great day to me,” you smiled.
“You got any plans?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Probably just do some cleaning around the house, check out that new bookstore in town. Sarah mentioned she wanted to join, so—”
“That your way of askin’ permission?”
“Well, I was thinking I was gonna ask for forgiveness and not permission,” you smiled.
Joel let his lips curl upwards. “You know, I’m thinkin’ Sarah might like you more than she likes me,” he teased.
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, sure. Of course I’m her favorite. I let her do whatever she wants,” you grinned.
“What?” Joel asked.
“Yeah. I say yes to everything she wants to do.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
You gasped playfully. “Joel Miller! I am no liar.”
His smile grew. Joel took a step closer to you now. “You’re real pretty, y’know that?” He blurted out.
Your eyes widened slightly. Your cheeks flushed and the tips of your ears grew hot. “What?”
“Shit, sorry,” he sighed, looking away from you as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “That just came out. M’sorry.”
“You think… I’m pretty?” You smiled.
Joel slowly looked back up at you. “Am I crossin’ a line?”
You shook your head and moved closer to him. “Joel, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now. Figured maybe you weren’t interested.”
“Y—You, what?” Joel bit his lower lip. “Sarah was right…”
“What?”
“She said you liked me, or at least wanted me to ask you out or somethin’. I don’t know. I didn’t believe her.”
You laughed quietly. “She’s trying to set us up… she told me that maybe I should just ask you out too.”
Joel smiled. He felt the nerves slowly settle down. “She can be sneaky when she wants to be.”
“Yeah, I see that now,” you smiled.
“So, I guess… would you wanna go out to dinner with me this weekend?”
You bit your lower lip. “I’d like that… very much, Joel.”
He grinned now. You noticed the dimple on his cheek as he leaned in to kiss your forehead lightly. “Tomorrow at seven? I’ll pick you up.”
“Gonna take me some place nice, Joel?”
He pulled back to look down at you. He was so close to you now. “Yeah, baby.”
You felt your stomach flip and then you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Can’t wait.”
Then, your relationship with Joel blossomed. You had been together for two years before the outbreak happened. Sarah had made it known from the very beginning that she couldn’t wait until you both got married—her two favorite people in the world.
And as she got older, she started looking at you like a mother figure in her life. She’d come to you for advice, cry on your shoulder when a boy hurt her feelings or if she just needed to vent about her life as a fourteen year old.
You and Joel talked about the future. You both knew what each other wanted—marriage, kids, the whole dream. Joel would tell you that it would happen soon, but he never did get a chance to propose. He picked out the ring with Sarah, planned it with her too.
But then, the outbreak happened.
And the future you both wanted would never come.
Because when the world ended for everyone else, it stopped moving for you and Joel.
Sarah wasn’t supposed to die like that. She wasn’t supposed to take her last breath in his father’s arms. Joel wasn’t supposed to lose her.
You had woken up abruptly when you heard the front door shut. You looked up and watched Joel stumble to the small table, sitting down on the chair with a quiet grunt.
“Hey…” you whispered, walking over to him slowly. “You’re back late.”
“Sorry. Ran into some trouble, but s’fine.”
Then, you noticed the blood on his hands and you immediately sat across from him, scooting your chair closer to his. “What happened?”
“Was a bad deal,” Joel mumbled. “A couple of infected, but otherwise, the guys we were supposed to meet up with didn’t have what they promised.”
“Oh,” you whispered. You knew what that meant. You didn’t push any further. “Does it hurt?”
Joel shook his head. “M’fine.”
“You’re not,” you sighed.
“I am.”
“Joel—”
He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It happens.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered.
That got his attention. Joel’s eyes softened for a moment. It was like he was looking at you the way he did before the world ended—filled with love. “You won’t, darlin’.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispered. “You know that.”
“But at what cost?”
“What?”
“Nothing,” you sighed. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Joel didn’t push. He just nodded. “M’tryin’.”
“I know you are,” you said quietly. Instead of continuing the conversation, you stood from the chair to retrieve the first aid kit you kept in the cupboard. “Next run, I’m doing it with Tess.”
“What? No,” Joel shook his head instantly.
“I can handle myself,” you said, sitting back down in front of him. “Besides, you trust Tess, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” he answered.
“Then trust me too.”
Joel shook his head. “I do trust you.”
“Then, what’s the problem? You can go out there, but I can’t?”
“You can,” he corrected. “As long as I’m there too.”
“Joel,” you sighed. “I’m a better shot than you. I’ll be fine.”
He stared at you. Joel didn’t know how to tell you that he didn’t want you going out there without him because it meant he wasn’t there to protect you, and if he wasn’t there, then it was a higher possibility that he could lose you forever.
“No,” was all he said.
“Joel—”
“I said no,” he interrupted.
“I don’t think I was asking,” you replied. “I’m going. You don’t get to be the only one to hurt.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Joel, you’ve probably got a mild fracture in your hand. You really think you should be going back out there? What if you don’t come home? Then, what?”
He sighed.
“How else would you be able to protect me if you aren’t here?”
Joel opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“You need to trust me,” you repeated. “I can handle myself.”
“Not what I’m worried about.”
“Then, what are you worried about?”
Joel looked into your eyes and whispered, “Failin’ you.”
It was a crack in his guard. A glimpse of vulnerability.
You moved closer, slowly and carefully. This was the first time in a very long time that Joel was opening up to you with what he was feeling. You couldn’t remember the last time he had been honest with you like this.
“Joel…”
He shook his head, either to stop himself from continuing or to remind himself to lift those same walls back up.
“S’fine. If you wanna go, then go,” he muttered. “Ain’t like I can stop you.”
You sighed. His vulnerability left as quickly as it came. “Joel—”
“Just be careful, okay?”
You reached out for his hand and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch at the sudden contact either. Instead, Joel turned his hand in yours and gently squeezed your hand. He missed you, missed his old life, missed Sarah.
“You know I will be,” you whispered. “Just promise me you’ll take it easy.”
He shrugged.
“Joel.”
“I’ll try,” he sighed.
“I’ll check in with Tess tomorrow. Tell her that it’s me that will join her,” you said.
Joel nodded. “Okay, darlin’.”
“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Joel stood from the table and followed you into the bathroom. He couldn’t look away from you now; there were moments where he’d find himself thinking back to life back in Texas, when all he had to worry about was paying his bills, making sure Sarah was taken care of, and how he should propose to you. The ring he bought with Sarah was always kept with him—away from you, but as a reminder of a life that he could have had with you.
He hadn’t been the same since the day of the outbreak—since he lost Sarah. Joel wished he could give you pieces of himself again. He wished he could tell you all of the things that plagued his mind, but he didn’t—couldn’t.
Joel didn’t want to bring you down with him. Even before the outbreak, he knew you deserved better than him. He didn’t know why you chose him, or why you continued to stay by his side after all these years.
And he knew that it affected you—the fact that he was no longer emotionally available or how the world changed you too. He could see it in the tiredness of your eyes, could see how the world aged you too.
But still, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
As you led him to the bathroom, Joel reached out and rested a hand on your hip. For once, he just wanted to forget, wanted to distract his mind from the reality of this world. And he didn’t want to use alcohol or the pills to help him with it.
No, right now, he wanted you.
When you turned around, Joel couldn’t help but notice the look of surprise on your face. Whenever he’d touch you, it was like you were taken aback. It only made him feel guiltier.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hmm?” You asked, biting your lower lip. Joel could sense your hesitation. He hated that he made you feel like you had to be careful around him.
“I love you,” Joel said quietly. The words had been lodged in his throat for years, unable to say it out loud ever since the world ended. He felt relief wash over him. Because he did. Joel really did love you; he always would.
Your lips parted in surprise. Another crack in his guard. Another glimpse of vulnerability. But still, you hadn’t moved. “Yeah?” You whispered, unsure of the voice that escaped you.
He nodded quickly. Joel stepped forward, tugged you closer to him until you put your hands out to rest on his chest. The hand on your hip moved instead to snake an arm around your waist.
“Yeah, darlin’.”
“Are you drunk? High?” You asked hesitantly.
Joel shook his head. Again, he felt guilt in the pit of his stomach. “No.”
“Did you hit your head?”
He sighed. “No. M’just—” Joel couldn’t say the words he wanted to. He wanted to tell you how grateful he was to have you by his side after everything that’s happened, how he fears for your safety everyday, how he’d do anything to keep you safe.
But he couldn’t.
So, he didn’t.
Instead, he just leaned down and brushed his lips against your cheek.
He heard you inhale sharply. Your hands moved from his chest to wrap loosely around his shoulders.
Joel let out a breath. You always did ground him. Feeling your body against his and your arms around his shoulders—it was the safest place to him. The only place he’d rather be in.
“M’sorry,” he mumbled, lips moving across your cheek and down the side of your jaw. “For worrying you.”
Your eyes fell shut. The times that you’d have sex with Joel never started like this. It was always rough and urgent—it almost felt like he was using sex so he wouldn’t have to say what was on his mind.
You never complained though because it was Joel. He would never hurt you… and you also had needs too.
But right now, it felt different and familiar all at once. Like this was the same Joel before everything happened.
“I know you’re only protecting me,” you whispered. “You’re only trying to keep me safe.”
Joel lifted his head to look down at you. He moved his free hand to your cheek, fingers brushing along your skin lightly. You never asked more of him, never tried to push him to be the man you wanted (and deserved). You understood what he could give you, understood the meaning behind his actions even if he couldn’t say it himself.
But he knew, one of these days, it wouldn’t be enough. One day, you’d wake up and realize that he could no longer give you what you needed—that he could no longer be the man you wanted.
And he’d dread for that day. But right now wasn’t that day, so he lightly pecked your lips and then picked you up into his arms only to set you down on the edge of the sink. He might have aged, but he was still just as strong… if not stronger.
“Joel,” you said quietly. “We should—”
“Shh, baby,” he whispered, moving his hands to your legs and parting them immediately so he could step in between them. Joel looked into your eyes, lower lip pulled between his teeth, and the center of his jeans tightening as he grew harder at the sight of you. “Let me take care of you instead?”
“You just got back from a run,” you answered.
“Not tired.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Can barely feel the pain.”
“Joel.”
He smiled.
You couldn’t help but smile too. It had been such a long time since you’d seen him smile like this.
“You’re usin’ that voice with me.”
“What voice?”
“The stern voice.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“That’s because it ain’t ever work with me.”
You rolled your eyes.
Joel stepped closer to you.
“Yes, it has.”
He moved his hands higher. Joel squeezed the meat of your thighs and let out a low groan. You always did have the nicest ass and thighs—so full and curvaceous too.
“Well, it ain’t workin’ now.”
You cleared your throat. His hands ran over your highs and to your hips, gripping it tightly in his grasp as he pressed himself against you. Even with the thick denim jeans he was wearing and the sweatpants you had on, you could feel the thick and hard outline of him.
Then, you moved your hands to his cheeks and gently lifted his face to look at you.
“Promise me… you won’t run away from me again.”
Joel looked into your eyes. He knew what you meant, knew what you were implying, but he couldn’t promise you that. He couldn’t promise you anything anymore. Not in this world.
So instead, he said, “I’ll try.”
It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was more than what he’d given you in years. You nodded slowly and then leaned in to peck his lips. It felt like coming home—like a part of you that had been missing finally find its way back to you.
You just hoped that this wasn’t just a one time thing. You hoped that after tonight, things between you and Joel would be better.
That you would both now be moving in the right direction.
His hands moved to slide underneath your shirt and you gasped against his lips. His hands had always been rough and calloused long before the world ended, but it felt different, because you knew these hands were much more capable than just touching you ever so lightly.
Joel stepped closer and pressed his lips more firmly against yours. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—he just knew that you’d be here. Like you always were.
“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled, hands sliding further up your body. “Everythin’ I do—have done—ain’t fair to you.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you said, pulling back only to lift the shirt over your head until you were completely topless for him. “We’re not the same people, Joel, I know that… but I’m still choosing you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he answered honestly.
“Well, I am. Because I love you,” you replied, feeling his hands move higher up. “And because I think I always will.”
Joel stopped his movements. He stared deeply at you. For a brief moment, it felt like he was back in Texas. Back in the same home that Sarah grew up in. His eyes softened and he nodded. He didn’t deserve you, not back then and definitely not now.
He leaned forward slowly and rested his forehead against yours. Joel couldn’t say anything else, didn’t know what else to say. So, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips back against your own.
He chased that feeling—wanted to hold onto how it felt to be back in Texas. With you, with Sarah. Before everything changed. Before he lost her.
And when he felt you move your hands from his cheeks to loosely wrap around his shoulders, Joel began moving his lips with your own.
Sex had been something he’d use to get his mind off what troubled him, because it allowed him to focus on you and making sure you felt good.
But right now, sex didn’t feel like it was going be like that. It felt familiar, felt different, felt like it was exactly what you both needed.
A glimpse of the life from before.
Sarah sat between both you and Joel that night. She wanted to watch a movie, wanted to spend her Friday night with the both of you and a big bowl of popcorn even after she had dinner.
“If you end up sleepin’…” Joel said, arm draped over the back of the sofa.
“I’m not!” Sarah said, grabbing a handful of the popcorn and putting it into her mouth. Then, she turned to you with a large grin—deep dimples appearing on her cheek. “Right?”
Your eyes narrowed. Then, you laughed quietly. “I think we all know you’re gonna fall asleep, bug.”
Sarah giggled. You started calling her bug long before you and Joel got together. She’d come over to your place after school almost everyday and you noticed early on how much energy she had—always wiggling about and moving around. When the nickname slipped for the first time, she hugged you. Told you she liked the nickname because it felt personal, felt real.
Joel’s hand moved to touch your shoulder. You turned and glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the television. You enjoyed moments like this—quiet nights in with both Sarah and Joel. It was a glimpse into a future you yearned for.
“Watch me. I’ll prove you both wrong,” Sarah said confidently.
And yet, it only took half an hour for her to fall asleep on your shoulder. You had your arm wrapped around her and Joel had taken the large bowl of popcorn to set it on the coffee table. You felt Sarah shift in your arms as she let out a breath. Joel looked at the two of you and let the corners of his lips lift upwards at the sight.
“Let me take her to bed, baby,” Joel whispered.
You nodded and watched him stand from the couch. He leaned down and scooped Sarah into his arms carefully, mumbling quietly that he’d be back before he disappeared down into the hallway. You leaned back against the couch and yawned, pulling the blanket over your lap before moving to lie on your side.
Joel appeared after a few minutes, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie.
“Wanna go to bed?” He asked.
You looked at him and then reached for his hand. “Letting me sleep here again?”
Joel nodded. “I like you in my bed,” he answered. “Like wakin’ up to you too.”
You smiled and stood from the couch with his help. His arm snaked around your waist as he leaned down to lightly peck your lips. “I reckon I’d want you around all the time, darlin’.”
“You won’t get anything done,” you teased.
Joel scoffed, only pulling away so he could lead you into his bedroom. “Ain’t my fault that you’re just so goddamn beautiful.”
You bit your lower lip. Joel kicked his bedroom door shut quietly. You leaned against him and sighed contentedly. His bedroom had become one of your favorite places to be—he allowed you inside a very personal part of his house, granting you a full view of who he was behind closed doors.
“You’ve already got me,” you smiled. “No need to try and charm me.”
“Not tryin’ to be charming. Just speakin’ the truth.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile only grew. “And what do you want, hm? For speaking the truth?”
Joel placed both hands on your hips as he looked into your eyes. “What do I want?”
You nodded.
“I want you by my side forever, darlin’.”
You smiled, wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders as he held you close to him. “Sounding a lot like something else, Joel.”
He chuckled. “Not yet. Soon, but not yet.”
You played with his hair at the nape of his neck and nodded, standing on your toes to peck his lips. “Well, when that time does come, know my answer is yes.”
Joel’s hands moved from your hips to wrap around you, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face against the side of your neck and shut his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever get another chance at love like this. Not after Sarah's mother left.
He knew you deserved better, but still, you chose him… and every chance you could get, you showed him that you’d continue to choose him.
You should’ve known that Joel would slip back into the same routine and same kind of behavior. You felt stupid and naive to think that he’d want to change, that he’d want to become someone better than this world made him be. You craved his touch, craved his soft voice telling you how much he loved you, but as quickly as it came, it disappeared just as fast.
“You’re staying,” you said, grabbing the backpack from the table and hoisting it over your shoulder. “Me and Tess already talked about it.”
He just huffed quietly under his breath.
“We agreed that I’d go on the next run,” you continued. “And that you’d stay here and just… rest.”
“Can’t exactly rest when you’re out there,” he mumbled.
“Yeah? Well, try. Put yourself in my shoes, Joel.”
That caught his attention. He looked over at you and sighed. Joel did really try these last couple of weeks to be the man he was before the world ended. He tried to be more affectionate, tried to talk to you when his mind just wouldn’t shut off, but he couldn’t. It was better to keep it to himself.
“If anythin’ happens… you come right back, you hear me?” Joel said, walking over to you and grabbing the other strap of the backpack to place over your other shoulder. “You don’t stay. You don’t play hero. You come straight back to me.”
You nodded. You didn’t need to tell him that you’d be okay, that you and Tess had it handled. You knew that he needed to say it, needed to tell you in his own way that he was scared. So, you reached up and lightly rested a hand on his cheek.
“I’m always coming back to you, cowboy.” Then, you leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his lips.
Joel gripped the strap of your backpack as he looked back down at you once you pulled away. He had so many things he wanted to say, but just couldn’t. It stayed lodged in his throat, begging for it to just come out, but Joel didn’t let it. He couldn’t.
A couple of knocks filtered the small apartment. Joel’s eyes glanced at the door. You knew it was Tess, so you slowly pulled away from him. “Be here when I get back, okay?”
Joel nodded. Didn’t have anything to say. His throat felt dry and he could feel the walls closing in on him. When you opened the door and Tess stood on the other side of it, he looked away. Walked towards the bedroom and shut the door quietly.
He heard your muffled voice mix in with Tess and he sighed. Joel sat at the edge of the bed and stared at his hands, still bruised and in pain after the last run.
“Is he okay?” Tess asked.
You nodded and glanced down the hallway to the closed bedroom door. “Yeah, he’s okay.”
“Bet he didn’t want you going on this run,” she smiled.
You rolled your eyes and led her out of the apartment. “I’m a better shot than both him and Tommy. Besides, I’ve been wanting to get out of the QZ for a while now.”
Tess laughed quietly. “You know, Joel always talks about you whenever we’re out on a run.”
“He does?”
She nodded. “It’s probably the only time I’ve ever seen the light in his eyes.”
You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. Here you were—wanting more out of him when he was showing you how much he loved you in a different way. In a way that only he could show you.
“You’ve been together since outbreak, right?” Tess asked.
“Before that. We were together for a couple of years before the outbreak,” you answered. “I was actually his next door neighbor.”
“Oooh,” she laughed. “Girl next door? Honestly, I can see it.” Tess looked at you from top to bottom and smirked.
“Anyway,” you smiled, continuing to walk alongside her. “He means a lot to me. We have a lot of history together.”
“Well, if it means anything, you mean a lot to him too.” Tess said, walking a bit faster. “Now, let’s go. I’m sure Joel would want you back home at a reasonable hour,” she teased.
You followed her, but your mind drifted to Joel. Glancing over your shoulder, you hoped he’d step out to see you off, but when you were met with an empty and quiet hallway, you felt disappointment in the pit of your stomach. How could Joel talk so freely about you with Tess but couldn’t do it with you?
A/N: I’ve missed these two ❤️❤️ annnnnd that Behemoth! gif of him kissing made me especially feral. Enjoy!!
—
He gives you a sidelong look, fiddling with the strap of his watch until it gives way. Setting it on the dresser, he places his hat next to it.
“No way.”
“Yes way,” you reply easily, disappearing into the bathroom.
“I think I’d know,” he calls after you, and when he hears you laugh in response, he smiles.
“Well you must not, because it was all over her face. She was being pretty obvious.”
He leans against the door frame to the bathroom, watching you in the mirror. Quick, efficient swipes of a cotton pad leave you fresh faced and bare, a look he thinks he likes more than any other.
“Okay…,” he relents with a sigh. “You’re right.”
Your eyes meet his in the reflection, and you smile at the tinge of pink that colors his cheeks.
“I know I am,” you laugh, and he rolls his eyes before looking down at his feet, shaking his head in amusement.
“You know how I know?” you sing-song, and he looks up to watch you step closer, until the tips of your toes meet his. His eyes drop down the length of your body and glide back up again, an action that you don’t even think he’s aware of.
“Because I was her,” you confess, your voice dropping low. You rest your hands on his broad chest, and he unfolds his arms, settling his grip on your hips. “I looked at you that way once.”
“Once?” He lifts his eyebrows. “As in not anymore?” he teases.
You blow out a breath, giving a halfhearted swat against his t-shirt. He catches your hand, guiding it up to his lips for a kiss.
“You probably think I’m stupid.”
“Hey.” His tone is suddenly serious, a deep frown pulling between his brows. “I would never think that.”
“I know, I just mean…” you trail off. You don’t know what you mean. Or, you do, but it’s hard to put it into words. You were joking, but now it doesn’t feel so funny, and maybe it was never a joke in the first place. Maybe the joke was just to mask the insecurity you felt at the obvious heart-eyes the babysitter had for your husband. You’re his wife, and you know he loves you, but…weren’t you just the babysitter at one point too?
“Hey now” he soothes, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. His finger nudges under your chin, lifting your eyes to his. “You’re not stupid. I know…I know she has a crush on me. It’s uncomfortable,” he grimaces. “Shit, she’s just a kid.”
“She’s in her twenties, that’s not –”
His stern look cuts you off. “She’s just a kid.”
You know. You know she’s just a kid and you’re his wife and yet…and yet.
His eyes turn into pleading, earnest things, his demeanor shifting. “Baby. I would never –”
You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No. No, I know you wouldn’t. It’s not about that,” you struggle to articulate. “It’s more of a….me thing.” Your smile is rueful, apologetic, and his face softens. You rest your cheek against his chest, breathing in his solid comfort. Closing your eyes, you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart.
“Just an insecurity thing,” you admit quietly. “She’s so young and pretty and I’m…”
He stiffens. “And you’re what?”
When you don’t answer, you can tell he doesn’t like it.
“You’re what, baby?” he asks. His hands cradle your jaw, and when you look up at him this time, you’re already forming apologies for even saying anything when his expression silences you.
“You think she’s prettier than you?” he asks, incredulous. You look away, ashamed. “You think I’m looking at her because she’s younger?”
Ten years and three kids have you wincing at the words “prettier” and “younger”. She is younger than you, that’s just a fact. And while you are constantly reassured by your husband that you are everything he wants, just seeing her obvious crush on him reminds you of how handsome he’s gotten in his older age. Not unnoticed by you…but also noticed by everyone else.
“Listen.” He steps closer, caging you in. His chin tips down, his voice lowers. “She can look at me all she wants.” He glides the bridge of his nose along your jaw, breathing across the sensitive skin of your neck. You relax, letting your head tip back, your fingers threading up through his curls. “I don’t give a shit,” he continues. “I don’t even see it,” he breathes, drawing the lobe of your ear into his hot mouth. “Because I’ve got you.”
His hungry mouth latches onto your neck with a kiss, and you palm the back of his head, holding him in place. He drags the open-mouthed kiss up to the hinge of your jaw, his tongue gliding over the bottom of your ear with a groan, and you’re completely molded against his body when his mouth finds yours.
His hands shift to cradle your face, his mouth devouring yours as if he could convey the meaning and weight of his words through the warm, wet connection between you. He tastes, and he takes, and his fingers grip harder and you stumble forward when he pulls you back towards the bed.
Your bed, the one you share with him every night. The one he fucks you in, the one where he makes you his.
Frantic, the clothes you picked out with care for date night are tossed carelessly onto the floor next to the bed. The shirt that you’d been admiring on him all night, the jeans, the belt, the black briefs – everything is tugged open and down and thrown on the ground.
His mouth leaves yours just long enough to push you backwards on the bed, rejoining when he crawls up to cover you. He coaxes your mouth open, his hips doing the same between your thighs.
“You think I’m thinking about fucking anyone else when you look the way you do?” The words are strained, his deep voice in near pain. “When I’ve got the best girl right here?”
You shake your head, and he grinds his hips down into yours, relishing the whine that crawls out of your throat. His head dips to taste the stiff peaks of your breasts, worshiping them one at a time. He sucks them hard, drawing them into his mouth, palming them with possessive squeeze. He pulls back, so hard, so thick, and heavy, and stiff, and you watch together as his cock glides through your slick seam; over and over.
“Maybe she wishes she could have this,” he breathes heavily, referring to his cock, pushing up on his arms to put more weight behind his hips. They push forward, rocking into yours and you hitch your knees higher, hoping that he’ll slip in with how wet you are. He groans, his neck straining with the effort. “I bet she wishes she was you,” he growls. “Cause only you get this.”
On the last word, he reaches down to line himself up and shoves forward to fill you with a singular, hard stroke.
“Fuck.”
Every moan laced with a whine, your eyes rove over his body while he fucks you in earnest. Hard, punishing strokes that have his shoulders and arms flexing as he holds you open, that have the muscles along his sides rippling under his golden skin, that have his broad hands gripping you underneath your knees to spread you wider, pushing you down deeper into the comforter. His skin is flushed and pink, his lush mouth open, his curls - usually tamed under his hat – now covering his forehead, moving with every punch of his hips.
He’s fucking gorgeous, and he’s all yours.
He sits back on his heels, tugging your ass onto his lap. His thumb finds your clit with a steady, slick drag back and forth, back and forth and your ankles dig into his lower back, keeping him in place.
“Too bad for her I’ve already got the tightest pussy in my bed.” His thumb works faster, and you suck him deeper, a pull that has him falling forward to brace himself on one arm above you while his other hand keeps working. “Too bad – fuck,” he groans, a rapid beat of his hips pushing you up underneath him. “Too bad I’ve already got the wettest cunt.”
More vulgar than he usually is, his words push you closer and closer to the edge. A tinge of pride sweeps through you as you watch him try to keep his composure long enough to make sure you come first. A frown between those heavy brows, rough grunts with every thrust. His groans are filthy, his eyes near black and you want to feel his weight, so you pull him down on top of you.
You wind your legs around his waist, and tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck, you pull him in for a kiss. It’s messy and disjointed, heavy and humid, your lips brushing against each others until he sucks your bottom lip in with a groan and a scrape of his teeth. On the edge of release, you glide your hands down his strong back and down over the swell of his ass, digging your grip into the firm flesh.
The need between you drips in intimacy: skin to skin, mouth to mouth, your bodies entwined. You’ve done this a hundred times with this man, in this bed, had the weight of his body covering yours until you begged underneath him for release – and yet, every time, he makes you feel cherished. Every time, he makes you feel like it’s the first time he’s breaking you open, discovering your body with his. Every time, he leaves you with no doubt in your mind that you are everything he fantasizes about and more.
His for the taking, his to claim and own.
He devours your release when you come, drinking down the keening moans that pour out of your throat. Partially to keep you quiet because the kids are sleeping, and partially because he can’t help himself, he feasts on your mouth until your sounds get softer, quieter, more needy.
Truly soaked with how hard you’ve come, his cock slips in to the hilt and then some, stuffing you full. The weight of his need to come builds along his tailbone, spreading through his hips and between his firm thighs, his heavy balls tightening. The babysitter is the furthest thing from his mind.
Right now, it’s only you. You with your wet mouth and your wet pussy and your perfect tits and your soft skin and your sweet breath. You, with your ample thighs and your little belly that gave him children. You, and your gorgeous face. You, you, you.
He comes above you, his body locking rigid as he shoves himself as deep as he can get into your slick, soaked tightness. You squeeze him, the edges around his vision creeping with black, and he comes, and comes, his arms shoving under you to band you tight against him, his face tucked into the sweet smelling crook of your neck.
Shifting to lay next to you, he pulls you with him and he feels your smile against his skin, your cheek pressed against the dip in his shoulder.
“What?” he asks, winded, satisfied. Happy.
“Just the way the lights are still on. And our clothes are all over the place.” You start giggling, and he grins. “Just the way we went from zero to ten thousand,” you finish, the words sliding into a full laugh.
Your leg is draped over his, your arm resting around his torso, and he turns to face you, encouraging you to stay in place. His thigh slips between your legs, his arm tugs you close.
“You’re gonna wake the kids up if you don’t quiet down,” he teases, and there is something about the way he says it that has you laughing even harder, a sound he covers with his hand over your mouth.
“I mean it, baby. Stop,” he grins, the lines around his eyes deepening with affection.
You tug at his hand, trying to get some air. “I can’t,” you laugh. “I mean, what are we? Animals?”
“Jesus Christ.” He starts laughing too, a lower version of yours that blends together just right and you hide your face in the bedding, trying to stop.
His hand skims down your smooth back, his fingers splaying with a grip when he gets to your ass. He grabs the lush flesh, then gives it a harsh swat.
“Frankie!” you gasp, your head jolting up. You’re still laughing, so he does it again, and the shocked look on your face makes him grin like a fool.
This is what he pictures when you say the word “younger”. The feeling of youth, the aching eagerness you make him feel. Like a couple of teenagers who are trying to be quiet so the world doesn’t find them, you wrestle together on the bed for a moment, your pealing laughs breaking through your hushed giggles.
Snatching your wrists, he pins you underneath him, and silences you with a kiss.
series summary: you become involved with joel miller—the father of the bride. he was meant to be your dirty little secret to get you through the wedding festivities, but falling for him wasn't part of the plan.
pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader
series content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), age gap (joel is in early 50s, reader is in early 30s), secret relationship, lots of smut, sneaking around / hiding, reader had a rough childhood (childhood trauma - neglect), commitment issues (both from reader and joel), eventual romance/relationship, no use of y/n. each chapter will have its own separate warnings!
a/n: not sure what to call this specifically, "best friend’s fiancée’s dad!Joel"? lmao anyway, i'm revamping this entire story so if you've read the original, there will be a few scenes that i'll include here, but this will generally be a brand new story. ya girl has been YEARNING for joel miller, so the only way i know how to fix it is to write for him. hope y'all enjoy this as much as i do <333
status: complete.
schedule: every wednesday
Chapter 1: Engagement Party (posted on 12/30)
Chapter 2: Bridal Shower (posted on 1/7)
Chapter 3: Bachelor/Bachelorette Party (posted on 1/14)
Summary: Freshly separated, you move in with Trish, your best friend, until you figure out how to move on. You meet Joel by chance at a shitty bar one night, not knowing he’s Trish’s cousin. You disappear on him but then you see him again at her house and things get complicated. He’s emotionally unavailable -or so he thinks-, you have lost faith in people -or so you think. Basically, two idiots who fall in love and decide to torture themselves.
Divider by @saradika-graphics
Main Masterlist
pt.1 I don't even know your name
pt.2 New beginnings
pt.3 Something impulsive
I don't even know your name | joel miller x f!reader, 8.3k
Summary: Your life changes dramatically and you turn to your best friend, Trish, for help. Trish is Joel’s cousin and little did you know when you met him by chance in a bar, before Trish officially introduced you to one another. He’s emotionally unavailable -or so he thinks-, you have lost faith in people -or so you think. Basically, two idiots who fall in love and decide to torture themselves.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, angst, slow-burn, Joel is 45ish, reader is 35 with two baby girls, allusions to smut, dirty thoughts, swearing, no physical description of the reader (but she will have long hair for smut purposes later on, hehe), no use of y/n, I’m not good at warning people, tell me what am I missing!
A/N: This has taken me forever, my life is a f’ing mess, but I didn’t want to abandon it. I’m splitting the story to parts, otherwise you’d been reading it until The Second Coming. 😅😏🫣 Thank you to anyone who’s taking the time to read this, I love you and I hope you enjoy it!😘
Dividers by @cafekitsune
Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist
| next
“Guys?” you drag out the word, “Do we really have to have the talk?” you try to avoid the conversation, knowing yourself and how you usually respond to these kind of questions, damn your spontaneity, shifting restlessly into the couch. Joel’s presence, sitting across the room on the comfy armchair, near the lit fireplace, isn’t helping in the slightest. He looks too invested in your point of view, but you already expected that. You try to avoid his gaze for as long as you can.
“Yes! Get the conversation going, babe, don’t be shy!” a female voice comes from a different part of the house. Joel doesn’t respond, looking quite nonchalant, in an effort to not seem.. eager. But you know better.
“It’s not a matter of shyness, on the contrary, you know I’m in the habit of not holding my tongue, and that can often get me in trouble..”, you sigh, shaking your head.
I have a few ideas involving that tongue of your- Stop it. Joel suppresses his thoughts audibly, by clearing his throat. “How come?” he finally joins in. You love the sound of that word on his mouth. Shaping into a different meaning inside your mind every time he uses it, pumping all of your blood to all the right places. Four months into knowing him and you quickly came to realize if you let your guard down, you would be done for. And now was not the time. You had a million loose ends to work out.
“Oh, you know, people tend to get the wrong idea, assuming things about me. I wish I could shut me up sometimes.” Oh, the ways I could shut that pretty little mouth, darlin’. Get it together. She’s not good for you. Or maybe you’re not good enough for her., he’s looking away, focusing on Trish, his cousin and your dear friend, who rushes out of her kitchen holding your -God knows what round of- drinks, almost stumbling on the carpet, while Joel’s trying to clear his head.
“What’s the rush Trish, anything to get off your chest?” you ask, squinting at her in a shut-the-fuck-up way. She bursts into laughter before she can even begin to talk, not taking the hint. Or pretending not to. Definitely pretending. Menace. “You remember that time, where were we?” She’s clicking her fingers together in an effort to jog her own memory. “With that dude? Who thought you wanted to talk your way into fucking him? Like he needed any convincing whatsoev-”
“We’ve met a lot of dudes together Trish; you being the main reason we’ve met them in the first place.” you interrupt, rolling your eyes at your friend. Joel is raising an eyebrow, looking back and forth between you and her. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific. Actually, don’t, you already embarrassed me enough!” you hold back a smile covering your face with one hand, as you pull your feet on the couch, bringing your knees to your chest in an effort to create a barrier between you and the space surrounding you, to feel some kind of protection around you.
Trish is looking so amused, she’s having a hard time concentrating. “I don’t remember nor the place or the dude, but you were defending, quite passionately I might add, womens’ equal right to one night stands and how we should have the same amount of pleasure as men without the guilt that comes with it; Joel you should see her, she almost raised the flag of revolution!” Where are you going with this Trish..?
“Did she, now..” Joel runs his eyes up and down, taking you all in, sipping his whiskey slowly, licking his bottom lip after he swallowed. Jesus, that neck.
You groan in frustration, “Here it comes. Another one who speculates. Ok, let me have it.”, you almost snap, observing the way he’s checking you out. But he knows better. There’s an intensity radiating out of him, you can almost feel the warmth of it on your skin and you let your mind wonder how he would feel like over you, under you or in any way he would choose to manhandle you. Manhandle? Where is this coming from?
“Hey, she’s the one who said ‘passionately’!” Joel raises his hands up in defense, his brows raised and knead together, clearly amused on the information he’s extracting so effortlessly. Trish takes her seat next to you to the couch, enjoying the moment more than she should, looking at the two of you.
“I’m not- I don’t- uuuuh, Trish why are you doing this to me?” you whine in exasperation, looking up to the ceiling, and rolling your eyes shut.
“Because maybe you should! Come on, live a little!”, she grumbles, grabbing your forearm, shaking you dramatically. Trish was actually living, more than a little, her life, full of experiences, lovers, you name it. Sometimes you wished you could live so carefree. She has been desperately trying to pour some of her carnal wisdom into you. For years. Now, given your emotional status, she believes it’s her best chance. So, she pushed.
“Should do what?” Joel interjects curiously.
Trish opens her mouth and spills it out before you can stop her, “Fuckarounds!” -her take on one night stands- “or at least something casual, since she insists that one flavor is better than a sea of delicacies.”, she winks dramatically in your direction.
“Yeah, no, that’s- that’s great, let’s bring Joel into this conversation” you sigh, rubbing your forehead and tilting your head down.
“Oh, I thought-” he looks genuinely confused at your reaction. At this point he’s confused about a lot of things.
“Yes! Exactly! Of course you thought! That’s what I meant before. Just because I can’t bring myself to do it, it doesn’t mean that it’s wrong, or that I’m judgmental of people that do it. Hell, sometimes I wish I was those people.. That’s what I was trying to explain to the dude-”
“You see?” she turns to Joel for backup, “quite the lawyer we have here! And the dude didn’t get the memo.”, she turns to you once more. You shake you head at her and you both laugh at the memory.
“She’s insufferable sometimes, but I’ll get her mind around, don’t you worry!”, she adds, taking her eyes from yours to Joel’s, smiling at the implication, almost like.. you’re spoken for?? What the fuck, Trish? Your face feels like it’s on fire and you’re pretty sure it’s showing, too. You can always blame it on the heat of the fireplace. Now it’s Joel’s turn to shift to his seat uncomfortably. He, thankfully, rises from his spot and let both of you know he’s heading to the kitchen for a refill.
“What the fuck are you doing?”, you hiss at her. “He’ll think I put you up to this.”
“Up to what?” Trish plays dumb, but failing monumentally.
“Dude, you can’t have your cousin think that I’m into him, it’s not right. I didn’t asked you to. Quit it.”, you whisper in despair.
“Love, seriously, you need to at least de-stress yourself.” Trish pressures on. “It’s been, what, six months since the divorce, four months in, leaving with me, I mean, that’s unacceptable.”
“Look, I’ll move, the first house I’ll find, I promise, I don’t want to overstay my welcome-”
“Hey, I’m talking about letting four perfectly good months fly away without getting any. Especially, when you have such a skilled babysitter. You're not taking advantage of me enough.” She moves her hands around her body, showing herself. “And I told you, you and the girls can stay here indefinitely. I fuckin’ mean it.”
“Well, less of the ‘f’ word in front of them, if you do!”, you tease. “Thank you, but I’ll find a place. I need to. I want to bring some kind of normalcy back into our lives. Their lives.”
“I know, baby. But seriously. You’re fucking 35. You act like your life is over. He’s not worth it.”
“We’ve been through that before Trish, it’s not about him, I just-” you exhale, shaking your head, “l don’t think there’s anyone out there for me, you know? I feel like I’m too old for any of this. Point me to the direction of one guy, just one, who would even consider to engage with a 35 year old divorced mother of two and I’ll take him, Scout’s honor.”
She opens her mouth to say something but reconsiders, trying to find the right words. She knows you have a point. “That’s why I insist for you to.. FUCK AROUND! No strings attached. How sweet of you to help me prove my point!!”, Trish exclaims triumphantly.
You pretend to be in deep thinking, finally concluding, “You know what, I’m done with men. Not worth the energy spent. Hey, maybe I’ll date you; we love each other, we practically live together, it’s a done deal!” You both laugh at the idea.
“Aaaaaw, I’m fluttered hot mama, but maybe you should give ‘em men a chance, before you flip the coin!”, she pushes on.
You really look at her now, trying to see her point of view. You were lonely, you were touch deprived, you longed for intimacy, but intimacy in your case meant sentiment. And sentiment comes form some kind of attachment. You wanted, you needed, hell, you craved to connect. “You know, you always insist on all that casual thing, but I’m in a place in life that.. what’s the point?”
“Um, the point of someone else giving you an orgasm?”, she deadpans.
“Oh God..”, you drug your hand down your face, feeling defeated. “Seriously? Because I’m pretty sure this coffee table here,” you point at it with your brows, “can find my bud easier than half the men out there.”, you blurt out in frustration. Joel coughs, choking on his whiskey. You both jolt from your seats on the couch at the sound, turning your heads, one in amusement and one in embarrassment, seeing Joel standing at the living room entrance, frozen in place. Neither of you heard him approaching. If you could hold your tongue for once, woman. Just once.
“So..” he drags the word out, “what about the other half?”, he shakes off the awkwardness of the moment and sly his way into the conversation. You both look at him with a dumbfounded expression on your faces.
“Joel, how long have you been standing there?” Trish wonders, raising one brow devilishly.
“Enough to know I was right to have been standing there as long as I have.” he smirks into his glass, swallowing another sip. You’re too mortified to register the question as non-rhetorical. You almost stop breathing, praying that would make you invisible, hoping he‘d somehow forget his question.
“So?”, Joel insists, looking at you through his lashes, crossing his legs and leaning against the doorframe that connects the living area with the kitchen.
“Excuse me?”, you manage to breathe out, feeling exposed.
Joel doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind you exactly what you pointed out, moments ago. “You said that half the men can’t find y-”, he pauses, inhaling sharply, imagining how good you would look, all naked and spread out under him, but hearing in his mind how intimate what he’s about to say sounds, he corrects himself. “Uh, a woman’s bud.” He moves his hands in the air in a generic motion. You feel so embarrassed, you think you might explode if your heart rate doesn’t drop down. “So, what about the other half of us?” his eyes are burning coals, piercing through you. You pick up the insinuation immediately. He knows his way around a woman’s body. Ok, thank you for the burning image of you eating me out, fingering me to death or rubbing me to completion, Joel. But where the fuck is he going with this? He knows by now that you’re candid like that and you’ll answer accordingly, so he presses all your buttons on purpose, he’s got to be. You devil, we had a fucking deal. You smile, accepting the challenge as you decide to answer him. Two can play that game.
“Oh, you mean the emotionally unavailable half?”
He certainly didn’t expect this response. His face drops suddenly, his jaw flexes; you are positive that a nerve has been touched. He looks embarrassed, like a child caught with his hand in the honey pot and you immediately feel sorry for him. You hate making people feel bad. Even if you’re right. Damn people pleaser.
Too forward? Too soon? Maybe both? You open your mouth to say something -anything- but your mind goes blank. He looks down at his half-empty glass and goes “Huh.”, before he empties the poison of his choice down his throat in one gulp. He calmly leaves the now empty glass on the coffee table, forming a one-sided kind of knowing smile on his face and he leaves the room quietly, leaving you feeling guilty.
You realize that you need to breathe at some point, so you take a sharp breath, after you hear the front door closing behind him.
“Well.. that went well.” Trish comments, looking at her nails.
You snap your head at her, feeling ready to explode. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“No, but it leaves you minus one penis.”, she deadpans.
“I’m not interes-“ her eyes move up to yours so quickly, staring at you in a don’t-bullshit-me way, that you don’t dare finish your sentence. “Even I would be interested if he wasn’t a relative.” she feels the need to exaggerate.
“He’s not what I’m looking for, Trish.”
“But he might be just what you need.” Damn, she’s on a roll tonight. “Is there something going on? I mean between the two of you.”
Panic rises fast inside of you like waves crushing on rocks. You think you can hear your heartbeat. “No, of course not.”
Trish gives you an investigative look, as if staring at you long enough would make you admit the truth she thinks she knows. “Are you sure?”
“Joel and I couldn’t be further apart, trust me.”
BEFORE
He observes you sitting on the bar stool for a long time, almost memorizing your every curve and line. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t take his eyes off of you. He can’t even see your whole face, but something makes him stare. You stand out to him for some reason. Maybe it’s the intense antithesis against your surroundings. Still, while everyone moves. Sad, while everyone laughs. Quiet, while everyone yells into each others’ ears. Lonesome in a sea of people. Your gaze is soft and detached, like all the burden of the world is on your shoulders. Holding your beer for far too long, sipping slowly straight from the bottle, like you’re trying to prolong your stay at the bar, or maybe avoiding going back to where you came from. He’s standing up.
You’re sitting on the bar stool, looking absentmindedly at the bartender on the other side of the counter, moving around, serving drinks. And you’re just sitting there. Alone. Wondering how the hell did you come to this. You always thought it was kind of strange going out on your own. Never done it before. But here you are. Here you are.
It’s been a week since you left your whole life behind you, leaving everything you knew and hold dear, moving to your best friend’s house, temporarily. Until you figure out what you’re going to do. She insisted to babysit so you can go out and have fun. She was funny that way. Have fun. All you wanted was to just disconnect from the world. Not think of anything. Not worry about anyone. Not much of a choice when you are a parent though. Worrying is on top of your list when you have kids. Two little girls, two and a half years old and an almost six months old.
That’s what you did for the past couple of years. Giving birth and raising a baby girl. And then giving birth again to another one. Until your husband decided all of a sudden that he can’t do this anymore. You’ve become too cold, too distant, he felt under-appreciated, pushed away.
The fact that he was always gone, always working and not contributing the hours that he indeed was at home, the fact that you were practically all alone in this, was not taken into consideration.
Everything happened fairly quickly. In the course of four months you got separated, he didn’t even want to try to fix things. Not even for the sake of being able to say that you at least tried. And then other suspicions began to enter your mind-
“You really look like you need a drink.”, a deep voice distracts you from your thoughts. You would be almost thankful for the distraction, growing tired of thinking the same things over and over again, like a broken record, but your bad mood wins over this one. Without turning your head to look at the direction of the voice, you raise the hand holding your beer, motioning at it, in silence.
“Nuuuh, that’s practically water, darlin’.”, the man insists, leaning forward as he stands next to you, his body turned your way, his left foot crossing over his right, his elbow resting on the counter, holding his glass of whiskey. You still don’t turn to look at him and with all the patience that is left in you, you raise the bottle to your lips, taking a sip. “Nope, still beer.”, you answer and keep your gaze to the shelf with the drinks behind the bartender. God, you’re too old for this.
The stranger huffs a small laugh and pushes on. “At least lemme buy you a cold one. That one must taste like a piss by now.”
“Oh, you must have been watching me, then.”, you try to embarrass him in order to leave you alone.
“That, I have.” Oh, he’s got a pair.
“Well, don’t.” you snap and you finally turn to look at him.
Holy shit.
You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so beautiful. Someone, your kind of beautiful. Masculine and broad and dark but with a vibe of kindness and safety in his presence. He’s looking at you, patiently, with a hind of a smile on his lips, like he knew that you’d change your mind once you’d lay your eyes on him. You take a deep breath to compose yourself and start over. “Look, I’m sorry, you look like a decent guy, but I would just be a bad company.”
“You don’t have to apologize darlin’, you have every right to choose your company, or the lack of it for that matter. It’s ok.” he says and he’s starting to move away from you slowly like he’s going to leave you alone. And now he’s making you feel like an ass. Kill with kindness they say?
A thousand thoughts are crossing your mind, you haven’t done this for what it feels like ages, you’re out of your depth, you don’t know what you’re doing, you don’t even remember the woman behind the mother, he’s gorgeous, why the hell is he talking to you? Ok, you know what? You’re going to fucking enjoy yourself. Just make conversation, fool around, it’s not like you’re gonna see him ever again. What do you have to lose?
You exhale hard, rolling your eyes to yourself and you grab his wrist lightly to ask, “Beer offer still standing?” surprising your own self. Damn, he’s warm. Pleasantly warm. I-want-you-to-envelop-me-in-your-arms warm. He turns his head to you, his eyes drop to your hand holding his, then back to your lips and then to your eyes. He lingers for a second too long and then turns to the bartender to order. You reluctantly let go of his hand and smile coyly.
You stare at each other for a moment and you both smile, waiting for the other to initiate the conversation. “I swear I’m not trying to do small talk or throw a bunch of lines your way,” he begins playfully, “but, you don’t look like you’re from around here.”
You audibly laugh and you raise your brows in surprise. “That’s weird,” you reply scrunching your nose, “I thought that’s what people do when they’re talking to total strangers at bars.”
He snorts a laugh, fuck he’s handsome, nodding his head, “You’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he asks amused, looking at you through his lashes.
“Well, it’s either that, or you really want to get to know me for my striking personality” you answer, gaining more confidence by his reaction. It’s not like you’re gonna see him again, right?
He nods his head in amusement, “You didn’t answer my question, though.” he reminds you. You roll your eyes playfully before you tease him, “You’re right, I’m not from around here and technically that was an observation, not a question.”, you raise your cold beer pointing it his way, nodding your head in a silent thank you and then you drink from it.
He stops with his glass midair, brows raising, smirking at you. “Ok, fine, you want a real question, I’ll give ya one. Why do you look so damn sad?”, his head tilting to the side, his ear almost touching the shoulder of the arm he rests on the counter. His eyes are piercing holes in yours, making you feel vulnerable. “Uh, I-, I-, shit; that bad, huh? And there I was, thinking I was holding my own.” you mutter.
“Darlin’, someone like you, sitting on your own, not looking around to notice the number of eyes ogling you, lost in your own thoughts, doesn’t take much to figure it out..”
“Someone like me.. you mean troubled?”, you try to clarify, troubled being the only translation your mind could manage.
“I mean beautiful.”, the man delivers. Oh. His voice and his gaze determined and serious as he speaks, making you weak on the knees.
You give him a shy smile and deflect the compliment. “Most men don’t observe half of what you just said.”, you deadpan and as he opens his mouth to answer you, you add “but you’re not most men, are you?”
He’s really looking at you now, it feels like he’s savoring your details and he just smiles. A beautiful, honest, kind of sheepish smile. It fades away quickly though, his face going serious again. He keeps his eyes on you, hitting you with his perceptiveness. “What did the fucker do?” you hear him ask you, suddenly.
“Wha- How did you- what makes you think-“, you are genuinely shocked, losing your train of thought.
“Humor me.”, is all he gives you, in a low voice.
His question felt so to the point, that there was no reason for you to deny it or avoid it, so you look back to your beer, fearing to see the denigration in his eyes.
You take a deep breath and simply state, “He left me, two months after I had our second daughter.” You exhale. It feels odd to hear your own voice, to feel your tongue move in your mouth, saying those words. You haven’t talked about it enough, actually -at all, if you’re being completely honest and it feels like you talk about someone else. It’s like you’re out of your body looking at you.
And now you wait. You wait for the pity, the uncomfortable silence, the unavoidable retreat. But none of those things come. You turn to look at him and he’s standing there, looking pissed. His body stiffens, his gaze darkens and you’re pretty sure that glass of whiskey in his hand, doesn’t have much life in it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ..” it’s all he mutters as he closes his eyes in frustration, rubbing his free hand over his face.
“So much for small talk, huh?”, you continue laughing, trying to relieve his tension. It doesn’t take, though. Why did he took it so personally? He opens his eyes again, looking at you seriously with a deep frown on his face.
You begin to feel uncomfortable, so you do what you always do best. Try to make everyone else comfortable. You start talking to fill the silence. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve made mistakes, I wasn’t always the best wife, I was tired, I felt helpless at times, especially when raising two little girls with such a small age difference all on my own, not that that’s an excuse-“ you stop talking as he’s raising his hand in front of you to interrupt.
“Are you seriously blaming yourself right now?”, he sounds frustrated and confused, borderline offended.
“Well I’m not saying that what he did was ideal, I’m just trying to explain how hard it is to be practically all alone with two kids and how much it takes from you, how the balance is changing between the couple-”
“Ideal? That’s an interesting choice of word.”, he observes once again. Nice, you didn’t think he would catch that.
“You can’t keep anyone in your life by force. I won’t. I can’t control his feelings. It was the way he handled things that pained me the most.”, you explain.
He’s staring at you like you’re a fucking puzzle.
You sigh and continue, taking a deep breath, feeling defeated already. How you could possibly explain and how he could possibly understand? “I know most men don’t get it; you can’t understand how difficult it is to be responsible for two little people, making every decision, every second of every day, it’s exhausting, it drains you-“
“I know..” he whispers, looking at his glass, nodding his head in understanding.
“No, you don’t..” you mutter, mostly to yourself, shaking your head. He’s examining you for a second, considering if he wants to elaborate. He does.
“Sweetheart, I’m a single parent from the moment my daughter was born. Trust me when I say I know.”, he explains softly. “I get it.” His voice feels like honey to your ears.
You snap your head in his direction, shocked at his admission. He sees the cogs turning in your head, the sorrow starting to appear in your eyes and he adds with a bitter smile, “No, she didn’t die, she just left.”
Your eyes widen, unable to imagine what could have led a mother to that decision. But you immediately stop yourself. You don’t have the whole picture and it’s none of your business. You don’t get to judge. All you can say is “Fuck. That must have been hard for you.”
There’s a shift in the air, like some invisible little string connected you somehow, each of you with their own story, finding an understanding in each other.
As the conversation progresses he can’t help but wonder how did he get to that point. He was looking for a good time, maybe a blowjob or quickie in the bar’s bathroom and he ended up talking to you about his life. His daughter, his struggles. Voluntarily. And it felt good, easy, natural.
You laugh softly, out of context, shaking your head and he wants to know why. “I just-” you think again before you speak, “when you approached me I wasn’t even sure I could do that.”
“Do what?”, he asks in confusion.
“Talk to you.”, you admit.
“How do you mean?”, his brows furrow and his head tilt on one side, the edges of his mouth turning slightly upward. Stop doing that. It’s sexy.
“You know, me, sitting in a bar, talking to a stranger, it felt like I haven’t done this in forever.” It feels oddly liberating talking to him, almost like a confession.
“And how does it feel now?” he wants to know, his voice soft but commanding.
“It feels good.”, you give it to him. He makes you feel good and you want him to know.
“Good girl.”, he responds, his voice low, keeping his gaze on you, wondering how you’ll react. Oh, boy. Well, your panties are ruined. You bite your bottom lip and play along. See where it gets you. He sees that. The longing starts to become apparent on your face, in the way your lips part, your breath becomes shorter and your body subconsciously reacts to him, because you turn around in your seat, facing him fully. You clench your thighs in an effort to relieve some pressure between your legs. He sees it all.
“Although it’s a shame I didn’t get to witness you do your thing.”, you let him wonder.
His brows are raised in question, “My thing?”, he looks intrigued more than he’d like to admit. Gotcha.
“Yeah, I burdened you with my shit and I missed the chance of you flirting with me.” Someone feels ballsy. You don’t recognize yourself right now, but who cares, right?
“What makes you think I wanted to flirt with you?” he questions, almost genuinely. Almost. You freeze for a second, feeling like an idiot, but then you see him wink at you behind his raised glass.
“Right,” you drag the word, “so, you really wanted to get to know me for my striking personality”, you smile back to him.
He laughs. Genuinely. Beautifully. “Do you want me to flirt with you?” he pushes you, testing the waters. But not really. He knows he has your full attention.
“Sure, you seem like you can handle yourself.”, you answer before you overthink it and freak out.
He chuckles softly and he leans to you, right next to your flushed face, looking behind your shoulder and then down at you, his lips brushing your ear, his sparse beard tickling your cheek, one hand still on the bar and the other moving at the back of your seat, caging you. His scent invades your space, making you feel lightheaded. “Baby, you have no idea.” Your whole body is vibrating with want.
He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.
He can see you; clearly than you can see yourself. He knows you now. He understands. He can see your path, the struggles, the challenges, the worries that lie ahead on your way. He walked that path. He bled that path. He navigates it with his eyes closed and his hands tied behind his back.
He doesn’t want to take you in the bathroom anymore.
He wants to take care of you. To breathe pleasure into you, to give you all that he abandoned for his daughter’s sake, to make you feel wanted and loved. He wants you to know that you matter to someone. That he’s gonna take his time with you, savor you, taste every inch of your body, spread you out on his bed and make you scream his name, while you tremble under his touch, his mouth, his cock.
You don’t feel like a bathroom quickie anymore. He wants more. Even if it is just for one night. Just one night. Suddenly the thought becomes unpleasant.
You turn your head to his side and search for his eyes. He responds to your plea by looking back at you. Your lips are inches apart, nearly touching. You stare at his brown, chocolaty orbs, then his plush lips, slightly open and can’t help but imagine your tongue entering his mouth, penetrating them.
You take a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally. You want to feel him any way you can, right fucking now. You want his touch, his tongue, his cock but you’ll accept whatever he’s giving you.
Get up. Get up. Get up.
You want this. You got this. You slowly exhale through your nose and you nearly press your body against his chest to stand up. Your nose almost grazes his. You look at each other, both of you full of desire.
Full of promise.
He’s curious what you’re gonna do but he’s praying you won’t do what he expects you to. Not the bathroom, not the fuckin’ bathroom, he keeps chanting internally. Lemme take care of you. You put your palm on his chest lingering for a second, “Show me, then”, you whisper in his ear and you finally make it to the bathroom. That, took every ounce of courage you had in you. Goddamn.
As you enter inside, thankfully it’s empty, you look at yourself in the mirror. You try to comprehend who are you right now, what you’re about to do. You don’t even remember how it feels to have someone else giving you pleasure. To touch you. To make you-
You hear the door opening and closing, followed by the sound of the lock. He slowly walks to you, letting you study him, through his reflection on the mirror. Giving you time to change your mind. Please change your mind. He looks so good. So good that you have to turn around and face him.
His salt and pepper hair tousled but neat at the same time, his curls above his neck making you want to tug them. Hard.
His eyes are dark, full of hunger and desire. Your eyes fall at his parted lips and then to his chiseled jawline with his sparse hair for a beard. You wanna bite every inch of it. Hard.
His frame is imposing; tall, broad, his thick forearms bulging through his black shirt, his toned thighs strained by his dark jeans. And then you see his bulge. He looks big, considerably big.
“Like what you see?”, he smiles confidently, his low timbre making you realize that you’ve been staring.
You blush in embarrassment, looking down and biting your bottom lip. He enters your comfort zone now, his hand pinching your chin between his fingers, lifting your head upward to look at him. “No need to be shy, sweetheart; I like what I see, too.”, his thumb rests lightly on your bottom lip and presses down, to free it from under your teeth.
His other hand holds your waist drawing you close to his body, his erection touching your lower stomach. You let out a small sigh.
His scent is intoxicating. It’s a mix of his fainted cologne, the smoke of cigarettes lingering in the air, the alcohol on his breath and something unique. Something his entirely. His sweat absorbed by the fabric of his clothes. The more you inhale it the wetter you get. Saliva pools in your mouth, making you swallow hard.
You squirm in your place, squeezing your legs together. He notices. Of course he notices, like he did back at the bar. Reading between your words.
He caresses your ear with his lips, whispering, “It’s ok sweetheart, I'm gonna take good care of you.” He places one hand behind your head, gently bringing you closer to him. His other one rests on your back, slowly making his way down to your ass. You look at him, surrendered to his touch. Oddly, you feel safe.
“Fuck..” you breath out.
He smiles, a little full of himself, normally it would piss you off, but right now you don’t care. He ghosts his lips along yours and he softly kisses the edge of your mouth. He places kisses along your jawline and leaves an open-mouthed kiss between your ear and your jaw. Your body shakes with goosebumps, making your knees almost buckle, his hold on your ass tightens, keeping you in place.
You can’t think of anything right now and that’s exactly what you want. Not your soon-to-be ex-husband, not your messed up life, not even the poor attempt of an outfit you wore tonight out of boredom. Plain black jeans and a lingerie black shirt. Of course with a black lacy bra under it, you’re not that adventurous.
His mouth travels to the column of your neck licking it softly from top to bottom, biting gently where it meets with your shoulder. Your cunt clenches hard, pooling more of your arousal on your already-drenched underwear. His tongue is so warm and velvety, making your eyes roll in your head. Your hands- where are your hands? One on his toned shoulder and the other on his hair, tugging his curls.
You realize that he’s softer in his touch than you would imagine for a bathroom fuck. He moves so fluidly, expertly, you feel mesmerized and a tiny part of you inexperienced and self conscious.
“I- I haven’t done this before..” you feel the need to confess, worried that you’ll do something wrong.
“I thought you had two kids.” he raises his head, tilting it, while looking at you through his lashes and bites his cheek to hide his smirk.
You stare at him for a moment and then you both burst into laughter.
You shake your head in mocking disapproval and explain, “..not the deed, the- the one-time thing..” and you bite your lip in discomfort afraid of his reaction.
His eyes are searching yours and he finally asks, “Who says this is a one-time thing?”. Bold. Surely he’s messing with you. Your breath catches on your throat, that was the last reaction you would expect. You try to read his face but he gives you nothing. You can’t figure out if he meant that or was just teasing. He nudges your nose with his, relax, baby, he whispers and he resumes his kissing path down your neck and to your chest.
He’s taking his sweet time with you. He wants to get you out of this damn bathroom. He wants to fuckin’ wreck you and he can't do that here. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable either by proposing a different setting, in case this is indeed how you want it, so he does what he knows. He’s driving you crazy. He’s gonna make you beg him to get out of here. To take you somewhere else, more comfortable. Anywhere but here. Unless someone interrupts you, making you take this elsewhere. Either way works.
You’re both panting from desire, his head moving back against yours, your foreheads touching together. He grabs the sides of your head with both his hands, while yours move around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. He’s going to finally kiss you, your lips almost touching each other’s, breathing one another’s exhale.
A loud knock on the door startles you and you jump in place. “Come on, man! Are you done yet?” The stranger smiles against your lips, pleased with his plan. He’s so ready to take you out of here, worship you like you deserve.
But the spell is broken. You come back to your senses. You’re in a dirty bathroom. With a total stranger. A handsome, funny, sexy stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. What are you doing? This is not you. This is not how you do things. You have two kids back home waiting for you. You try to shake the thought out of your mind. You are a woman, too. You have needs. Needs that this man can meet with ease. No, there are people outside, waiting to use the bathroom. How are you gonna get out of here? Everyone will know what you’ve done. What are you doing?
The man detects your stiffness, the change in your breathing. You’re starting to hyperventilate. “Hey, hey, are you ok?”.
Your brain is overwhelmed, you don’t know how to respond. The knocking on the door gets louder now, more insistent.
“Give me a goddamn minute!”, the man shouts behind his back. His attention returns to you, full of concern, talking to you like all the time in the world is yours, like nothing else matters. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You wanna get out of here?”, his hands are still on the sides of your head, his eyes full of worry now.
“I- I need-” your breathing is getting harder and harder. “I’m sorry, I need to get out of here, I-” you push his hands away from your face.
He lets you, raising his hands in surrender. “Ok, ok darlin’, my truck is parked just outside, let me-”
“NO- No,” you don’t let him finish his thought, “I’ll leave on my own, I’m sorry, I can’t-” you just want to disappear, you know how you must sound and look but it’s out of your control.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that darlin’, I just wanna make sure you’re safe-”. But you’re not listening to what he’s saying to you, not really.
He wants to touch you again, hold you, make you feel safe. Protected. He wants you- no, needs you to know that it’s ok.
But he’s a stranger to you, so he resists the urge.
You walk away from him, unlock the door, open it forcefully and burst out of the bathroom, looking down. You don’t want to meet the eyes of the intruder outside the door. Any eye contact would make you feel vulnerable right now, exposed. With your head down you reach for your bag and jacket left on the stool you were sitting on, -what were you thinking, you could have been mugged- and you run to the exit door.
The man is right behind you, searching for you in the packed bar. You grab the handle, you open the door and you stand still for a moment turning your head to look at him one last time.
His eyes catch the door movement and his gaze locks with yours. His expression is sad and worried, not an ounce of anger or disapproval.
I don’t even know your name, you think with sadness.
He’s making a move to come after you but then you let yourself out of the bar. The stranger doesn’t have time but to whisper “I don’t even know your name..”
ONE WEEK LATER
You’re looking yourself in the mirror while you’re getting ready for dinner. Trish wants to introduce you to her cousins; although you and her are best friends, you never got to meet them. Maybe because you both lived out of Texas, before. She came back not so long ago, you followed to get your life back. Now that you’re living with her, she wants the four of you to hang out. She says they’re great guys. Joel and Tommy. Whatever.
You’re looking harder in the mirror now, searching for any sign to indicate what happened a few days ago at that god’s forsaken bar was real. A bruise, a bite, a redness, anything. But there’s nothing. Like he didn’t want to leave a trace. Like he was a figment of your imagination.
Half of you wants to forget about him, half of you is hanging on tight on every little detail you can recall of that night.
Of him.
His deep voice, the warmth of his eyes, his smart smile, the way he put your body on fire with minimum touch. You wish he would have fucked you hard and fast against the sink, before you had time to overthink, before you became a coward, to leave you with something more to remember him by.
You still feel the burn between your legs every time you think about him. And as many times as you tried to extinguish this fire inside you, with your fingers, or your pillow, or your vibrator, it just. Isn’t. Enough.
Just- get him out of your head, you force your mind. You don’t even know his name. You spilled your guts to him, almost fucked him and you don’t even got his name. Who does that?
Well, he didn’t get your name either, but obviously that was not the same. He looked like he knew what he was doing and if he does it that often, at the end of the day what does another name matter?
Joel is grabbing his wallet and cellphone off the console next to the door yelling to Tommy and Sarah, “Guys, you’re coming yet? We’re gonna be late, Trish is gonna be all over us, come on.”
Tommy and Sarah pause the movie they’re watching with an audible groan and emerge from the living room, putting their shoes on. “What is tonight about, again?” Tommy asks in boredom.
“Uh, not really sure, we’re gonna have dinner together and some lady friend of Trish is gonna be there, I think she’s letting her stay with her for a while.” Joel mutters.
“Oh, a lady friend,” Tommy insists, winking his eye to Sarah and she rolls her eyes to him. “Is she hot or what?”.
Joel glares at Tommy “Don’t know, don’t care Tommy, I think she’s got kids or something. Take the toolbox to the truck to fix the bathroom cabinet since we’re going.”
Tommy looks disappointed “Damn, not my cup of tea, then.”
“You and me both.” Joel sighs through his teeth. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
You hear the doorbell ring and you check on the girls before you make your way downstairs. They’re asleep on their beds. You can finally relax. You hear Trish calling you, “Hey, babe, they’re here!” As you go down the stairs you see a handsome man with dark curls entering the hallway along with a young woman in her twenties.
“Heeeey, you’re here!!” Trish sounds so exited. “Hey cousin, it’s been a while!” Tommy responds, hugging her with one arm around her waist. Sarah takes her turn hugging her aunt in silence and with a warm smile.
Then the three of them turn to the sound of your feet on the stairs. “And that’s my friend I was telling you about!” Trish introduces you by name and you approach Tommy and Sarah to handshake them.
When you look at Tommy’s face from a closer distance he seems familiar to you in a strange way, but you don’t give it any more thought. He looks like someone who likes what he sees, judging by the flirty smile he gives you. “Hi, darlin’, nice to meet you!”, is his first response to you. You smile politely “ You, too!”
You turn your attention to the young lady then, Tommy’s eyes still linger a little too long for your liking. Not because he’s not easy on the eyes, far from it. You’re simply not ready for that. And you proved that to yourself last week. You let the most handsome stranger you’ve ever met, slip through your fingers. You didn’t even got his name.
Idiot.
Jesus Christ, not now, let him go, focus. “Hello Sarah, I’ve heard a lot about you, it’s nice to put a face to the stories!”.
Sarah laughs, glaring at Trish “I bet the stories are really funny! I only hope my aunt exposed herself, too, in the process!”
You give Sarah a one-sided smirk, looking at her conspiratorially, “Well, you know Trish, she’s never holding back!”, you all laugh vividly.
You already feel more relaxed, Tommy and Sarah seem so nice, easy going, it will be great to make new friends. Trish was right for wanting you to meet them so soon after you arrived here.
It brings an air of normalcy, it feels like, although slowly and fucking painfully, your life takes an actual.. shape. You’re here. You exist. You are being seen as a living human being. You are talked to, admired, cared for, building a circle of people in your life, each one with their own place and role in your heart. And that means you’re trying. You’re not giving up, you’re moving forward, for you, for your children most importantly. These thoughts create a warmth inside you, a sense of hope that everything’s going to be ok.
And then it happens.
His voice is the first thing you register as he makes his presence known. “Goddamnit Tommy, I asked you for one thing before we leave the house. One.”, he addresses his brother from a distance. “Of course I have to remember everything myself.”, he mutters to himself, shaking his head disapprovingly.
The hair on the back of your neck is rising. You could recognize his voice among thousands. But that couldn’t be right. It can’t be. There is no way the voice will match the face.
So, you turn your head to the entrance.
First, you see his boots going up the stairs of the porch, next your eyes land on his lower and then upper body, fit thighs, covered in dark jeans, thin waist hugged by a black belt, broad torso clothed in a black t-shirt and a green flannel. You don’t consciously recognize what -or who- you see yet, but your heartbeat spikes and your breathing becomes quicker.
You look further up, his head is tilted down, he’s trying to put his car keys in his front jean pocket, the salt and pepper curls looking oddly familiar.
And then he raises his head.
It’s instant.
Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches on your throat, your mouth goes dry, you stomach clenches, your body feels on fire. Even your fingertips feel numb. Your mind floods you with memories of him.
His scent, his touch, the need he awakened inside you. His gaze locks with yours, like that night, stopping him in his tracks, right before the entrance of the house, both of you unable to look anywhere else. He keeps staring at your face, fearing that if he so much as roams his eyes to the rest of you, you’ll disappear.
You can’t quite read his expression, he looks- well he looks hot- but apart from that, he seems surprised, disturbed, almost.. pained?
Somewhere from behind you, you hear “Uuuuh, and this sunshine, is my brother, Joel.”
Summary: Having just caught your fiancé cheating on you, you decide to come back home from the big city to Austin for the month of December to try to figure out your next step. You had no idea you would be getting more than you bargained for with the handsome single dad who built your parents' house.
Chapter Warnings: no outbreak, modern day but Joel is 40, language, fluff, flirting, explicit smut (18+MDNI), (somewhat) unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), soft!joel, hallmark tropes up the wazoo, mentions of infidelity, mentions of divorce, angst (but happy ending), hurt/comfort, reader's sister is pregnant (any additional warnings will be listed in each chapter)
A/N: this is my take on a cheesy, fluffy, soft, smutty, Joel Miller Hallmark Christmas movie. It's just sweet and silly and makes me smile, and I hope it does the same for you.
series summary: you and harry had an agreement: no strings attached. purely sex. nothing serious. until he asked you to pretend to be his date and girlfriend to his parents’ golden anniversary. lines start to get blurred when you spend an entire week with him and his family.
pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
series content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), friends with benefits, fake relationship trope, secretly in love, lots of smut y'all, slight age gap (implied but never specified), elements of angst and bad communication between reader & harry, no use of y/n. each chapter will have its own separate warnings!
a/n: i didn't think i was going to write another multi-chaptered story, but this idea has been lingering in my mind for weeks and tbh i don't think i'm ready to say goodbye to writing harry anytime soon. anyway, this will be completely different than what i've written for him so far. i'm excited to explore a different side to this character after his breakup with lucy, so stay tuned and see y'all soon <3
Summary: You and Joel have become best friends, but as the years pass, you both realize that the love you have for each other goes beyond just “best friends”. Will either of you have the courage to express your true feelings or will you both just remain secretly in love with each other?
Character pairing: no-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader
Rating: 18+ minors dni, each chapter will have its own warnings.
The boyfriend act, part 33: "The one with Santi's wedding, part one"
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
Buy me a coffee - Ko-fi
Chapter summary: With Santi and Yov’s wedding just around the corner, returning to Austin feels thrilling given all the celebrations ahead, even if it means an imminent reunion with your ex, Frankie. But you’re ready for it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. wc: 20.4k
A/N: warning, long chapter ahead as a little thank you for waiting as it took me so long to update! Thank you all for patiently waiting for another chapter of my long and boring fic, The Boyfriend Act (🤭). You guys really do have the patience of saints, huh?? We only have a few chapters left now, and I promise you won't have to wait as long for the next ones; there are truly very few left!! Anyway, enjoy this one and start bracing yourselves for the ending.
Your feedback means a lot to me so please let me know your opinions in the comments. Thank you 💕Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!
Tuesday, October 8th
Starting a new journal by writing about returning to Austin feels ironic. Starting a blank book while backtracking definitely is. But as you look out the plane window at the completely clear blue sky, watching the sprawling city stretch out far below your feet, you get the distinct feeling that you are about to land in a different place entirely.
It is your home; the very same walls that said goodbye to you a few months ago will welcome you back within the hour. The same bed, the same spot on your couch, the same mirror that pushed your own reflection back at you. Yet, you don’t feel like the same person who used to inhabit that space; or at least, that is the sensation that washes over you with every passing mile.
With your fresh journal in hand, you try not to overthink it.
Lucky for you, a wedding is exactly the kind of bustling event that can keep your mind occupied with other things.
You can't afford to get distracted by work, or by your latest manuscript, which has been giving you a massive headache these past few days. Nor can you dwell on what will become of you after all this is over. The choice between staying in Austin or moving back to New York has haunted you for the last week, and you were just about to sit down and make a pros and cons list.
But you can’t think about that. You shouldn't, really.
Weddings are fun if you know how to make the most of them. Especially if you aren’t the one getting married. The truth is, after spending weeks tagging along with Yov and Santi here and there, listening to all the wedding prep, you actually considered taking an anxiety pill.
Having a planner helps, it helps a lot. But some things just can't be allowed to slip through your fingers. At the end of the day, the bride and groom have the final say, which means things can get incredibly stressful, incredibly fast. But in the end, it will all be worth it.
Austin, October 8, 2026
I wonder if Mr. Darcy will recognize the smell of home right away. I wonder if I’ll realize just how much I’ve missed it these past few months.
I want to see everyone.
Everyone.
"Oh my gosh, you’re finally here!"
Emma crashed right into you, wrapping her arms around your neck before you could even flash a full smile. Her hair smelled like coconut.
"I'm here," you laughed, hugging her back. "I've missed you so much."
"Me too," she squeezed, tight enough to fuse her ribs with yours. Then, resting her hands on your shoulders, she stepped back just an inch. "You smell amazing!"
"I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!"
Emma laughed.
All around you, people streamed in and out of the airport, hauling heavy suitcases and overstuffed bags. It was a gorgeous day; the sky was clear and bright, the air surprisingly crisp. Nearby, a couple was reuniting with a warm embrace and a few perfectly public appropriate kisses. It was a sweet scene, but not enough to pull your eyes away from your friend's face.
The drive home was quick and fun. Inside Emma’s car, it smelled clean and citrusy, and a Lana Del Rey song was going through the speakers. She had picked up two coffees, one for each of you, and you sipped yours while hearing her repeat you can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss over and over again, wrinkling her nose every time her sunglasses slid down the bridge.
In the back seat, Mr. Darcy was sitting in his crate, remarkably quiet and relaxed. You could already tell he’d turned into a true New Yorker.
"Darcy is gonna be so happy to be home. Here he can climb up onto the kitchen window sill. I'm sure he misses watching people walk by on the street," you said, and the image of the cat pressed against the glass in the warm sunlight flashed through your mind.
"Mhm, that’s true. In New York people probably looked like tiny little ants, didn't they?"
You smiled. "They did."
Emma’s cheeks bunched up into a soft smile, and she glanced over at you for a second.
"Okay, and what did you miss?"
"Now that I’m actually here? I feel like I missed everything. I didn’t really notice it over there." You looked out the window, the rush of air brushing the strands of your hair against your neck. A deep sigh escaped your chest. "Have you heard anything about Francisco?"
You had managed to keep your simmering curiosity under wraps during your entire stay in New York. You hadn’t asked about him when Emma came to visit a few weeks ago, nor had you brought him up to Santi (or anyone) over the phone.
You mastered that control for months, all through the flight to Austin, and during the first twenty minutes after Emma picked you up. But as the landscape grew closer and more familiar, you simply had to ask.
You turned to look at her almost immediately.
"Frankie?" she asked.
You offered a faint smile. "I doubt I know any other."
"Right, who else?" She rolled her eyes playfully. She paused for a few seconds as the traffic light ahead shifted to red, bringing the car to a smooth stop. "He’s doing good. He's here in Austin, actually."
Your stomach did a complete flip. "Already? When did he get back?"
Emma pursed her lips to the side. "Like, a month ago?"
You raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"
She sighed. "He moved back to Austin last month."
"Emma."
"With Luna and Jamie."
You pressed your back against the seat, watching the scenery flash past the window as a hundred different thoughts raced through your mind. Yet, you didn't let yourself dwell on any of them for too long, only managing to say,
"Well, that makes sense."
"It does," Emma agreed.
"And where are they staying? With Helena?"
"At first, yeah, all three of them. I think Luna and Jamie are still there with her, but Frankie already moved out."
"Oh, he didn't go back to his place?"
She shook her head. "No. He actually put his house on the market and found a spot out in Circle Ranch. The guys helped him move in last week."
Okay. Recalculating.
Recalculating…
"Oh. I… That's… nice. Circle Ranch?"
"Yeah," Emma smiled, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. "I never pinned Frankie as the type to go for the whole white-picket-fence and a dog kind of vibe."
"Does he have a dog now?"
"No," she laughed. "But it’s that kind of neighborhood, you know?"
You smiled and turned your gaze back to the window.
"Maybe he got used to the Boston suburbs and wanted something similar," you suggested.
"Maybe."
Whatever the reason behind Frankie's move, you felt good about it. You knew his old house was a bit crowded with painful heavy memories that he probably didn't care to relive. You knew he was completely sick of his next door neighbor too, Clint, who always parked right in front of his driveway and blasted his music way too loud. Or the dog from across the street that constantly wandered into his front yard to do its business on the freshly cut grass.
You were genuinely happy for him.
"C'mon, baby, c'mon out."
As you unlatched the little door to Darcy’s crate, you watched his curious eyes take in the surroundings. His tiny nose twitched upward, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed, instantly recognizing his home.
A second later, he stepped out with confidence, raising his tail high in a friendly greeting.
If you had a tail, you’d be doing the exact same thing, because oh, how incredibly happy you were to be back.
You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed this place until you walked through the front door. Your living room was completely bathed in sunlight, the half-drawn orange curtains cast a warm glow into every corner, and there was a wonderful scent in the air that you definitely had Emma to thank for; she had been looking after the place, keeping it perfectly neat and tidy.
You grabbed your suitcase and rolled it into your bedroom, where your bed was neatly made and the floors practically gleamed as the sunlight hit your feet.
Unzipping it, you began to gradually unpack your things. Emma walked in just a moment later, holding a mug of freshly brewed tea for you and one for herself in the other hand. She set yours down on the nightstand.
"So, what do you wanna do today?" she asked.
You looked up at her, gently biting your tongue without realizing it.
"Well, first things first, I need to go get my car."
"Want me to drive you?"
You scoffed playfully. "Obviously. Is Will home?"
"He gets back at one."
"Oh, okay. Wanna eat something?"
"Yeah," she said, plop down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll order something, and we can just crash on the couch and watch some TV like the good ol' days, baby."
You smiled, your eyes crinkling. "Yes, please. I have missed doing that with you so much."
Emma hummed. "My butt has missed sitting next to yours, too."
You laughed. "Friends? How does that sound?"
She pointed a finger at you. "Yes! And since we are officially in wedding mode, we have to watch season seven."
"Yes!" You raised your eyebrows. "We should watch Monica and Chandler’s wedding and then Phoebe and Mike's!"
"Yeah," she grinned, her eyebrows knitting together playfully. "And let's get ice cream too. Will can wait!"
A wide smile spread across your face, and your chest swelled with warmth.
You were finally home.
Sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be the best decision you ever make in your life. You might end up living together in a beautiful house with two gorgeous babies, getting married in one of the highest rated television episodes of the era. You could be, as the kids say these days, couple goals. The total package. The sarcastic funny guy and the girl with a few control issues who (for somewhat obvious reasons) manage to blend and complement each other perfectly. It can be beautiful and lasting and solid.
And in other cases, it can be downright complicated. Because sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be a beautiful dream, right up until you find yourself sitting in front of the TV, watching Chandler and Monica’s wedding, and all you want to do is cry.
But you swallow it down. You suppress it because next to you, Emma is shooting you subtle suspicious glances; she knows you far too well not to realize this might be stirring up things buried deep inside your chest. But more than that, you fight it back because you simply don’t want to feel it. Not deeply. Because you know that very soon, at any given moment, you are going to see him again. You don’t know when or where, but you know it’s going to happen. And so, inside your mind, there is a tiny stopwatch with blurred numbers rapidly counting down the time until your eyes meet his once more.
Even the best couples have weak moments.
"Honestly, Chandler’s panic kind of ruins the whole thing," Emma said, lounging next to you with her head resting on your shoulder. "I hate that he doubts it. It ruins everything."
On the screen, Chandler is caught completely off guard by a phone call that refers to him and Monica as Mr. and Mrs. Bing. He makes a whole show of panicking, wanting to run away.
"It’s normal to be scared sometimes," you said.
"I wouldn’t want my fiancé doubting things like that at our wedding. I mean, it would make me question absolutely everything. I hate that choice the writers made. I feel like it’s not Chandler at all."
"Really?" You smiled. "Not Chandler at all?"
"No, why? You don't think so? C'mon."
"No, no, it's just, I mean," you sat up a little straighter, "I get it, but throughout the entire show Chandler has always had insecurity and commitment issues—"
"But we watched all his progress, and it was a long clear arc."
"Yeah but it’s completely normal that even though he's progressed and everything, he still has weak moments from time to time. Especially when it comes to something as huge as a wedding," you laughed.
"Mmh. I dunno. I don't like it. Would you want Santi doubting marrying Yov right before they do it? Would you want your future husband doubting marrying you right before you walk down the aisle?"
"But Chandler didn't doubt marrying Monica; he just got scared, that’s all. He didn't want to run away because he wasn't sure about her; he just panicked about taking such a huge step and didn't know what to do. He watched his parents' relationship fall apart, then went through the whole divorce and everything else. He has a history of commitment issues and the underlying fear that marriage might ruin the good thing he already has with Monica."
"But he literally talked to her just days before about how happy he was to spend the rest of his life with her. It makes no sense."
"It does make sense, Em," you said, looking at her. "You can't completely erase decades of trauma overnight. I mean, he thought their relationship was over after their very first argument until she had to assure him that’s not how things work. The man had avoidant attachment!"
Emma sighed. "I'm still not buying it, sorry."
"I'm sorry, you're telling me you're not buying it? You? The exact same woman who panicked because her boyfriend wanted to spend more time with her and almost considered breaking up with him over it?"
"Will wanted us to move in together!"
"So? All you had to do was tell him no!"
"And I did tell him no," she said, looking at you with a grin. "And we talked it through. I didn't dump him! It's not the same thing."
"I know it's not the same thing, but still, commitment issues are commitment issues."
"Alright, sweetheart, alright."
"You were on the verge of buying a ticket to Yemen at any second."
Laughing, you gave her arm a playful nudge and turned your attention back to the TV.
Time ticked away, minute by minute, as the sunlight shifted across the floor and walls, brushing against every corner until, almost without realizing it, you rested your head against Emma's and closed your eyes.
"I always fall asleep when I'm with you," you teased, buckling your seatbelt in Emma’s passenger seat. "I dunno what it is about you."
"But you needed it, didn't you?"
She started the car engine just as you flashed a smile.
"Maybe."
When you had finally woken up earlier, your mouth was wide open, drooling a little, while Emma was right beside you snoring deeply and completely fast asleep. In your lap, Mr. Darcy had been curled up like a little ball.
It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time you both decided it was time to go get your car. According to Emma, Will would be at his place, and when you told her to let him know the two of you were headed over, she simply said,
"No need, I know he'll be there."
Her relationship updates hadn't changed much since the last time you asked about them two weeks ago. They were still getting along well, really well, and now she had finally admitted to herself that she was in love.
That was an incredibly huge step for Emma, so neither of you was making a big deal out of it. You knew she was secretly ecstatic inside, and probably a little terrified, but she was handling it well. And Will, for his part, was a pretty laid back guy who gave her all the time and space she needed to feel completely comfortable about it.
It was funny and kind of unfair that, despite knowing them for so many years, it had never once crossed your mind that they would make a good match.
Granted, Emma used to be married, but what about before that? She wasn't even seeing her ex when Will entered the picture seven years ago. In fact, they had crossed paths a handful of times, but neither of them had ever shown the slightest interest in the other; or at least, you hadn't noticed.
How could you have missed it? They were absolutely perfect for each other. Emma was somewhat restless, impatient, driven, and occasionally loud, while Will was steady, relaxed, incredibly patient, and had no problem getting loud himself if the occasion called for it.
You were rooting for them.
"Does Santi know you already here?" Emma asked now, steering through a turn.
"Texted him as soon as I got home. We're having dinner tonight with Mom."
Emma smiled. "I saw her yesterday. She looks great, doesn't she?"
You let out a soft laugh. "So great. She's thriving."
"I guess that's what happens after having an european summer."
"A mediterranean one, mind you."
"Is she gonna be at Yov’s party?"
You pursed your lips. "I dunno. I don't think so. She says she doesn’t feel right about it. Apparently she thinks she’d be a mood killer. Yov wants her there anyway."
"A mood killer? It's not like there're gonna be strippers or anything like that, right?"
You laughed. "No."
"Then what's the issue?"
"I dunno. I think she still feels a little awkward participating in all of this."
"She has to be there! I need her to give us the full breakdown on everything that happened in Europe. I'm sure there were some interesting adventures," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I always knew Nora was a cool girl."
"I'm sure Yov will press her about it tonight," you said, turning toward the window. "And if not, I can always force her."
Emma laughed and nodded, completely on board with it.
It wasn't going to be a wild over-the-top party; it was going to be a small gathering at a gorgeous restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at a bar where Yov's friends had booked a private table in the VIP section. It was going to be fun and intimate, nothing crazy or chaotic. Yov didn't feel comfortable with shirtless guys giving lap dances, and she had specifically asked to just spend the night having a good time with her friends and close family.
To her, there was no such thing as a "farewell to freedom" anyway. What was she saying goodbye to? Being single? Well, obviously. But she didn't see much point in looking at it that way, since having Santi in her life didn't actually restrict her from anything. And after marrying him, it wouldn't restrict her either.
There was this archaic idea that once a person gets married, they abandon their freedom entirely; the freedom to hang out with friends whenever they want, to have total independence, and to be able to do this, that, or the other. But Santi and Yov were not that kind of couple. Marriage didn't demand limitations for them, and it was entirely obvious to you that their dynamic would keep right on going exactly the same way. Both were free to do their own thing, go out with friends, or dedicate time to personal matters. The party was symbolic, more than anything.
I mean, sure, they were saying goodbye to being single, but was that really significant? You were positive those two had said goodbye to that years ago.
For Yov, it would be a quiet fun evening tomorrow night. And for Santi, it would be a cookout in the backyard with the guys and a few other friends, followed by a trip to the bar to get drunk and play pool. It was a pre-wedding celebration, plain and simple.
Will’s house appeared ahead of you sooner than expected, and you suddenly realized the drive had gone by surprisingly faster than you'd even noticed.
Everything had been moving at hyper speed since you landed in Austin. The drive home from the airport, the morning spent with Emma on the couch, and now, the twenty minutes from your place to Will’s had felt like barely ten.
It was funny how time flew when you were desperately trying to hold it back. Not for any particular reason, either.
Emma flung the car door open before you could even unbuckle, and the second her feet hit the pavement, she said,
"I can hear music coming from the backyard. Go on ahead, I need to grab a few things from the car."
"Need a hand?"
In the background, the faint sound of an Alice in Chains song drifted over.
"Nah, I’m good." She moved toward the trunk, waving you off.
"Alright."
You walked down the driveway toward the side of the house, where a wide pathway led to the big backyard, and spotted your car right away, tucked under its protective cover beneath the patio roof and parked behind two other cars.
On a table under a window, a portable stereo was blasting music. Layne’s raspy broken voice screamed out lyrics you couldn't quite catch; your attention was already drawn to the car right in front of you, where Will was lying on a mechanic's creeper, working underneath it.
He didn't hear you come in over the music, and his upper body was completely hidden under the chassis. His legs were slightly bent, and seizing the moment, you crept up and gave his foot a gentle kick.
Thump!
You grinned as his whole body jumped in a mini scare.
The creeper shifted; he grabbed the tire with one hand to pull himself forward, the tiny wheels spinning on the concrete.
And just like that, nine months and twelve days later, your eyes locked once again with Francisco Morales'.
You physically felt your smile drop, as if your cheeks had suddenly turned too heavy, and you took a step back while trying, and failing, to tear your eyes away from him.
Frankie scrambled to a sit on the creeper like a startled kid, and braced his palms on the ground behind him. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it a bit messy, and a pair of thick black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. They weren't enough to hide the scars on his face.
With a quick push, he stood up.
"I'm sorry," you blurted out, suddenly breathless. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Will."
He gave a quick nod, wiping his hands on his pants, but didn't say a word.
As your heart threatened to burst right through your ribs and your throat went completely dry, you felt a desperate, intense, aching urge to just... hug him. And at the exact same time, to tell him: you have no idea how much I have to tell you.
Instead, you just stared.
Frankie looked exactly as you remembered, yet at the same time, entirely different. His hair was slightly shorter on the sides, with the top left long and a little unruly. He was wearing a white short-sleeve t-shirt, stained here and there, and black cargo pants.
Looking at him like that, he seemed pretty much the same as the last time you'd seen him. But you could spot the difference in everything else; he seemed taller for some reason, and though his shoulders and arms had always been strong, they looked more toned now. His beard was short, neat and soft, his mustache trimmed. The scars were visible, fully healed now but prominent, leaving a clear trace of his accident, and behind his glasses, his big brown eyes looked tired.
You could have sworn you stared at him for minutes, but it was only a few short seconds.
"I," you crossed your arms, "I just came to pick up my car. If that's okay. Is—is Will around?"
It took Frankie a second to process.
"Uh, Will?"
You offered a faint smile. "Yeah."
"Yeah, right. Yeah," he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, no. He stepped out a moment ago. But he should be right back."
"Oh. Okay."
Behind you, the familiar scuff of Emma's footsteps drew closer until she suddenly froze.
You turned around, trying to pack an entire conversation into a single look, hoping she would decode it.
Just as you expected, your friend was dead in her tracks, holding two boxes in her arms and staring at Frankie like she’d just seen a ghost.
She glanced at you a second later, then right back at him.
"Frankie," she said, flashing a casual but not quite casual smile. "I didn't... I didn't know you were here."
Frankie huffed a soft laugh and gave a half smile. "Will'll be back in a minute."
Emma nodded. "Where'd he go?"
"No idea," he shrugged, turning back toward the car. "But he left a while ago, so he should be back any second."
"Oh, alright."
The second you glanced her way, Emma’s eyebrows shot straight up as she mouthed: I’m so sorry.
You gave a casual shrug that completely masked the panic clawing at your insides, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes drifted across the yard. Toward the back, for instance, where a disassembled bike sat abandoned mid-repair.
"I can move this car out of the way so you can get yours out, if you want?" Frankie asked. He was talking to you; it took you a beat to realize it.
You nodded. "Sure. Thanks."
He gave a quick nod and turned toward the car blocking yours. Will’s car. He reached inside the driver’s side to grab something, then slid into the seat, shut the door, and got the engine running on the second try.
"Here, let me help," you said, turning around and grabbing one of the boxes from Emma, desperate for any kind of distraction.
"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she whispered, pushing open the back door to the house. There was no real need to whisper since the roaring engine drowned out anything you two said, but she kept her voice down anyway until you were both safely inside. "I had no idea he'd be here. I mean, I know he hangs out here a lot, but I didn't know he'd be here today of all days."
"It's fine."
"No, I’m so sorry," she insisted, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. "I should have called first."
"No, Em, really," you said, dropping your box next to her. "It's fine. It's totally fine. You know what?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it’s better this way, right? Unplanned and unexpected." You made a swift ripping motion with your hand. "Like ripping off a band aid. I’ve seen him, he’s seen me, how awkward can it really get? It wasn't even that bad!"
She smiled. "It wasn't?"
"Nope."
"Okay, that's good." She pursed her lips. "So... how are you feeling?"
"Nope. Nope," you said, shaking your head. "Too soon, honey. Not there yet."
Emma let out a soft laugh and pulled you into a tight hug. You took the moment to close your eyes, letting the tension in your chest unravel just a bit.
And outside, after a brief moment, the rumbling engine cut out as a clear sign that your safe haven inside the four walls of Will’s kitchen was officially up. You had to go back out there.
Emma let go of you, clearing her throat before turning toward the door and taking the lead. You gave it a single second before following her out.
The moment you stepped into the yard, your eyes instantly searched for him. Frankie was carefully peeling the protective cover off your car, and your gaze lingered on the back of his neck; on the soft messy strands of hair there, on the soft skin briefly blushed…
A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest.
"I'll get your keys," he called out, disappearing into the house so fast that this time, he was the one who seemed to be running away.
Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms and walked over to the car Frankie had been working on when you arrived. It was old, you noticed, but not quite as old as yours. This one looked more like a nineties model; glossy black with a leather interior and smooth sleek lines. On the hood, the Mercedes Benz logo caught the light.
"You got yourself a real gem here."
Frankie’s voice made you snap upright. He was standing right behind you, dangling your keys from his fingers.
Emma was still keeping quiet.
"Thanks," you said, offering a small smile.
Frankie extended his hand toward you. Your keys were looped around his index finger; you slid them off, careful not to brush against him.
"I don't actually know much about cars," you added, mostly because the silence felt a little too heavy. "Will helped me with it."
"Yeah, he told me. He and I bought this one together, from the same seller," he said, gesturing toward the Mercedes.
"It's really nice."
"Yeah, though it still needs a bit of work. We’re fixing it up to... you know, sell it or something."
"I like it," you said, nodding. "My dad used to drive something like this when I was little."
His eyebrows shot up, and he replied almost too fast, "He did?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah—uh. It's a great car."
You nervously fiddled with the keys in your hands, dropping your gaze down to his shoes; a pair of black high top Vans.
Beside you, Emma let out a quiet amused sigh.
"I think I should get going," you blurted out, looking over at her only to catch a strange look on her face.
Oh, she was absolutely loving this.
"Yeah, sure," Frankie nodded, stepping aside as if he felt he was blocking your way.
"Can you tell Will I'll drop by later?" Emma asked him.
"Sure."
"Alright."
"Em, you can stay if you want," you told her.
"No, no. I said I'd help you unpack and set things up at your place, didn't I? Let's go," she said, waving you toward the driveway.
Unpacking at your place was a total lie. You were already fully unpacked and the apartment was spotless; she just wanted to be there for you.
"See ya," Emma added, giving Frankie's shoulder a friendly pat before turning around and heading toward the front of the house.
Once she was out of sight, you turned back to him.
"Tell Will I say hi."
He smiled. "I will."
"Thanks," you said, starting to turn toward your car. But you froze and looked back at him one last time.
He stood completely, utterly still.
You had no idea what to say, or why you’d even turned back around in the first place. But the moment you looked at his face and caught that flicker of nervousness in his eyes, you knew he was feeling it too.
"I like your glasses."
Frankie’s lips parted slightly, and a very soft sweet smile crept onto his face.
"Thank you," he replied.
Smiling back and holding in a sigh, you didn't say another word. You turned around, got into your car, and drove away, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.
You wished it had been different. You wished your inevitable reunion with him had happened in a controlled environment, surrounded by crowds of people; like Friday's rehearsal dinner or some pre-weekend get together. But as life had already proven to you time and again, you rarely get what you want exactly how you want it.
Forget everything we said a moment ago. All that talk about how time had been moving at a frantic pace since you stepped off the plane, remember? The walk from the airport to your house, your nice nap with Em, the drive from your door to Will’s… Forget it all. Because suddenly, the world seems to have ground to a near halt.
It's moving, and It's moving fast.
You’re driving, and the blocks around you pass at a crawl. No, how silly; you’re the one moving, not the blocks. You drift down the street while Emma sits beside you in silence, and you know it’s not an illusion because the cars passing you vanish ahead in seconds. And also because, after a few minutes, Emma rested her hand on your shoulder and asked,
"You okay?"
You nodded without a word. Well, maybe a soft "hmm" echoed somewhere in your chest.
"I'm sorry," she said, sounding far too guilty. "I know I already told you but I had no idea he was gonna be there."
You nodded again. "He looks so different."
"Yeah."
"Francisco," you glanced at her for a second, "he looks different, doesn't he? Or is it just because I haven't seen him in so long?"
Emma nodded. "No, I think he does look a bit different."
"I mean, I'm not saying he looks bad, he looks…" You tightened your grip on the steering wheel a little with your thumbs. "Different, healthier. Which is so freaking ironic because his face is covered in scars."
"Right."
"Oh God…"
"Hey," Emma squeezed your shoulder, "it's okay."
"He looks so good," you groaned.
Emma laughed. "It's okay."
You turned to look at her, frowning. "Does he wear glasses now?"
"He does."
"It's like he's doing it on purpose just to mess with me!"
"Look what Grian got for me." When Will walked into the yard, he was holding a six pack of beer and a large sealed plastic bag. "Original seat covers, baby, pure leather," he said, stepping closer to drop them onto the table next to the player.
Frankie was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the grass just past the concrete, contemplating his entire existence.
"Hey," Will called out.
Frankie looked up at him.
"Covers and beer," Will said, holding up the six pack.
"That's great. How much for the covers?"
Will frowned, glancing around the yard. The music was off, the creeper wasn't under the Mercedes, and most importantly, your car was gone.
"What happened?" he asked.
"She came to get her car." Frankie pushed himself up from the chair in one quick motion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her and Emma, who said she’d be by later, by the way."
Will’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, man. You alright? How that go?"
"Nothing. She just… she just came and went."
"Y'all talk?"
"A little."
"And? What'd y'all talk about?"
"Nothing, really. Just… just her car, and this and that, and nothing else." He swallowed, looking over at the half-repaired Mercedes. "I'm such a fool. I couldn't even act normal."
Will laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"
"Oh, man," Frankie groaned as he sat back down again, burying his face in both hands and rubbing his eyes. "She looks so beautiful. I felt like I could barely breath."
"Alright," Will crossed his arms, "let it out."
"I mean, look at me," Frankie suddenly pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to his clothes. "I'm a total mess."
"Well, you know, they say girls like that. All covered in grease from work, that whole hot mechanic thing..."
Frankie frowned. "Oh God."
"And with the glasses on and everything, huh?" Will chuckled. "I bet she dug 'em."
Frankie felt his face burn with embarrassment, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole right then and there. He felt like a self-conscious teenager, or at least, his body was reacting like one.
A long time. He’d spent so much time thinking about the next time he’d see you. Late at night when everything was quiet, in the middle of work, while washing dishes or doing laundry. He used to wonder how dramatic it would be, if it would be incredibly awkward or not at all, or if you’d just avoid him altogether. And none of it had been the way he expected.
He knew you hadn't expected to see him either. He'd caught it on your face the second he saw you—as beautiful and sweet as he remembered, but completely caught off guard all the same.
He’d been dying inside with every passing second. The moment you drove away, he felt this overwhelming urge to run right after you; to hold you tight in his arms and cover your face with kisses, to tell you how terribly he’d missed you and that loving you this much was unbearable.
But how completely out of line would that have been, right? When you looked so good, so refreshed, so perfectly fine. Frankie knew he no longer had a place in your life for that kind of confession.
He’d have to be strong. Stronger than he’d ever thought. Because the wedding was drawing close and these weren't gonna be easy days. Between the final preparations, the bachelor parties, the rehearsal dinner, and the ceremony itself, he’d have to find a way to keep his feelings in check and not let a single bit show, since you’d be seeing each other practically around the clock.
He couldn't even let his eyes betray him, because he knew all it took was having you nearby for him to look at you like a fool. Guess that's just what longing does to you.
And Santi knew all about that. He and Yov had talked to Frankie a few days back when the three of them stopped to rest during a long Sunday bike ride. They’d asked how he was doing, how he was prepping for the wedding, and if he was truly alright with all of it; all of this out on the trail, while their calves throbbed and their chests heaved. But the way their voices sounded reminded him of those times the guys used to try and casually check up on his health years ago, trying not to sound too nosy or overly worried.
"You don't need to worry, everything's fine," he’d told them, a bit winded. His neck was flushed and he could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and let out a chuckle. "What do you think is gonna happen?"
Santi scratched his chin, pulling a face. "I know, I know it'll be fine. It’s just, y'know, it can get awkward and all, and we wouldn't want either of you having a rough time."
"We'll be fine," Frankie nodded. "Don't worry. We spent years getting along terribly and managing to co-exist or something like it, and nothing happened—"
"No, no," Yov interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a finger, "that wasn't co-existing."
Frankie rolled his eyes, hiding a bitter smile. "Everything's fine on my end. I’ll be respectful, polite, and anything that comes up can wait until after the wedding. You can count on that."
He didn't even know what he meant by that. "Anything that comes up" could mean absolutely anything; an argument, a casual conversation, anything requiring an ounce of extra attention that might pull the focus away from what really mattered.
Anyway, he’d promised himself to keep his distance and not let a single thing throw off the balance this week needed to have…
Until he saw you again, and a flood of emotions washed over him, soaking him to the bone. And right then, Frankie realized that for the past few months, he’d only allowed himself to feel about twenty percent of what he truly felt for you.
He’d convinced himself that he was okay with all of this; that his feelings, while still strong and very much there, weren't so intense anymore that they'd steal his breath away.
What a fucking lie. He loved you just as intensely as before, maybe even more; or maybe it was just the effect of seeing you after all this time.
You were surprised to see him; he’d noticed that. You hadn't expected it at all, and it definitely wasn't what you wanted. But as he looked at you, pretending to be completely unfazed, he felt this overwhelming urge to share every single piece of his life with you.
He wanted to tell you about his new house, about the big windows and how beautifully the light flooded the living room. About the shelves he’d filled with his vinyl records, and the space that was still left to fill.
Oh, and Mr. Bingley was absolutely out of his mind, completely in love with the new yard. Frankie would let him out for a bit, keeping a close eye on him so the cat wouldn't wander off anywhere. He’d discovered the little guy was actually a total scaredy-cat, which would make Frankie anxious enough to bring him right back inside. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it yet; the neighborhood was quiet and not dangerous at all, but letting the cat roam free in the yard still made him nervous. Who knew, maybe he’d hop the fence and end up in the street, or some dog might give him a scare. He wasn't about to take that chance.
He’d wanted to tell you about his new job, too. Frankie was back to training pilots, but no longer at his old academy. His former boss had done him a big favor by recommending him to the owner of a different academy (one that trained specialized pilots) and Frankie was finding it a whole lot more engaging and enjoyable.
Now he wasn't training arrogant rich guys who had too much money and free time on their hands, treating flying like some "easy" hobby with zero responsibilities (not that it was always the case, but... most of the time). Instead, he was training people who genuinely saw flying as a calling.
They were all young, eager to learn, and had a real respect for the profession. Frankie truly enjoyed teaching and had a great time with them; plus, the pay was damn good. It was exactly what he needed right now after draining a huge chunk of his savings. His house was about to sell, he’d already sold his car, and you could say he was pretty close to having everything sorted out.
He was doing alright.
He’d wanted to tell you all of that. For a brief minute, every single piece of news in his life flooded his mind and he wanted to share it with you, but a second later he reminded himself that it wasn't his place anymore.
It made no sense how completely his chest melted whenever he thought about you now.
"What are you gonna do now?" Will asked then, leaning his hip against the table and tilting his head.
Frankie sighed, pulling his hands away from his face.
"What else? Nothing. Act normal, I guess. Like an adult."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," he got up from his chair and walked over to the Mercedes, opening the driver's side door. "I'm not gonna bother her."
"Ah, I see. The old go-crazy-and-suffer-all-by-your-lonesome routine."
Frankie laughed softly, shaking his head. "I deserve it."
Wednesday, October 9th
You really don't care about Francisco. He barely crosses your mind.
He wasn't on your mind when you woke up this morning, nor when you showered and got ready to open the bookstore. You weren't thinking of him when you brushed blush onto your cheeks, or when you coated your lips in raspberry gloss. And you certainly weren't thinking of him every single time the chimes above the door jingled and you glanced up, checking to see who walked in.
No, you aren't thinking about him at all.
Your morning flew by, peaceful and smooth. It had been a while since you’d spent time at the bookstore, and settling back behind the counter felt incredibly good.
You had missed all of this: helping customers find the exact books they were looking for, listening to their vague, quirky descriptions and the titles they always got completely wrong. You missed the scent of old pages, and the aroma of coffee that drifted through the door every time it opened because at this hour, every café on the block was open and the entire sidewalk smelled of espresso.
It was a quiet, nice morning. A few people dropped in; many left with books, others just browsed for stretches of time, and some simply asked a question before heading out.
In the quiet lulls, you read through the notes Donovan had sent this morning. There were far more than you anticipated, all anchored to comments lining the margins of the document.
In one of them, you read:
His age isn’t clear. He could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. If I didn't know better, I’d assume he is a man nearing sixty. Keep in mind that the reader doesn’t know what you know, and you cannot gloss over that in the main descriptions. You can weave it into the dialogue or the internal monologue. Your choice. But don't make it obvious.
It wouldn't be so jarring if Donovan didn’t highlight the paragraphs in an intense, vibrant red. Sometimes he used yellow, other times a soft, light blue. If there was an actual system to his color-coding, you had no idea what it was.
At ten o'clock sharp, the chimes above the door rang out once more. Instantly, your eyes snapped toward the entrance, your mind flashing for a fraction of a second with the thought that it might be… him.
But it was Bill who stepped through the door.
Tall and handsome as ever, he wore a crisp smile and his bright prominent green eyes were shining as usual.
The moment you saw him, your eyes widened with joy.
You slipped off your stool to greet him as he walked in, carrying two large brown paper bags and a warm grin.
"Coffee and a slice of cake for my favorite writer!"
Bill set the bags down on the counter and welcomed you with open arms; he smelled of fresh brew and cologne. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as he held you close for a brief moment.
"You haven't even read anything of mine," you laughed.
His hand brushed up your back. "I don't have to to know it'll be incredible."
"You really have faith in me."
Bill pulled back slightly. "We all do. Julie was thrilled when she found out. She says now she’ll have someone interesting to interview for her school project."
You huffed a laugh and walked back around to the other side of the counter. A customer stepped through the door right at that moment. Good morning, he said. Good morning, you replied. He was an elderly man holding a cane, and he headed straight toward the Hispano-American literature section.
"What are your plans for today?" Bill asked, leaning against the counter. "If you're free, Julie and I would love to have you over for dinner."
"I’d love to," you smiled, "but tonight is Yov’s bachelorette party. And Santi’s bachelorette party, too."
He grinned. "Oh yeah? What d'you have planned?"
"We're grabbing drinks at a bar nearby," you tilted your head. "Yov’s girlfriends made a reservation for dinner too, so, we'll see what happens."
"And Santi?"
"Oh, I dunno. I know they're going out for drinks too, but knowing them, they’ll probably do something else too."
A chuckle caught in his chest. "Will they have to go rescue him from a hotel rooftop in the morning like The Hangover?"
"Mmm," you narrowed your eyes playfully, "I think it'll be more like Into the Wild."
"Campfires and all that, huh."
"Exactly," you nodded. "Knowing them, they'll have a few drinks and then go have fun somewhere out there. Nothing too crazy. Plus, the rest of Yov's family arrives tomorrow so he gotta be fresh."
"Got it," Bill nodded. "And how... how has Austin treated you so far?"
"Austin?"
He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that made you suspect his question had several layers.
"Austin is fine," you answered, lifting your chin. "I barely got here yesterday and my eye is already twitching, how about that?"
It was a joke. Your eyes were not twitching at all. Spiritually, maybe.
Bill laughed and reached out with his left hand, grabbing the side of the brown paper bag he had set down moments ago.
"Better not drink this coffee then. It has two shots."
You burst out laughing and snatched the bag from his hands. "Don't you dare!"
You needed that coffee, and you also needed the slice of cake he had so carefully tucked inside the plastic container. But above all, you needed him to stay right there with you and give you his opinion on a few things.
You pulled the coffee cup out and set it on the counter for a moment.
Bill laughed softly, his eyes dropping to your hand, and that’s when you asked:
"You free this Saturday?"
Later
If New York had taught you anything, it was how to dress and do your makeup.
No. Not New York. Alex.
Alex, like so many other wealthy, fashion forward New Yorkers, was a woman who understood style deeply and knew exactly how to tailor it to different people. That was why she had spent a massive chunk of your stay dragging you from one boutique to another, letting you freely indulge in every single one of her perks at beauty salons across the Upper East Side.
She had been incredibly generous. And while you initially thought it was a favor to you, you soon realized it was actually a treat for her. Letting Alex guide and advise your style was exactly what she craved and thoroughly enjoyed, and even Emma had gotten a little taste of her styling expertise when she came to visit a few weeks back.
You weren’t normally one to blow money on clothes and makeup. Truthfully, you liked the things you already owned, they lasted a long time, and you rarely found anything you loved enough to desperately want to buy. But in New York, your credit card began seeing action it had never seen before. And honestly? You liked it.
Now, your closet in Austin was packed with new dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of boots and shoes. You had flown back with two massive suitcases stuffed to the brim, packed right alongside the heavy uncertainty of whether you were even going to stay here. When in doubt, bring it all.
Right now, Emma stood in front of your bedroom mirror, half dressed. She was in her bra, a dress pulled up only from the waist down, fussing with her underwear beneath the fabric to make sure there were no visible lines.
Even though she was wearing seamless panties, she was convinced that the glare of the light caught the faint outline of the edges.
"I’m telling you, it doesn’t show," you said from the bed.
You had finished getting ready ages ago and were now lounging with Mr. Darcy resting on your stomach. You wore a form-fitting black skirt paired with a black blouse featuring soft, sheer bell sleeves. The neckline was high, grazing your collarbones, and the entire front was dusted with tiny sparkles that subtly caught the light whenever you moved. Your legs were covered in semi-opaque black tights, finished off with boots that hit just three fingers below the knee.
"You sure? What about like this?" Emma turned to the side, arching her back to check her reflection.
"It’s a thong," you said, lifting a hand. "And it’s completely seamless. For heaven's sake, Em, nothing is showing."
"Alright, alright," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You better be right. What time is your mom picking us up?"
"Seven o'clock."
"And what time is it now?"
You picked up your phone from where it lay beside you on the bed and glanced at the screen.
"Quarter to seven."
She let out a sigh of relief, then finally pulled the dress up over her waist and shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging the zipper up along her ribs.
She looked at her reflection and pursed her lips. You smiled.
Emma looked radiant. Not just beautiful, not just happy; radiant. Everything about her carried a glow that reminded you of the old Emma, the one from before the divorce, before everything had gone down.
She had always been a strong woman, and she had always faced life's hurdles as one. Even as she went through the divorce, you had never once seen her hang her head or crumble the way so many others would have. But she had suffered through bad days and rough patches, and during those times, a very specific light inside her had gone dark.
Between the two of you, Emma had always been the one who had life figured out, or at least the one who always knew how to stay on track.
Since you were little, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how to achieve it; she graduated early, started working immediately, and married Luca shortly after meeting him. Everything in her life had always been neat and effortless, unfolding exactly how you’d expect the life of a model adult to go.
After the divorce, she barely faltered. That was the thing about Emma; some things just never seemed to shake her. Good or bad, she didn't let much get under her skin. Her peace was sacred.
Until Will came along.
At first, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, this thing that made her nervous in a way you had never seen before. When you were in New York and she would call to give you updates, the anxious flutter in her voice was entirely new. You were absolutely certain she hadn't been that jittery even during the week leading up to her wedding.
There was something about all of this that, for the first time in her entire life, was throwing her off balance. And it only took you a moment to realize why: she was truly in love.
Not in love the way she had been with Luca, or with any other ex… no. Truly, deeply in love. The kind of love that makes you feel like a teenager all over again, the kind that keeps him in your thoughts day and night, making you ache for him while simultaneously filling you with absolute peace.
You knew the feeling all too well. Looking at her right now, you recognized it instantly, because not too long ago, you had been in the exact same place. Head over heels.
Emma was in love.
"You look beautiful."
Hearing your voice, Emma caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.
"Thank you. You look beautiful too," she replied, turning around to face you directly.
You offered a warm smile in return, spreading your fingers across Mr. Darcy’s back. You gave his fur a gentle squeeze, and he immediately began to purr.
"So…" Emma walked over to the bed and drifted down beside you, propping herself up on her elbow. A wave of her perfume reached you instantly. "How's everything?"
You smiled. "How's everything? Everything's good."
"Ah…" She reached out and stroked Darcy, who promptly closed his eyes.
"What about you? How's everything with you?"
"Good." Emma sighed. "You talked to him?"
Your hand went still on Darcy’s back. "With whom?"
"Y'know. Francisco. Frankie. Have you talked to him?"
Your lips parted for a split second, your brows knitting together.
"No. Why?"
"Just asking," she said, pursing her lips. "After what happened yesterday, I dunno, I just thought maybe you guys had talked."
"Oh, no. No… you know how it is. If we’d talked, I would’ve told you by now, don't you think?"
Emma huffed a laugh. "True. You better."
"And what happened yesterday? Was he there when you went over to Will’s later?"
"Yeah, but only for a little bit," she said, her hand running over Darcy’s fur almost absentmindedly. "And he didn't say much."
"Hmm."
"It doesn't…" Emma locked her eyes onto yours. "It doesn't bother you that I hang out with him, right? Because if it does, I can totally—"
"Em, no," you interrupted, shaking your head.
"No, I’m serious. I know it can be weird for your best friend to spend time with your ex."
"It’s weird if you phrase it like that," you laughed. "But you aren't hanging out with Frankie. It’s just that he happens to be your boyfriend's best friend. It’s not your fault."
"It really doesn't bother you?"
You raised your eyebrows. "No, it really doesn't."
"I swear, the first few weeks I gave him the absolute cold shoulder."
You laughed. "Really?"
"Yes, I swear! And he barely even came near me because he knew what I was gonna say to him."
"What were you gonna say?"
"That he’s a fool and an idiot, what else?" She laughed. "Though I think he already knew it, because he always watched his step around me."
"Mhm. You two seem to get along well enough now, though, right?"
At your question, Emma’s smile faltered.
You knew she spent time around Frankie now. Here and there, they would cross paths at gatherings or over at Will’s place. She didn't tell you much, but it was always implicit. Every time Emma mentioned she was at a certain place, you already knew Frankie would likely be there too.
"Not really," she replied.
You smiled. "Em."
"What? I’m serious."
"You don't have to hide it from me. I know Francisco can be nice. And I wouldn't expect you to treat him badly just for my sake. That would make things uncomfortable for everyone."
"I don't treat him badly," she said, lifting a hand, "but we aren't friends either, okay? We just… we talk like normal people."
"Sure."
"Ugh," she groaned, tossing herself backward and covering her eyes with both hands. "I’m a terrible friend."
"That’s not true!"
"Of course it is! I have fraternized with the enemy!"
"Alright, stop it," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Can we please drop this?"
"No!"
"We’re adults," you laughed, pulling Emma’s hand away from her face. "And Francisco isn't the enemy, he’s just my ex boyfriend. I have to coexist with him tomorrow, Em, please. Can we just act like this is normal?"
Emma sighed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. But let’s be clear: I am gonna act like this is totally normal, but on the inside, I'm gonna enjoy every single second of watching you with Bill there—"
"Oh no, that’s not—"
"And when Frankie sees you with Bill?"
You threw your head back. "Bill is just my friend!"
"Your 'friend' whom you invited to your brother's wedding, where your ex, who was always a little jealous of him, happens to be the best man!"
A loud laugh burst from your throat as your face flushed bright red. "It’s not like that!"
"Yes it is! You smart bitch!"
Emma’s hands dug playfully into your stomach, and the tickling shocked another loud laugh out of you. Poor Mr. Darcy; the little cat bolted off the bed at the sudden noisy outburst.
On the inside, you swore to yourself: it really wasn't like that.
Fortunately for you, five minutes later, the horn of your mom’s rental car honked outside your apartment, and Emma immediately bounded off the bed to throw on her heels, utterly unable to tease you any longer.
Hours later, at night.
Sitting at the long table surrounded by Yov’s friends, you felt at ease.
The restaurant was located right in the heart of downtown, and thanks to Cinthia, the maid of honor, they had managed to book a private table out on the terrace.
Beside Yov sat Emma, who had become really close to her over the last few months. The bond between them had blossomed naturally, fueled by all the time they spent together because of the guys. Watching them laugh together, it was hard to believe they hadn't known each other a lifetime.
"And then," one of Yov’s college friends said, gesturing animatedly with her fork, "she completely forgot where she parked the car and we spent two hours walking to our apartment, drunk as hell. And as soon as we got home, guess what? Her car was parked right there!"
The table erupted into laughter, and Yov buried her face in her hands just as her cheeks flushed pink.
Emma leaned in, nudging her playfully.
"To be fair, that happened to us, too," Emma chimed in with a grin, throwing a knowing look your way. "Remember that? My dad was so mad."
"Oh, yeah," you raised your eyebrows, "but we walked all the way home having forgotten your car was parked right outside the club."
Your mom gasped; "What? When was that, and why am I just finding out now?"
You turned to look at her, sitting to your left.
"It was a lifetime ago!" you replied.
She smiled and shook her head. It made you happy to see her here, laughing, enjoying herself, and sharing this moment with all of you, because the truth was, it had been a very long time since that had happened.
Following your father’s death, your mom’s retreat had been almost absolute. She had rarely returned to the city, and she had never stepped foot in the family home again; a house that didn't even belong to you anymore.
Your relationship with her had fractured deeply because of that, leaving Santi as the one who stayed closest to her. It meant years of brief interactions, arguments over the phone, and her constant attempts to reach out to you, which you always pushed away.
Back then, you were younger. You were grieving one of the people you loved most, and you needed her. But she wasn't there, and for the longest time, you resented her for it.
If you were a mother, you would never do that; leaving the city because you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life was understandable, but distancing yourself from your two children was not.
And it wasn't that she had completely vanished, either. No, she had always tried to stay in touch with daily calls, constant texts, and video chats every single night. Until you finally said no more, and began to freeze out any kind of contact.
That lasted for two years. Two years where you cut yourself off from her entirely, reducing your only connection to calls once every few weeks and updates passed down through Santi.
It hadn't been easy at first, but she was entirely honest with you. All of this was difficult for her, and it had been incredibly hard years ago as well. But living together in New York after her trip had been surprisingly fun, and something you had missed desperately.
The two of you spent your days walking, exploring, taking in the city, and spending your nights watching movies, shows, and reading together in the living room.
You reconnected, and it felt so good. You had missed your mom so much, and being with her now felt completely right.
Amid the chatter and jokes, two hours flew by as you finished dinner and dessert. Yov was ecstatic; her friends were all gathered in the same room for the first time in years, and on top of that, her mom and yours were having a wonderful time together.
The atmosphere was incredibly warm and the excitement for the wedding grew with every passing minute; you were starting to feel the rush of emotion building up inside you, too.
You couldn't believe it. This was actually happening. Santi was getting married, and not only that, but his future wife was someone you absolutely loved.
Watching her now, as she laughed with your mom and lifted her glass to her lips, you felt a wave of genuine happiness.
What a beautiful family you had. And what a beautiful family they would have in a couple of years. You could picture it perfectly; just like this, but a little different. With a couple of kids, maybe. Santi wanted two; Yov wanted at least two. And you couldn't wait to have nieces and nephews running around everywhere.
She was an incredible woman, and your brother was lucky to have her. And on the flip side, Santi was a wonderful man, too. You were certain he would make an amazing husband and father, and you couldn't wait to see him step into that new chapter of his life.
"What are you thinking about?"
Emma’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Turning toward her, you met her bright eyes framed by long curling lashes. She gently touched your elbow.
"Nothing," you answered, a gentle smile tracing your lips. "I can't believe they're actually getting married. Time moves so fast. Santi is fully a grown man now."
Emma smiled. "He has been for a while, huh."
He had been for a long time. But you had barely noticed the passage of time, preoccupied with growing up right alongside him.
Everything had just moved so quickly. Only a few years ago, the two of you were inseparable, going everywhere together; you glued to his side like velcro, and him completely fine with bringing you along. It had always been you and him, him and you.
Every time he hung out with his friends, he brought you with him. Everywhere you went with Emma, there he was, simply because he was too curious and liked your company.
Spending these past months in New York had been a completely new experience for you, as you had never gone that long without seeing Santi. It had felt strange not having him around or seeing him for such a stretch, and it made you realize just how accustomed you were to his presence.
You didn't know if all siblings were like that. Probably not. But you and Santi definitely were.
"Your mom is having a great time," Emma whispered, leaning close to your ear.
You smiled instantly. "I know. I wish Dad were here to see it."
Emma squeezed your arm with hers. "I'm sure he is."
"You think so?" you asked, looking at her sideways with a small smile.
"Of course I do. I bet he’s even having a glass of wine somewhere right now."
That made you laugh. You could picture it perfectly: your dad tilting his elbow back to finish his glass of wine, just like he always did whenever he was celebrating and happy.
Somewhere out there, he was watching over you all. You liked to believe that.
"Another round, my treat! Our boy's getting hitched!"
A microsecond after Benny finished speaking, the entire bar roared in celebration, raising their glasses and hands.
Fuckin' opportunistic bastards, Santi thought amused. Everyone here wasn’t just happy for him; they were just thrilled to drink on someone else's dime. Julius, CJ, Baz, Carlos, and even Don had already crowded around, slapping him on the back in congratulation.
Santi laughed, ducking his head a bit, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness from all the attention.
"C'mon Fish, live a little," Will said, stretching his arm across the table to thrust a beer bottle toward Frankie, who was sitting at the far corner.
Santi watched him shake his head.
"Ts, I dunno," Fish replied.
"Not even a single drop?" Ben asked, sounding genuinely offended. "C'mon, celebrate with us. The state of Texas allows a zero-point-zero-eight blood alcohol level, which is..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing the math. "... a drink, a beer!"
Frankie crossed his arms and leaned his head back. "Under what exact circumstances were you researching that?"
Ben scoffed. "You don’t wanna know. But let’s get one thing straight," he added, planting his hand firmly on the table. "I am a responsible driver!"
"Fish," Santi called out, raising his own beer. "We’ll call an Uber. Now celebrate with your friend who's about to tie the knot."
Frankie’s smile turned lopsided, and in that brief moment, Santi noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out just a bit more.
"You guys are a terrible influence. Haven’t you noticed I’m a clean guy now?"
"Oh, c'mon," Will laughed, throwing his head back.
"No, no, it's true," Santi chimed in, nodding. "He really is."
Will raised his eyebrows. "I know he is. What is it, up to one or two cans of beer a day, max?"
"Only if I have to drink. Otherwise, nothin'," Fish said, squaring his shoulders with a hint of pride.
Santi smiled, feeling a pang of pride himself. "I’m proud of you. We all are."
"To Fish!" Benny raised his beer.
Will smiled and imitated his brother. "To Fish."
Frankie scoffed, suddenly shy, and hid his eyes under his glasses.
A second later, Will took a long swig of his beer before slamming the bottle back down on the table.
"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, you're gonna give me diabetes. If Fish is staying sober, it just means more booze for the rest of us. Call that round already!"
Frankie laughed and looked over at Santi, who held his gaze for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows rising bit by bit.
"Uh?" Santi smirked. "Just one? What do you say?"
A few feet away, Grian was pulling out beer bottles and lining them up on the bar.
Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, a wide grin flash of teeth breaking across his face.
"It's my bachelorette night and my best man can't even clink glasses with me!"
"Alright, alright, alright," Frankie raised both hands in surrender. "Just one. But only 'cause it’s your night and a nice cold beer actually sounds real good right now."
Will slapped Fish on the back, giving him a rough but affectionate nudge, a grin splitting his face.
"And just so we're clear, we're still incredibly proud of you."
Santi smiled as he watched them, taking a sip of his beer. As he swallowed, a heavy sensation settled deep in his chest.
He couldn't quite explain this feeling. He was thrilled about his wedding, and even more so about what it meant for his life with Yov. Yet his smiles felt forced, slipping away the moment none of his friends were looking.
Will was ecstatic, Benny was right there with him (and a bit tipsy), and Fish had just tipped a bottle to his lips, taking a long swig as the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grin. And in that exact moment, the only thing Santi could think about was… someone else.
Terrified that someone might notice the sudden glossiness in his eyes, he pressed the beer to his mouth and finished it in one long gulp.
"Alright, where’s that next round, huh?" he said, bringing the empty bottle down hard on the table. "I’m getting thirsty."
Fish smirked slightly, his gaze drifting over Santi’s face. "You alright?"
Santi let out a huff. "As always."
People always say you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach.
Well, you all took that advice to heart.
Following a delicious dinner and a suggestively named dessert specially crafted for the bride and her guests, the group piled out onto the street, where a stretch limousine was already idling by the curb.
Yov burst out laughing. "Fio, what on earth is this?"
Fiona, one of her best friends, gestured grandly toward the massive car before pulling a white sash out of her bag that read Future Mrs. Garcia in bold lettering.
"What does it look like?" she laughed, stepping closer to loop the sash over Yov’s shoulder. "Nothing but the best for our beautiful bride; you only get married once!"
Emma chuckled. "According to whom?"
"I've been married twice," Cinthia chimed in, raising both hands.
"Well, they do say third time’s a charm," Fiona shot back, clapping a hand over her mouth the exact second the words slipped out.
The sound of your mom’s laughter made you snap your head to the right, and you watched her laugh with flushed cheeks as she walked over to Yov and gently took her by the arm; She was already a bit tipsy. She had finished two glasses of wine during dinner and you knew that was always enough to make your mom giggly, and you loved seeing it.
She was having a wonderful time, just like everyone else.
Fortunately, Fiona’s slip of the tongue was swept away by a wave of giggles as the limousine doors swung open, inviting you into leather seats and neon lighting.
One by one, each one of you piled inside, heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into the comfort of the interior. ABBA was already pulsing through the speakers and a chilled bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket.
Your mom took a seat near Yov, still giggly, while Emma slid in right next to you; her eyes were sparkling as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at you. Cinthia, in front of you, immediately took charge of pouring the drinks, handing out flutes of bubbling champagne as the city lights outside melted into streaks against the tinted windows.
It was a short drive, but when the limousine finally pulled up to the curb, the venue took your breath away.
It wasn't a huge chaotic nightclub, but a really nice luxurious place. Nestled behind a discreet entrance, the lounge exuded… quiet. The lighting was low and calm, casting shadows over velvet booths, dark walnut accents, and a big glowing marble bar that stretched across the main room. Your first thought was oh, this is expensive.
But Cinthia took charge of that. Of everything, really. She had a wildly successful career in PR, and before you had even made it to the restaurant, she had casually mentioned how she always managed to get exactly what she wanted. It was a natural born talent. The restaurant, the limo, the lounge, and even the expensive bottles of champagne waiting for them were all the masterwork of her and Fiona.
A hostess in a tailored suit checked the name and guided your group past the main floor toward a raised, private tier.
"Right this way, ladies. Your table is ready in the VIP lounge," she murmured.
The private area overlooked the rest of the venue, enclosed by elegant brass railings and draped in heavy emerald green curtains. It was the perfect vantage point.
"You really outdid yourself," Yov breathed, taking in the crystal glasses and the dedicated server already waiting for them.
Cinthia just offered a knowing smirk, sinking into the velvet cushions. "Only the best for the bride. Now, what are we drinking?"
Emma squeezed your arm. "Oh my God, no! No! I'm gonna pee myself!"
"Oh no!" your mom shrieked.
You wanted to answer (you really, truly did) but the words wouldn't come because you couldn't even breathe. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard, and Emma wasn't helping; she was standing right in front of you with her legs tightly crossed, this ridiculous, hilarious wheeze escaping her chest.
"Emma, no, go, go!" Cinthia ordered, shooing her away with a wave of her hand. Beside her, Kat, another one of Yov's friends, looked intensely focused, squinting into near blindness as she tried to wipe her glasses with a cloth.
"C'mon, I'll take you," you managed to choke out between giggles, pushing yourself up from your seat and nudging Emma toward the hallway.
"You need me to come with you, sweetie?" your mom asked.
You turned back to look at her and your grin widened; she had a straw clamped between her lips, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Nah, we're good, we'll be right back."
Oh God, your stomach literally hurt from laughing. You couldn't even remember what the first joke was, or whatever it was that had triggered this chain reaction of non stop laughter, but it had been at least ten minutes of tossing one-liners back and forth.
Surprisingly, your mom wasn't helping the situation at all; she was on a roll tonight, spilling anecdotes about Santi; embarrassing stories that would have absolutely mortified him if he were here to listen.
And like any good younger sister, you found them hilarious and were laughing your head off.
"Ask him about the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by doing a backflip off the diving board," she said minutes ago. "He ended up doing a full horizontal belly flop. The smack was so loud the lifeguard thought a firecracker went off! He had a bright red stomach for a week, my poor boy!"
Yov buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she let out a loud, snorting laugh.
"I am calling off the wedding," she wheezed, shaking her head.
"No!" your mom shot back, entirely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have the photo album to prove it. I'll pass it under the table right before you say 'I do'."
"Oh yeah! I've seen those photos!"
Picture this. A fourteen year old Santi with slightly long curls and naturally flushed cheeks. And underneath his t-shirt, a bright red stomach bruised from a wipeout that made you laugh your head off back then, but also curse on his behalf. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if it hadn't been summer, and if he hadn't done it right in front of every single kid at the pool. The poor guy wore a shirt for an entire week after that, even to get into the water.
It was a simple kind of silly anecdote, but the way your mom told it was hilarious, and it was followed by so many more that your brother’s ears would definitely be burning somewhere right now.
Emma let go of your arm the second you entered the restroom and rushed straight into a stall.
"Your mom is so funny," her voice echoed. "I missed her. Poor Yov!"
Looking in the mirror, you ran your index finger under your eyelashes to fix the mascara that had smudged a bit.
"I know, but she’s one of us now. She has been for a while."
"I love her, I love her—ouch!"
"What's wrong?" you tilted your head to the side.
"Nothing, nothing, I just twisted my stu-pid foot!"
Laughing, you furrowed your brow. "What are you even doing in there?"
Emma let out a low chuckle. "Nothing. These toilets are too damn low."
"Alright. Just be careful in there." You looked down at your purse and opened it to grab your lip gloss, but the glowing screen of your phone caught your attention instead.
Ten missed calls and many… many messages. All from Will. And you would have heard them if you hadn't put your phone on vibrate mode just to enjoy the night better.
Plse answt, one of the messages read.
wwe can't fondsanti
Your heart started beating incredibly fast as you unlocked the phone, your hands turning freezing cold.
You heard the sound of Emma’s toilet flushing just as you pressed call on Will.
"Oh God, much better," she said as she stepped out of the stall, but you couldn't do anything except listen in silence. Emma watched you bring the phone to your ear. "What happened?"
"I don't know," you shrugged both shoulders.
The phone rang once, twice, three times—
"Hey."
"Hey, Will, what happened? I just checked my phone—"
"Santi’s gone."
Oh God, he was slurring his words.
"What you mean he's gone? Gone from where? Isn't he with you?"
Emma’s eyes widened. "Is that Will?"
You nodded and put it on speaker.
"—in the restroom, but Ben went to look for him and he wasn't there, and he's nowhere to be found and—"
"Where are you right now?"
"Here."
"Here where?"
"Will, honey, can you hear me? Where are you guys?" Emma asked.
"In the restroom—at the bar, in the bar restroom."
Your heart jumped into your throat. "And where's Santi?"
"I-I I dunno, he left, or I dunno, he's not here—"
You closed your eyes in frustration. "Listen, is there anyone else there I can talk to?"
"Yeah wait."
On the other end, you could hear music, voices, and a thud that sounded like a door slamming shut. Will muttered a shit, and two seconds later:
"Yeah?"
Francisco.
"Hey, what happened?" you asked, rubbing your hand across your forehead. "Where's Santi?"
"Uh… we… we don't know where he is. We were just hanging out here and he said he had to go to the restroom." Okay, he wasn't slurring his words. "And then after a bit, we realized it had been a really long time, and when Ben went to check, he wasn't in the restroom, or in the bar. He's not here, he left."
"But how? How could he have left without you guys noticing?"
Emma watched you in silence, her eyes wide.
"I dunno, I'm sorry. He must've slipped out through the other side of the bar."
"Shit, Frankie, are you being serious?"
"I'm sorry, we're gonna go look for him right now—"
"Will is drunk, and I assume Benny is too, you aren't gonna get very far," you sighed. "How was Santi acting before he disappeared?"
"A bit wasted too. He started talking about trees and houses, and said Yov was gonna be mad at him."
Emma gasped in shock. Your heart completely skipped a beat.
"Alright, where exactly are you guys right now?" you asked.
"At The Crow. We were planning to head over to Met Park later."
"Okay. Listen to me, stay put, yeah? I'm coming right now. Please don't call anyone else. Have you talked to anyone else?"
You heard Frankie pull the phone away from his ear.
"Did you talk to anyone else? No? You Ben? Alright…" his voice sounded muffled before coming back clear. "No, they haven't talked to anyone else. Neither have I."
"Good. I'm not far, okay?"
"Okay."
Without answering, and before he could say anything else, you cut the call, your hands freezing cold.
"What are we gonna do?" Emma asked. "You don't think he got cold feet about the wedding, right?"
"No, no," you shook your head, though you weren't entirely sure. "No way. Santi would never do that."
Emma rubbed her cheek. "I'm calling an Uber right now. What are you gonna tell the girls?"
"Nothing. They don't need to know. I'll just text mom telling her we're heading home for some silly reason, and that's it."
Your fingers flew across the screen, typing out some absurd excuse. Hey, Em broke her shoe, we're running home real quick to change and we'll be right back, don't worry, we already called the Uber.
You hit send and prayed that your mom's maternal instinct wouldn't kick in tonight of all nights.
You were going to kill Santiago.
If you bit your nails any shorter, you were going to be left with none. And it felt like this damn Uber driver was practically crawling.
"There they are!" Emma said the second you pulled up to the block where the bar was.
Will, Ben, and Frankie were waiting outside on the sidewalk, the three of them looking like scared kids waiting for their moms to pick them up from kindergarten.
You mumbled a quick thank you to the driver and got out as fast as you could, while Emma scrambled out from the other side a bit more clumsily.
Will put both hands on his head as soon as he saw her. "Emmy!"
"Look at you! Grown men!" she snapped, a little tipsy herself. "How could you lose your friend?"
Shaking your head, you looked over at Benny, who was crouching down and looking like he was about to throw up, before shifting your gaze to Frankie; the only sober one, apparently.
He wasn't drunk, but he looked just as panicked. His hair was a bit messy, and he was looking at you with a strange expression.
"What happened?" you asked, crossing your arms as you stepped up to him. "Have you tried calling him?"
Frankie’s eyes flickered across your face. "He left his phone. I have it right here."
"Oh God."
"Don't worry, we're gonna find him," he nodded. "He couldn't have gone very far."
"How? Look at them," you gestured toward Will and Benny. "They're wasted!"
Frankie took another step closer to you. "But I'm not. I've only had a few sips. My car is right across the street."
"Francisco. You're the best man, you were supposed to look out for him," you frowned, a sudden wave of anger hitting you. "How on earth did you let him slip away?"
He frowned back. "How was I supposed to imagine he’d just take off like that? It's Santi we're talking about."
"Yeah, exactly!"
"Alright, alright," Emma stepped in, raising a hand. "Stop wasting time talking and do something, okay? He could be anywhere! Frankie, can you drive?"
He nodded. "Of course."
"Zero point zero eight!" Ben yelled.
"Okay. You go with him and search everywhere," she told you, gesturing with her chin, "and I'll take these two drunks back to Will's place."
No, you thought. And your stomach did such a massive flip you almost gasped. But on the outside, you just nodded.
"Alright," you said, catching sight of Frankie moving beside you out of the corner of your eye. "I'll keep texting you. Tell Grian to keep an eye out in case Santi comes back here, and to hold onto him."
"Will do."
You took a step backward and your back collided with something—No, with him.
As you lost your balance, his hands instantly caught your shoulders. He was right behind you.
"Sorry."
"It's fine," he murmured over your shoulder, his hands releasing you immediately. "Let's go."
He started walking toward the curb, stopping right there to wait for you.
Before moving, you looked at Emma with your eyes wide open, only to catch the mischievous glint in her gaze as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk.
Bitch.
Well, this felt familiar.
As you crossed the street, you turned back for a moment and saw your best friend on the other side, while you awkwardly approached your brother’s friend’s car. It was a familiar scene, wasn't it?
Unlike that first time in Dallas, Frankie held the door open for you. A gentlemanly gesture that caught you off guard. First, because you didn't recognize the car. It was a different one. Black or dark blue, you couldn't quite tell the color in the darkness of the night. It wasn't any of the cars you had seen at Will’s house, and this one was newer. And second, because it would have been easier for both of you to have just skipped the gesture entirely.
"Thanks." You settled into the leather seat, and he shut the door softly beside you.
During the brief seconds it took him to walk around to the driver's side and get in, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes scanned the black dashboard and then moved up to the rearview mirror, where a small silver cat keychain and a green pine tree hung, filling the space with the scent of vanilla.
Frankie stepped inside like a gust of air and slammed the door shut.
Alright. Chill. This doesn't have to be weird.
"Where to?" he asked.
You pressed your knees tightly together. "Let's just drive around the block first."
Without a word, he started the engine and pulled the car out of its parking spot, maneuvering smoothly as he kept a cautious eye on the street, while you locked your eyes on him the exact same way.
"Uh," you cleared your throat and looked straight ahead, "he couldn't have gone very far."
"He must be around here somewhere."
"You think he called a cab or something?"
"I have his phone."
"Right," you pursed your lips. "Of course."
You clasped your hands in your lap and laced your fingers together, feeling your palms grow sweaty as you stared out the window, holding back a sigh.
It smelled way too much like him in here. Like his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes—like him, because he was sitting right next to you, and that made sense, didn't it?
Your heart was beating so fast.
"He seemed a little down today," he noted.
You turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"You know, earlier," he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before turning his eyes back to the street. "I figured he was just nervous about the wedding, so I didn't want to press him with questions."
"You think that could be it? You think he got scared?"
He shook his head. "No, no way. Santi isn't like that."
"I know he's not. But I dunno, it could be possible."
Through the window, the sidewalks and streets passed by with no sign of him.
"What did he mean when he said Yov was gonna be mad?"
Frankie pursed his lips and turned the corner. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense. He started talking about trees, about how long they live and how big they can grow, and how it had been a really long time since he last visited the park. I asked him about it, but he said nothing. Then he said Yov was gonna be mad if she found out about the house. When I asked him what he meant, he just said it was stupid."
"I can't think of anything," you sighed, rubbing your hand over your neck in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense. Did something happen with his house? What on earth was he talking about?"
"He's drunk, I don't think much of what he said was supposed to make sense."
"But Santi isn't like that, you know him," you looked at him. "When has he ever said something he didn't mean?"
He sighed. "Never, I guess. Maybe tonight he was just in the mood to talk about live oaks."
You froze, watching Frankie’s profile as he looked straight ahead and scanned the sidewalk on his side while driving at a relaxed pace.
"Live oaks?"
"Yeah," he affirmed, looking over at you. "I didn't know he was that into trees."
Oh.
OH.
Your hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "I think I know where he is."
"What?"
"Turn around right here," you pointed with your hand, "now. I know where he is!"
Frankie accelerated to the corner and made a sharp left. "Where? Tell me."
"I'm not completely certain, but I'm almost positive," you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.
He chuckled. "Are you gonna tell me where or not?"
"Osbourne Park."
"Why?"
"When we were kids, we had this eco-week in school and they sent us to plant trees. Santi and I planted a live oak with Dad. We went there a lot after he passed away, and I am—Jesus, I'm almost positive he has to be there. Did he say anything about my dad tonight?"
"Yeah," he raised his eyebrows, "yeah, he did."
A relieved sigh escaped your throat and instantly, the car surged forward as he pressed on the gas.
"Take the next right. It'll get us to the ramp faster," you said, leaning forward in your seat, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the dashboard.
Without a word, he shifted gears and veered right. The streetlights flashed across his face, throwing shadows over his jawline and making his messy hair look even wilder.
Not the time to be looking at him like this!
"He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, grounding anchor against the worry rising in your chest. "If he’s at the park, he’s just clearing his head. He wouldn't do anything stupid."
"I know, I just hope he's there. Otherwise, I don't know," you murmured, staring out at the blurred shapes of buildings. "I don't have any other idea."
Frankie glanced at you, his expression softening before he turned his focus back to the road. "Easy. He's gonna be okay. And if he's not there, we can keep looking around."
Your heart did another strange, complicated flutter that had nothing to do with Santi. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes glued to the windshield.
The car flew past the exit signs, Frankie maneuvering through the light night traffic. He kept his foot steady on the accelerator, making the drive feel much shorter than it actually was. And within short minutes, the neon signs of the downtown bars faded away, replaced by the dark, towering silhouettes of the trees surrounding Osbourne Park.
He took the final turn into the park's entrance; the headlights cut through the heavy darkness of the empty parking lot, sweeping over the grass.
You popped the door open and scrambled out of the car as the heavy darkness of the park was broken only by the scattered park lights cutting through the night, and hovered by the car for two seconds, waiting as Frankie got out from his side and shut his door with a thud.
The moment you saw he was ready, you started moving into the park, your eyes darting everywhere, scanning every shadow. Then, you locked your gaze just to the right, past the paved, illuminated path that led toward the thicker wooded area where the tallest trees stood, and among them, the live oak.
Your pace quickened. As you got closer, cutting through the deep shadows, you managed to make out a familiar shape.
"There he is," you said, drown in anger and relief.
You broke into a fast walk, nearly a jog, while your heart hammered against your ribs as you felt Frankie’s footsteps keeping close right behind you.
As you got closer, you could make him out better. Santi wasn't on the grass; he was sitting on a park bench right in front of the little green space where the tree stood tall and still young among others.
Your footsteps naturally lost their urgency, your pace tapering off as you approached him from behind. He was half hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his head hanging down. His curls caught the bright glare of the overhead LED light, making them glint in the dark.
You stopped. "Santi?"
He jumped a little at the sound of your voice, straightened up at a relaxed pace, and turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes unfocused.
"Bub? What are you doing here?"
His voice sounded completely congested and undeniably drunk.
"Frank," Santi smiled, "what are you two doing here?"
You let out a tired sigh and stepped closer to him. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I? What are you doing here?"
Up close, he looked like a little kid. You could see his glassy, tear filled eyes, the soft curls falling over his forehead, and the utterly defeated look that took over every single feature of his face as he stared at you in pain.
Santi hung his head again.
"I'm sorry. It's just..." He swallowed hard. "I need time."
His voice was so low you had to furrow your brow. "What?"
He shook his head.
Confused, you glanced over at Frankie, who was keeping a short distance back. He was absolutely quiet.
"Our house is for sale," Santi said. "Our house."
You shifted to his side and sat down right next to him. Tilting your head to see him better, your chest tightened.
"Our house?"
"Our house," he looked at you, and right then, it clicked.
Santi wasn't talking about his house. He was talking about your childhood home.
"I drove past it the other day. I always do. It’s on my way to work, or… not really, I'm lying. I just like driving past it, I guess," he continued. "You remember the family that bought it? With those three little kids?"
"Yeah."
"They don't live there anymore. It's empty now, and there's this big sign outside with a realtor's face on it," he let out a humorless laugh.
You forced a smile even though your cheeks felt heavy, and you reached your hand out to his arm.
Instantly, Santi placed his hand over yours.
"I want it back, bub," his voice cracked. "It’s our house. How could we just let it belong to someone else?"
"You know how things were back then. It wasn't easy for mom—"
"Dad lived there. We grew up there. And she… she just got rid of it because it hurt? What about us? What about you, what about me?" he spat out painfully, the words hitting you straight in the chest.
You swallowed hard. "I know."
Santi’s face contorted with agony, and a sob broke through his lips. And as if he were terrified of you seeing him like this, he covered his face, burying his head in his hands, trying to hide in the shadow of his own body.
"Santi," was all you could manage to say as you threw your arm around his back, resting your head against his shoulder while thick tears began to pool in your eyes.
He let out a ragged breath and abruptly straightened up, making you shift away from him.
"I made an offer," he said.
"For the house?"
He nodded, looking at you with pure fear in his eyes. "I did. And Yov doesn't know."
"How… how? With what money—I'm sorry, but—"
"Our savings, and I'm planning to take out a loan—"
"Santi, wait," you shook your head gently, "you have to talk to her before you do anything like this."
"I know."
"Why didn't you tell her?"
"I don't know," he shook his head, in pain. "She loves our current house. If she found out I wanted to sell it—I don't wanna disappoint her." A gasp broke through his words. "I'm gonna be a husband."
You smiled involuntarily at the realization. "Yeah, you will."
Santi sat completely still, barely moving, his eyes bloodshot as he stared down at his own hands, his body swaying in an almost imperceptible rhythm.
"I'm gonna be a husband," he repeated, barely a scared whisper. "And a dad, someday."
"I am absolutely certain you'll be a great husband and dad."
His head snapped toward you, his eyes instantly flooding with glassy tears.
"You will," you reaffirmed, squeezing his hand. "I know you will."
He nodded at a very quiet, subdued pace. "I need him, bub."
A beat.
You nodded. "I know. I need him too."
"How can I ever be like him? How can I ask him what to do or how to do it if he's not here? He should be here," his words took on an angry edge right at the end. "On my wedding day."
"I honestly don't know," you murmured, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand tighter. "I ask myself the exact same thing every single day. But I know I have you, and you have me. And you can always, absolutely always count on me, for whatever, whenever. And I'm sure he's so proud of you."
Santi offered a faint, fleeting smile, his eyes searching yours. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave again. Nothing is the same without you sticking your nose into all of my business."
You let out a soft laugh, blinking back a new wave of tears. "You're gonna be way too busy starting your own family. You'll barely even notice I'm gone."
His smile faltered, a deep, raw sadness washing over his features. "How could you say something like that? You're part of my family too. I've missed you so much these past few months, you know that? First Mom, and then you," he said, his voice cracking slightly as a weak smile returned to his face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with leaving this place, huh?"
He turned his head around, his gaze shifting toward Frankie, who was still standing a short distance behind you both, keeping his respectful space.
Frankie offered a quiet smile, his eyes on Santi. "Hey, I came back, didn't I?"
Santi let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, you did."
Then, he turned back around to face the dark park, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He hung his head, dragging both of his hands over his face and up through his tangled curls, holding them there for a second.
When he finally lifted his eyes, he locked his gaze onto the live oak tree, staring at it in total silence for a long moment, as if soaking in the memory of your dad one last time tonight.
Finally, he spoke, his voice completely drained. "I wanna go to sleep."
You nodded silently, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.
"Alright, let's go," you whispered.
Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the bench and reached out, pulling on his arm to help him stand. His weight shifted unsteadily, but right at that moment, Frankie was there. He stepped in instantly, his strong grip catching Santi by the arm, anchoring him and helping him keep his balance on his shaky, alcohol heavy legs.
In complete silence, the three of you made your way back across the grass toward the car. The only sound was the rustle of the night breeze through the leaves and the quiet scuff of your shoes. And when you reached the vehicle, you quickly pulled the back door open as Frankie guided Santi inside, carefully maneuvering him so he could settle into the backseat.
The second his head hit the leather, it was over. In less than two seconds, Santiago was completely out, his eyes shut tight as his breathing immediately slowed into a deep sleep.
Frankie drove in silence down the side street by the park, careful with every bump and easing through the road so the car’s movement wouldn't wake Santi. In the backseat, he was completely twisted and bent out of shape, yet fast asleep.
Less than a minute passed after you left the park area behind before a sigh finally escaped your throat.
Your phone lay in your lap, its screen dark ever since you read Emma’s last message a few moments ago. She was already at Will’s place with the guys, and apparently, Benny had crashed on the couch the second they walked through the door.
Frankie pulled up to a red light.
"You can take us to my place if you want, I’ll stay with him," you said, not looking at him.
He clicked his tongue. "Nah, it's fine. I’ve got him. Yov’s party is still going, you shouldn't miss it. I’ll take him to Will’s and crash with the guys. You and Emma can head out."
"You sure?"
"Yeah," he turned to look at you, "gotta fulfill my duties as bestman."
A helpless smile slowly formed on your lips as you looked at him, and his own lips mirrored the gesture a second later. His eyes held yours like a magnet, and your stupid heart skipped a beat again.
"So, uh, New York," he tossed out, breaking eye contact as he looked back at the road. "What did you think?"
You lowered your head, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap.
"It's nice. It's a great city," you looked back at him, but his eyes were still fixed ahead. "And I… I’ve been writing a lot."
Frankie glanced at you again. "Yeah?"
You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.
"Yeah. A book, actually."
"That's amazing," he smiled, "what's it about?"
"Uh, well, it's kind of a love story. It's mostly about Miles, and his relationship with Alya. They meet one night at a restaurant and lose touch for a year until they cross paths again, but Miles is this guy with a huge amount of baggage and things to work through," you waved your hands, showing just how huge Miles's problems really were. "And it's… it's a complicated story."
Frankie gave a half-smile, nodding slowly. "Does it have a happy ending?"
You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "I'm not telling you."
"Why? C'mon."
The traffic light turned yellow, and two seconds later, green.
"It has a happy ending, doesn't it?" he pressed, his eyes drifting back to the road as the car started moving again.
You huffed. "You really want me to spoil it for you?"
"Depends. How long do I have to wait to read it?"
"I haven't even finished writing it yet, so probably a while."
Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll wait."
Or maybe you could show him a few pages, you thought. Just a few, just to get his opinion.
It was just a thought. You didn't even know why you were so desperate to show him all of it.
"Emma told me you moved to a new place?" you said, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.
He nodded. "Yeah. Over at Circle Ranch."
"Yeah? It's a nice area."
"It is, it really is," he glanced at you for a split second. "Bingley likes it."
You smiled. "Really?"
"Yeah. We have a big backyard now, lots of grass and a few trees. He loves it, but it freaks me out a little, y'know," he shook his head with a smile. "The other day he climbed up one of the trees and I spent half an hour trying to get him down."
"He probably would've come down on his own. Cats really like being up in high places."
"I know. But what if a dog gets him or something?"
You tilted your head. "Are there any dogs nearby? I mean, from your neighbors or...?"
He shook his head. "Not really."
"Then?"
Frankie laughed. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want anything happening to him."
"Mhm. Cats are really smart. Bingley is really smart," you assured him. "And if your yard is safe, you shouldn't worry too much as long as he stays inside it. Just make sure he doesn't escape."
"Yeah, I bought him a collar with a tracker."
You laughed softly. "That's cool. I should get Darcy one of those. You really are a protective cat dad, uh."
"Well, obviously," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "He’s my roommate. If he goes missing, I gotta do my own dishes."
"Fair point," you smiled, looking out the window for a moment. "I'm glad Bingley is enjoying his new backyard. Sounds like he has his own little kingdom now."
"He definitely thinks he owns the place," Frankie chuckled, slowing down as you approached a quiet intersection. The playful tone in his voice softened, turning into something softer as he glanced over at you. "What about you? Are you staying at your apartment?"
"Yeah. It feels good to be back home. Even Darcy is enjoying it."
Frankie nodded, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. He went quiet for a moment as the car moved down the dark street.
Then, his voice dropped. "So... Uh, are you, are you going back to New York?"
A sudden hollow feeling carved itself deep into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away out the passenger window as the city lights blurred past. In your lap, you tightly laced your fingers together, squeezing your hands to ground yourself.
"I guess. I don't know yet."
You turned your head back to look at him just as the car approached another intersection. The traffic light flicked to a glowing red.
Frankie came to a stop and turned his head.
In the sudden stillness of the car, bathed in the soft crimson glow of the light, his eyes met yours. There was no teasing left in them, no easy deflection; just a brief searching intensity that seemed to pull the air right out of your lungs for a second.
He looked at you as if he were trying to read between the lines of your hesitation, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours. "You like it there?"
Your heart squeezed.
Yes, you thought, but it doesn't feel like home.
Instead of saying it out loud, you looked away, answering softly, "I guess I do."
You turned your eyes back to him. Frankie was still looking at you, wearing a small encouraging smile. But you couldn't mirror it. There was something heavy sitting deep in your chest that anchored your lips in place.
Frankie noticed. "When Harry met Sally, uh?"
That pulled a small laugh from you. You shook your head.
Seeing your reaction, Frankie shook his head too, a chuckle escaping him as he quickly backpedaled. "No, no. They met in Chicago. Forget I said that."
You leaned your elbow against the car door, resting your face in your hand as you turned to look out the passenger window. The lingering smile stayed on your lips for a few seconds as the car moved forward, but it slowly began to fade, melting away into the quiet streets.
Beside you, Frankie just drove. He didn't push for more conversation or try to fill the space with words. He simply let the silence settle between you, steering through the night as the landscape outside started to blur into something increasingly familiar.
Will’s house wasn't far now. Just a few more blocks, a couple of turns, and this ride would be over.
And right then, a sudden ache hit you: you didn't want it to end.
The realization washed over you quietly, almost catching you off guard, of just how desperately you had missed this. Just being near him, sharing the same space, even wrapped in these sometime-uncomfortable silences.
You watched the streetlights sweep across the dashboard in waves, wishing the car would slow down, wishing the blocks would stretch out, just to keep the outside world away for a little longer.
But no matter how much you wished you could control time, sometimes wanting to speed it up, other times desperate to slow it down, the reality was that it just kept moving.
And while your heart hammered against your ribs like an untamed creature, craving more of him, Will’s house suddenly appeared ahead.
Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, bringing the ride to a final stop.
A beat later, he let out a quiet sigh and unbuckled his seatbelt, the click signaling the end of the line. The headlights caught the front window of Will’s house.
Your eyes drifted to him then. He glanced at Santi, still dead to the world in the back, before turning his face to yours.
"Frankie," you breathed, and the name felt forbidden on your tongue.
He didn't speak, but the slight tension in his brow gave him away. His hands remained clamped at the top of the steering wheel.
"I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you," you said, knowing this probably wasn't the right time or the right place, but utterly unable to hold it in any longer. "About Henry, and... and everything that came after."
The silence stretched.
Frankie swallowed, giving a single nod. "Thank you."
"And it makes me real happy that you're doing better now."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed entirely dark. His gaze drifted down, anchoring somewhere between the two of you, as if measuring the distance that had grown since you left.
His hand twitched on the wheel, a microscopic movement toward you that he stopped just in time.
"Thank you."
You nodded.
Frankie seemed to hesitate. "And I... I'm so sorry," he murmured, his brown eyes lifting back to yours. "For hurting you and… and letting you down. You didn't deserve what I did to you."
You didn't offer an easy reassurance. You just let out a slow nod.
"And I'm really happy you're doing what you love," he added, his voice flattening out as he forced a smile. It was a tight, fragile thing. "I have no doubt everyone is gonna love your book."
You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Thank you."
Frankie’s smile faltered, dropping for a fraction of a second before he held it back up.
"And New York..." He trailed off, his gaze slipping from yours to look down at his own lap.
In that brief second of detachment, your eyes scanned his face with a desperate quiet hunger, memorizing him all over again. You traced the familiar slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the tiny lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago, the new marks on his face. You searched every single feature, hunting for a crack in his armor, looking for a hidden twitch, a shadow of hesitation, anything that said stay.
But Frankie just gave a soft shake of his head, looking back up. His expression was clear and almost painfully serene.
"I'm sure New York loves you too," he said softly. "It’s a big city, but it fits you. You’re gonna do amazing things there."
A cold ache settled deep into your stomach.
Was this encouragement? Was this a gentle nudge out the door? Was he clearing the path for you, sweeping away the debris?
A sudden winter seemed to settle inside the small cabin of the car. You forced a nod, your eyes drifting back to the dashboard where the green light of the clock kept ticking forward.
"Yeah," you breathed. "Thank you, Frankie."
He unclasped his hands from the steering wheel, the leather letting out a soft stick and release sound that felt incredibly loud. And the space between your seats suddenly felt like an ocean.
You looked straight ahead and unbuckled your seatbelt, the snap breaking the trance. "We should probably get Santi inside."
Without waiting for a response, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, your lungs begging for air.
You took a deep grounding breath of the cool night wind as you walked toward the front porch. Pressing the doorbell, you could hear the heavy thud of Frankie’s door closing behind you.
Emma opened the door almost instantly.
"Hey," she whispered, stepping outside and crossing her arms against the chill. "Will and Benny are already passed out. What happened? How's Santi?"
"Nothing," you said, turning back toward the car where Frankie was gently shaking Santi’s shoulder. "Santi was just at the park. Everything's fine."
Emma nodded, watching as Frankie carefully hauled a groaning Santi out of the backseat. You stepped in, grabbing your brother's other arm to stabilize him.
"Careful," you murmured.
Santi blinked heavily, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you.
"I'm careful," he slurred.
The three of you shuffled toward the porch in an awkward synchronized stumble, Frankie carrying most of Santi's dead weight while you guided his steps. Emma stepped aside, holding the front door wide open to let the makeshift rescue team pass.
"Will and Ben are in the living room," Emma guided quietly, shutting the door behind you. "You can take him straight to the bedroom."
"Alright, keep your feet steady, man," Frankie muttered to Santi, adjusting his grip around his torso.
Santi let out a low grunt, his sneakers dragging lazily against the hardwood floor.
"Why didn't you tell her?" he mumbled into the space between them.
You frowned, staring at your brother. Just then, Santi rolled his head back to look at you, his eyes unfocused but teasing. "He didn't... he didn't."
Frankie didn't acknowledge it, his face a mask of focus as they reached the open bedroom door. He placed a firm hand on Santi’s back, guiding him over the threshold.
"C'mon. Bedtime."
Santi paused for a second in the middle of the room, clumsily tugging at the zipper of his jacket.
"It's too fucking hot in here," he muttered.
A soft chuckle escaped Frankie’s lips. You watched them from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, forcing a faint hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes.
"Hey."
Turning around, you found Emma standing a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway. You stepped out of the room, giving Frankie and Santi some space.
"What's the plan?" she asked softly.
"We're heading back to Yov's," you replied. "Frankie's staying with the guys."
Emma searched your face, her eyes lingering a bit too long. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
You slipped back into the bedroom. Santi was already sprawled out on the mattress, his jacket and shoes discarded on the floor, while Frankie pulled a thick blanket up to his chest.
"All good?" you asked quietly.
Frankie nodded, looking down at him. "Look at him. Like a baby."
You swallowed the tightness in your throat and walked out toward the living room. Emma was already on one of the armchairs. Across from her, Will and Benny were sound asleep on the couches, buried under a messy pile of blankets and breathing heavily.
"I'll call an Uber," you said, pulling out your phone.
Emma nodded. "Your mom texted me, by the way. Asked how long we were going to be. I told her we got held up because you had a stomach ache."
A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Right. Did she buy it?"
"Seems like it," Emma said, shrugging her shoulders.
You nodded, your fingers moving quickly across the screen to confirm the Uber ride, while the soft snores of the Millers drifted from the couches. Emma watched you in silence for a beat.
"I’m completely sober now," Emma noted quietly.
You offered a tight smile. "Me too. The scare Santi gave me cleared the alcohol right outta my system."
On your screen, a driver accepted the ride, the map showing he was only two minutes away.
"I’ll text mom to let her know we’re on our way," you said, just as Frankie walked back into the living room.
"Santi's already snoring," he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I don't think he’ll wake up until noon tomorrow."
"Yeah, well, neither will these two," Emma whispered, gesturing with her chin toward Will and Ben. "How much did they even drink? Weren't you supposed to have other plans after the bar?"
Frankie shook his head. "I lost count. Benny got a little too excited ordering rounds."
"You gotta work tomorrow?" Emma asked.
Frankie shook his head slightly. "Yeah, but not until after ten."
In the heavy silence that followed, you listened to their casual back and forth, the ordinary words mapping out a life you were no longer part of. You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone.
"Are you too busy tomorrow?" Emma asked, leaning back against the cushions.
Frankie shook his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Nah, not really."
You let out a quiet sigh. Shifting your weight, you stepped away from the living room without a word, slipping back into the dim hallway toward the room where Santi was sleeping.
As you walked, you caught a movement from the corner of your eye. You glanced back and saw Frankie watching you from the living room, his dark eyes tracking your retreat. You met his gaze for barely a second before turning your head away, focusing entirely on your brother.
It's fine, you thought. What did you really expect?
You had known that coming back to Austin meant facing Frankie, and facing Frankie meant clearing up a few things. But you couldn't pretend that the world had been on pause all this time. You couldn't expect him to show more than he already had. Because no matter how many feelings you still harbored for him, or how many he kept for you, if he even had any left; time had kept moving. And maybe... maybe this was just it. The end of the line.
The phone vibrated in your hand. The Uber was outside: Eric, dark grey Toyota Camry.
Casting one last look at Santi, you stepped closer to the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He barely stirred, completely and deeply asleep.
By the time you reached the living room, Emma was already standing by the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready, babe?"
You nodded, tightly crossing your arms against your chest.
You couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Frankie, but you could feel his gaze burning into your profile; he was standing just to your left.
"Okay," Emma murmured, twisting the doorknob and pulling the front door open.
You stepped out first, your feet moving automatically as if you suddenly couldn't bear to be in his vicinity for a single second longer.
The night air hit your face like a splash of cold water, but it wasn't enough to clear the suffocating feeling in your chest.
"Tell Yov I say hi," Frankie’s voice drifted from inside.
Only when Emma stepped out onto the porch beside you did you finally turn your head to look at him. Frankie’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, but you didn't say anything; you just offered a small fleeting smile, turning on your heel before it could fade.
Walking down the driveway toward the car waiting by the curb, you didn't look back. Not before getting into the car, not after the door clicked shut, and definitely not through the window as the engine revved and the house began to recede into the darkness.
The only thing you knew for certain was that you desperately needed a glass or two of that champagne. Or maybe something a lot stronger.
"Hey," Emma’s voice broke through the quiet, her fingers touching your forearm. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"
You shook your head, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, but your body betrayed you completely. Your eyes burned, blurring with hot tears, and your mouth trembled, puckering into a soft painful grimace.
"Hey," Emma repeated, her fingers tightening just a fraction.
"It's over," you whispered. You didn't sob. You didn't break down. But your mouth trembled as the hot tears finally spilled over, tracks of quiet fire burning down your cheeks.
summary: it's the last day on the island... and the big party to celebrate harry's parent's 50th anniversary.
pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ MDNI), love confession, angst in between tho 👀, lucy mention, friends to lovers (finally), smut - missionary, unprotected piv, creampie, no use of y/n.
word count: 11.2k (oops)
a/n: OK WOULD IT EVEN BE MY STORY IF THERE WASN'T RAIN INVOLVED??? i loved loved loved writing this chapter and the songs that included in each scene just put me in the right mood, so i encourage listening to the songs while reading <3. that said, ty to everyone who's read this story. it was messy but oh so worth it! love y'all 💛
pt. 7 || series masterlist. || read on AO3.
songs (lyrics in italics and blockquoted):
・i was born to love you by ray lamontagne ft. sierra ferrell
・you are the reason by calum scott
・cherish you by mikky ekko
After dinner—which was cut short after what happened—Harry remained out on the deck of his parents’ villa. He was seated at the edge of it, staring down at the clear blue water. His eyes were red, tears continuing to trickle down his cheeks as he thought about you and the fact that he hurt you.
Not only emotionally, but physically too.
He just couldn’t do anything right.
Maybe you had a point. Maybe this trip was clouding both your sense of reality. Maybe you two weren’t meant for each other and this trip—being so close to him like this—just made you both feel things that you wouldn’t have felt otherwise.
But he had to believe that wasn’t true.
Because if it was, it wouldn’t have hurt this much.
Harry heard the sliding door open. It was already late.
He should be asleep now.
He should be with you.
Harry didn’t have to look over to know that it was his mother who sat down next to him. She had ended the dinner after he confessed, after he admitted that everything with you was fake… until it wasn’t.
“You should get some sleep,” she said softly, quietly.
“I’m not tired,” he muttered.
“Harry, honey…”
Harry looked at her. He was completely wrecked. Tears pooled at his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, voice raspy, and shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t want to go to sleep… because tomorrow is the last day and I don’t—I don’t want this to end.”
She sighed. “Why did you lie? About her? About your relationship?”
Harry laughed bitterly.
He looked away from her and out into the dark sky. “Because you guys wouldn’t stop bothering me. After Lucy, it was just nonstop. I’d hear about it at work. Or during our lunches. Or whenever I’d come over… and I was just tired, ma,” he admitted. “I couldn’t breathe. You, dad, and Peter tried to fix me up almost every week—do you know how exhausting that is?”
“Honey—”
“And maybe I should’ve been honest,” Harry interrupted quietly. “But if I had been, would you guys have stopped?”
She sighed quietly and shook her head. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know.”
“That’s the thing, isn’t it? None of you do. My breakup with Lucy hurt,” Harry confessed. “Because I had envisioned a future with her… but I knew she wasn’t—we weren’t meant for each other in that way.”
His mother’s eyes softened. She reached out and gently rubbed his back.
“So, to get you guys to stop, I asked—” Harry sighed, then said your name quietly. “I asked her to pretend to be my girlfriend. I figured… why not? You guys know her. She and I are friends. It would be easy.”
His mother listened. She didn’t interrupt. She turned her body to face Harry, lower lip pulled between her teeth. She knew Harry had always been the serious and sensitive one out of him and Peter, but she had never seen him this heartbroken over a woman before. Sure, he had been hurt in the past, but never did it cause him to spiral like this.
“But that’s the thing… It was too easy, ma,” he whispered. “It was like—it was like something I had been missing. Something I had been searching for in other women. It had always been her… so why did it take this trip for me to see that?” Harry finally turned to look at his mother. His brows cinched together, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I don’t know, honey,” she finally said. “Life’s funny that way, you know? Maybe—Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other before.”
Harry shook his head.
Then, he continued. “Our relationship—it was always just sex. We never really did catch any feelings for each other. If she was seeing someone exclusively or if I was, we’d end it.”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why you both kept going back to each other, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“How long was this physical relationship?” She asked.
“Years.”
“Right… and you had been with other women during these last few years.”
Harry nodded.
“And when you were single and she was single, would you both then continue that relationship?”
He nodded once more. “Yes.”
“Then, you’re asking the wrong question, honey,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek gently. “You both kept going back to each other for a reason. Sure, you both can say that you didn’t want each other in that way, but your hearts—they yearn for each other.”
Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. He was trying to hold back the tears, tried to keep it together, but he couldn’t. Because this pain in his chest wasn’t something he had ever felt before. It was like the walls were closing in on him and the only one who could save him was you.
“You weren’t ready for her back then… and she wasn’t ready for you either.”
“And now? Now, we are?” Harry asked.
“I’d like to think so,” she answered. “If you love her, Harry, don’t give up.”
“She doesn’t want me,” he muttered.
“You don’t believe that’s true, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe,” Harry answered. “It’s what she said.”
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed and moved her other hand to cup his cheek. She stared into his deep brown eyes, glistening with tears. “If you let her go… it’s going to be the biggest regret of your life.”
He pressed his lips together. The corners of it trembled. “I don’t—I don’t know how to fix this…”
“You don’t have to fix anything,” she said. “You just need to tell her how you feel.”
“I tried.”
“Clearly not hard enough,” his mother teased. “Harry, she’s a strong and stubborn woman. I believe you know her better than I do, but she needs to hear you say those words that you feel deep in your chest. That pain you feel right now? That won’t go away if you let her go.”
“P—Peter said I would have to just move on. I tried—I tried to get her to listen earlier and it didn’t work.”
She sighed. “Well, you shouldn’t have listened to Peter. That was your first mistake,” she laughed quietly.
Harry let out a quiet chuckle. It was a much needed relief after the tightness in his chest. It went away briefly, but it came back full force. Like it was reminding him of the person he was losing.
“You don’t move on from this type of love, honey.”
“How do you know?”
“This type of love only happens once,” she said. “You let her go… and you’ll be chasing that feeling for the rest of your life.”
Harry pulled back and away from her grasp. He turned to look back at the water. It didn’t feel right—trying to get you to understand and change your mind when you already told him what you wanted.
“Harry,” his mother said. “You’re not forcing her to stay,” she reassured. “But she at least needs to hear how you feel about her.”
He didn’t reply. Harry just kept his gaze back onto the water.
“Thank you, ma,” he finally said.
She sighed. “Get up.”
“What?”
“Get up,” she stood from the deck and extended her hand out for him. “I know she said for you to stay the night, but I think she’s gonna be glad to see you at your villa.”
“Mom,” he sighed.
“Get up, Harry.” She repeated. “And don’t make me ask you again. I know you’re hurting, but you have a choice here, honey… And I’m not going to let you choose to sulk here when you have a woman who loves you just as much as you love her.”
Harry looked up at her. He sighed and stood from the deck, taking her hand in his and standing up. He towered over—especially since getting leg lengthening surgery—but he still had such a soft spot for his mother. Whatever she said goes.
“I love you,” she said, moving a hand to his chest. “But you need to be stubborn right back.”
“I can’t make her stay.”
“You’re not trying to make her stay.”
“Then, what am I trying to do?” Harry asked.
She sighed. “Harry, you’re going to be completely and wholeheartedly honest with her. You’re going to put everything on the table… You were ready to do it with Lucy.”
“That was because it was the most logical choice.”
“Do you hear yourself?” His mother asked. “Love isn’t supposed to be a logical choice.”
He sighed. “I know that.”
“Good. So, go back to your villa. Be there when she wakes up,” she said with a soft smile. His mother leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow is the last day. It’s now or never, honey.”
Harry had gone back to the villa like his mother advised. When he stepped inside, it was eerily quiet. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, especially when everything just felt unresolved. He tried to keep in mind what his mother told him—there had to be a reason why you both kept going back to each other, and it wasn’t just the sex. It had become more than that, even before this trip.
He found comfort in you. After his failed relationships, you were the first person he wanted to see. Not because he needed you physically, but because you grounded him in ways that no one else could.
He told himself it was only because of the sex, that you were just someone he could use as convenience, but this trip opened his eyes to so many things that he hadn’t seen before.
Because Harry did love you.
He figured he always did.
And maybe his mother was right. Maybe you both weren’t ready for each other then, but you both were now. He had to be sure of that.
Because he couldn’t let you go.
At least not without telling you how he truly felt about you.
So, Harry walked down the hallway quietly, just to check in on you. The door had remained opened, which he found surprising, given that you had wanted your space.
But when he stepped inside, Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.
You were curled on your side, back facing him, but he could see the shirt you were wearing. It was one of his own. He glanced at his luggage and a small smile pulled at his lips to see that it was open—you had gone through his luggage just so that you could have something of his to sleep with.
It made him hopeful.
Gave him a bit of confidence.
Maybe you did love him too.
He stepped further into the room and carefully grabbed one end of the blanket to cover you. Harry draped it gently over your midsection, biting his lower lip at the sight of you. He leaned down and gently kissed your forehead.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered. “I’m going to make things right. I promise.”
You moved just a bit, but otherwise remained asleep. Harry gazed at you for a few seconds longer before he stood upright and left the bedroom quietly.
He was going to fix this.
Harry wasn’t going to leave this trip without putting everything on the table.
Because he wanted you.
Now, and for the rest of his life.
The following morning, you had woken up feeling a bit restless. You looked around the bedroom and sighed. Harry wasn’t here, which you knew already, but part of you hoped that he’d at least come back. You reached for your phone and looked at the time, biting your lower lip when you realized that today was the last day of this trip.
Watching that video last night opened your eyes to things that you failed to see before. Harry loved you; he admitted it on the video, and maybe that was what he was trying to tell you along.
You knew that you had to talk to him at some point today, but that you also still needed to play the part as his girlfriend. With everything that happened, especially last night, you weren’t sure how either of you could continue this charade.
Determined to speak to Harry before the party, you stood from bed, pulled on your sleep pants and walked to the bathroom to brush your teeth. You were determined—you were going to go to his parents’ villa where you told him to stay last night and ask to talk with him.
Harry had woken up early that morning before the sun even came up. He hadn’t slept much, but for the first time since everything that happened, he was feeling positive. Seeing you in his shirt last night in bed, the conversation with his mother, it felt like things were much more clear to him now.
He didn’t have to hide the fact that everything about this relationship was fake to begin with because at some point during this trip, he stopped being pretending. It also felt like a relief that he didn’t have to hide anymore from his family.
So, before you had woken up, Harry decided to leave the villa only to surprise you with some breakfast and flowers. He didn’t know what he would say or how he would say it, but Harry knew that he was going to tell you just how much he loved you.
The walk to his parents’ villa didn’t take that long. You were nervous, each step you took bringing you that closer to the man that you had been in love with. It terrified you—the thought of being in love. It had always been difficult for you, which was something both you and Harry had in common.
Knocking on the door, you fidgeted with your hands. You were expecting Harry to open the door, but felt a bit of relief when it was his mother instead. She looked at you and smiled warmly—it managed to calm down the nerves that settled in the pit of your stomach.
“Morning,” she smiled.
“Morning,” you replied. “Is—Is, uh, is he here?”
His mother furrowed a brow in confusion. “No, I told him to go back to the villa last night. Is he not there?”
You shook your head. “I didn’t see him…” you looked down at your feet and sighed. “Then again, I wasn’t really looking either. I just—I wanted to come straight here before I talked myself out of it.”
She nodded and opened the door even further. “Come in, let’s talk, yeah?”
“Are you sure? I know you have to get ready and—”
“A cup of coffee won’t delay the party,” she laughed quietly. “Besides, the party can wait. Come in.”
You sighed and nodded, stepping across the threshold and into the villa. You felt severely underdressed compared to her—it was still quite early and she looked so put together.
“I’m an early riser,” she said, leading you away from the front door and towards the kitchen. “His father, on the other hand, still asleep.”
You laughed quietly and followed her quietly. “Harry’s also an early riser,” you pointed out. “At least from what I’ve noticed.”
She nodded in agreement. “Yes, he says that he can get a lot done in the morning.”
“Always so efficient,” you smiled. Sitting down on the stool, you watched her pour your a cup of coffee before setting it down in front of you.
“How are you?” She finally asked. “Were you able to get some sleep?”
You shook your head and looked down at your mug. “Not really, no. Last night was… intense. I’m sorry that happened.”
She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “We all have our disagreements,” she reasoned. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”
“He didn’t mean to push me either,” you added. “It was just—wrong timing.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Because if it had been on purpose, I would’ve made a bigger scene, believe me.”
You glanced at her and smiled.
Then, you shifted your gaze back down to your mug after taking a careful sip.
“Are you excited for your party?”
She nodded with a smile. “I’m excited to celebrate with my husband and family, yes.”
“Fifty years,” you said quietly. “That’s… that’s amazing.” Then, you thought back to the first day of this trip. The words Harry said when you went out to lunch with his family since arriving.
“Imagine where you’ll be in fifty years, Harry,” you said.
“Hopefully with you,” he blurted out.
“It’s nice to have someone go through life with,” she said softly. “We’ve had many ups and downs the last fifty years,” she continued. “But I can’t imagine my life without him. That’s a bit cheesy, no?”
You shook your head and allowed a smile to curl your lips. “I think it’s beautiful. I think you’re lucky… you found someone to spend all those years with.”
“You have too,” she said. “And I think you know it.”
You bit your lower lip. “I think I love your son,” you whispered. “But I’m terrified. I don’t know what that looks like or how that changes.”
“I think being scared is a good thing,” she replied. “It means your feelings are real.”
You sighed. “I really messed up,” you whispered. “I broke him and I didn’t—I just—” You felt tears sting your eyes. “Last night, I was going through my camera roll and noticed a video he recorded. He said he loved me, said he always did.”
His mother smiled.
Then, you straightened up.
Because to you, his mother still wasn’t aware that any of this was fake. “What I mean is that—we just haven’t said those words yet in our relationship.”
She reached out for you and placed a hand over yours. “I know.”
“What?”
“I know “ she repeated. “Harry told me everything last night.”
“He did?”
“Said everything at first was pretend… until it wasn’t,” she said. “And I’m sorry that he dragged you in this, that you both felt the need to lie.”
You shrugged. “I’d do anything for him,” you said. “He knows that… just like I know he’d do anything for me.”
She smiled. “You know, I told him last night, that both your hearts yearn for each other. Why else do you think you both kept going back to each other?”
You chewed at your lower lip anxiously. “He told you everything…”
She laughed quietly and nodded. “Listen, I’m not here to judge. What my son does on his own time is his own business, and I’ll only step in if I absolutely need to.”
“It really was just a physical relationship,” you said.
“Honey,” she smiled, squeezing your hand. “It stopped being just a physical relationship when you said you’d do anything for him.”
You sighed and looked up at her. “I’m sorry… that we lied. I didn’t expect that it would turn out like this,” you said honestly.
She shook her head and moved to sit next to you. “You’re family now. I hope you know that.”
You bit your lower lip. “Can I stay here just until I’m done with my coffee?” You asked.
She smiled. “Of course.”
“I’m just nervous,” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.”
“Good,” she said, reaching up to gently rub your back soothingly—reassuringly. “Hold onto that.”
Harry was mumbling under his breath, practicing what he was going to tell you, when he stepped into the villa. He let out a nervous breath and walked into the kitchen, setting the tray of food down with the two cups of coffee. He looked around and furrowed a brow. You would’ve been awake by now.
So, he called out your name.
Quietly.
Hesitantly.
You didn’t answer.
He walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You weren’t there. You weren’t in the bathroom. Harry sighed and sat at the edge of the bed. He glanced at the nightstand and noticed your phone—it wasn’t like he could give you a call to ask where you were either.
The hope and confident he felt last night slowly diminished.
He was ready. This morning, Harry was ready to tell you everything.
He had it planned, all the way down to what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell you.
Thinking that you wanted your space, Harry stood from the bed and grabbed his suit that hung in the closet, gently placing it down onto the bed and grabbing other necessary items to get ready.
He reached for his phone, sent a text to Peter, and then grabbed the small notepad that rested on the nightstand. Harry wrote a brief note for you—simple and straight to the point.
I’m sorry about last night. You probably still need your space, so I’ll be getting ready at Peter’s villa.
I’ll see you at the party, baby.
Harry ripped the piece of paper from the notepad and set it on the nightstand, right near your phone. He sighed quietly and grabbed his things before leaving the bedroom and then the villa. He glanced at the breakfast he had gotten, suddenly not hungry, but decided to bring it over to Peter and Charlotte in case they hadn’t eaten yet.
Peter opened the door to his villa when Harry knocked just a few minutes later. He sighed at his older brother and opened the door further, allowing Harry to step through the threshold.
“Thank you,” Harry said. “You didn’t have to agree to letting me get ready here.”
Peter shook his head. “I overstepped,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.”
Harry nodded. “I’m sorry, too. I was just—just upset.”
“I know. Come on, let’s put the food down and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
“And Charlotte?” Harry asked.
“She doesn’t know,” Peter answered. “I didn’t tell her. It’s not—it’s not something that she needs to know.”
“Thank you,” Harry sighed. He followed Peter further into the villa, carefully setting the food onto the kitchen counter before walking into the living area where he set down his suit and shoes.
“You talk to mom or dad today?” Peter asked, walking into the living area with two mugs of coffee.
“Not yet,” he answered, taking the mug from him and following his younger brother out onto the deck outside. “Talked to mom last night though.”
“Yeah?”
“Told her the truth.”
“You did? How—how was that?” Peter asked.
“Freeing,” Harry answered.
Peter sighed. “I am sorry, you know. I just wanted you happy.”
He nodded and glanced over at him. “I know.”
“And getting into… whatever you have going on right now, I shouldn’t have made it bigger than it was.”
“What’s done is done,” Harry said. “I don’t know if I would’ve had the courage to admit how I felt about her if you or Charlotte didn’t get involved.”
“So, you love her,” Peter smiled.
“I do,” he nodded. “But I don’t know if me telling her how I feel will even change anything. It might just make her run further away from me.”
Peter shrugged. “But at least you could say you tried, right? I think that’s better than just letting her go.”
Harry looked down at his mug, biting his lower lip as his mind drifted to you. “What do I do… if she doesn’t want this? Doesn’t want me?” He asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Peter answered honestly. “I think we just have to hope that she does.”
Harry sighed. “Last night, when I came back to the villa, she was—she was asleep in my shirt, Peter. Curled up, snuggled to the pillow, and I just—it was like I was looking at my future, you know? My heart just raced faster at the sight of her.”
Peter nodded.
“I’ve always loved her,” he continued. “And I think it’ll break me if—if she doesn’t want this.” Harry glanced over at his brother, tears filling his eyes before he looked away. “I don’t know if I can take it, honestly.”
“This trip—it showed you what was right in front of you all this time,” Peter said softly. “And maybe it did the same for her. I would have a hard time believing if she said she doesn’t feel the same way, Harry.”
Harry nodded and then took another careful sip of his coffee. “When did you decide that Charlotte was it for you?” He asked honestly.
Peter smiled. “I don’t think there was just one single moment,” he answered. “It was many small moments… then I started imagining my future and what that looked like. And I knew that I wanted it with her.”
“I just—I don’t know why it took me this long,” Harry said.
“Maybe some part of you always knew,” Peter reasoned.
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Do you know when you’ll try and talk to her?”
Harry shook his head. “I was going to talk to her this morning, but she wasn’t at our villa when I got back. So, I think maybe she just needs more space.”
“Today’s the last day, Harry,” Peter said. “You don’t have to wait for the perfect moment.”
“I know that,” he sighed. “I’ll—I’ll talk to her after the party.”
“Good,” Peter said, reaching over and squeezing his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. “She loves you, Harry. Maybe she’s just thinking about her way of telling you.”
“I hope so,” he whispered, looking up the sky and noticing the clouds coming in. “Guess we should get ready, huh?”
Peter nodded with a smile. “If we’re late, you know we won’t hear the end of it.”
By the time you made it back to the villa, you were expecting to find Harry there. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you got closer, but when you finally stepped inside, disappointment filled your chest.
He wasn’t there.
You walked to the bedroom to retrieve your phone when you noticed the note he left you on the nightstand. You sighed to yourself and glanced at the time. You knew you had to get ready, so talking to him would have to wait.
Instead, you pulled up his contact name and sent him a text message. It was a short message. You didn’t want anything to get lost in translation.
YOU: I’ll see you at the party, Harry.
You watched the message go from delivered to read. Harry hadn’t replied, so you set your phone down back onto the nightstand to grab the olive green dress from the closet. You had bought this dress in this color specifically because you knew it was Harry’s favorite.
Now that you were holding it up, it all made sense.
It was always Harry.
It had always been him.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, biting your lower lip. The dress fit perfectly along your curves—an ankle length dress, sleek satin that hugged every inch of your figure. It was also a sleeveless cowl neckline with a ruched front bodice and another deep cowl back with a dainty strap across the shoulders.
Your makeup was light—like it always was—but your hair was pulled up in a high bun with strands of curled hair falling in front of your face.
You looked at your phone briefly. Harry hadn’t replied. You sighed and took a deep breath before leaving the villa and into the main ballroom where the party would be at. You looked up at the sky once you stepped outside—the clouds were coming in fast.
Harry hadn’t been able to send a text back to you. After he had gotten ready, he and Peter had to go to the ballroom to make sure everything was set and ready for his parents. It also didn’t help that it looked like it was about to rain outside too.
“Everything good?” Peter asked.
Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Got the DJ set up. Bar is open. Food along that table there. We’re good.”
“And you? You good?”
Harry shrugged. “Nervous,” he said. “But ready to see her too.”
Peter smiled. “She texted you first. That’s a good sign.”
“I haven’t been able to reply.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Better to say the things you want to say in person.”
Harry nodded. He turned his head to the doors when people started coming in. He took a deep breath and felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder.
“You got this, Harry. Let’s just get through the next few hours. Then… she’s all yours.”
By the time you stepped foot into the ballroom, you could hear the loud chatter mix in with the music. Suddenly, you felt so out of place. Harry was supposed to be by your side, grounding you. Comforting you. Making you feel like this was where you belonged.
You took a deep breath and stepped further into the ballroom. The nerves slowly disappeared when some of his family members greeted you like you had always been part of the family. You smiled, gave them a hug and kiss on the cheek, as you looked around the room.
Searching for him.
“She’s not here yet?” His mother asked, holding a glass of wine as she and his father stood next to Harry.
“No,” he answered. “I should probably give her a call.”
“Give her a few minutes,” she said. “Maybe she’s still getting ready.”
Harry nodded. “Right, maybe.” He reached for his own drink and sipped on it quietly. He was only limiting himself to one glass, especially after what happened last night. It still horrified him that he had put his hands on you, even if it was unintentional.
Then, the DJ transitioned into a song that caught his parents’ by surprise. They looked at each other with a large grin and set down their own drinks.
“Will you excuse us, honey?” His mother asked.
Harry nodded and looked over at his parents with a smile. “Yeah, go. Dance. Have fun.”
His father reached up and gently patted Harry’s cheek. “She’ll be here, Harry.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
His parents moved onto the dance floor, as well as other couples in the family, while the song slowly played in the background.
Times were tough, we made it through
We wasted the rough, so let’s savor the smooth
All the time I was hurting you
Got to believe that I was hurting, too
Harry looked around the room, biting his lower lip as he tried to search for you.
I was born to love
I was born to
I was born to love
I was born to
You watched some more people move to the dance floor when the song continued. You felt your heart beat out of your chest as you scanned the room.
You're the only one I can talk to
The only one I can really read
I know you give because you want to
Don't you think it's time you learn to let yourself receive?
Harry turned his gaze towards the entrance and then he spotted an olive-green colored dress in the midst of mainly black and white.
There you were.
You were looking around the room, almost like you were looking for him too.
I was born to love
I was born to
I was born to love
I was born to
Then, you saw him. His eyes were already on you.
You felt your breath catch in your throat.
Harry met your gaze.
Everyone around him disappeared.
I was born to love you
I was born to love you
You walked closer to him. You didn’t break the eye contact either. It felt like you were holding your breath, navigating through the crowd of people as the song continued to play.
Harry straightened up. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. The dress, the color of it, the way it clung to your figure—you were breathtaking.
Now that you finally stood in front of him near the bar, Harry cleared his throat nervously.
“Hi,” you whispered.
“You look great,” he said quietly. “I love the color.”
You let a small smile line your lips. “Knew you would,” you replied. “It’s why I got it.”
“Because of me?”
You nodded. “I know it’s your favorite color… and it matches that ring you always wear,” you pointed out, nodding towards the emerald green ring that sat on his pinky.
Harry looked down at his hand. He finally allowed himself to relax. “You notice that.”
“Hard not to,” you teased. “You wear that thing everywhere.”
Harry chuckled. “Do you want a drink?”
You nodded and turned your body away from him to face the bar instead. Just as you were about to open you mouth to ask the bartender for a drink of your choice, Harry chimed in on your behalf.
“A glass of moscato, please,” he said, not taking his eyes off of you.
Slowly, you turned back to face him.
The air between you thickened with tension.
You both knew there were things that needed to be said, things that have been lingering for days now.
“You look great too,” you complimented. “I always did enjoy seeing you in a tux like this.”
Harry felt his cheeks warm. “Yeah?”
You nodded and stepped closer to him. You heard him inhale sharply. Then, you reached up and straightened his bow tie. “You look handsome… you always do.”
Harry bit his lower lip as his eyes softened down at you. “Baby,” he whispered.
You looked up at him.
“I know,” you said, moving your hands back down to your sides.
He sighed.
The bartender quietly interrupted to set your glass of moscato down on the counter.
You turned to face him and offered a polite smile. “Thank you.”
“Baby,” Harry repeated.
You looked at him. “We’ll talk before this trip ends,” you promised. “There are things I want to say too.”
Harry let out a relieved breath. “Okay,” he said quietly. He didn’t want to push it either, so despite the need to want to ask when you both would talk, he just nodded.
“I’m going to say hi to your parents now that they’re done dancing,” you replied.
“Oh, right, yeah,” Harry said. “We’re seated at that table together and if you’re hungry, I’ll get you a plate.”
“That’d be great, thank you,” you smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek lightly.
When you pulled away, Harry’s hand darted out to rest on your hip. His touch—like always—grounded you and you hadn’t realized how much you missed it, how much you missed him.
“Will you dance with me later?” You asked.
Harry nodded. “Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “Whatever you want, baby.”
“Okay, good. I’ll remember that.” You smiled and then slowly stepped back and away from him.
Harry watched you walk away from him, his eyes never leaving you. He sighed to himself, the flutter in his stomach becoming much more noticeable now.
You walked to where his parents were, seeing the delighted expression on their faces when they saw you. His mother pulled you into a tight hug before his father did the same. You couldn’t help but feel Harry’s eyes still on you, so when you pulled away from them both, you turned to look over your shoulder.
And sure enough, he was still looking at you.
His mother smiled to herself.
“You look amazing, honey,” she said, pulling your gaze away from him to look at her instead.
“Me?” You scoffed playfully. “Look at you,” you smiled. You glanced at her husband. “Lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist.
She smiled and leaned against him. “Have you talked to him?” His mother asked.
“About everything? No,” you answered. “But we did have a brief conversation earlier. Nothing serious.”
She nodded. “He wasn’t back at the villa when you left ours earlier?”
You shook your head. “He thought I still needed space, left me a note saying he was going to get ready at Peter’s, so… just a few minutes ago was the first time I saw him today.”
Her eyes softened. So did her husband’s.
“How are you feeling?”
You shrugged. “I’m okay. Right now, I’m okay. I’m having fun, celebrating the both of you.”
They smiled.
“Well, make sure you leave enough time to talk with him,” she said. “If not now, then maybe when you two are back in New York.”
Harry was holding two plates of food when he finally sat down at the table. You were still mingling with his other family members, greeting them politely, laughing genuinely. It made his heart beat even faster. You always fit in with his family—that should’ve been another sign that it had always been you from the beginning.
When you managed to excuse yourself, you walked over to Harry and sat down next to him, your glass now empty but your stomach quietly growling at the sight of food before you.
“Want me to get you another glass?” Harry asked.
You shook your head. “I think I’m good for now,” you answered. “Don’t want to drink too much,” you said.
Harry bit his lower lip and nodded. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a bit of everything.”
“This is great. I’m starving.”
“Didn’t eat breakfast?”
You shook your head. “Wasn’t all that hungry this morning.”
Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. “Where—where were you this morning, by the way?”
“I went to go see you,” you answered.
“Me?”
“I thought you were at your parents’ villa… considering what happened last night and what I said.”
“Right,” Harry nodded with a sigh. He wanted to forget last night, wanted to forget that he ever put his hands on you.
You could tell that Harry was still beating himself up for what happened, so you reached out and rested a hand over his. “It was an accident, Harry.”
“Still. I should’ve been more careful.” Harry look down at your hand. He didn’t want to move, afraid that if he did, you’d pull away.
“I don’t blame you… and I know you’d never hurt me like that.”
Harry looked at you, eyes soft and broken. “I came back to the villa last night. Slept on the couch.”
“I didn’t see you when I woke up…”
“I—I left to get us some breakfast and coffee. When I came back, you weren’t there.”
You sighed.
Harry continued.
“So, I thought you were out for a walk or something, that maybe you still needed your space.”
“Which is why you got ready at Peter’s,” you finished for him.
Harry nodded. “Yeah.”
“We just kept missing each other this morning,” you said quietly.
“Guess so.”
“We still have time,” you reassured him. “I promise. We still have time.”
Harry looked at you again. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, could see how he was so close to the brink of tears.
You cupped his cheek, watched him lean against your touch. To anyone else aside from his parents and Peter would see this as normal, but there was so much more. So much pain and heartache that lingered between the both of you.
As you were about to lean in to peck his lips, the music suddenly stopped and you heard both his parents’ voices come through the microphone.
Harry stared at you.
You did the same.
They started talking, so you pulled away.
Harry sighed and turned his attention to his parents now.
“We just want to thank you all for coming this week and celebrating with us,” his father said first with a smile. “It’s been nice to spend time with family like this.”
Harry’s mother smiled and leaned into him.
You looked at Harry for a moment—he was beaming with pride.
“It’s been fifty years with this man,” his mother chimed in. “Fifty amazing years.” Tears filled her eyes. “We’ve been through… everything together. We built all of this… together.”
His father pulled her closer and leaned over to kiss her temple. “I’m ready for fifty more,” he said into the microphone.
His mother laughed quietly and reached up to wipe her tears. Then, she glanced at you and Harry and smiled. “When you find that special someone, hold onto them… that kind of love doesn’t come around very often.”
You bit your lower lip and subconsciously reached for Harry’s hand, gripping it tightly as you kept your eyes locked with his mother’s.
Harry looked down at your hand for a moment and squeezed it in return.
“Love can be scary,” she continued. “But when you find the right person—your person—everything else just falls into place.”
Harry turned to look at you now. He released your hand only to reach for the end of your chair, pulling it close to his. You gasped quietly, looking over at him and biting your lower lip.
“Life works in mysterious ways,” his mother said, a small smile curling her lips. “Sometimes, the person we needed was right in front of us all along.”
The microphones turned off and the music started playing again.
Harry looked into your eyes and moved his hand from the chair to rest gently on your knee.
“Would you like to dance with me?” He asked.
“Yes,” you answered with a quiet breath.
Harry stood up slowly and took your hand in his, gently leading you towards the dance floor once everyone started to join as well. He didn’t pay attention to anyone else around the both of you—all he could see was you.
He pulled you to his chest, one hand keeping your own close to his chest and the other resting on your lower back.
There goes my heart beating
'Cause you are the reason
I'm losing my sleep
Please come back now
You moved your free hand to his shoulder, eyes staring up at his. Everything that neither of you said lingered—you both didn’t need to say it out loud, at least not right now.
I'd climb every mountain
And swim every ocean
Just to be with you
And fix what I've broken
Oh, 'cause I need you to see
That you are the reason
Harry was the first one to speak. It was quiet, just enough for you to hear. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget this trip.”
You bit your lower lip and nodded. “Me too, Harry.”
“I—I don’t know what this means for us,” he continued. “But I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to go back to New York and go our separate ways,” Harry admitted.
“Neither do I,” you said quietly.
Harry felt his heart race even faster.
He pulled you closer until you were flush against his chest.
There goes my hands shaking
And you are the reason
My heart keeps bleeding
I need you now
“It’s always been you,” Harry finally said.
You felt tears trickle down your cheeks. You knew what he meant.
“I watched the video.”
His brows furrowed. “What?”
“You took a video… on my camera.”
His brows relaxed.
His eyes softened.
Harry’s lips parted.
“When did you watch it?”
“Last night,” you answered.
And I'd climb every mountain
And swim every ocean
Just to be with you
And fix what I've broken
Oh, 'cause I need you to see
That you are the reason
Harry released your hand only to wipe your tears away gently.
You leaned into his touch. No one else mattered. He had always been the one you wanted. The one your soul and heart yearned for.
I don't wanna fight no more
I don't wanna hide no more
I don't wanna cry no more
Come back I need you to hold me (you are the reason)
Be a little closer now
Just a little closer now
Come a little closer
I need you to hold me tonight
“I meant every word,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. For everything that’s happened… for it taking me this long to see it.”
You moved your hand now to his the back of his neck, gently playing with the curl at his nape. It didn’t feel real. This didn’t feel real.
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours.
“How do we do this?” You whispered.
“We do it together,” Harry answered.
I'd climb every mountain
And swim every ocean
Just to be with you
And fix what I've broken
'Cause I need you to see
That you are the reason
Everything finally felt like it had fallen in place after that. You felt relief, felt free, now that it seemed like both you and Harry were on the same page. Still, you both hadn’t exactly said those words, but you both knew what it meant.
What that dance meant.
It was a step in the right direction.
And after this party, once you were both alone, you’d tell him how you truly felt—how it had always been him too, and how much you loved him… like you never loved anyone else before.
Harry had kissed your temple before excusing himself to share a dance with his mother. You smiled to yourself, watching them briefly with loving eyes before you turned your gaze to Charlotte and Peter who sat at your table.
“We want to apologize,” Charlotte said. “We shouldn’t have ever gotten between the both of you.”
You looked at her and then glanced at Peter. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “We both know it came from a place of love.”
“Still,” Peter said. “We shouldn’t have meddled.”
You nodded. “What’s done is done, right?”
“Right.”
Then, Charlotte smiled. “You both look… happier,” she pointed out.
“I think we are,” you said, turning to glance at him. He was holding his mother close, laughing quietly with her and you felt like your entire world just stopped. “I think I always have been… happier with him.”
Charlotte grinned. “You two are just so perfect for each other,” she said.
Peter smiled. He noticed a shift in Harry’s demeanor throughout the party. He wasn’t as tense or nervous as that morning. Whatever you two talked about, Peter was hopeful that it was something good and enough for his older brother to be less stressed.
“I hope we’ll be seeing more of you,” Peter said. “Outside of working our events.”
“I hope so too,” you replied.
The song shifted.
Charlotte looked at Peter expectantly.
He chuckled and then stood up, extending his hand out for her.
“Excuse us,” he said. “I promised her a dance.”
You nodded in understanding and smiled, watching them both walk away from the table.
You had gone to the bathroom after your conversation with Charlotte and Peter. Anticipation simmered in the pit of your stomach when you thought back to the brief conversation you had with Harry. You both would still have to go back to the villa and the thought of being alone not only excited you, but brought relief too.
Because you just wanted him all to yourself now.
Wanted to tell him how much he meant to you.
How much he always meant to you.
The fear of putting yourself out there lingered, of course it did. You wanted so badly for this to work out because you wanted what his parents had—fifty years of being by the side of the person you love the most.
And you knew you wanted that with Harry.
So, you were determined to find him after you were done in the bathroom. You were going to ask him if it would be okay to leave—to go back to the villa and talk. Alone.
After washing your hands, you looked at yourself in the mirror and took a deep breath.
You opened the door to step outside and heard his voice immediately.
A large smile lined your lips.
Then, you heard her name.
Your heart dropped.
The smile disappeared.
“Lucy, I can’t talk right now,” Harry sighed.
Tears immediately stung your eyes. You stepped out and saw him. His back was turned until he moved to face in your direction.
When he noticed you, his eyes widened. Then, he noticed the look in your eyes, the look on your face. Harry hung up the phone immediately. He knew how that looked, how it sounded like.
So, he pocketed his phone and tried to take a step closer.
“Baby, it’s not—”
“God, I’m fucking stupid,” you whispered, shaking your head. “I’m really fucking stupid.”
“No,” he shook his head. “No no, just—”
“I’m… I’m tired, Harry,” you said, tears now trickling down your cheeks as you took a step back and away from you. “I should’ve—I should’ve listened to what my head was saying all this time.”
“Let me explain—”
You shook your head and then turned on your heel immediately. You didn’t bother saying bye to his parents or the rest of his family. Instead, you stepped outside. The walls felt like they were closing in on you. The weight on your chest felt like it was crushing you.
And of course, it was raining. The clouds that had come in that morning were now thick and dark grey in the sky, strong droplets of water coming down hard. You were soaked immediately after standing outside for a few minutes.
You heard the door open behind you, followed by his voice.
Harry looked at you and when you glanced over your shoulder at him, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. You looked at him like you were utterly broken.
He called your name.
You shook your head and removed your heels.
Then, you ran.
Harry yelled out for you.
Then, he followed—he was now completely soaked too.
You were dripping wet by the time you made it back to the villa. Your dress clung to your body and your hair was a complete mess, so you pulled it from its bun as you dropped your heels at the doorway. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you felt your throat tightening. It felt like you couldn’t breathe.
You left a trail of water as you walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. You grabbed your luggage and set it on the bed. You wouldn’t wait to leave until tomorrow.
You would leave tonight.
Separately from him.
Harry stormed inside instantly. He was breathing heavily and he called for you again. He looked around the villa, immediately noticing the trail of water leading down the hallway into the bedroom.
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his wet curls, slicking it back and away from his face.
The dread he felt in the pit of his stomach became more noticeable now. He had been feeling hopeful before you heard him on the phone and he knew how wrong it looked.
“Baby,” he said breathlessly, standing in the doorway.
Your back was turned, but he could see your shoulders trembling.
You were crying.
You heard his voice. Your hands shook. You didn’t turn around.
Then, you heard him take a step closer.
You took a deep breath.
“What you heard—I was about to tell her that she no longer could call me,” Harry reasoned. “I’m sorry… so fucking sorry that I keep messing this up.”
You didn’t say anything.
Then: “I love you,” Harry finally said out loud.
Believe it, I need you by my side
Yes, I know you know, know you know, know I've been a sinner, baby
I've seen it, I've seen you high and dry
Yes, I know you don't, know you don't, know you don't need me to say it
But if anything happens between us
Does everything change?
I know you feel it too, I can see it in your face
So tell me now not to get too close
'Cause it always happens
You stopped moving, but you didn’t turn around. Tears continued to move down your cheeks.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he continued. “It has always been you,” Harry repeated. “I love you and it fucking terrifies me.”
One, two, three, four
How much longer can this go
Oh, babe? Don't break
Every single breath you take
Kills me softly, chills my body
But, when we reach the limit
We're really giving 'cause
He took a step closer. Harry could hear his heart thumping in his chest, the beat of it filling his ears.
“I always loved you,” Harry said quietly. “I was searching for something that had always been right in front of me.”
You inhaled sharply—shakily. You brought a hand up to your face to wipe your tears. You hadn’t turned around yet.
“I’m done pretending. Every moment I spend with you—I yearn for it, fucking crave it. And it’s not only the sex. I think it stopped being about the sex a long time ago,” Harry confessed.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
“You’re the first person I want to talk to when I get good news, or when I have a bad day, you’re the one I want to run to,” Harry felt his own tears move down his cheeks slowly. “Baby, please…”
You turned around slowly, but you didn’t look up at him yet.
Then, he reached out for you. Harry gently cupped your cheek.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “Please.”
Slowly, you gazed up at him. You still had tears pooling around your eyes.
“I’m tired too,” he said softly. “I’m tired of making myself believe that I don’t want this. We blurred the lines long before this trip,” Harry sighed.
Harry took a step closer.
It's so clear we're right on the edge
Both in, we're over our heads
But I'm ready to take this fall
You say, "Baby, I want it all"
I want it all
“I want fifty years with you,” Harry admitted. “I want you on your good days, on your bad days. I want every moment in between.” His voice trembled, almost like saying this out loud was giving you permission to take his heart and break it. “You make me laugh like no one else can. You frustrate me like no one else has before either,” he whispered, lips curling upwards just slightly.
“But I love you… everything about you. The way you always bite your lower lip when you’re in deep thought or when you’re working hard on editing your pictures.” Harry’s thumb moved to brush across your lower lip. “Or the way you hog all the blankets at night and then complain that it’s too hot when you wake up,” he chuckled quietly.
You were breathing heavily now. You didn’t realize that you had finally let out a breath you had been holding in since he said those three words.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
“You think about everyone else before you think about yourself,” he continued. “You have the kindest heart, the most comforting smile, and—and when I’m with you, nothing else matters in the world.”
You nodded slowly. A silent response. Then, you moved closer until your hands moved to his chest, feeling the drenched weight of his suit jacket against your fingertips.
Harry inhaled.
“I love you too,” you finally confessed. “And it scares me too because—because I think I always have loved you, Harry.”
He couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. He moved his other hand to your hip and pulled you closer.
“It’s always been you,” you repeated. “I thought—I thought running away would be better. Would make me believe that this wasn’t what I wanted… because why would you want someone like me?”
He shook his head in protest.
But it was your turn to talk now.
“Then, I started noticing the way I felt whenever I was around you. Started understanding what everyone was saying because you look at me like no other man ever has. You make me feel safe, protected... no one’s ever made me feel like that before.”
Harry bit his lower lip. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.
And now we finally reach the limit, babe
But you know you can trust, don't be afraid
'Cause all you need is just a little faith
A little faith
“I want fifty years with you too,” you continued. “You stopped being someone I wanted to use to just pass the time with, and started becoming the person I wanted to spend every minute with instead.”
Harry smiled. His hand on your cheek moved to the side of your neck, thumb running along your jawline as he tilted your head up to look up at him.
“You were right in front of me all along,” you whispered, stepping closer to him now until your bodies were pressed against each other.
Despite both your clothes being wet and cold against your bodies, it felt anything but that. Your bodies were hot—two hearts and souls yearning for each other and mere centimeters from one another.
One, two, three, four
How much longer can this go
Oh, babe? Don't break
Every single breath you take
Kills me softly, chills my body
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” you replied.
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah
I wanna cherish you
Then, Harry leaned in.
He cradled your head and pressed his lips firmly against yours.
You melted into him, gripping the lapel of his jacket as you stood on your toes to return the kiss.
It felt different this time.
It wasn’t a kiss out of convenience or a kiss out of habit.
It meant so much more.
It meant a new beginning.
The kiss continued. It went from slow and tentative and eased into something familiar. Harry moved his hands to your hips now and your hands wrapped around his shoulders. Neither of you cared that you were both still soaking wet and dripping on the hardwood floor.
It wasn’t until your hands started to push his jacket away and off his shoulders that you both pulled away to look at each other.
You were both looking at each other more freely now—like you both no longer needed to hide how you felt about each other.
He shrugged his jacket off, a quiet wet splat hitting the floor. Harry then reached for his bow tie to loosen it around his neck, watching you carefully when you turned around. You pulled the zipper down carefully, allowing your dress now to pool around your ankles before turning back around to face him.
You both had countless sex with each other, but this time—this time it meant something entirely different.
Harry let out a breath at the sight of you. You hadn’t worn a bra with your dress, so you were just clad in a seamless thong and your nipples had hardened at the cold air.
His pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable and the fact that it was drenched didn’t help either. He let his bow tie hang loose around his neck before he reached down to undo his belt, followed by lowering his zipper and unbuttoning his pants.
Neither of you said anything.
You both just stared at each other.
Anticipation lingering between the both of you.
Harry stepped out of his pants and boxers with ease, letting out a sigh of relief before he felt you begin unbuttoning his white dress shirt until you pushed it off and away from his body.
He felt his hardened manhood brush against your body. He licked his lower lip and then watched you slide your thong down your legs.
Now that you both were bare and completely naked before each other, Harry reached for your luggage and shoved it to the floor.
“Hey,” you protested playfully.
“We’ll stay another week,” he reasoned.
Your eyes widened. “What?”
Harry nodded. “We both can afford another week,” he answered. “Besides,” he said quietly, lifting you onto the mattress carefully before he settled himself between your legs. “I want to spend some more alone time with you here… is that okay?”
“Yes,” you answered, legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your hands moved from his damp chest and up to his cheeks. Slowly, you pulled him down on top of you as you felt the tip of his length brush against your inner thigh. “I don’t think I’m ready to leave yet either.”
“Good,” Harry smiled, leaning in to press his lips once more against yours.
You smiled into the kiss, warmth spreading between your legs. His lips moved with yours more aggressively now—fueled by the sudden urge to be inside of you, the woman that he loves.
You moaned against his lips, feeling his hand move lower. Harry grasped himself, running the head of manhood across the length of your sex now, gathering your slickness along his tip. He’d brush over your clit teasingly, feeling your body react immediately. He pulled away from the kiss to gaze down at you, moving his free hand to prop himself up.
You kept your eyes locked with his. You could feel the throbbing between your legs, whimpering impatiently at the feel of his hardened length running along you teasingly.
As much as Harry wanted to look down between your legs, he just couldn’t look away from you. He leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, slowly sliding his tip inside of you before pulling out.
“Harry,” you whimpered.
“Yeah, baby?” He asked innocently, sliding back into you before he pulled again. Harry continued that movement a few more times, applying more pressure to your clit with the head of his length once he pulled out.
“Need you, please,” you pleaded.
Harry smiled.
Then, he slowly slid further into you. Harry groaned loudly at the feel of your warmth surrounding him immediately. He forced himself to slowly ease himself inside of you, despite just wanting to slam further into you.
Your hands abruptly moved to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as your legs remained locked at his lower back. You always felt so full of him—his girth filling you. Without the added protection of the condom, you felt every inch and ridge of him slide along your tight walls.
There was no way either of you would be able to go back to using condoms and you knew it wasn’t safe to not use them, but maybe that was a different conversation for a different day.
Right now, you’d cherish the way he felt inside of you.
As Harry filled you to the hilt, he released his hold from himself and instead kept himself propped up with both hands on the mattress now. He didn’t move for a few seconds, wanting to just feel your warmth and wetness around him.
“Always so wet for me,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?”
You nodded, arms wrapping around him to pull him down flush against you instead. “And only for you,” you moaned quietly, feeling his hips pull back just a couple of inches before pushing back into you. “Fuck,” you muttered.
Harry smiled and pecked your lips lightly, slowly beginning to pick up his pace. He kept his eyes locked with yours and his body pressed against your front. Sex had never felt like this and he just kept hearing your words echo in the back of his mind, timing it with his thrusts.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer, so you shut your eyes and let out a loud moan. Harry kissed your cheek before burying himself to the side of your neck, panting heavily into it as his hips repeatedly slammed against yours.
The sounds of skin slapping against one another echoed throughout the villa, followed by the sounds of just how wet you were too. He could feel a rush of wetness against his lower abdomen as he continued to thrust forward into you.
He moaned your name into your neck, teeth and tongue brushing along your pulse point. His hands moved to your ass, gripping onto it as if it could give him more leverage to thrust into you.
You held onto him, arms tightening around his shoulders as you felt the pressure in your stomach build. Your moans mixed in with his and it felt like neither of you were holding back now.
Your lips were near his ear, panting heavily as you felt every ridge and inch of him slide into you. You whispered, breathlessly, as you felt your orgasm loom closer and closer. “I love you… I fucking love you.”
Harry delivered a hard thrust as a response, pulling back just enough to look down at you. “Say it again,” he pleaded, feeling the pit of his stomach tighten as well. “Tell me again.”
“I love you!” You moaned aloud, legs tightening around his waist as you felt your walls tremble around him. Your body shook slightly as the dam finally broke.
“Fuck,” Harry groaned, feeling your walls tighten even further around him. He sat upright, moved his hands to your hips, and delivered quick and sharp thrusts. He was close, so fucking close.
“Baby, fuck, I’m gonna—”
“Come inside,” you interrupted, lips parting as you felt him move in and out of you. “Come inside me, Harry.”
He gasped loudly. Harry’s grip around your hips tightened. He looked down at you and nodded, watching your breasts bounce with each thrust he delivered.
“I love you, baby,” he said quickly. “Iloveyouiloveyou,” Harry blurted out in a rush, his hips slowing down but his thrusts becoming more pointed as he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. He delivered a couple of more thrusts until he slammed into you, his come painting your walls and filling you up.
His own body shook and even as he pulled his hips back, Harry couldn’t help but slide back in further. Knowing that you’d be full of his come only excited him further because he slid out of you only to gather some of his come on the head of his member to push back into you.
You gasped.
Harry smirked.
He stayed inside of you, despite his manhood softening.
You tightened your legs around him, kept him close too.
“So, another week?” You asked, panting quietly.
Harry nodded. “Another week.”
“What do you have planned?”
“Everything we didn’t get to do. I plan to do it right this time,” he answered, finally pulling out of you with a quiet whimper.
“And when we get home? Back to New York?”
Harry smiled, reached up to cup your cheek gently and kissed your forehead. “When we get back to New York, we’re not going back to what we were. No… everything’s going to change.”
“I think I like the sound of that,” you smiled, leaning into his touch.
“I love you, baby,” Harry said once more.
You felt your stomach flip. Your smile grew. “I love you too, Harry.”
He was right. The lines were blurred long before this trip and it took this long for you both to realize that the person you both had been searching for was right in front of you both all along.
Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader
Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Chapter Summary: You close your eyes, tip your face up towards the setting sun of the last day of your honeymoon. It’s like you’re already imagining all of the quiet evenings you’ll spend out here. Maybe you’ll knit. Maybe you’ll read. Or maybe you’ll just sit and rock the night away, listening to the wind and community that you heal every day. Joel will be right there with you, his hand in yours, as the comfortable silence brings you peace. This might just be Joel’s favorite gift ever.
Chapter Warnings: two people madly in love and being domestic, boggle, ellie and joel getting their happily ever afters, idk just cozy all over, smut, p in v, joel eating pussy because your girl is stressed
Words: 4,500
A/N: One chapter left?! Hello?! My thanks to @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon and @sin-djarin for reading and dealing with me. Also, icymi, please look at the gorgeous art @valevntine created of Doc and Joel living their peaceful, happy life in Jackson. Thank you, as always, for reading and being so patient as I take my time on these final chapters.
Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3
Masterlist
Previous Chapter
—-
The walls of Jackson come into view, worn wood and dulled iron, and Joel feels so different as he rides through the same gates he’s passed through hundreds of times, because it’s never been like this… never with you seated behind him, arms around his waist, your wedding ring pressing against his stomach through his shirt. Never with the sweet and sun-drenched memories of the honeymoon still fresh in his mind.
Jackson has never felt more like home.
The guard nods, calls out a welcome, and says something about newlyweds as you both ride through the gates. Jackson opens before him… the roads, the buildings, the side streets, the sound of children playing—a life he’d thought was gone for good.
The gate reminds him of another return, another homecoming. Walking down the mountain after Salt Lake, blood stiff on his shirt, Ellie’s soft ‘okay’ radiating through his head as the lie took root. He’d carried that lie through these same gates, let it settle into the bones of his life here. That was the kind of homecoming where the ghost haunting you walks right beside you. But this is nothing like that, not when his second chance at life is sitting behind him with her arms wrapped around his waist.
Tommy’s waiting by the stables, leaning against the fence with that half-shit-eating grin that says he’s been planning something. He straightens when he sees you, waves a hand up, and shouts a “Welcome home!”
The sun is just beginning to set as you walk home through Jackson. People wave and nod, calling out congratulations as you go down the street. A woman from the mess hall shouts something about what a beautiful couple you make, and Joel nods, his hand on the small of your back. You reach back and squeeze his hand. Being seen with you, knowing others know about the love you share, will always be something he’s grateful for.
He still expects, sometimes, that this all can’t be real, that this is all a mirage of happiness and love, and he had truly paid the price. But you are real and at his side.
Joel’s lips twitch in a slight smile when he sees his house for the first time in a week, and he takes in all the signs of his life rebuilt: the Mr. & Mrs. Miller banner still hung across the garage, Sarah’s garden blooming bright and violet, and the surprise he spots before you do.
There’s a second rocking chair on the porch. It sits beside his, a bit slimmer and taller than his, but the same dark, worn wood with the same gentle, comfortable curve to the arms—a perfect match in apocalypse terms.
“Oh my god!” you gasp, stopping in your tracks.
“Surprise,” Tommy says.
You beam all delighted and gorgeous at Joel. He grins in return before you bound quickly up to the porch, dropping into the rocking chair, hands running along the smooth wooden arms, and when you look up at Joel, your smile is so wide it’s almost like you were always meant to wind up right here in this chair on this porch.
Tommy claps Joel on the shoulder. “Maria’s idea. Figured she needed an actual chair out here.”
Joel nods, once in answer, and Tommy nods back. They’ve never needed more than that.
You close your eyes, tip your face up towards the setting sun of the last day of your honeymoon. It’s like you’re already imagining all of the quiet evenings you’ll spend out here. Maybe you’ll knit. Maybe you’ll read. Or maybe you’ll just sit and rock the night away, listening to the wind and community that you heal every day. Joel will be right there with you, his hand in yours, as the comfortable silence brings you peace. This might just be Joel’s favorite gift ever.
“Thank you,” Joel says, and Tommy’s smile says he understands everything those two words contain.
Tommy leaves you two with a last “welcome home,” and Joel settles next to you in his own chair, the wood creaking in unison with yours.
He thinks of those first times you joined him on the porch, you wheeling him out into the cool night air. The scent of pine and your sweet vanilla smell filling his lungs, a second chance he could breathe in. Even then, he thinks, he had loved you.
Eventually, you turn to him. “I want to see Jefferson,” you say.
When Joel steps inside his home, he takes the cluttered coziness in. The jackets on the hooks, wedding gifts still sitting atop the dining room table, a knitted mouse on Jefferson’s cat tree, the wooden animals he’s carved on the mantle, and the sage drying in the kitchen window. His house. Your house.
You don’t even get to call out for Jefferson, a meow bursts down the hall, the black and white streak comes tearing around the corner from the kitchen. He circles your ankle with an accusing meow, and you scoop him up. The cat rattles in your arms, purring so loud that Joel can hear it all the way from the doorway.
You bury your face in his soft fur. “Missed you too, buddy.”
Joel crosses the room and rubs a thumb along Jefferson’s chin. The cat leans in, green eyes half-closed in bliss.
You look up at him, Jefferson held in your arms, and your face bright with happiness and love. “We’re home.”
Joel nods. “We’re home.”
After all the losses, the narrow misses, the nights spent alone wondering if he’d ever feel anything but hollow again. And now this, a second rocking chair on the porch. A cat purring in your arms. Your eyes on his. Everything he’s ever wanted.
It’s good to be home.
—-
The clinic door is heavier than you remember. Your first day back. Your first day as clinic head. The title feels too big, too important, but you reassure yourself that Dr. V and the rest of Jackson believe in you.
Patient after patient makes the morning go so quickly that you barely have a chance to feel overwhelmed. You check pulses, you listen to lungs, you make notes in your journal. Every person sends you congratulations, whether it’s for your new title or your new husband. By eleven, the rhythm is coming back. Your hands still know what to do even when it seems like your brain is still honeymooning.
When you take your lunch break, Joel’s already in your office, tote bag in hand, adjusting the small Jefferson carving he made, setting it just right under the lamp on the desk.
You walk into his arms, humming happily at the warmth of your husband. “My doctor. I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, low adoring voice meant just for you. “Really am, baby.”
You laugh a shaky sound. “I’m a little nervous,” you admit.
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. “Don’t be,” he says. “You’re amazing.”
You believe him, because he says it like it’s a fact everyone knows, like the sky is blue and water is wet, and you are amazing.
Joel pulls out two sandwiches, and you have your own private lunch date in your office. He tells you about all the construction updates from when you two were gone, and you tell him how the clinic fared without you.
When your short lunch time is over, he hugs you tight and kisses you so softly you almost forget that you have a whole afternoon left to get through. “See you at home,” he whispers against your lips before he leaves.
The day speeds through after that. More patients, more congratulations, more notes scribbled. And when the clock ticks to five, and you slip off the white coat, you’ve survived your first day as clinic head.
You walk home, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and a wide smile on your lips that you don’t even try to hide. Because here is the thing, the thing that still feels impossible: you are leaving your clinic, and you are going home to your husband in your house. It’s something that used to be so ordinary, but now, it’s a miracle.
Your house is quiet when you open the door. No music, no guitar, no sound of Joel in the kitchen. Just the soft tick of the clock on the mantel.
“Joel?” you call, hanging your bag on the hook by the door.
“Up here!” he shouts from upstairs.
You follow his voice and find him standing in the doorway of what used to be your bedroom. He steps aside without a word and reveals that your old bed is gone and the room has completely changed. The desk has been moved to the middle of the room, with a chair pulled up to it. There’s a bookshelf in the corner, already filled with your few medical books and journals, their spines aligned by size that only Joel would have taken the time to organize. Under the window, there’s a small table holding a few of your potted herbs with a few empty pots for more.
“Wow,” you breathe and then repeat when you fully step into the room. Your own office.
Small tears begin to shed from your eyes when you turn and launch yourself at Joel. You hug him, pressing your face into his chest, and his arms band around you, squeezing you tight.
“Like it?” he asks.
You pull back, and the grin. “So much.”
“Wanted you to have a place to work,” he says. “Know you’re gonna be busier.”
“Thank you,” you choke.
He kisses your forehead. “You’re welcome, baby.”
You stand in your new office with your husband’s arms around you. This is what it means to be known. To be seen. To have someone look at everything in your life and build you your own space to help contain it.
You’ll spend hours at this desk. You’ll search your journals, write your notes, research, worry about patients, figure out treatments, and deal with the thousand small failures that come with trying to heal people in a world like this.
But for now, you’ll just stand here, held by your husband, in the quiet golden light of the evening and let yourself be grateful for this moment, this room, this man, and everything he’s given you.
—-
Joel can hear the pen working against the paper when he stands outside your office, with a cup of tea in his hand. You’ve been in there since dinner, three hours at least.
He knocks softly at the doorjamb, two taps of his knuckles, and you look up. The tiny smile you gift him leaves him briefly unable to remember what he came here for. You’re so beautiful.
Three books are lying open on the desk, pages marked with scraps of paper and your journal is a sprawl of handwriting. You’ve been busy.
“Figured you’d like a cup,” he says, setting the mug beside your elbow.
“Thanks, baby,” you say.
He hears the frayed edge in your voice and asks, “How’s it going?”
He moves behind your chair and places his hands on your shoulders, and as expected, you’re tight and tense. He rubs, working his fingers into your knots, and you answer his massage with a groan of relief.
Your pen taps against the journal. “I’ve narrowed it down. Is it GERD? Peptic ulcers? God, what if it’s her gallbladder?” You sigh. “It’s just… some of the best treatments aren’t available to us.”
Joel nods like he understands, though he has zero clue what you’re saying. But he understands the frustration in your voice, the way your shoulders are already tensing again under his hands. He works his thumbs deeper, feels a knot give way, and you moan a sound that makes that familiar heat pool low in his belly.
“I know you’re doin’ your best,” he says. “And everyone knows that.”
Your head bows, shoulders slumping, and drop your pen. “The text is beginning to swim,” you say, rubbing your eyes.
He spins your chair around. His bad knee protests with a familiar ache as he crouches, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair to crowd into your space. “Then, let me take you to bed,” he says, “and you can get up early tomorrow if you want.”
“You don’t have to convince me.” You’re up in a split second, clicking the lamp off. Joel takes your hand and pulls you down the hallway.
He lays you down on the bed gently. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking about this since the moment you disappeared into your office tonight… especially when you’re only clad in a pair of flimsy pajama shorts and one of his old tees. Joel crawls across the mattress, propping himself over you. He could stare at you for hours, take in all of your beauty, and memorize every tiny, gorgeous detail of you. His wife, his future, his happiness, already melting for him, body rolling under his.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, palm dragging up the length of your leg. He pushes your shirt up, baring your tits, and he leaves open-mouth kisses down your chest, your stomach, running his tongue in hollows as he makes his way down your body. He cradles your foot, presses a kiss to your ankle before he moves to your other leg, kissing his way back up the inside of your calf and your knee. He kneads your thighs, massaging the tension out, working his way closer.
“You work hard, baby, you deserve to relax,” he grits, lying down between your legs, face pressed in the cradle of your thighs. He breathes you in, all warm and musky and sweet, and he can’t resist you any longer. His tongue runs along your cunt, parting you with his mouth, a groan leaves him, eyes fluttering shut because he just can’t get over how good you taste, how perfect your body responds to his mouth. God, he loves you.
Your fingers twist in the curls of his hair, and he thinks to himself he’d like to skip the haircut he’s due for later this week, wanting you to always pull on the loose waves at the nape of his neck. He wills with every lap of his tongue against your clit for you to forget every patient, every worry, every page of the open books left on your desk.
You’re definitely forgetting, because you’re so greedy for him tonight, hands braced on his head as your hips roll. He lets you ride his face, he goes on and on, happily drowning in the taste of you and the desperate sounds you’re keening out. Your thighs tense around his head, and you gasp that little high-pitched noise that tells him you’re close. He groans against your puffy, needy pussy, and you cum with a gasp of his name, and god what a sound.
It only makes him want more of you. He kisses his way up your belly, up the hollow of your throat until his lips meet yours. You’re reaching, helping him slide his own pajama pants down, and he rests his cock right there in the crook between your legs, waiting, just looking down at you and your lovedrunk face, all soft with heavy eyelids and a little smile.
He runs his length along you, dipping in between your legs, covering himself with your desire before he slowly pushes into you. Christ, he loves the way you wrap your legs around him. His hand slides under your head, cradling you, tilting your mouth up to kiss him as he fucks you slow and deep, letting each thrust press out the last of your stress.
Your arms twine around his neck, nails digging into his back, and he lets you pull him closer, lets you bite his shoulder when he sinks his cock deeper into your heat. He buries his face in your throat, wanting to be as close to you as he can. Chanting your name, he tells you over and over how good you feel, how pretty you are, how he’d do anything for you, always.
You’re already tensing, another orgasm building, and when you shatter again, he fucks you through it as you sob his name all drowning and needy, it’s the only thing he wants to hear for the rest of his life. You clench and pulse around him, pulling him right to the edge, as his hips stutter, breath catching.
Pelvis grinding against you, Joel cums, spilling inside you with a groan that rattles his whole body. He tightens then slacks, before he collapses against you, catching his weight on his forearms. He just breathes, face pressed into your neck, smelling the heady scent of sweat, sex, and you. Your heartbeat is hammering, and it’s a shared race.
“Joel,” you whisper.
He kisses your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, baby?”
You don’t answer with words, just a smile and a curl of your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. That’s enough of an answer.
He shifts, rolling onto his side and pulls you against his chest. You tuck yourself against him, leg hooked over his hip. He strokes your back, kisses your forehead, feels the way your breathing slows. You look up at him, and he can see the relaxation in your face, the relief that wasn’t there before, and it fills him with a pride he’s only known since loving you.
“Better?” he asks, lips against your forehead.
You nod. “Much,” you giggle.
He smiles, arms tightening around you as he relaxes in the peaceful haze of this beautiful life he shares with you.
—-
No huge disasters happen during your first few weeks at the clinic, just a lot of congratulations, patients, mysteries you can solve, and a steady build of confidence. By the end of the second week, you feel like you’ve earned the title of Clinic Head, and it stops feeling like your imposter syndrome might just swallow you whole. People tell you you’re doing well, and you actually believe them.
The routine establishes itself without fanfare. You wake up every morning to a kiss on your forehead and a cup of tea or coffee in Joel’s hand. He’s already been awake, adamant on making you breakfast. Most of the time, it’s eggs, sometimes potatoes, sometimes toast or bacon if they’re available that week. He always sets the plate in front of you, with another kiss against your forehead, before he serves himself. You both eat, you a little slower than he, and when he’s done, he scoots his chair back, watching you with that exact softness in his eyes that still, even after all this time, makes you feel loved and adored.
He walks you to work, carrying your bag, his hand against the small of your back or in your hand as you walk together down the road toward the clinic. He leaves you with a kiss, no matter who’s watching, and you watch him head to work, broad back moving through the crowd, standing out amongst your fellow Jacksonians. You don’t open the clinic door until he turns at the corner and raises a hand and sends you a wink in farewell.
Work is work. Every patient, illness, and cure is vital because it’s part of the thousand small ailments of a community trying to survive. You suture cuts, you set bones, you mix tinctures. There’s a rhythm of healing… hurried or slowed, you respond to every beat.
Steven, Wendy, Linda, and Dr. V–whenever he pulls himself away from retirement–are a godsend. You’ve even taken on a couple of new apprentices, including—to your surprise—Dina. She shadows you with an intense focus, proving herself a quick study and a natural healer.
Most days, around noon, Joel appears in your office, lunch in a tote bag, and a doting smile on his face. You eat together at your desk, and you tell each other about your mornings. Ordinary things… things you never thought would matter to anyone. But they do. They matter to him, and you.
Some evenings you don’t leave the clinic until late, depending on the patient loads, but your home is always your salvation. Dinner cooked by one of you while the other sets the table. You wash dishes side by side, clean up the kitchen, and fold the laundry. Domestic bliss is in everything you do, especially when Joel is right by you.
The best parts of your day are once the sun hides behind the mountains, the curtains are shut, and the fire in the hearth is lit. The couch, a blanket pulled across both of your laps, Jefferson on your lap, purring as you pet him. Your shoulder is always home to Joel’s arm, hand resting against your skin, thumb tracing idle circles on your skin.
Sometimes there’s a movie playing on the TV, maybe if you’re lucky, it’s a newly scavenged movie from the library. Sometimes it’s a book shared between you two, or a single one in each of your palms. Sometimes Joel carves, and you knit, the sounds of your progress soundtracked across the living room. Sometimes you just watch the fire, or let your eyes trace the lines of Joel’s profile in the flickering light. You relish these nights, the particular peace of having nowhere to be.
It’s peaceful. It’s wonderful. Something you once thought had been burned out of the world along with everything else. It’s a simple, unremarkable happiness. A routine. An ordinary life built every day, in a house on a road in a town behind walls, with a man who makes you eggs in the morning and holds you on the couch at night, and transformed a bedroom into an office because he wanted you to have a place of your own.
This is enough. This is more than enough. This is everything.
—-
Boggle, Scrabble, Clue, Sorry. A stack of board games Joel has saved in the back of the closet for a rainy day… or a perfect housewarming gift for Ellie and Dina.
Their house sits only a short walk down two streets. It’s a narrow, gray two-story with blue trim and window boxes that you mention you’ll help Dina fill with herbs. It already looks lived in, with the glow of the lamplight and Sally looking out the screen door.
You knock on the doorframe. He stands at your shoulder, games under one arm, a wrapped stack of cookies in his other hand. He hears the scrape of a chair against the hardwood floor he just helped repair last month, and someone says something, then footsteps.
The screen door swings open, and Ellie’s face is wide and bright, clad in her trusty flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. She looks happy, genuinely, ridiculously happy. Her eyes drop to the cloth-wrapped stack in his hands, and her eyes widen. Her mouth opens a little.
“Are those—”
“Gingersnaps,” you say.
“Oh my god. Get in here, come in, come in.”
Dina has set the table. There’s a cloth on it, candles lit in the middle, and there’s a savory smell of roasted chicken and sweet corn coming from the kitchen. Joel sets the games on the side table near the door and follows you in, taking in how much Ellie and Dina have already accomplished. There are already framed drawings of Ellie’s on one wall, a selection of carved horses Joel made for her on the mantel, and the scarves you’ve knitted for Ellie and Dina hanging from a coat hook by the door.
It looks like a home.
“Smells good,” he says when Dina comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Chicken,” Dina says. “And corn, and potatoes. Nothing fancy.”
“Nothing fancy is good,” you say, and Dina grins.
Joel settles into the chair at the table, you to his left. He watches Ellie move around her home with Dina, watches the way she leans against the kitchen counter while Dina dishes things out. It’s so different for her now.
He thinks about the strange arithmetic of family. Ellie wasn’t born his. She had a mother she never knew, she had Marlene, a whole history before she ever wound up in his and Tess’s hands. But somewhere between that and this table, something shifted. She’s now his daughter. There’s no other word for it.
He watches her argue with Dina about whether the corn is better on or off the cob, watches her take the last piece of chicken off the serving plate, and wipes her hands on her jeans.
His daughter.
His daughter, who, after dinner, has finished half the plate of cookies all by herself. Next to the half-eaten platter of cookies, Boggle sits on the table, and as Joel expected, he’s losing. Horribly.
He stares at the letters. They stare back at him. He writes down cat. He writes down act. He even tries tac. He stares some more.
He writes down tact. That’s probably three points. He looks over at you, and your pen is moving fast.
The timer runs out.
The reading off starts. You go first, a long list of words, and Ellie scoffs every time you read out a word she’d also found. Dina has a solid list. Ellie’s is shorter than she wants it to be, he can see it in the line of her jaw.
He reads his list last. Four words.
“That’s it?” Ellie asks.
“That’s it,” he nods.
Dina’s the first to laugh helplessly into her hand. You’re biting your lip with a hidden smile. Ellie’s shoulders begin to rock up and down as she giggles her high-pitched squeak. He keeps his face straight for a second, until he also breaks, and the sound of laughter fills the little house on the street two over from his.
You win. Of course, you win. You announce it, with your hands pumping in the air, and Ellie points at you and says, “Of course the doctor wins!”, and you thank her.
Joel watches all of it. He never expected to have this. A table with people he loves around it. His daughter reaching for another cookie that his wife baked for her.
He reaches under the table and takes your hand. You squeeze back without looking up.
Ellie hugs him tight when the night is over, his arms wrap around her, and his chin rests atop her head. “Thanks for coming over,” she says.
“Of course, Kiddo, wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He watches you hug Ellie just as tight, and promise her you’ll show her how to make the gingersnaps she loves so much.
This is everything. He doesn’t know any better word for it. He doesn’t need one.
